Chapter 4

The Plot Thickens

"Elladan, what is this place?"

"Trading town, most definitely." Elladan dismounted from his horse and led the animal through the doors. "It's quite small, made for traveling slave traders. Toward the back there will be a large selling ring, but up front there's going to be stables for horses and inns for men. It looks as though elves are not uncommon here either. That's impressive."

He was right. Anyone they passed as they made their way through the town just glanced at them and kept going about their business. Well, better still. They wouldn't have much trouble finding out what they needed when they had to talk to others.

The three companions decided to split up. Legolas headed for the back of the town toward the selling ring, while the twins took the side businesses.

It was nearing the end of the day, and the sky was growing from yellow and orange to darker shades of blue and grey. Legolas moved slowly, letting his eyes take in any detail he could. When he did reach the selling ring, he was met with an almost empty arena. Only a few men were left, gathering up what remaining provisions had been left. Binding his mare to a nearby post, he left the horse and walked quickly to one of the men.

The slave trader refused to speak to him. It did not matter what Legolas did to try, the man would just turn his back on him and pretend the elf wasn't even there. It was like that all the way around the arena, apparently that since it was after selling hours, the only interest these men had was to pack up and go home. The only business done after the sun began to set was usually not good and the elf's questions made them nervous.

"Please," Legolas said, trying to catch one man's eye. "I just want to know if you've-"

"I'm sorry," the man whispered, cutting the prince off while his eyes remained glued to the pack he was tying to the back of a stout donkey. "I know nothing. I don't want any trouble."

"I won't give you any trouble," the elf told him, "I just want to know if you've seen a young man with dark hair pass through here-"

"Lots of young men come through here," The man hastily replied, and gripping the donkey's halter began to pull the animal away. "Please, I only help my master with the slaves. Go ask someone else." The slave trader turned from Legolas, leading the fat donkey behind him.

That was how it went. Even the few who would talk to him had no clue who Aragorn was, who he had been with, and least of all where he had been taken. Time swept by, until finally when Legolas was about to throw up his hands in defeat, he found one man who knew, or at least recognized the name Ralorn.

"Do you know where he was headed?" Legolas was almost desperate now.

The portly watchman that oversaw the arena rubbed his chin. "No, I don't. He was headed north through the Misty Mountains last I saw, but its dangerous country up there, I'm told." Legolas sighed. "But-" the man's eyes brightened as he recalled something. "He was here a week or so ago, selling his slaves the day he left. He got angry with one of his guards over something and left him behind. As far as I know, the guard's still here, but in a bad way."

"Do you know where I could find him?" the prince, amazed that he may have finally found a lead, pressed the watchman with urgent eyes.

"With the local healer I presume. He was hurt pretty bad, but someone paid to have him taken care of. The healer's home is just a stone's throw from here. Take the main entrance out of the arena and head south to the middle of town. Can't miss it."

Legolas looked in the direction the watchman pointed before turning back. "I thank you," he said gratefully before dashing away.

"Good luck." The watchman waved him off.

'Thank the Valar there are still good men,' Legolas thought as he quickly untied his mare and headed in the way he had been directed. It was nearly full dark now and hardly anyone was out. As he jogged, he kept a sharp eye out for Elladan and Elrohir. He had been talking to people for nearly two hours now, and Legolas wondered what the twins had found.

He found Elladan almost immediately, for the elder twin had come to look for him. Elladan had been unsuccessful and quickly let the prince know of it and his inner frustration. No one had wanted to talk to him either. Obviously no one liked total foreigners. Several minutes later they found Elrohir inside a local bar, in the middle of a heated conversation with the bartender. Elladan and Legolas walked up right behind Elrond's youngest twin, backing up his retort.

"No he does not owe me anything!" Elrohir told the laughing bartender angrily. "All I wish to know is that whether or not you've-"

"Elrohir!" Legolas cut the twin off and gave the bartender an evil glare that made the man fall back a step in surprise. Legolas was frustrated too, and he was not about to listen to someone tease any of the three of them. Elladan's glare was no less piercing.

Elrohir's eyes were snapping furiously at the man before he followed his brother and the prince out of the bar. As they stepped out onto the road and got their horses, Elrohir began muttering under his breath.

"Stupid man. He tried to get me to admit that I was trying to kill Estel for something, not just find him. Ooh, I probably would have done something down right painful to him if you two hadn't stopped me right then..." he untied his horse and turned to the others. "Did you have any luck?"

Elladan shook his head, but Legolas nodded. "I think I found something. Come on, we must go find the local healer's home."

As they walked, Legolas told them what he had discovered from the watchmen who had recognized the name Ralorn. Once his short story was complete, neither twin made a comment, but stared straight ahead and let this new information sink in.

After a few minutes of silence, Legolas pressed the two. "Well? Does that help? Or am I going to have to continue to guess about this elf's past since neither of you will tell me anything about him?"

"No, Legolas," Elladan stopped the prince. "It has just been so long... we never thought we would have to deal with this after so many years. We will have to tell you the story quite soon, possibly even tonight, but not here in this town. Let's get done here, and I promise you that we will tell all that needs be told."

Legolas quieted and let them all walk in silence. Some part of him did understand the twins' hesitancy, because when he put himself in that position he knew he probably would be acting much the same way. But the other half of him was scared and desperately desired to know the truth, but he just bid himself be patient. He didn't dwell on it for long, for soon they had found the small building that the watchman had described to him.

After knocking on the thick wooden door, Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir only had to wait a few moments before the door was opened by a young man just about Aragorn's age. Solid dark eyes took in the sight of the three travelers and beyond them, their three horses. Without stalling for a heartbeat, the young man smiled at them and opened the door wider, inviting them in.

Gratefully the three elves entered the warm interior of the front room. With a slam and a click the door was bolted shut and the young man introduced himself.

"My name is Don, an assistant healer to Estan, the head healer. How may I help you?"

Legolas stepped forward and introduced himself, "My name is Legolas of distant Mirkwood. This is Elladan," he turned and pointed to one twin, "and Elrohir," pointing to the other twin, "of Rivendell."

Elladan leaned close to Elrohir and smiled. "He got us mixed up again."

Elrohir smiled back, restraining a laugh. "I know."

The twins were interrupted as Legolas continued to speak. "We have just recently found out that you have been taking care of an elf that was injured about a week ago, and we wish to know if we could see him."

Don looked at him curiously. These elves didn't look threatening, but he had to be careful. "Are you relatives of his?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, but he may know where someone we are looking for is. We have no desire to harm him."

The young healer considered it, and then nodded his head. These elves posed no threat that he could tell. "All right, follow me." He motioned them down a side hall. The three elves quickly followed the silent form of the young healer.

Suddenly, just as Don opened his mouth to say something a door at the end of the hall burst open, and an older woman poked her head out. "Don, get in here!"

Don turned his head quickly to his guests. "Forgive me, but the elf you ask for has not been doing well. He had been infected with a strange poison that is most unlike anything we've encountered. His elven endurance seems to be helping him fight, but even that has begun to wane in strength. Estan doesn't think he will even survive much longer. You can follow and watch if you do not interfere, and perhaps if this passes you can speak to him."

"Don!" the woman urged him faster. "He's convulsing again. I need you in here now!"

"I'm here!" Don ran into the room after her head disappeared. At one passing look between Legolas and the twins, they followed.

Standing next to the door so they would be out of the way, the three elves watched Don and the woman try to calm the convulsions that tormented the pitifully weak body that lay on the bed. He was most obviously an elf, but his skin was so pale and clammy, and his eyes were wide as he fought for breath. He had the appearance of one who had lost much weight over a score of a few days; a thin, haggard shell that was desperately trying to keep the soul from drifting away into oblivion.

Elladan tried to walk forward to see if he could help, but Legolas and Elrohir held him back. Elladan was an excellent healer and well versed in the art, and the pain that the immortal being was radiating had pierced his heart. But his companions did not allow that, for though they wished it, there was nothing they could do and Don had told them to stay out of it.

Several minutes passed before the two healers managed to stop the weakened convulsions and the elf again lay still on his bed. When he was sure the problem was over for now, Don turned around and faced the newcomers standing next to the door.

"It's stopped now, but his pulse is fading. Quickly, if you would still speak to him, do so now. I know not how long he will last now."

The three elves walked forward, Legolas sat on the edge of the bed and the twins knelt at the edge near the headboard. Up close, the elf looked worse. Dry, cracking skin made him look hundreds of years older than he was, and a horrible rattling in his throat made his voice raspy, but yet it still remained amazingly deep and clear.

"Are you from Rivendell?" the whispered words were almost pleading as dimming eyes sought out the prince's bright gaze above him.

Legolas smiled softly. If not by people or birthplace did he belong to Rivendell, then it was by intention and heart. "Not really, but they are," he said, indicating the two twins that had knelt close by, watching soundlessly at the elf that seemed to age in front of their eyes. "Their names are Elladan and Elrohir, and I am Legolas."

"His name is Valan," Don called over to them from the other side of the room, having listened to the conversation. "When he can speak he often asks for anyone from Rivendell."

"You must go help him!" Valan rasped, his lips shaking. "I tried to help... but they stopped me."

"Valan, you know an elf named Ralorn?" Legolas quietly asked and watched Valan's eyes grow darker. Don quietly left the room, giving the elves the space they needed. There was nothing more he could do to help.

"Yes, I do. I was a guard for his slaves and his home. Worked at his expense for many long years, farther south where the Corsairs are. But for a while now I have been rebelling against his orders, to get out and find something richer than what I've been after." Valan closed his eyes.

"It never sat well with me to kidnap and torture an innocent young ranger for revenge, no matter the reasons why, and Lord Ralorn must have thought I was getting soft. But I couldn't do it. Couldn't watch him kill another young being. So the first chance I found, I took the ranger away and tried to get him out of Ilmgalad. We made it to the forest edge before my mare was suddenly shot down from under us. We fell. He slit my mare's throat. His assistant drove his poisoned knife into my gut. They took him back and left me. Then right before I blacked out, another elf I had never seen before stood over me. I told him to take care of the ranger and the boy... darkness came after that. I woke up here."

"A boy?"

"Ralorn's only other prisoner he will not release. The boy's father was a highly skilled craftsman and his work renowned even by elves. It was said that about nine years ago Ralorn heard about him and about a treasure he had made-"his voice caught in pain, "a treasure worth much. He sought after it, and when Belegon, the boy's father, refused to give it to him Ralorn killed him without question and took his young son captive. The lad was only about six and quite blind, but Belegon had told Ralorn that the treasure was for the boy and no other. Since the death of his father the boy has not spoken a word though Ralorn has tried often to get him to, but it would be cowardly to kill a blind child." Valan's words were becoming harder to understand, but he kept up with it as though it were the most important thing he'd ever do. "He refuses to let it go, and the years have only hardened his resolve."

"Who is Ralorn?"

"A cold, hardened elf. He has spent most of his adult years among the Corsairs and contributing to their business in slave trading. He met another elf named Mayroniel within that trade. Beware of them both. Ralorn may be cold and violent but Mayroniel is outwardly worse. He is a fierce and evil-hearted assassin. The two of them together can be utterly ruthless. Mayroniel is the dragon and Ralorn is his keeper, and you can never be sure who is really worse... the one who attacks or the one that ordered the attack."

"This is dreadful news indeed. Please Valan, tell us - how can we find him?"

Valan's eyes grew desperate as his voice began to fail him. "North toward the Grey Mountains. Cross the Hoardale River at the edge of the wilds, then keep Mount Gram to your left shoulder and the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains, to your right. Ralorn knows of a cave somewhere, it is where he can... burrow away and take out his revenge. The going may be slow because of the weather, but horses should help you..." Valan clutched at his chest, his eyes almost wild. "Please go after them... find them... take the ranger and the boy away. I pray the Valar will guide you before too many evil deeds are done..." The dying elf sunk back into his pillow, his strength to fight the poison almost gone. "Do not fear the trembling earth... do not stop until you find the cave..." Valan looked up at the ceiling, no longer speaking to the three companions. "I have served my need... let me rest now."

Trembling, Legolas leaned forward and whispered fiercely in elvish. "Thank you for helping us. May you rest with ease, friend."

Valan relaxed at the words and a small smile touched his face, his eye letting go of their light. Grey and dark, the eyelids closed, and Valan's spirit peacefully fled the room.

Elladan reached forward and covered the still face with his hand. "Hiro ith... ab'wanath." He sighed. "Hannon le, mellon."

Don returned and walked up silently to the silent figures around the bed, stopping on the opposite side of the twins and picked up the white sheet that covered the unmoving body and draped it gently over Valan's sunken face. He sighed.

"We knew he wouldn't live through his injuries. But when a young elf came here and begged Estan to take him in, we did as instructed. When he could speak he would tell us much of what he had done and a little about his life..." Don stopped, thinking mournfully. "The boy he speaks of, he reminds me of my little brother. He and my father were killed years ago when I left for two years of training. I never really found out what happened to them. Just came home to an empty house, and the one grave marker of my father. My brother was never found."

He looked up at Legolas and the twins, watching them. "What will you do?"

Elladan stood slowly. "We are going after Ralorn. They took my little brother and I refuse to let him go while I know he still lives."

Elrohir nodded and stood with his twin. "Valan told us the way to go. And Valar willing, we will find our little brother and bring him back home."

Legolas stood with the twins, but did not speak as the others did.

Don nodded at them all. "Go. And do so quickly! The weather hasn't been kind the past few weeks; it changes faster than one changes moods. Please go with my good will."

The three companions thanked him for his help and a short while later they mounted their horses and disappeared into the growing dark, heading north.

Later that night and several miles away, the three companions stopped near a small spring to rest their horses and wait out the rest of the fading darkness. As they cared for their hardy beasts, Legolas again spoke to his friends.

"Can I have the story of Ralorn now?"

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, and then nodded. Elladan had promised to tell the prince, and Legolas was no longer willing to wait. He wanted to know why his best friend had been taken, and he wasn't about to let the twins hide from it anymore.

So Elladan began, his soft, regretful voice shaping in the cool of the last of the night air a sad painful story, unfolding it quickly, piece by piece, until all of it had been revealed. When the sun had begun to touch the tips of the mountains and the elder twin ended his story, Legolas was at a loss for words.

§§§

Sweat fell down to mingle with the unkempt hair, stinging the squinting eyes and again forcing one hand to come up and wearily brush the burden away. Aragorn grit his teeth tightly and shut his eyes, but it did no good. His foot caught a rock and his balance thrown for a moment before he could recover. Mentally he forced himself to watch the ground again and keep up with the great black stallion in front of him. Considering how much he was aching under the hot sun, he couldn't imagine how the black horse felt.

For what felt like the hundredth time since that morning when they had again set out, Aragorn glanced quickly at Mayroniel before turning around to get a glimpse of the blind boy walking a short distance away behind another guard. The teenager was having a much more difficult time than he was. Without his eyes to guide him over obstacles the young man was barely able to stay upright. His guard didn't take any notice of his charge's problems, and often would nudge his mount into a quick trot for several paces and guaranteeing a fall from the boy.

Aragorn's heart burned at the sight of his young friend's distress. The two had somehow become shaky friends over the past few days since they left Ilmgalad, and the young boy had begun to stick close to the ranger's side for protection. Aragorn shielded the young man from much abuse from the guards, and at night while they tried to sleep, would calm both of them with a soft, familiar song. Aragorn had grown accustomed to the silence, but it didn't stop him from talking to the boy every night about something to keep his spirits up, usually a story of home that encouraged them both. Aragorn couldn't think of something to call his new friend yet, something that fit, but the boy did enjoy the company of a friend despite the fact that the ranger knew nothing of him. Yet somehow the one-sided conversations continued. The ranger could tell the teenager's will to live was failing, and with the healer's heart within him he was doing his best to keep hopes high.

He himself was weary beyond anything that he could remember at the moment, for he had had hardly any decent sleep and Ralorn had ordered him to be given just enough substance to keep him alive, little water and less food. Hunger pinched his insides, and slight effects of dehydration were kicking in as he followed the Guard unwillingly. But he was older than the boy, had endured such things before, and like the black horse in front of him he could not imagine what the boy must be feeling right then.

The mountains suddenly took a dangerous drop several hundred feet at their right, ending at the bottom with a river filled with rapids. The rushing water inside the canyon made Aragorn's head spin with want. If he could only have a little to soothe the ache in his throat...

A horse trotted lightly next to him and startled him out of his musings. The blind boy's guard had again urged his mount forward and sure enough, Aragorn heard the thud behind him. Without mental thought Aragorn again wheeled around to see the teenager on the dry mountain floor, his foot wedged between a thick tree root and a rock that he could not have escaped on a good day.

The blind boy's guard was already to far ahead of his charge to stop fast enough, and the rope that bound the young hands yanked him forward, throwing the teenager flat on the ground, a soft cry of pain let loose as his body was wrenched forward and his palms splitting open on the ground with the force.

"Mayroniel! See to that!" A deep voice rarely heard rippled through the still air, mixing oddly with the sound of the rapids below. The call was not ignored.

Before Aragorn could react he was suddenly slapped upside the head and a blur passed him by. Mayroniel had turned around and caught him looking the other way. As soon as his vision cleared, the ranger again watched the assassin pull out a long, coiled whip and shake it out.

Not again, he couldn't watch this again! Several times over the past few days he had watched the boy be hurt for something he couldn't control and try as he might, the ranger just couldn't protect his young friend from all the abuse. Mayroniel was especially brutal and it appeared that Ralorn didn't really care what his assistant did so long as he didn't kill either of the slaves. Aragorn hated and feared the evil elf much to his dislike, but not even he could withstand the pain Mayroniel enjoyed inflicting.

A whistling snap cut through the once quiet air and the teenager again cried out, this time in true pain. The whip cut through his thin tunic and left a painful strip of red on his back. Mayroniel raised the whip again, intending to urge the boy to his feet.

Not again...

Anger rarely seen in such a joyful and lighthearted spirit flared suddenly in a hidden part of Aragorn's will. He had been holding back for nearly a week now, shoving the anguish and pain away, but not anymore. He just couldn't watch them torture the child he had come to befriend again. With the flare of anger came an unexpected rush of power, and Aragorn seized it, harnessed it, and used it to his advantage. The whip was falling again to the unprotected back of the teenager, and the boy looked up, his blind eyes filling with pain as he searched desperately for his friend, his protector. That was all it took to get the ranger moving. Aragorn ran forward, his face a mixture of fear for his friend and anger for his oppressor. He knew his limits and this was within them, he had learned that much already. Whatever Mayroniel could reach, so could he.

The whip again made a mark, but it was not on the back for which it was intended. Aragorn had run forward and covered the boy's body with his own, lifting the teenager up and holding the groaning head against his chest. Aragorn let out a small whisper of pain as the whip cut though his tunic and into him as well, leaving a large red stripe starting between his shoulder blades and running up to his shoulder, along side his neck, and ending with a harsh snap against his cheekbone.

Mayroniel hissed at the sight of the older slave protecting the younger one, and he raised the whip a third time. If Aragorn wanted to help, he was going to pay for it.

Aragorn shuddered at the thought of being hit again with the whip, but something in him took over as he heard it fall forward. He let go of the boy and lifted his bound hands up, shielding his face against the glare of the sun and blocking his body from further abuse. The whip curled painfully around his arm and bit into his skin, but his right hand grew a mind of its own and snatched the sharp leather above him, gripping hard and unexpectedly yanking the handle out of Mayroniel's hand.

All went deathly silent for a moment. Aragorn rose slowly, throwing the whip aside with his chest heaving from slight exertion and the pain against his back, cheek and arm. Gently but quickly, he pulled the boy's foot caught in the ground but did not help him to rise, his eyes locked on the furious ones of Mayroniel. The boy looked up at the ranger blankly but fearfully, his lips moving in silent speech, a plea for the truth to be undone. He had no desire to get the man in trouble; he hadn't been expecting the ranger to help him...

Aragorn's eyes were almost wild, but remained deadly calm. The fury that had been awoken had hardly been seen, and only in the defense of those he cared about.

"You will not touch him again," he said in an odd, cold voice, a strange light in his eyes. "He has done nothing wrong. You will destroy him if you continue to beat him for something he cannot control. Leave the boy alone."

One of the guards kicked his horse forward, intending to stop the prisoners, but Mayroniel stopped him fast. "Leave him to me," he told the guard, whose name was Lom, and smoothly dismounted. As he hit the ground, his right hand gripped a long knife at his side, the very same knife that he had used to injure Valan with and inject a strange poison that had taken the guard's life.

Ever since Mayroniel had told him to hold his tongue or lose it, the ire and hatred between these two had only grown with each passing day. It was only a matter of time before they decided to let each other know what they thought of the other.

"You see this knife, human?" Mayroniel hefted the weight of the knife in his hands, letting the gleaming handle twist in his long fingers and allowing the blade to glint and flash in the sun. "Set on its edge is a poison that would kill the strongest of bodies in less than one week. To the regular man like you, it would destroy you within three days. Now if you don't want to meet an early end," he tipped the point of the blade toward Aragorn's chest, "you had better remember your place."

Aragorn looked back with no less fury, his eyes snapping fire. "My place," he said in his oddly calm voice, lifting up his hands and holding them out empty, "is not below yours."

Aragorn didn't know what was making him flirt with death like this, for there was no way Mayroniel would let it pass. But something in him had indeed awoken, and it was not going to go away quickly. His fear was forgotten; he only wanted to teach Mayroniel to not throw his need for pain around so much.

Mayroniel gripped his open hand and held the blade out in front of him, walking toward Aragorn slowly. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. It might make it better for you later."

Aragorn only gave him the strangest smile he had ever seen, a sly, hidden secret smile. Mayroniel did not glance away from Aragorn's piercing gaze as he reached for the rope that bound the man's hands.

Aragorn let Mayroniel almost touch the rope before reacting with a speed the assassin thought the ranger was incapable of and he completely unprepared for.

Aragorn's right foot left the ground and came around in a swift round-house kick that connected with the side of Mayroniel's head and left the elf sprawling on the ground. The man's experience with weapon-less ground fighting was minimal but he knew enough to defend himself accurately enough.

Thank you, Legolas, for teaching me that, he silently thanked his friend as he reacted quickly, stealing the knife the Mayroniel had managed to keep a loose grip on. Just as Mayroniel shook his head and rose with a roar, Aragorn flipped the blade inward and the sharp edge slit through the bonds, freeing his hands. A small prick of pain on one finger annoyed him for only one instant before he redirected his attention to his attacker. Mayroniel lunged for his throat.

Aragorn grit his teeth and shoved his shoulder into the assassin's unprotected stomach, throwing him back and sending them both to the ground. Mayroniel grabbed at the wrist of the hand that held his poisoned knife, but Aragorn fought back, trying to keep the blade away from Mayroniel's waiting anger.

A strange weariness was making its way through his body, making the ranger feel the extent of his power waning. Still he tried to struggle, unwilling to give up. Getting up on Mayroniel and holding the elf down, he gripped the knife tightly away from his attacker. The assassin managed to free one hand and grab a fistful of Aragorn's long hair, pulling the man's head down and to the side, trying to get closer to the hand that held the knife. Recalling a move that had disarmed Elrohir not so long ago, he jabbed his elbow into Mayroniel's ribs.

The hand that gripped his wrist suddenly let go and Aragorn didn't let his chance fly away. He threw his weight against that arm and pinned it underneath him, but in his wild haste he fell too far and his hand that held onto the knife sliced through the air and landed in the ground with a hollow thud.

Mayroniel screamed.

The unexpected cry threw Aragorn back in surprise but Mayroniel did not try to get up and follow. He huddled in on himself, breathing raggedly and clutching one hand to him. Aragorn glanced at the ground, and saw something in the dirt next to the knife sticking handle up out of the mountain floor, the blade red. Aragorn froze.

He had cut off two of Mayroniel's fingers.

When the knife had hit the ground, it had landed right where Aragorn had Mayroniel's left hand pinned. Sharpened to perfection and cared for with only the best, the knife had done its job. It had cleanly and effectively removed Mayroniel's thumb and most of his first finger. Warm sticky blood was spreading over the front of the assassin's shirt as he pressed his maimed hand against it, his forehead against the dust of the ground.

Sounds of new threat were resounding from around him but Aragorn couldn't move. Couldn't believe what he had done. He had done it in defense of himself, for the boy, and it was even unintended, an accident... but still, he couldn't believe he had done so. Shock overrode pride. What had he done?

The guards around him were done watching and a prisoner had just injured one of their superiors. They wanted blood. Two quickly dismounted and rushed at Aragorn, intent to recapture the man. Aragorn woke up just before they reached him and again had to struggle against being caught, but the odd weariness had begun to overcome him and he was quickly taken again.

Aragorn tried to pull away, but he no longer had the strength to fight and finally gave up. He glanced up at one point and his eyes locked on sightless ones. The boy was some distance away, watching him with a look of uttermost fear and surprise, for he had heard the fight and knew that what had transpired was at the cause of him. If the boy could have seen Aragorn's face, he would have found it surprisingly calm, filled with a numb pain that was having trouble figuring itself out. The fighting rage had left Aragorn's will and the wild fire left his eyes, leaving them gentle. His actions were unreadable, his face indescribable.

Strange, numbing cold with no known cause wrapped around him.

Ralorn had dismounted with the guards and now walked in front of Aragorn, putting himself between the ranger and the boy. His eyes were deadly, but his actions unhurried. Confusion was again added to the look on Aragorn's face as he watched the elf take in the scene in front of him, then walk silently to Mayroniel's side and lift the assassin halfway off the ground.

Time swam and mixed together in Aragorn's head as something began to toy with his ability to stay awake. He could barely tell what Ralorn did to take care of the wounds that Mayroniel had, but he did remember the barely audible cries when they had to be seared and bound.

Minutes passed. Aragorn couldn't understand the odd sensations coursing through him, sapping his strength. Soon his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his head swimming. The poison... the pinky finger on his left hand twanged again. He had nicked the finger and sent in a small amount of the terror into his bloodstream. Fast acting and deadly, it was working its way deep into his system. Aragorn clenched the hand limply, pulling it close to him as he blinked heavily, trying to stay awake.

Suddenly and unexpectedly something was shoved into his mouth. A raw, thick, disgusting blob of some kind of root was stuffed behind his teeth and his mouth held shut to keep him from spitting whatever it was back out again. Then he tasted something familiar... a long soft leaf that he had used before to slow poisoning... Mentis?

He choked it all down but his brain and stomach quenched as he did so. When whomever it was that was holding his mouth shut knew he had swallowed the unknown substance, they let go and allowed him to lean forward and spit on the ground, trying to expel the taste from his tongue.

The effect was remarkable. In mere minutes the odd weariness began to leave him, slowly draining out of his body and leaving him quite tired, but again feeling normal. He had been cured of the poison... but why? How?

Breathing hard, Aragorn looked up but immediately one of the guards shoved his head back down so he was again staring at his knees. Carefully, he tried to peek through his hair that fell in front of his eyes, but again the guard hit him just below the skull and made his vision dance for a moment.

"You will advert your eyes until told otherwise," one of the guards behind him said harshly, warning in his voice.

"Relax, Silore," the deep voice spoke somewhere above him. "Let him look up."

Aragorn was hit again before he could react. "Do as you are told!"

Wincing but annoyed, Aragorn looked back up into the sun with a dark silhouette blocking some of the light away in front of it. After trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden forthcoming light, the figure spoke.

"Make him stand. I will not kneel to the dust to talk to him."

Both the ranger's shoulders where roughly grabbed and he was lifted to his feet with alarming speed. His arms and hands were gripped behind him tightly and his head wrenched up one guard had pulled a chunk of his hair back so his face was in full light. After a moment of collecting himself through the abuse, Aragorn opened his eyes and stared at the tall elf in front of him. Ralorn.

No expression. None whatsoever. A blank mask was staring at Aragorn, staring and registering anything and everything, so dark and deep it felt like it was seeping into the man's forehead and reading his mind. Aragorn could not withstand such an intense gaze. He had never been under the likes of it before in his life. He had had his share of intensity but this was completely new. It was different from Legolas', the twins', or his father's. He didn't even know what it was that made it so hard to endure. Only seconds went by before Aragorn shut his eyes, breathing heavily, unable to stay under its horror.

"Tirna amin."

(Look at me)

A little frightened now, Aragorn hesitantly tried to meet the leader's gaze, unable to breathe. Ralorn stared hard at him, raising one eyebrow and looked as though he were trying to figure out something about the man, something that confused him. He gave up quickly though, moments later turning his eyes away. Aragorn breathed again.

"Tur-each daer al milui? Ea le isto?"

(How can you be so heartless? Do you know?)

Aragorn's new breath snagged in his lungs. "Know what?" the words were hardly above a whisper.

"Know what?" Ralorn looked at him harshly. "Did they never tell you?"

"Who? What are you-"

Aragorn was slapped. "Don't lie to me!" Ralorn did not allow Aragorn to look away from his dark, piercing eyes that seemed to tear apart whatever their gaze fell upon. Aragorn was already at his whit's end with the hardly started interrogation. "Elladan a Elrohir, Elrondionnath peredhel!" He threw the names in elvish at the man like a curse. "Do those names mean anything to you!"

Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond Half-elven

"Y-yes, they... are my brothers-"

Aragorn was hit again, electing a soft startled cry from the man. "Your brothers." Ralorn vented his anger out through his breath. "Their brother. Why did they take you? Not of their blood, nor even of their race! Why would they show you the kindness they denied me!"

Aragorn's eyes were burning from the questioning and the pain. The lash on his back was beginning to sting as his sweat settled on the raw open wound, and the painful handling was wearing him out. "I-I don't understand..."

"You wouldn't." Aragorn flinched at the ire in Ralorn's voice. "How could you understand? Well know this, brother of Elladan and Elrohir," the word 'brother' was spit out at him as though it pained Ralorn to say it, "they have taken everything from me. Now I live to only bring them the pain that they gave me. Which is where you come in, little human. You are going to help me bring them pain, by taking some yourself."

Ralorn turned away, his countenance beyond fury. "Arahil!"

One of the guards that had held back stepped forward, his movements careful and thought out. "Yes?"

"Take him." Ralorn pointed dispassionately at Aragorn who looked ready to fall to his knees in despair. "You are now the human's guard, since Mayroniel can no longer look after him. Give him no water until nightfall; do not care for his wounds. I want him to walk. Understand?"

"Yes."

"And you," Ralorn again turned to Aragorn, who had to resist the urge to jump away from him. "Be a good little human and listen to your new guard. The pain you have given Mayroniel will not go unpunished, I can assure you of that. But not here. We shall wait and see, shall we?" Ralorn turned to the two guards behind Aragorn. "Release him to Arahil. Get back to your horses."

Both guards quickly obeyed.

Aragorn was shaking visibly as he was shoved toward Arahil. Lacking the strength and will to stand he sat there on his hands and knees, shuddering like he had just been beaten.

And mentally, he just had.

Arahil was suddenly next to him, bringing him back to the present with a sudden jolt. "Come on, get up," the guard told him, offering him one hand. Aragorn looked up at Arahil fearfully, a bruise forming on his cheek and his eyes wide. Arahil shook his hand lightly in front of Aragorn, proving that he held no weapon. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you." Hesitantly, Aragorn gripped Arahil's hand and let the elf pull him up into a standing position.

Arahil was a little shorter than he was and much more slender than his sturdy frame, but he was indeed very strong and quick. Dark eyes pierced him but the gaze was neither harsh nor cold, and when Arahil rebound him at the wrists and tied the other end to the next of his beautiful white stallion, the knots weren't tight and painful, but firm enough just to keep him from getting away easily. After the days of abuse from Mayroniel, Aragorn had nearly forgotten what little mercy he could receive in situations as this. He shook still, but his fear was ebbing away. He no longer had the strength to resist, and followed Arahil's stallion quietly. He didn't know if it was just him or not, but it felt as though the white stallion was going a much slower pace than what he was used to.

Arahil remained at the back of the group, trying not to draw attention to himself. The other guards had no fondness for him even if Ralorn honored his skill. Most teased him about his size and features, so to avoid the stinging barbs; he remained behind and suffered through the occasional dust clouds that were kicked up by the others.

They had hardly traveled a mile before Aragorn fell to his knees again and this time couldn't bring himself to rise. Arahil looked back quickly to see his charge on the ground again in suffering and called up ahead to Ralorn.

"My Lord, the prisoner is lacking his strength. I'd rather not fall behind just because he can't walk, so may I just let him ride on the back of my horse?"

Ralorn turned around and growled silently at the trembling form on the ground. "Go right ahead. That much is a mercy for him, but give no more than that, do you understand me?"

"It will be done."

"Oh yes, Arahil," one of the other guards called out to the elf. "Don't be too soft with him."

"Shut your mouth, Lom," Arahil threw back, turning Asfaloth around to get Aragorn off the ground.

Lom became very persistent, his voice reflecting a genuine distrust that lay just behind his teasing. "Come on, if you are you'll just have to give the slave to me. I'll take care of him right-"

"Yes, I'm sure you could. And find yourself at the bottom of the river because he threw you over the edge, you soft-eared whelp. Get back in line."

"Why you-"

"Lom! Get back in line!" Lom stopped growling at Arahil and hesitated when Ralorn called back harshly. Ralorn wasn't about to allow an argument slow their journey, and no one ever wanted to get on the leader's bad side if they planned on living without pain. Arahil smirked at Lom's retreating form and dismounted, landing right next to Aragorn.

"Come here now," Arahil gently lifted Aragorn off the ground and directed him to the side of his white horse. "Now, do you think you can sit on my horse?"

Aragorn's hand ran over his eyes, his voice shaking with tired pain. "I will try."

After a few attempts Arahil managed to boost Aragorn over Asfaloth's back and get on behind him. Wrapping one arm around Aragorn's chest to keep him from falling off, Arahil told Asfaloth to walk. The obedient animal immediately stepped forward, taking his place in the silent line of guards again.

Lom suddenly turned around and cantered his horse to the back of the line, right behind Arahil. "I don't trust you new-comer," he said as Arahil looked at him questioningly and even a bit threateningly. "Don't try to escape me; I don't care what you can do on that horse. You won't get away and take the man back like that fool Valan tried too."

Arahil glared at the elf but made no response. These guards would never trust him, for even when asked he gave no information about his past or who he was. The betrayal of Valan had made them all paranoid about him, and though Arahil did nothing to garner such hate it made no difference. The uncertainty was only held at bay by Ralorn, the only one who didn't batter the young elf around endlessly. The teasing was childish really and they all knew it, but as long as it did not hinder the journey it wasn't worth Ralorn's time to put a stop to it.

After some time had passed, Arahil leaned closer to Aragorn and whispered quietly in his ear. "Are you all right?"

Aragorn stiffened at the sound of the elf's clear voice. He had no idea what kind of a guard Arahil would be, and the possibilities frightened him. "I'm fine."

"No you aren't. I can see the mark on your back clearly you know." Arahil touched the whiplash lightly, making Aragorn wince and hiss between his teeth. "Don't play innocent with me."

Aragorn turned his head slightly, trying to get a look at Arahil. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Hush," Arahil stopped him. "Just save your strength. I'll try to help you if I can, but not now."

Aragorn's eyes widened in surprise. A guard was offering him aide? "Why would you help me?"

Arahil became silent.

"Why?"

Arahil sighed. "Because I do not wish for them to hurt you."

Aragorn stiffened again. He couldn't let his life and comforts come to the cost of another life. The weight from Valan's death was already crushingly hard on his burdened heart. Then to finally find out about Ralorn's intentions for him and the reason for his capture, the shock of it all was far too fresh and new.

"No, don't protect me like that. I won't have anyone risk their life for my sake." Aragorn pulled away from Arahil's grip and leaned closer to the slight bobbing of the white horse neck in front of him.

Arahil's hand was quickly on his uninjured shoulder. "Whether you want it or not, I'm going to do it. I can't guarantee that I can save you from all pain, but I will try to keep you alive and unbroken. I promise they won't catch me. They won't even know unless I tell them, I swear it."

Aragorn turned around as far as his neck would allow, his eyes again wide. Arahil did not back away from the gaze. Then suddenly he squinted at Arahil, something nagging the back of his mind. Something about Arahil seemed almost... familiar. The way he spoke and acted...

"Do I know you?" Aragorn did not let up his gaze, trying to match Arahil up with someone he felt sure he had met before. Arahil immediately broke the eye contact and looked away.

"It would be safer if you did not try to remember, for both our sakes," he whispered, reaching behind his head and pulled his cloak's hood over his hair, shielding his eyes under the shadow of the tough fabric. "Do me a favor and don't try to remember."

"All right," Aragorn whispered, almost questioningly, and turned his face back toward the head of the horse. Arahil did not speak to him again, and in silence they continued forward. Trying to stay true to the request of Arahil the ranger strived to think of something else other than the elf's hidden side.

Thoughts of his brothers again came to him and for a moment Aragorn again covered his face with his hands. What had he done to them? Allowing himself to be caught and causing them all such pain. The overwhelming fear of what Ralorn was going to do to him was suffocating, and just ahead he could see Mayroniel on his black stallion, one hand pressed up against his chest. At one point Mayroniel looked back at him and if his gaze could have it would have struck him dead where he was. A moment later Ralorn called out for Mayroniel and the two began to converse quietly, a whispered conversation he could not hear that made Mayroniel smile for the first time. A smile of a wish fulfilled. Aragorn again looked down and this time did not look back up.

A short while later, Arahil could hear soft noises that where not whispered encouragements for the horse. They were ones of uttermost pain, and if Arahil could have seen Aragorn's face he would have known that the ranger's eyes were wet with restrained tears, his voice a sad lament.