NOTE TO READER-I know, I pull a Gladiator move here...but thats my favorite movie of all time, and I couldn't go without it.

Faroth buried his free hand deep in his mount's thick black mane before beginning to tell the long tale, his mouth censoring some of the things his memory was recalling, for he recalled them very clearly, as if it had been days instead of years he had been away from his home. But he decided that these two women really didn't need to know about this life before he became a Ranger yet, and he doubted either ever would, so he just started when he was already of the Dunedain.

"Faroth!" he could hear his name being called on the wind, the voice all too familiar. Faroth grinned to himself, turning his horse back in the direction of the voice. He rode, still following the sound of his name, until he finally saw the other figure.

"Malachai," he said in recognition, looking at his friend. Malachai's red hair was shorter then most cared to keep it, and only a thin line of hair across his upper lip covered the bronzed skin of his face. "Lost again, brother?" he asked the younger man. Malachai was only a few years his junior, and he had only been a Ranger for close to a year. Faroth had taken on the challenge of watching the younger man and training him in the field, but he know looked at Malachai as more of a friend or brother then a student.

Malachai's skin flushed slightly, and he ashamedly nodded his head. "I thought I would actually be able to track you this time…" he said softly. "I'm a real burden, aren't I, Faroth?"

"You're not a burden," Faroth replied to him, clapping an encouraging hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You will get this, I promise you that. Shall we try again?"

Malachai gave a weak smile before nodding his head. "This time," Faroth told him as he turned to leave, "do whatever it takes to find me, because I'm not coming to you again like this time."

"Yes sir," Malachai yelled at Faroth's retreating horse.

Faroth weaved his horse through the trees carefully, jumping the stream, trying to make himself difficult to track, but he knew Malachai could follow his trail if only he would concentrate for once. He was a dreamer, but more then that, a pessimist, and the two combined traits proved difficult. But he definitely had the talent, Faroth knew that, if only Malachai could see it.

Faroth thought he could again hear his name, but it was very distant. He keened his head in the direction of the sound, and could tell Malachai was saying other things as well, but Faroth couldn't distinguish them. This time, though, he wasn't going back.

After a short bit of time, the cries died away. Must have realized I wasn't letting him give up, Faroth grinned to himself. But his ears soon picked up a different sound; different voices. He cautiously dismounted, walking silently back the direction he came from. He stopped right on the outskirts of a small clearing, carefully peering in. He saw Malachai sitting on his horse beneath a large tree, but to his horror, he saw an arrow protruding from the other man's thigh.

"Malachai!" Faroth cried, coming into the clearing. Malachai's eyes opened, widening when he saw Faroth.

"No!" Malachai yelled, "It's a tr—" His horse suddenly sprang forward, leaving Malachai's body swinging from the tree. He had had a noose around his neck the entire time. As Faroth rushed forward, gripping his boots in some attempt to save him, Malachai barely muttered, "I'm sorry…I failed you," before dying.

Before Faroth could begin to mourn, an arrow barely missed his left ear. Men clad in black robes sprang from the trees all around him. "Bandits," Faroth muttered, pulling out his bow.

He quickly shot one of their archers, his arrow sinking deeply into the other man's throat. But for of what Faroth believed to be sever in all were soon upon him. He had no time to reach for his only blade which resided strapped near his ankle, so he blocked their close ranged attacks with his bow, using his body more as a weapon then arrows as he kicked men backwards.

Faroth knew the odds of him surviving were slim, especially since his mind preferred to think of Malachai, so he whistled for his horse as he threw his bow around a bandit's neck and yanked back, hearing a sickening crunch. His horse burst into the clearing, and he quickly pulled himself onto the animal's back, feeling a knife sink into the back of his leg. He kicked backwards with his boot, hearing it find its target, before burying his heels in his horse and galloping from the clearing.

"That is enough for now," Faroth told Jnían's eager eyes. "I shall continue the tale another time, but for now the memory is too painful."

"Of course," Jnían replied compassionately. Jnían had a look of pure concentration, which was no where near abnormal for her.

"This looks good for camp," Andúin exclaimed, coming to a halt.

"We should be coming upon the dirt path soon," Hwesta concluded while surveying the map. "In the next day or two, I would say," he guessed.

"A storm is coming," Jnían announced, breaking her silence. "We should make haste."

The four of them dismounted, and then headed toward the small sheltered clove. Faroth immediately had a fire blazing and was seated beside it. With only the sound of the fire cracking they ate together in silence…

Jnían's eyes snapped open. The rain was slamming loudly outside against the rock. They steady hum of breathing was shattered by small groans. Now fully awake, Jnían tiptoed against the damp wall looking for the source of the sound. She soon discovered it was Faroth. He was seemingly having a nightmare. She reached down to stroke his face to awaken him, but he didn't seem to respond, so she gripped his shoulder preparing to shake him. In an instant Faroth's hand shot out, dagger ready, headed straight for her heart. Fast enough only to block the blow from hitting anything too vital, the dagger plunged into Jnían's left shoulder. She cried out in pain, which awoke Faroth entirely, Andúin, and Hwesta. There was a look of horror and anguish spread across Faroth's face as he realized what he had done.

Andúin and Hwesta were still groggy with sleep, so Faroth wrapped his arm around Jnían, bracing her gently as he carefully lowered her to the ground. He swiftly removed the small knife and applied pressure to the now bleeding wound.

"Get my satchel," Jnían commanded Hwesta.

"Of course, Mi'Lady," he replied, scurrying about for the leather bag. Jnían then had Andúin rub healing herbs into her shoulder. Easing herself up against the wall, everyone settled down.

Minutes later Jnían saw the bulky shadow of Faroth passing by. She struggled, but then easily made it to her feet. Slowly she stepped out in the rain. She saw him sitting hunched over on a small boulder, his head in his hands, his black hair now plastered to his head from the rain. She carefully sat down beside him. He raised his head, looking to her, and she was surprised by all the pain in his gray eyes.

"I was dreaming," he began, "about the man who killed—"

"It's alright, I know," she cut him off, "Don't worry about it. It will heal soon." She continued to reassure him, and he looked back into her eyes, when suddenly her head was yanked backwards. He saw blood running from her nose, and then the black void consumed him as well.

Jnían was being drug over the ground by her now muddy hair. The rain covered any sounds Jnían might've made in the darkness.

"Tell us!" Lhach commanded.

"Never," Jnían defied yet again.

"We shall see," he mysteriously replied, his eyes blazing. A smirk crossed his face as he pulled a pouch out of his inner breast pocket. He pulled out a small knife and cut her dress near her wound. He ripped the material, exposing her shoulder to the cold air, the opened the pouch and emptied its contents onto her shoulder. She winced, squinting her eyes shut tightly, bearing the pain with only small groans. The contents, found to be salt, were pressed into her with his thumb. She clenched her jaw as he pushed even harder, making the pain worse and worse. She had a metallic taste in her mouth from the blood of her nose, and knew she couldn't hold consciousness much longer. Her mind screamed for Andúin.

Andúin shot straight up inside the cave.

"Jnían," she whispered. There was no answer. She let her eyes become adjusted to the darkness, peering around the cave. She could see Hwesta sleeping sounding in the back corner of the alcove, but neither Jnían nor Faroth were anywhere to be seen.

Andúin walked out into the cool night air, the feeling of rain still lingering. Amáteria and Faroth's black stallion still stood near Alata. Andúin felt a more panicked feeling in her chest. She suddenly heard a low moan from nearby, and she swiftly drew Andúril, walking towards the sound. She saw a figure struggling to stand, one hand on the back of his head, the other extended for balance. As Andúin drew closer, she recognized him. "Faroth!" she called, sheathing her sword and rushing to his side, her boots loudly sloshing through the mud.

"Faroth, where is Jnían?" she demanded, helping him steady himself.

"I see where your loyalties lie," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry," Andúin said quickly. "I'm just…upset, it all. Are you alright then, Faroth?"

"Just my head," he replied wearily. "I don't rightly know what happened…where is Jnían?"

"Faroth, I just asked you that," Andúin said, her voice rising in fear.

"Oh, I suppose you did…" he said, almost falling again. Andúin realized he must have been hit on the head. Hard. Somewhere inside her she had been hoping he had only slipped on the wet earth, doing nothing more then hitting his head on a rock, and that Jnían was only nearby gathering an herb to help him. But the evidence before her proved this to have not been an accident.

"Faroth, we must find her!" Andúin said desperately.

"Yes," he said softly, his head clearing a bit. He stooped down near the rock he could remember sitting with Jnían on. "People, men by the size of their boots, came here," he said, carefully studying the tracks, one hand still extended for balance. He followed them a little wobbly around to the front of the rock. "I fell here, and she fell beside me," he gestured toward the ground with his free hand. "She was dragged by three men, unconscious," he walked for a short distance. "They left on horses and headed south."

"Then let us go!" Andúin exclaimed, racing for her own horse with Faroth close beside her.