A/N: /throws confetti into the air/ Happy New Year guys! /ducks barrage of roman candles/ Yes, I know. My update is late once more. Very sorry about that, chaps. (and sorry about my lame attempt at British /grin/ )Actually, according to Kelsey Estel it's exactly 60 days late. Hehehe, oops. Didn't mean to make you wait that long—really! School just got in the way (and they said Senior Year was supposed to be easy! Liars, all of them.), and I also had an attack of writer's block, or as I like to call it 'Muse Abandonment Syndrome'. But, nevertheless here it is at last. So now you may go on and meet the person who shot Legolas, the people who are trying to save him (with mixed results) and a new bad guy whom you've already met gives himself a proper introduction.

A/N: Oh, and a very special thanks to Kelsey Estel for letting me know just how long it had been since the last update. That really lit a fire under me girl! Kudos to you and a new chapter GRIN . I also have to thank my beta, Skylark555, for her support and editing skills.

Disclaimer: No, Lord of the Rings and its characters, places, people, etc. are not mine, but I wish it were! For full disclaimer see the prologue (listed as chapter 1).

Chapter 4: Venom

The arrow flew purposefully through the air and struck the shadowy figure, abruptly and efficiently stopping its advance on the two men standing guard at the gate. The person didn't even cry out, he simply dropped to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings and lay motionless.

Ossir felt himself clench his fists and forced his lungs to draw in and exhale as he grasped for control of his rapidly declining patience. Next to him a tall, bright-eyed youth lowered his bow, beaming with pride at the successful shot. He had always had a knack for archery, but night shooting was a new skill for him, and he still got excited every time he made a shot. His older companion, however, was not as thrilled.

"I told you to wait, Gesan," he growled.

Gesan looked at him curiously, not yet grasping the other's cause for displeasure. His younger eyes had first spotted the figure wearing desert garb, and he had acted accordingly by taking the person down. Since he was only one, Gesan didn't shoot to kill, but he still made sure to render the person as immobile as possible. He had done what he had been ordered to do, so what was Ossir so upset about?

"What? I got him didn't I? We were told to keep Haradrim from getting into the town and that's what I did."

Ossir took another calming breath, then began listing the reasons the younger soldier should had stayed his hand. "First of all, I told you to stop, and you should have found reason enough in that. Furthermore, did you not notice that he was not only limping, but staggering towards us? Or that he held himself as if he could not rely on his upper body for aid if he fell or lost his balance? Or that his hair and skin seemed to be lighter than a Southron's usually is?"

Gesan's face lost more and more self-pride with each word that jetted from his friend's mouth. He and Ossir had been working together for a few months now, and already he had found himself learning more from the older veteran than he had when he went through training. For a tanner's son who had joined the army not knowing anything this was saying a lot. Even more so he had come to value the man as a friend. One of his only friends, for that matter, as he found himself assigned to the borders while almost everyone he knew stayed in or near Minas Tirith. The thought of disappointing him made Geran want to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Ossir took the shamed look on the boy's face as an affirmative that he hadn't noticed or acknowledged any of those details. It wasn't a surprise to him. Youth, in all of their arrogant glory, never took the time to think, or read into a situation. Those that did were few and far between, and Gesan, for all of the promise he showed as a warrior, wasn't one of them. Though he wasn't as hotheaded as some were, he would still race out with sword flashing and arrows screaming into the night if not guided properly. It was Ossir's job to give Gesan that guidance, and though he never enjoyed seeing the boy so downcast as when he lectured him, he still needed to show the boy his error if he was to learn from it.

"When I tell you to do something it's for a reason, Gesan. You have a lot of talent, enough that you could possibly be a good commander someday. But that won't come if you don't learn to handle yourself properly while out in the field. When I tell you to do something, Do it. I'm doing this so you can learn. The borders are the most dangerous place to be sent right now. Most new soldiers don't last if someone doesn't take the time to condition them to it. You're lucky; you have me to give you that guidance. Not everyone does, so use it to your advantage, especially if you want to go home alive when we are called back to Minas Tirith."

By this time he could see that the boy had adequately absorbed his message. It wouldn't be the last time Gesan was given such a lecture. Like a newly trained colt, it would take a few more years to season him to the point were Ossir would stop being his mentor and start being his peer. That point many spoke of as 'too young to know everything, but old enough to know how to survive'.

Ossir had trained several young men to that point, all hand-chosen by him or recommended by one of his superiors. He himself had been an officer at one point, but he'd given it up as he got older in favor of training some of the youngsters. His current leader, Mennel, he had trained himself to be his replacement. Thus far Mennel had proven to be a fine choice, though he still came to Ossir for advice now and then. Which was fine. As long as he remained for the majority of the time independent, Ossir didn't mind.

Taking young soldiers and guiding them either so they could survive long enough to learn the ropes of military life and then carve an existence for themselves or, in the case of those showing a bit more promise than that, to become future officers had since then become commonplace in Gondor. Ossir had seen through training Mennel how effective such mentoring could be, and had gotten his long-time friend Almeran in on it. Almeran agreed on the potential of the idea, after trying it himself, and had run it past Faramir, who'd also agreed that it was worth pursuing.

Boromir had felt the same when Faramir told him, and together the two had petitioned their father to let them give it a trial run. He'd agreed, after seeing the success Ossir had in training Mennel, and how far along Almeran's student had come. They recruited other veterans and young soldiers, and within a year Ossir's mentoring/apprenticeship training program was permanently a part of Gondor's military, and not just for the fighters. Weapons masters like Almeran, and palace guards also found their own way of altering it to suit their own vocations as well.

Gesan was Ossir's current trainee, and never had he given second thought to choosing him. The boy was reckless, impatient, impulsive, and somewhat overeager, but he was also attentive, willing, honest, responsible, and cunning. He tried hard, learned from his mistakes, and wasn't afraid to take chances. That last trait was both a pro and con, but if developed right would allow Gesan to learn that much more on his own as well as from Ossir.

When they had been assigned to help guard the town, Ossir had volunteered them for guarding the eastern "gate". The town had no walls around it, but the soldiers had hidden ditches filled with propped-up spears and covered with light grass-woven mats and dirt to hide them. Only three narrow areas, one at the northern side, one on the western, and the last on the east provided anyone with a safe route into and out of the town. Two soldiers at each "gate," as they were being called would hide themselves amongst the buildings there to assure that no unwanted visitors tried to get in while at the same time not giving away where the gates were. Ossir had seen it as a prime opportunity to work with Gesan on secrecy and stealth, as well as patience, when this stranger had come staggering up. The lesson would have to change now.

Grabbing an unlit torch, Ossir motioned to Gesan to stay were he was. Then he moved from their hiding place and held the torch to one hung outside the door of the building whose shadows they'd been using to hide. When it caught flame he unsheathed his sword.

"What are you doing?"

Ossir turned back to were Gesan was crouched, a confused expression on his face. "Well we can't leave him out there."

"Do you think he's still alive?" Gesan looked pointedly at Ossir's battered yet well-kept sword, his close companion of many years.

Ossir shrugged. "Personally, I would say no. He dropped pretty quickly, and the fact that he hasn't moved or made any noise has me thinking that something was wrong with him to begin with. From the way you shot at him I think you got him in the major artery in one of his legs, so he's probably bled to death by now. Still…."

A dark look came to his face as he thought of the alternative. "I've seen many enemies play dead to get people off their guard and a couple of my friends were killed that way, so it pays to be prepared for anything."

Gesan nodded and ducked back down to hide again. As Ossir turned away he saw in the corner of his eye the boy pull an arrow from his quiver and knock it, ready to draw back and shoot if the supposedly dead man sprang up and attacked his friend. Ossir didn't object. Having someone to guard your back if something went wrong was a welcome thing. Walking towards the fallen stranger then pushed all thoughts of his trainee to the back of his mind as his instincts and years of experience took over.

Once he was close enough, Ossir began to appraise the figure before him. He lay on his stomach; face obscured by the tangled heap of long blond hair that had fallen over it when he fell. Ossir could only see his arms from the elbows up; further reason to think the man was still alive and would attack. His clothing was definitely Haradric, but seemed to be ill fitting of his long, lean frame. The only weapons the soldier could see were a bow case, a quiver with an arrow bag which he couldn't tell was how full, and two small pouches that probably held knives in them.

Ossir stopped a few feet from the body. To his surprise, he saw its ribs heave as it took in shallow, labored breaths. So it—he—was alive.

Not taking any chances, the soldier carefully wedged the tip of his sword underneath the person's ribcage. With the flat of the blade he levered the body up onto its side, the quiver and bow case propping it up and preventing it from rolling onto its back. The head lolled around to rest on the ground; the heap of hair still obscured its facial features. Ossir could now also see the rope that wound around the stranger's arms and torso.

Setting his sword down so that it was still in easy reach, the aged veteran reached out and picked up the man's head. His guard lessened a bit more, the person before him was definitely not of the desert. Haradrim, for one thing, did not have blond hair, and his skin was far too fair for someone who spent there days underneath the strong southern sun. What Ossir found the most disconcerting, however, was that the being was glowing. It was only a soft, pale shimmer, but it was there. Ossir reached out and brushed aside the thick mane of hair, revealing the man's fair features, features that did not quite look human. He took note of the deep gash on the being's left eye, and the trail of blood that flowed down the side of his face and neck, staining some of his hair. "Who are you?" he wondered out loud. "Or should I say 'what' are you?"

He absently tucked the man's hair behind his ear to keep it out of the way and almost dropped him in surprise. The ear was pointed. Ossir swore as sudden understanding hit him. This was no man, this was an elf. How had an elf come to be wearing Haradrim robes, be tied up in the manner of a Haradrim prisoner, yet still be walking alone and wearing his weapons in the dead of night?

All reserve gone Ossir set about removing the elf's pack so he could lay him flat and get a better assessment of his condition. His skin was hot and clammy, and his pulse was fast and erratic. Ossir growled in disgust as he pulled a knife from his belt and cut the rope encircling the elf's chest, rolling him partway on his stomach so he could cut free his arms and hands. How this elf had gotten into such a state was a question he definitely wanted an answer to.

It took him a couple of minutes of careful work before the rope finally fell away altogether. Whoever tied the knots certainly had enthusiasm, and he had to be careful not to cut the skin. The elf's hands were tinged purple and swollen from lack of blood flow, and the old soldier could see the cuts and abrasions on his wrists. Apparently the fair being hadn't acquiesced to wearing the restraints without a fight.

He turned the elf back over and carefully set him down again. As soon as his back touched the cold ground, he began to shiver. Ossir cursed himself for his stupidity, and quickly shed his own cloak to wrap around the stranger. Whoever he was, he needed to be taken somewhere warm. Staying out here in the cold was definitely not beneficial to his condition.

A flash of lightning split the sky, racing from cloud to cloud directly overhead. A terrific explosion of sound simultaneously followed it. The storm was finally letting loose its pent-up fury. Ossir sheathed his sword and slung the elf's weapons onto his back.

The arrow Gesan had hit him with had broken when the elf had fallen, so he wrapped a piece of cloth torn from his cloak around it to staunch the bleeding. He noticed when he touched the elf's leg that there was something off about the way it was positioned. He couldn't be sure, but something about it reminded him about the way his leg had looked the time he had fallen out of a tree. It had been dislocated at the hip, and he remembered how misshapen it had looked before it had finally been repositioned. This elf could have suffered a similar injury. If so it would have to be treated quickly to prevent nerve damage and possible paralysis, but not here. It and the fair being's other wounds would have to wait until he got him into better surroundings before they could be treated.

As he slipped his hands underneath him, the immortal's eyes snapped open and he gave a convulsive cough. Ossir stopped trying to lift him and placed his hands firmly on both sides of his head to hold him relatively still and keep him from aggravating his injuries.

"Shh, easy now, you're safe," Ossir spoke soothingly, trying to calm the elf as he moaned in pain and tried to twist away from him. Dazed blue-grey eyes fixed their gaze on him, and he found himself saddened to see them filled with pain.

"Who…." The elf tried to speak but was cut off as another wave of nausea hit him, causing him to tense and swallow repeatedly to keep down the contents of his stomach.

"I am Ossir, a soldier of Gondor. I'm trying to help you if you'd hold still." As he spoke Ossir released his new charge's head and once again prepared to lift the being. The elf realized what he was doing and once again tried to twist away. Ossir cursed as his balance was offset and he fell partially to the side to avoid falling on the immortal.

"Excuse me, just what is your problem?" he turned an indignant glare on the elf, which for all the pain he was in still managed to meet it.

"Where are we?" the elf asked instead of answering.

At that moment the heavens decided to open up and both were instantly soaked by the downpour as lightning crashed around them again. Ossir ground his teeth in annoyance, both at being soaked and at being delayed from trying to get them both somewhere where they were at far less risk of being struck by lightning.

"What is your name?" he asked a question of his own. If he was going to spend a prolonged amount of time out her with this person, he might as well be able to call him something other than "elf" or "you".

"Legolas," the elf sighed, closing his eyes. The toxins in his system had worsened, and he found himself becoming strangely lethargic.

Something about that name tickled the back of the soldier's memory, but he gave it little thought. The elf's sudden relaxed manner worried him. A moment ago he had been as taught as a bowstring and in obvious pain. Now he simply lay there as if someone had given him a sleeping draught. Ossir shook him roughly, refusing to let up until the golden-haired being opened his eyes and fixed him with an impassive, yet curious gaze.

"What happened to you?" Before he could decide if he should even be letting the elf drift off he needed to know what was wrong with him. Some conditions could be made worse if the patient was allowed sleep, and Ossir did not want to be responsible for any complications that could be prevented.

"Haradrim caught me…in their camp. Tied me...I wouldn't tell them anything. Locked me in…large chest. There were scorpions in it. They stung me…several times…" by now Legolas was having difficulty staying lucid enough to answer Ossir's question. When he opened his eyes the world was nothing more than a blur of dim colors sliding back and forth across his vision. All he wanted to do was close his eyes against the nauseating sight and give in to the calm oblivion that beckoned him to return.

Ossir swore as understanding and alarm swept through him. He had spent a good fifteen years of his life on the southern borders. The natural dangers of that region were nothing new to him. How to avoid and counteract such things as quicksand, scorpions, and heatstroke were skills that everyone on border detail learned sooner or later, preferably sooner.

Legolas had begun to fade from consciousness, and Ossir shook him again, growling. "No you don't, boy. Not if you want at least a decent chance to live."

When the elf's eyes fixed on him, he wasted no time in trying to pry more information from him. "What kind of scorpions were they? Did you see what they looked like?"

Legolas shook his head, trying to remember. "I don't know what kind they were." He thought back to when he had finally gotten out of that cramped death-box. A couple of the creatures had scuttled off of him when he had started writhing out of the hole. A few others had climbed back into the trunk when they had come into contact with the cooler air of the outside. He had been too relieved at being out of the box to really pay them much mind.

Ossir grabbed his shoulders and lifted him partway off the ground, rattling him. Their faces were inches apart, and at such close proximity the prince could better make out the features of the man grilling him. "It doesn't matter if you don't know what they were; just tell me what they looked like!"

Legolas winced, a headache had begun to pound in his temples, and this man's loud voice did nothing but aid it in making him more miserable than he already was. He searched his memory again, but it was clouded by the pain that was taking over and in his condition the battle was not one he could win. "I don't know," he whispered softly in defeat.

This did not sit well with the soldier of Gondor. He wanted to help the elf but if he didn't know what kind of scorpions he had encountered he wouldn't know how to treat him. There were four breeds of scorpion that were hardy enough to risk bringing north. The rest wouldn't last long enough to be worth the effort.

One was the Tree Scorpion, who only lived in oasis near cold-water sources. Another was the Box Scorpion, named for its robust appearance and the box-like nests it built. It too, was only found in oasis. More dangerous than those two was the Cobra Scorpion. That feisty little terror earned its fame by refusing to hunt or eat anything other than cobras and occasionally the odd rattler. Several tribes had adopted the image of the Cobra Scorpion as a symbol of fearlessness and bravery in battle, in turn making any reward marked by it a high and rare honor.

These three however paled in comparison with the fourth and by far most feared of the bunch—the Night Scorpion. Sleek, fast, jet-black, and nasty as all get out, the 'Night' was something only fools took lightly. While the 'Cobra' was a symbol of honor, the Night Scorpion symbolized fear, deception, and intimidation. It was an emblem of evil, and it lived up to its bad reputation, attacking any living creature that came too close, and causing more deaths per year than any other desert creatures combined. It alone of all the scorpion species had the ability to sting a creature while standing on it, and while there was an anti-toxin, it had to be administered within two hours or the victim would not survive. If they even survived that long.

Not only that, but the Night Scorpion actually enjoyed cold weather, coming out at night when temperatures in the desert dropped drastically and bordered on freezing. Ossir was beginning to suspect it had been Nights that Legolas had encountered. He was showing all the classic symptoms, but then again the soldier had never seen an elf with a scorpion sting. For all he knew they could have a completely different reaction to it.

He had been stung by a Night Scorpion once. Not a pleasant experience by any standard. The sting itself had been pale with orange spots contained by a bruised circle that spread out as the toxin worked its way through the blood stream. When touched the area within the circle would seem to cave in on itself. The longer the toxin remained the more time it would take the flesh to raise itself back up again. In the worst cases it stayed caved in, a permanent reminder of the foul beast. Even if Legolas didn't know what had gotten him, the bite might give him all the identification he needed.

Ossir placed both hands on the prince's neck, thumbs holding the sides of his face firmly so he would be forced to look at the soldier. Legolas gazed at him with tired eyes. He was fading fast, and Ossir was beginning to fear the worst. He didn't know why, but something in him insisted that this elf could not be allowed to die. Locking eyes with the fair being, he spoke slowly and forcefully, making sure the elf heard every word.

"Where were you stung?"

Legolas heard him as if from a distance. His ears felt cottony and he was having trouble focusing on anything. His throat felt swollen and sore, and it took him a few tries before he was able to rasp out.

"Chest… arm… leg…"

Ossir blanched upon hearing that the elf had been stung multiple times. As if once wasn't bad enough. Still he wasted no time in checking them out. The four possible species he was faced with didn't get along, so there was no chance of having to deal with more than one. Ripping open Legolas' tunic, he searched for the bites.

Even with the torch having gone out from the rain, the lightning gave him all the light he needed to find them. Two were high on his chest near his collarbone, about an inch apart. Obviously they had come from the same creature. Lightning flashed again and he caught a glimpse of two dark circles surrounding pale, dead-looking flesh. A few small spots of a different color mottled the areas. With sinking hope he probed both of them, shaking his head as the flesh easily collapsed and formed twin concaves. It was a Night Scorpion sting, and from the looks of it had been inflicted almost two hours ago. Not too late for the anti-toxin to be effective, but not enough time to find any.

He sat back, gazing at the elf sadly. Legolas looked back at him, still awake, but far too still and relaxed. Tears brimmed in Ossir's eyes despite his efforts to will them away. He remembered the very first time he had been allowed to go hunting with his father. He had been ten. Overeager, hyper, and lacking any real self control, he had spotted a deer and shot it before his father had even gotten a good look at it. When he realized his mistake it was already too late. The doe lay there on the forest floor, an arrow in one of her lungs.

He remembered walking up to her, she had been so relaxed, so peaceful-looking, so calm. His father examined her even though he knew it was of no use. She was dying. He had sat there next to her, looking into those eyes that were so bright and expressive. Eyes that held no reproach as they clouded over and her labored breathing ceased altogether.

He felt warm streams of water slide down his face, mixing with the cold rain. It wasn't fair. The doe wasn't meant to die all those years ago. She was supposed to go on, not be cut down by some reckless person, just like this elf. He was meant to go on, away from this land and live forever in peace. He didn't even know Legolas yet the knowledge was still cutting his heart out as he watched the elf's eyes become even more distant and his breathing even shallower.

That doe had been meant for a greater purpose, and he had ruined it. Even all these years later he still felt guilty over it, and the incident had forever ruined his love of hunting as a sport, so he had retired to hunting only as he needed to stay alive. Now he was being forced to watch as fate dealt a similar cruel twist. 'No!' his mind berated him. 'There has to be something you're overlooking. Think!'

Desperately he wracked his mind. He'd seen several cases where Haradrim had used Night Scorpions against their prisoners. The scorpions were usually kept in a large chest or crate, large enough to throw a person in. The Southrons wouldn't be so stupid as to take the animals out of the chest, they were too nasty. Instead the crate was opened and the person thrown in as fast as possible. The scorpions could move with speed that some witnesses claimed would impress even a Mearas. Though the soldiers raced to get the lid closed again at least one scorpion often managed to get out. Consequentially it was not uncommon for someone other than the prisoner to get stung.

Ossir's eyes widened as a glimmer of hope returned. Because of the danger involved in keeping the creatures, the Haradrim kept anti-venom near the chest in case one of them got stung. He didn't know how Legolas had managed to get away from the southerners, but he had managed to get out with his weapons. Could it be possible that he might have heard the Southrons mention the serum and found a way to take it with him?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Ossir was tempted to laugh out loud at himself. The chances of the elf taking the anti-venom with him while bound were considerably small, so small as to be absurd. It was a miracle the elf had even gotten his weapons out. One look at them spoke of their high quality and exquisite make. That the Haradrim commander had not taken them for his own was a surprise.

Something serious must have happened for him not only to neglect taking the weapons, but also pass on staying and listening to the elf panic as the scorpions attacked him, something some Southrons found highly amusing for reasons no one in Gondor had ever been able to figure out.

Still it was the fair being's last and only chance. One look at him told Ossir he didn't have much time, and he knew Legolas was too far-gone to tell him anything.

Turning away from the elf, he grabbed the prince's pack and cursed as his fingers fumbled slightly when he tried to open it. Throwing back the flap he rummaged through the contents. A second later his hand brushed against something hard and cold. Pulling it out his jaw almost dropped in surprise. It was a glass bottle of Haradrim make. Removing the cap he took a sniff of the liquid inside.

Not wanting to believe it yet not wasting any time he scooted back over to Legolas' prone form. Lifting the immortal into a sitting position he gently pried open his mouth and poured the anti-venom into it, emptying the entire bottle. As soon as the last drop fell in he closed the elf's mouth and tipped his head so the liquid fell to the back of his throat.

Legolas reflexively gagged, his body trying to cough the liquid up, but Ossir held his mouth shut, effectively forcing the fair being to swallow. It was not enough anti-venom to cure a case as far developed as this one, but it would ensure that he had enough time to retrieve more.

The old soldier sighed and shivered from more than the cold. That had been close. A few more minutes and none but the Valar would have been able to help Legolas. How he had managed to get the anti-venom was another mystery Ossir would question him on when he was well enough, but for now it was time to get them both out of the storm. Both were completely drenched and mud-covered, and Legolas was beginning to slip back into a high fever, his earlier one having gone down as his poisoning had progressed into its last stages and started to shut his body down.

Once again Ossir slung the elf's weapons and pack onto his shoulder, and slipped his hands underneath the prince. This time Legolas was unconscious, so he couldn't try to move away. The soldier rose with the elf held tight against him, fearful that in the dark he might slip in the mud and drop his precious burden, and carefully he made his way back to the gate and the building he had left Gesan hiding next to.

The youth hadn't moved since his senior had left. He had kept an arrow knocked loosely to his bow, ready to draw back and let fly if it seemed like his friend was in trouble. He had watched as Ossir had tried to pick up the stranger and then fall back and let the person go. After that the rain had begun to fall, and in a few moments he was hard-pressed to see anything except whenever the lightning flashed.

Sudden light briefly illuminated his surroundings again, and he saw Ossir standing cloak-less and facing him, a limp figure in his arms. The world snapped back into darkness and he once again waited for the next flash.

When it came a minute later Ossir was only a few yards from him. Part of him wanted to race over and see who it was his superior carried. But sense and training prevailed at the last second, bidding him stay and wait for Ossir to come to him.

It seemed to him to take several more minutes, though truly it could not have been more than seconds, before he saw his mentor step out into the faint circle of light the lantern offered. Gesan rose, but dared not step from the shadows that concealed him until Ossir confirmed it was safe to, that there was no one around who shouldn't know he was there.

Ossir seemed almost lost from where he stood, looking as though he had several places to be and not sure which to go to first. He remained undecided as he would first lean as if to go one way, and then stop and look another way. Gesan stayed as he knew he should, but when he realized that it would take the older man some time to come to a decision on his own and acknowledge him, he decided to speed up the process.

Glancing around, he made at least an effort considering the rapidly deteriorating weather conditions to determine if they were alone. He gave it up after a brief scrutiny. Even with the lightning's aid from time to time he was still unable to get a clear view of anything. Striding out into the flickering lamplight that seemed ready to go out at any second, he reached out and lightly touched Ossir's arm.

The older man started and looked at him as if he knew not why he was there.

"Sir?" Gesan kept his voice quiet, unsure if using a louder voice would startle him. His fears turned out to be unfounded, however, for Ossir gave his head a minute shake, and came back to himself, startling his young protégé instead.

"Gesan," he snapped, his voice urgent and his tone one that would broker no nonsense, "you will stay here and guard this gate until someone comes to relieve you. I have to get him somewhere where I can heal him." He nodded his head towards the motionless person in his arms.

"Is he a Southron?" Gesan ventured to ask before his superior could walk away.

Ossir's voice was clipped and tense, as if under strain, which confused Gesan because the figure he held could not have weighed any more than the one who carried him. If one went by appearances, anyway.

No, Gesan, he is not a Southron. But what he is and who's side he is on will not matter for if not taken where his injuries can be repaired I seriously doubt he will live out the hour."

With that Ossir whirled around and strode away as quickly as he could without running. True, the elf needed aid as quickly as he could get it, but it would only aggravate the immortal's other wounds and draw unwanted attention. Getting his comrades all worked up by running about like a madman with a person in his arms would be far less than productive. If anything he would like to keep Legolas' presence in the town relatively quiet for the time being. As it were though, he was more concerned about the poison still in the immortal's system.

The anti-venom he had given Legolas would keep the elf alive for now, but if he couldn't neutralize the rest he would ultimately still die. The problem was how to get more. No one carried scorpion anti-venom this far north except, of course, the people across the river who kept the arachnids. There were other methods that would purge the toxins from the blood, but the elf would have to be stable and his other injuries looked after first before they attempted any of them.

Turning a corner and avoiding the dim light cast by a streetlamp, he hurried towards a moderate sized building. It was the only tavern in Linhinenet, called Day's End, for it was where most of the town could be found after a hard day's work out in the fields. He and the other soldiers stationed in the town occupied several of its rooms.

Ossir burst through the door and rushed past the startled tavern owner. Due to the curfew there was no one else there except one other soldier who doubled as the company's healer.

He raced up the stairs as smoothly as he could, taking them two at a time. "Hapsen, I need you now!" he called.

Dashing into the room he shared with Gesan and another, he cast his cloak off the stricken elf and lowered the being gently down onto his bed at the far side of the room.

Hapsen, a wirey man who could only be described as jittery when he wasn't healing someone or fighting an enemy, raced in, catching himself with both hands on either side of the doorframe. "What is it?"

"An elf. He came wandering in at the east gate. Gesan thought he was a southerner and shot him in the leg. He's also got Night scorpion poisoning and possibly a dislocated hip," Ossir's voice was calm but still conveyed urgency. If Legolas were to survive he needed to be stabilized and treated as fast as was humanely possible, or the demonic critters from the desert would claim the life of another victim.

Behind him he heard Hapsen whirl around and race back down the hall to his own room. He returned moments later with his bag of medical supplies. Cheman, the tavern owner, walked in behind him, walking on his toes and weaving his head back and forth, trying to see over the taller healer's shoulder what was going on.

Ossir didn't want any more people around than needed to be, so he took the opportunity to carry out his promise to Gesan. The weather was getting fouler by the minute and he really didn't want the boy out there by himself.

"Master Cheman, I am indeed sorry to have rushed in here in the manner I did but we have a warrior in need of our healer's care. I don't mean to inconvenience you, but I was wondering if you could take a message to our sergeant for me. I would be willing to pay you for it," he eloquently placed an arm around the tavern keeper's shoulder, steering him away from the elf and back towards the door.

Cheman looked disgusted at having to go out of his warm dwelling and into such cold and inconvenient weather, but at the same time could not seem to help pricking his ears up at the mention of being paid for it. He only made a moderate sum off the local farmers, and already catering to the soldiers had earned him more than he typically made in a month. The prospect of adding to that made the errand seem much more inviting.

"Aye, Master Ossir, I'll deliver your message. But it'll cost you three silvers."

Ossir nodded and scratched out a note, which he gave to the shorter man, along with one of the requested silver pieces. "You'll get the rest when you return," he said.

Cheman didn't look thrilled, but nevertheless left the room and headed down the stairs. Less than a minute later the grating creak of the front door could be heard as it opened and closed.

Ossir shook his head and rubbed his fingers over his temples, thankful the innkeeper could be so easily diverted. The aging soldier did not like Cheman. There was something about the man he couldn't bring himself to consider without becoming suspicious. There was something more than just greed that made him untrustworthy in Ossir's eyes. Untrustworthy unless he was paid to be trustworthy, that is.

But it was for more than just getting Gesan a replacement at his post that Ossir had sent him away. He didn't feel comfortable with Cheman being underfoot while they treated someone who was obviously not one of their own and he didn't want to chance the tavern owner taking advantage of the situation when Ossir was too preoccupied to stop him.

He returned in time to see Hapsen measuring out a length of thread made from catgut, the kind typically used to stitch wounds closed. Hapsen looked up at him and nodded towards the fireplace. "Stoke up the flames, Ossir. We'll need them to be nice and hot and this room's a bit too chilly for my liking."

Ossir nodded and set to work coaxing the flames to greater heat while Hapsen retrieved the basin of water from the night stand next to one of the other beds him and placed it on the floor next to him. He took the towel it had been sitting next to and began to wash the dirt and grime out of the gash at the corner of Legolas' eye. When that was done he ran one of his smaller needles through the flame of the candle he was using to see better and stitched it painstakingly closed so it would heal right and not caused the elf problems when he opened and closed his eye.

Ossir retrieved more water and a small kettle and put it over the fire to boil. While it did he and Hapsen set to work removing the wet armor and desert clothing, replacing it with dry garments of Hapsen's, which fit Legolas' slender form better than Ossir's would have. Legolas remained silent and motionless until Hapsen began to examine his injured hip. He moaned and shifted away as the pain radiating from the joint increased when it was moved and prodded.

Hapsen sighed. "It's dislocated alright. I can tell just by looking at the way its angled wrong. You say he walked here?"

Ossir nodded an affirmative. "Staggered and weaved like a drunk man with blood loss, but yes, he did."

The younger healer shook his head, and reached for a syringe out of his bag. "I'm inclined not to believe you. Wounds like these should have brought him down long before he got to the town, especially if he came here from the Haradrim's camp, and people with dislocated hips typically can't walk."

As he spoke he mixed some potent-smelling herbs into the now boiled water Ossir retrieved for him. He then added some oil from a flower called Maidens eyes, turning it into a sort of weak syrup. Filling the syringe with it he pushed the plunger down minutely to ensure the needle wasn't blocked. It worked perfectly and he promptly plunged it into the elf's hip, injecting the substance directly into the injured area.

Ossir winced, not envying Legolas in the slightest. The firstborn was fortunate he was asleep. Those hollow needles could only be made so small, and being pierced by them wasn't pleasant at all. Fortunately there were few who possessed and actively used them. According to Gesan, the fewer healers capable of torturing patients with them, the better. Ossir was in some ways inclined to agree, but knowing the advantages of such devices made him a bit more tolerant of them, especially since he would never hear the end of it were Almeran to find out he was afraid of a 'little' shot.

Hapsen raised an eyebrow. "You think he would be better off if I didn't give him that?"

"No," Ossir replied, "I just think you could make more of an effort to make it look more like an instrument of healing and not one of torture."

"People are far too preoccupied with what a thing looks like; they should be more concerned about what its purpose is," Hapsen snorted. He then leaned over and prodded again at the dislocated joint. "It's working; let's get the leg repositioned while that relaxant's at its strongest."

Ossir nodded in agreement. "How do you want me to hold him? Should we keep him on his back or prop him up on his side?"

Hapsen evaluated the way the dislocation was angled. The femur seemed to have been forced outwards and back, keeping the leg slightly bent and twisted inwards. Nine out of ten hip dislocations were like that. It would be easier to relocate the leg if his patient wasn't lying flat.

"Prop him up," he ordered. Ossir complied, moving next to Legolas and leaning his entire upper body on the elf's arm and ribs to ensure he would stay absolutely still. The healer kneeled on the firstborn's good leg, and hooked his left arm around the injured one. Using his right hand as a guide to make sure the femur went back in completely, he pulled the leg as hard as he could down and out, rotating it as he went. Legolas spasmed, and Ossir found himself hard pressed to keep him still. Hapsen was straining to keep the joint extended long enough to straighten it. After a few moments where he thought it wouldn't move as he wanted, he felt the bone shift, and snap back into the socket.

The healer examined the hip to see that the joint had gone in properly. Satisfied that it had he looked at Ossir and barked out, "Get me a splint."

Ossir was leaning against Legolas arm, panting from the exertion of having to hold him motionless. Having only worked with humans he hadn't expected someone in as bad a condition as the elf was to have that much strength.

Hapsen, on the other hand, simply used it as a signal that they better finish up as quickly as possible. There was no way he wanted to have to reset the leg if Legolas moved again. "Ossir, unless you want to have to hold him down again then get me a splint!"

The tired soldier pushed himself off the bed and forced himself to jog down the hall, where he found the supplies to make a hip splint. He came back into the room and helped Hapsen put it together and bind it to Legolas' thigh and torso, rendering his leg completely immobile.

"Now the fun begins," Hapsen muttered as he grabbed some herbs and premixed powders. The water in the kettle had come to a full boil while they were splinting their unusual charge's hip. Ossir watched as he mixed and measured the concoction. Every so often he would taste it, making adjustments here and there as he needed to. It took him almost an hour, during which Gesan returned. Ossir heard the boy come bounding up the stairs and intercepted him at the top. He set the young soldier to mopping Legolas' brow with cool water. The elf's fever had returned and Ossir worried that if they didn't get the antitoxin into him soon that all their efforts would be for naught.

Gesan was fascinated at the being he found himself suddenly caring for. He'd hoped when he had joined Gondor's armed forces that he would get to meet one of the Elders someday. Now he was actually face to face with one and he couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. The stories he heard from others about the elves were conflicting more often than not so he wasn't really sure what to believe.

Some people said that elves could walk on snow and only leave the barest of footprints if they left any at all. Others said that an elf's eyes were made of solidified fire, and that if you looked into them for any length of time they would pierce your soul like lightning and slay you right out. Since Gesan had shot this particular elf, he especially wasn't eager to test that theory out.

The rag over the elf's brow had become warm, and Gesan cooled it down in the bowl of water he balanced in his lap and returned it to the fair creature's forehead. Ossir told him the elf's name was Legolas. The young man wondered what it meant in elvish, if it meant anything at all.

A small sound behind him made him start and whirl around. The bowl slipped as its resting place shifted. Gesan's hands shot out to catch it before it fell, but he was a split second too late and water splattered everywhere.

"Clumsy boy, try to be more careful," Hapsen said. In his hands he held a couple of syringes.

Gesan winced. He hated those things. They were torture devices designed by the Nine Wraiths as far as he was concerned. He turned his eyes away while Hapsen drew both syringes full of blood from the Legolas' arm. The healer then bound a small square of cloth over the area to stop the bleeding.

"Be sure to clean that up before it soaks into the floorboards and makes everyone slip," he muttered over his shoulder as he walked back to the acrid-smelling concoction Ossir was stirring.

"Yes, sir," Gesan replied, trying to keep his voice sounding at least somewhat like that of an adult and not a frightened child, which was what he felt like whenever he was around Hapsen. Healers in general made him nervous, but Hapsen was the worst of the lot that he'd ever encountered.

Gesan got up and walked over to the washstand were he knew he would find a dry towel to clean up the mess. He knelt down on the floor and swept it back and forth, dabbing up the water as best he could.

"Ouch."

Gesan got up so fast he forgot where he was and hit his head on the nightstand. He sat back on his heels for a moment, rubbing his head and feeling more than a little annoyed for being so clumsy for the second time in less than ten minuets while in Hapsen's presence. Fortunately, the short-tempered healer and his mentor were too busy trying to get their concoction right to pay him much mind at the moment.

"Are you alright?"

That same voice he'd heard a moment before made him forget about his sore cranium and lunge at the bed next to him. Pained but vibrant grey-blue eyes gazed back at him as if intrigued at his presence. For a moment he felt ensnared by those eyes, so ancient and young at the same time. It was as if those eyes could look straight into his soul and know everything there was to know about him, yet they held such peace he found himself too fascinated by them to look away.

'Straight into my soul…' Gesan then remembered just what kind of creature owned those eyes and he jerked his head to the side, not turning away completely, but definitely not meeting those hypnotic death traps again.

Legolas felt horrible. He was hot, every part of him ached, and his stomach seemed to have decided to become either an acrobat or a contortionist. His arm felt as if someone had tried to suck the veins out of it, and strange band wrapped around his chest and abdomen, restricting his slightly heaving lungs. The spots where the scorpions had stung him burned, making him consider that perhaps their tails had some acid in them in addition to the poison.

Still, all of this seemed to fade as he locked eyes with a very startled teenager wearing the uniform of a soldier of Gondor. The youth simply stared at him for a moment, and then looked away as if he'd been frightened anew.

Legolas cocked his head to the side. He knew some people got nervous when confronted with the gaze of an elf, but they usually didn't act as if totally amazed at first and then frightened out of their wits. Usually it was either one or the other.

"What…?" he croaked, as a wave of nausea prevented him from saying any more.

The boy kept his eyes glued to the quilt, not showing any indication of looking up any time soon. "How are you feeling?" he responded.

"Not as well as I usually do," Legolas answered. The boy's behavior confused him. He was acting as though he expected the elf to attack him at any moment, hunkering down and keeping his eyes averted like a dog that knew it was about to be beaten for doing something wrong.

The young man didn't respond, instead he turned away from the elf completely and addressed some people who apparently also occupied the room. It was testament to just how lousy Legolas was feeling that he hadn't noticed them. "Ossir? Hapsen? Legolas is awake."

"Not now, boy!"

"Please don't bother us right now Gesan."

The boy, Gesan as his name apparently was, sighed and bowed his head again. Legolas tried a different tactic.

"Are you scared of me?"

That got Gesan to turn around, but not to look at him. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then why don't you look at me?"

"Won't I be slain if I do?" Gesan asked.

Legolas had never heard of anything so absurd in his life. The kid thought he would die if he looked at him? That would explain why he kept his eyes averted, but not why he would think such a thing.

The elvin prince was about to ask where it was that the boy had gotten the idea, when the poisons he had forgotten were in his system decided to remind him of their presence. His nausea increased tenfold, while he seemed to loose all control over his body. His mind slammed back into an all-terrifying haze as he was caught in the throes of a full-fledged seizure. He wanted to scream in pain but his voice refused to work.

"Ossir, Hapsen, help!"

Dimly Legolas heard Gesan scream for his two companions as his head was involuntarily whipped around and his back jackknifed. Someone grabbed onto his arms and threw their weight onto him to try and hold him down. Then he felt a sharp pain similar to the one that had first woken him in his upper arm, and everything faded completely into ebony nothingness.

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Aswad Sem was avoided by all as he and three men from his troop made their way toward the main tent. The conference he'd had with the captain had not gone well, and anyone with half a brain knew it was best to stay away at all costs. The three he had ordered to accompany him strode along behind him, making sure to keep back a few paces.

Of all the people in the camp it had to be him to be told to risk his life getting that elvin spy out of the scorpion box. The spy himself had intrigued the lieutenant for no other reason than that he was an elf. Aswad had never met an elf before tonight, though he had heard some fantastic stories from traders. Most of those stories he disregarded upon hearing because they were simply too outrageous to be true. Others he thought were true but greatly exaggerated. Now he found himself reweighing them in his mind. Perhaps some of them weren't exaggerated.

Still, his curiosity wasn't keen enough that he would open up a case filled with Night Scorpions to idly chat with the being about his race. Anyone he threw in with those miniature demons he preferred to leave there, or let someone else retrieve.

Aswad Sem shivered as a cold wind kicked up and cursed the northern weather. In the last hour the temperature had dropped suddenly. And some were whispering about the possibility of the phenomenon called 'snow' that they had heard tell of on occasion. Snow was supposed to be so cold it could make your hand feel as though it burned if you touched it long enough. As for himself Aswad wanted nothing to do with it.

He wanted to be given permission to take his men and deliver the documents the spy had tried to steal to their allies who were planning to attack Gondor from the mountains separating it from Mordor in the north. At least Mordor he'd heard was warmer. A bit foul smelling, perhaps but not likely in any way to freeze one to death, unlike their current position.

His captain, however, had refused. According to him he was needed to interrogate the prisoner. Since he was sharp enough to spot him, he would probably be sharp enough to discern truth from lie when they finally got him to talk.

'Stupid creature. I'd be halfway out of here by now if it hadn't been for him.'

Aswad didn't know if he was referring to the elf or his captain. 'Both,' he decided. 'I have no desire to serve under someone who decided that delivering top-secret documents through enemy territory required a hundred men. And why is an elf sneaking through our camp? I have heard that Elessar is friends with them, but I have also heard the elves were supposed to be leaving for somewhere. Some magic place or something they can live in peace in where humans can't go.'

Aswad shook his head. Who knew why that elf had decided to help the Gondorians? It certainly didn't matter know. As he and his men reached the tent he yanked the flap aside and entered. The others followed only to grunt in surprise as they ran into one another in an attempt not to bump into their leader, who had stopped short.

Their protests were cut short when Aswad pointed to the ground in front of them.

A Night Scorpion sat there, and Aswad could have sworn it was glaring at them for intruding. Turning his head slowly he spotted two more on the tent walls, another in the far corner, and a fifth on top of the chest that was their former prison.

While his companions quaked in fear behind him, Aswad stared back at it with an almost cat-like interest. He moved forward a step, despite the alarmed gasp one of his men uttered. The scorpion clacked its pincers and leaned back on its slender legs. Its message was clear: any more moves from him and it would strike. A grin came unbidden to his face.

Schooling his features back to impassiveness he turned to the three terrified men behind him. "What do you want us to do sir?" one asked.

Aswad took a knife from his belt, one of about two dozen he kept on his person at all times. "I'll take care of them, you leave."

All three nodded and left without argument. Aswad Sem was notorious throughout Harad as being the best knife fighter and thrower ever known. When he drew his blades, no one with any intelligence stayed around. It was in part because of his skills that he never rose any higher in the ranks than a lieutenant. That and his vicious, oft bloodthirsty nature. In the opinions of his superiors, he was invaluable as an assassin and fighter, someone they'd rather have do the work than direct it. They didn't trust him not to try and get rid of them and take over, and not a one of them was brave enough to try and gain total dominance over him. They were afraid of him, and he knew it.

As soon as they left Aswad returned his gaze to the menacing little creature. It was amazing how vicious and efficient so small a creature was at causing such fear, and death. That was something he planned to use, now that the elf had given him that opportunity. As for the elf he no longer cared. The being was gone, and whether he survived or not Aswad didn't care. He had bigger fish to hook.

Drawing back his knife he aimed and let fly. But instead of being struck by the blade, the scorpion collapsed when it was hit by the pommel. Not wasting any time Aswad grabbed one of the smaller chests and threw it open. Then he proceeded to do what most people considered to be incredibly stupid and impossible. He picked the scorpion up.

Grabbing it by the tail, which wouldn't do much good if it woke up since its claws could easily take off more than a few fingers; he stuffed it into the chest. The rest he killed, impaling them all in quick succession. Then he retrieved his knives and left the tent, the box and the collected bodies of the dead scorpions tucked under his arm. As he walked back to his tent he admired them maliciously.

They really were such beautiful creatures, and like him were without contest the best at what they did.

Nature's perfect killers.

TBC….

Well now, did everyone enjoy that? I'm not going to set an actual date for my next update because mid-terms are starting (at least one of mine is) and depending on how busy they make me I could either find myself with enough time to write in the next chapter within the next couple of weeks, or with no time at all and you'll just have to extend your patience. /hides under computer desk behind her Pomeranian while rotten food is thrown at her/ Thanks guys, now I'll have to go bathe her again. /calls out to food-covered dog/ Sorry Fox! Anyway, I have homework to do so I'll leave you with your review responses, thank you so much to everyone who sent them.

And remember, that one review got this chappy out weeks sooner than it would have been. So please, send 'em! They really are not in vain.

Review Responses:

Deana: Ah, yes. Poor Legolas. I'm afraid he didn't fair much better in this chapter, but I need him to be fit for the upcoming fight and (possible spoiler) kidnapping, um, steward-napping, whatever you want to call it, shrugs so he'll be back to almost-normal soon. But not for long of course. /evil grin/ I can totally see why you abandoned Ardeth Bey for Legolas. Did you know that in the original, and I'm talking 1930's-40's, movie Imhotep disappeared for years after coming back to life, before re-appearing as a college professor or something like that named Ardeth Bey? I found that out by accident, and it kinda creeped me out, lol. But I still thought that was very inventive for the modern version to sneak that in like that. /G/

Lindahoyland Careful you don't fall off your chair! That's painful. Thanks, it's good to know I'm getting Legolas' character right. Elves aren't always the easiest to portray, as I've found out, because they think and act so differently than we humans do. But once you've got them, they are loads of fun to work with. I don't know if this counts as a cliffy, but you will see a lot of them from me in the future, since as you said, they are fun (though annoying). Hopefully my schedule will lighten up so I can get more posted soon.

Setrinan Yeah, so far There and Back Again is my fave chappy. Yes, it was very tricky, and I relied a lot on the first chapter of Mercedes Lackey's book, The Black Gryphon for inspiration for getting the mood of it right. Lol, Legolas was rather unreluctant, but he was on a time-frame and did have a relative amount of information to go on from the Gondorian soldiers. I'm glad to hear it wasn't cheesy or uncharacteristic the way his thought patterns ran, that was one of the trickiest parts of all. The charcoal makeup was one of my favorite elements, along with his entire disguise. Lots of fun putting him in it, hehehe. And a smile to you to for the lovely review. :)

Kelsey Estel: Yes I am still alive, (barely). Sorry to keep you waiting but I'm glad you didn't give up on the story. I dedicate this chappy to you because without that review who knows how long it might have been before I got it out? It actually gave me a cure from muse deprivation syndrome! So thank you so much. And don't worry, Faramir will feel very guilty regarding Legolas by the end of this fic, but the reasons might be a little worse than you guessed. /evil grin/ I loved the scorpions too. I'm thinking about keeping them as pets to safeguard me from vengeful readers later on, lol. Very useful creatures, those scorpions. Too bad I'm arachnophobic.

/whistles/ Here reviews, reviews, reviews. Here reviews, reviews, reviews. Hahaha… they really need to make a sequel to that New York Godzilla film. /grin/