A/N: So, um. This is awkward. Yes, I realize it's been over three years since I started this story, and almost two since I've updated it. For those of you reading and reviewing, I'm incredibly sorry. I really do want to finish it, and it's been hanging over my head for a very long time now. Let me know what you think- I'm going to try very, very hard to get it done soon! I hope you enjoy!

Last time... Suddenly he stilled and cocked his head. He cursed himself for being distracted while he was off on his own- he could hear the muffled grunts and clatter of an Orcish hunting party bearing down on him, sounds he should have noticed long ago. If he was an elf... He shook his head, grabbed his pack and whipped his head around, searching for an escape.

It was too late though, Aragorn realized. There wasn't nearly enough time for him to climb a tree or even dive for cover without the Orcs noticing. For an Orc party, they were suspiciously quiet. Not fighting or complaining, as Orcs were wont to do when traveling in packs. Strider stilled his movements and tried his best to bend in with the foliage around him. His head pounded with lack of sleep and adrenaline as he attempted to come up with a plan to get himself out of there in one piece.

"Well, what do we have here, laddies?" A harsh, guttural voice drawled behind him, a slight distance from the main pack. From the sound of it, the speaker pulled out a rusty blade. Strider's weak attempt to become one with the foliage had apparently not had the desired effect.

"He's a Ranger, I just know it! He's got that look about him, see?" The orc speaking sounded much younger and more eager that the first.
Strider heard a vague shushing noise and a thump.

"Don't you be makin' any sudden moves there" The first orc advised "We don't wanna have any surprises. You just stay there, nice and calm-like, eh?" He seemed to be the leader of this pack.

The others had surrounded Strider after the leader first addressed him, that apparently having been their cue to act. The individuals of the Orc pack, about 20 or so, ranged in height, weight, and preferred weaponry, although they all seemed to share a similar distaste for bathing.
"We caught one, for certain!" The overeager young Orc that had spoken earlier squeaked out. "The master'll be pleased with us! He is a Ranger, right? He's got that look about him, you know?"

Strider heard a frustrated sigh from the leader Orc. He had just enough time to wonder why Elladan and Elrohir hadn't heard the seemly obvious commotion before there was a blinding pain in the back of his skull, and then the world went dark.

He came to in a cave, with a fierce headache and various other pains and bruises all over his body. It seemed that the orcs hadn't been overly concerned about the state he arrived to his new location in. He didn't think that they had brought him too far, however- judging from the greenery outside that he could just barely glimpse from where he lay on the cave floor, he was still near Imladris. Although it was hard to tell from this angle, he thought they had crossed over to the other side of the Bruinen, the side opposite Imladris.

He did a quick inventory of his situation- his arms and legs were both tied up, tighter than seemed strictly necessary, and all of his weapons were missing. There were about 10 orcs milling about the cave, arguing, sharpening axes, and stoking a medium sized fire near the opening.

"Oi, look who's up!" One of them jerked his head towards Strider. "Think he got enough beauty sleep?" A few others snorted at this.

"We should call Durzol! He said we had to tell him if anything with the prisoner changed!" This seemed to be the enthusiastic young orc from before. He was a few sizes smaller than the others, and didn't have nearly as many battle scars to sport.

"What, you gonna fetch 'im then?" The was from an older member of the pack. "Go on then, dog, go get your master."

"Why, you ain't gonna?" The little orc shifted nervously. "He said-"

"You don't think I know what he said?" The older orc interrupted. "He just never said we couldn't have a lil... fun first."

Strider bit back a weary sigh. Having been in many similar situations, he wasn't overly fond of what followed such a statement. He cursed himself for becoming so distracted earlier and allowing himself to get captured, it wasn't like him to lose his focus like that. He really needed a good night's rest. Although he had just managed to spend several hours unconscious with the help from a forceful, blunt object, his head was now swimming from the after-effects of a concussion.

With some effort, his thoughts returned to Elladan and Elrohir- he hazily tried to remember how far the stream was from camp, and how likely it was that they had heard him get captured. Not likely, he decided. The party of orcs had been traveling silently- or as silently as orcs are able to- and the spring he had gone to fetch water at was far enough from camp that the two of them wouldn't have heard anything if they had been arguing as intently as they were when he left. Plus, if they had been aware of Strider's predicament, they would have rushed to his rescue in the moment and not waited for him to get dragged to this godforsaken cave. He could only hope that the orcs hadn't been able to cover their tracks effectively.

Grunting as a fresh wave of pain tore through his skull, he shifted positions uncomfortably and wondered how long he had been unconscious.
His thoughts were interrupted quite suddenly as he was grabbed roughly and dragged across the cave floor, only to be unceremoniously deposited next to the fire at the front entrance. The orc who had grabbed him leered menacingly and and lifted his club up. Aragorn closed his eyes in resignation and took a deep breath. Why did this always happen to him?