The poison of the spiders was designed to stun its prey, inducing a brief lapse in consciousness that served to render them immobile while the paralyzing toxins took effect. As an elfling growing up in a land that was infested with the vile beasts, Legolas knew all the properties of the poison and its effects. He also knew that time was the only antidote. It was with this knowledge that he reawakened a few minutes later, surrounded by a ring of slovenly men, all peering down at him in a collective mixture of intrigue and concern.

He discerned that he had been turned onto his back from the feel of the ground beneath him, and a low moan escaped his lips as he felt the pressure of a rock jutting into his hipbone. Knowledge was not experience, as he immediately discovered, for he soon became frighteningly aware that he could not stir any of his limbs.

A few of the men began chattering as they noted his renewed wakefulness, and soon the entire group was engaged in their discussion, often gesturing at him as their words flew rapidly between them.

"It's an elf!" many exclaimed. "I've never before seen one!"

"Ah, but he's so small. And what is he doing out here?" others wondered.

"Are we near to any elf villages?"

"He certainly is well armed!"

"How can you be certain it's a 'he'? Surely a creature of that beauty is a female!" one argued, followed by grunts of agreement from many of the others.

"No you fools, he's a boy. Look at him! No females carry weapons! And he's dressed in hunter's clothes! Besides they all look rather female, so looks don't mean so much when you're talking about elves," another man replied with a sneer.

"I reckon their females are quite nice to look at though," several snickered, rousing chuckles out of most of the group.

The frozen elfling frowned in apprehension as his gaze darted around the human ring, following the somewhat hushed debate. He felt a rush of frustration color his cheeks, forcing a muttered growl from his throat as he failed to understand any of what they were saying.

After a few minutes the group appeared to come to a consensus, and one man slowly crept forward to crouch by the elf's side. He gazed at the unmoving child with a hint of awe, blatant curiosity shining unshielded at the relatively mystical creature that lay before him. A flicker of uncertainty flashed over his features as he drew nearer, and for a moment his dark eyes reflected the wary reservations he inwardly held concerning his actions.

A whimper escaped the captive hunters' lips as he perceived the vacillation, immediately fearing whatever unfavorable fate was intended him. Instinctively he moved to shy away from the man as he peered closer, but was unable to extend the action beyond his features.

The human saw the young elf wince at his nearness, and felt a strange pity for him. He hated to see the frightful terror glistening in the brilliant blue orbs that stared at him unblinkingly. All the same, he knew he could not allow his emotions to become involved, and sought to steel himself against their nefarious influence.

"I am not here to harm you, young one," he assured in a soothing tone, settling himself a hair's breadth from the elfling's arm. Wide fearful eyes regarded him, a slight tremble racking the previously still form, though the child made no move to respond. "You have been bitten by a spider, and I fear you must suffer the course of its paralyzing venom. Can you speak?" He patiently regarded the terrified youth, who let out a second meek whimper, but seemed to calm slightly, his tremors ceasing. Despite his reaction, the blonde form made no attempt at responding, and showed no sign of comprehension.

After several expectant moments of silence, the man let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and turned his head away, inclining it forward. His wavy brown hair cascaded over his shoulders, tickling the bristle on his chin.

The remaining men had been standing as stone in a surrounding circle, scarcely daring to breath themselves. They observed the reaction of their leader, and waited to hear what he would deduce. Whispers mingled their way around the ring as the men contemplated the course of actions they should take, exchanging their feelings regarding their charge. Elves were a thing of rarity amongst humans, and each was filled with an overwhelming sensation of wonder as they examined the young specimen.

Legolas squirmed as best as he was able, his anxiety flooding back with a pang of humiliation as he was unabashedly studied by twelve sets of eyes. Unable to move from their gazes, he averted his own eyes; that he might not have to see the expressions that played across the face of each. His efforts brought him only a marginal amount of comfort, however, for he could still feel their continued stares upon his body.

The man at his side released another long breath, and regarded him again, seeming to have reached a decision. "Tell me child, can you understand me?" he asked, searching the blazing azure seas for an inkling of understanding.

The elf stared back at him as before, making no sound, save his own accelerated breathing. After several moments, the man found he could bear the steady gaze no longer, and tore his eyes away. He found it strange that he, a man who could stare an enemy to its death unflinchingly, could not withstand the innocent gaze of a frightened child.

"Elf," his mind corrected him, but he was not certain that the difference in their races was the sole basis for his dilemma. It was most definitely a factor, though he conceded upon further reflection that it was only indirectly responsible.

It was his eyes.

The endless layers of emotions that danced within the twin pools, each as vibrant as any clear sky he had ever witnessed. It was the soul of the being before him, so plainly displayed, that shook him from his resolve. It seemed to the man that a voice had spoken to him in silence, penetrating all that he had erected around himself, to reveal the very core of his being. In those scant seconds he had been absorbed in the intense gaze, virtually transported into the mind of the child, he realized age and wisdom unnatural to one so youthful in appearance.

The depth of the experience overwhelmed his senses, sending them reeling as his mind struggled vainly to decipher what had transpired. He was certain that he did not merely observe the trepidation and distrust of the elf - he'd felt it. He'd embraced it as his own until his heart beat in his chest with a fervor, pumping adrenaline into his veins as his mind fought to think past the one clear thought it could form: run.

Minutes passed unheeded as the man struggled to compose himself, his men looking on in quiet confusion, each wondering what had stricken him, yet not daring to inquire directly. Finally he raised his head and glanced at the motionless body, his face an unreadable mask of a torrent of emotions. He silently regarded the slight frame, for the first time bothering to truly study it.

The first characteristic he noticed, after carefully averting his gaze from the child's eyes, were his ears, with their unmistakably pointed tip. Impulsively he reached out a grimy hand to gently touch the distinctive point, drawing a wince from the elf as it started at the sudden contact. The elfling's hair, though dirtied from his subsequent falls, was a glittering shade of gold, and to the touch mirrored the finest spun silk. It was long and straight, arranged about the child's head in an intricate array of braids.

Although the elf appeared female by their own standards, the man derived the impression that he was in fact male, if only on account of his significant collection of weaponry. "You must be quite the warrior," he commented, pausing to admire the fine craftsmanship of the pieces. Following his inspection, the instruments were passed amongst the other men, who were eager to behold the elven articles.

"Le beriatha nin?" (You will help me?) a tiny voice inquired, the foreign words gliding over the speaker's tongue in a melodious caress of liquid satin. Wide, pleading eyes regarded the man beside him, silently beseeching him to assuage his fears and offer mercy.

The men froze at the strangely mesmerizing words, each suddenly uncertain if what they'd heard was truly a language, or some type of mystical song. Following the silence that prevailed, a chorus of whispers broke out around the circle of flabbergasted travelers.

The leader allowed them several minutes before holding up his hand, effectively halting the fervent conversations. A kind smile broke out over his features as he leaned in closer to the prone elfling. "I see that you can at least speak, little one, though I regret that we cannot understand your magnificent tongue. Have you any fluency in Westron, the Common Tongue?"

Legolas pursed his lips together as he strained to discern anything the man had said, racking his memory for any vestiges of this language he might have absorbed over the years. Unfortunately, the Woodland Kingdom was highly secluded from the outside world, and rarely saw visitors from other lands. Even other elven realms seldom sent representatives, and if they did, all business was conducted in the Sindar tongue. King Thranduil, in the pattern of mighty Thingol, had long ago declared that any languages other than the Noble Tongue were forbidden within Greenwood's borders; therefore any dealings with the gwaith palanguiol (Outsiders – Afar-living people) were held outside the boundaries of the wood.

For these reasons, the prince, who had never before ventured beyond his father's realm, had very little experience with other languages, including the Common Tongue. A frown pulled at his lips and a crease of frustration worried his brow as the human continued to stare at him. In his realm, elflings did not begin to learn other languages until they had completed their warrior training. The blonde cursed his misfortune, for his current task was the final step in doing just that.

"Edavin, ú-erin henia le. U-bedin lam lín," (Forgive me, I cannot understand you. I do not speak your tongue.) he apologized in a meek voice that subtly wavered, hoping he would not anger the men whom he was powerless to defend against.

As his words wafted through the still air, gentle as the tranquil waters in a hidden pool, the men sighed in contentment; a curious feeling of comfort washing over. It seemed to them that serenity had woven its way into the deepest chasms of their inner selves, extinguishing the memories of any trouble they had ever experienced.

"If speech to you is as music to us, I fear I would weep to my death to hear your kind sing," the man breathed softly, some time later. His comment served to awaken the men from their stupor, and immediately they began to once again question what should be done with the elf child.

"Sir," one man acknowledged, stepping out from the encircling bodies to approach his leader. He was shorter than the crouching man, though he currently towered over him, with a significantly stockier build. Unruly dark ringlets hung about his shoulders, many having escaped the clasp that served to bind them from their obstructive nature.

"Yes?" came the absent response, as slowly the captain tore his gaze from the elfling to greet his second in command. He suppressed a smirk as his eyes came to rest upon his comrade; a slight glint in the chocolaty pools letting the man know he'd already deduced what was about to be asked. At the same time, however, he was relatively surprised at the duration of patience his men had displayed, for they rarely waited so long before demanding direction.

"The men would like to know what is to be done with the elf," the second man relayed, his even tone effectively blanketing any interest he himself might have held on the matter. The group was a conglomeration of toughened men, with each member solid and fearsome in their own right. They were all well seasoned in life in the wilds, and hardened to the trials of life. "They also question whether our proximity to the woods puts us at risk of attack from the spiders."

The captain gave a slight grunt, and thoughtfully scanned the body before him. His eyes fixed in alarm on the boy's lower leg, where a jagged gash lead to a deep wound from which the knife still protruded, triggering a slow, steady stream of blood. "I believe our first objective should be attending to his injuries," he concluded, suddenly remembering the elf's tumble through the fire pit and subsequent spider bite.

He glanced up at the blonde's face, where wide eyes still regarded him with ill-concealed trepidation. "It may ease his fears to move him farther from the trees," he speculated, glancing up. His eyes locked on four men directly in front of him, and without a word, they moved forward to attempt the precarious relocation.

Seeming to suddenly remember the second part of his lieutenant's inquiry, he turned to face the woods with an unsettled frown upon his lips. The camp had been erected some dozen meters from the forest edge, which now appeared all the more menacing for the dark shadows and dim light cast by the fading sun. "I don't believe we are in any danger from the beasts. I have never heard of them leaving their shelter to seek prey, and we are sufficiently far enough away that they certainly would be forced to, should they foolishly decide to engage us."

His proclamation served to mollify the worries of the men, and all but those four actively assisting began to gradually drift back to their earlier activities.

From one side of the circle, a fifth man stepped forward, peering down with renewed interest at what had just been designated as his patient. He was leaner than most of the others in the party, and slightly smaller in stature. His hair was a rich mahogany, though long overdue for a wash, and was loosely tied behind his head in a long ponytail. "Take care not to aggravate his injuries," the healer warned sharply, attempting to gage the severity of the wounds from a distance. He winced slightly as the men lifted the body, unintentionally jerking it upward as they overestimated the weight of the small being.

The elfling whimpered at the abrupt motion, though it could not be deduced whether he'd done so out of pain or fright.

"He weighs as little as a moth," one man supporting him commented, amazed at the peculiar mass of the body in his arms.

The others grunted in concurrence, each equally astounded by the finding.

"Come, lie him over here," the healer directed once they had adjusted for this surprising discovery, leading the group to an area just outside the camp, opposite the forest. He hastily grabbed a pack sitting nearby and began pulling out blankets and supplies. A few others came over to join them. The healer immediately set them to work spreading the blankets over the ground, building a second small fire, and fetching water to be boiled.

Once a suitable surface had been prepared, Legolas was laid upon his back. The men who had carried him gave him a last look before silently taking their leave to join the rest of their companions. Much to his displeasure, the young elf was forced to remain where he had been placed, straining his peripheral vision to discern his surroundings. His elven senses allowed him a somewhat more complete image of what was going on around him, but not one so clear that his inability to even raise his own head was not an infuriation. Waves of emotions tore through his mind as he lay helplessly motionless - anxiety largely competing with frustration for dominance.

When the healer had satisfactorily inspected his supplies, he carefully approached the injured elfling, taking care not to further alarm the boy. "I know that you cannot understand me, my son, but I am Tewarn, the healer amongst this party. I do not wish you harm, but you have been injured, and are in need of my care." As the man explained his intentions, distracting the youth with his gentle and soothing tone, his right hand slowly made its way to the elf's knife wound.

It was unclear whether the blonde noticed this sly motion, for he did not deter his gaze from that of the healer's. Instead he met the man with a stare so intense that the healer was certain the young elf was reading his mind. For several minutes the two remained locked in a visual exchange, each reading the other for reactions and emotions words failed to express. From deep within the sapphire orbs, the man beheld a strength fortified by the fears the youth harbored, unwilling to fully embrace or display his insecurity. He also read the fervent distrust the boy felt towards the band, as well as a desire to flee that was both urgent and recognized as impotent.

At last the healer's hand contacted the base of one of the elf's most obvious wounds, the arrow that protruded from his arm, and tentatively prodded the sensitive flesh. The elfling's countenance offered no change - not even the minutest of flinches crossing his features, despite how painful the injury must have been. His lack of reaction unambiguously alerted the human that his paralysis had also affected his sense of touch.

The man sighed in relief and glanced behind him, where a second man patiently waited for his next direction. Excitement was clear on the younger man's face, as he elatedly gazed at the magnificent creature before him. "The poison blocks his pain, most mercifully. Though he has speech, he will not cry out when we stitch his wounds," Tewarn reported, momentarily studying his assistant. The man was younger than most, barely 20 summers, and still held about him the naivety and zeal of youth.

After the young human nodded his comprehension, the healer instructed him on which supplies would be needed. With laden arms, the youth returned to his mentor's side, carefully laying out all he had brought with.

Beside them, a fire had been prepared, with a pot of boiling water erected over it. The auburn-haired novice proceeded to sterilize each of the instruments, placing them back down on a fresh cloth.

"Good," the older man affirmed with a nod of his head, glancing over the items. He then turned to the elf, again meeting his now concerned gaze. He noted a fresh sheen of sweat on the child's brow, indicating an increase in his anxiety. "Be at peace, my woodland friend. This is my assistant Sade. You shall not feel any pain while we tend your leg," he assured the fretful patient, maintaining a soothing tone as he hoped to ease some of the young one's fears.

"Why do you continue to speak to him, telling him of our intentions, if he cannot understand our words?" Sade interjected, confusion evident within his tone.

Tewarn turned to regard the young man, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth at this show of inexperience. "He may not understand our words, but he can interpret the tone in which they are given. A gentle tone comforts those who are frightened and uneasy, my young friend, and is beneficial in easing the tension from taut muscles." He paused as he observed his companion begin to comprehend. "He will be a much easier patient if he relaxes, even the slightest amount, and will heal faster for the reduction in stress."

Sade nodded at the wisdom of his teacher. He glanced up at the elf's face, and observed that the efforts had met some effect, for the vibrant display of fear in the child's eyes had dimmed somewhat.

With a final glance and reassuring smile at his patient, Tewarn began explaining how they would proceed, both for his patient's benefit, and his pupil's. He first conducted a thorough inspection of the elf's body, removing his clothes to check for any redness or obvious injury. When finished, he concluded that the leg and arm appeared to be the most pressing of the boy's injuries, although numerous arrow wounds had grazed the flesh in various other areas. As a whole, they boy appeared somewhat of a canvas for a very enraged painter, for numerous minor lacerations and contusions also marred his flesh.

The pair promptly set to work, carefully removing the hindering garments from the effected leg, and soon had the injury sealed and bandaged. They then moved to the wound of the next highest degree of severity, repeating the process until all of the child's injuries had been cared for.

The elf appeared to understand what they were doing, and gradually began to look less fearful. He was still very alert, however, and consistently tensed the few muscles he could control each time something new entered his view.

"You have done very well, brave one. The knife injury was more jagged than anticipated, but all has been stitched, and should heal well," the healer informed him, gently smoothing the long hairs from the elflings face as he spoke. The elf started at the sudden movement near his face, but quickly settled as he interpreted the calming gesture. Tewarn smiled at the small sign of trust, recognizing that the elf had realized that his intentions were not ill.

Sade busied himself with collecting their soiled cloths, and re-sterilizing the equipment. It had taken a great deal of effort for him to concentrate on his duties while assisting Tewarn during the procedure, for he was constantly distracted by the close proximity between himself and the remarkable young creature. The youth's skin was alarmingly silky, and seemed to possess some form of glowing property, reminding him that his patient was not human. He listened as the healer spoke to the elf, as if he were any other patient, and was once again impressed by the kind-hearted man. He found it oddly discomforting to be around the strange being, for he had seldom been around different peoples, especially under such unusual circumstances, and was both glad and humbled by the manner with which his teacher handled the situation. He felt a surge of pride that he was to learn from so admirable a man, and hoped that he would one day be just as skilled in relating to his own patients.

A gentle hand on his shoulder halted his movements, and he glanced up at his mentor with a curious gaze.

"We have now cared for his wounds. What should be done next, my apprentice?" the healer asked him, his tone suggesting he was forgetting an important step.

The young mortal frowned, and stared blankly at the man before him. The knife had been removed, the wound cleansed, stitched, and finally bandaged. What had they not done?

"Remember to always complete a full examination of an injured person. It is not always obvious where they are hurt, especially if they have multiple wounds. I fear the extent of his injuries is not solely contained within his front half. We must now turn him on his stomach to examine his back," Tewarn explained, chastising him lightly for his inattention.

Sade nodded gravely, berating himself for forgetting one of the most fundamental rules of dealing with injured patients.

The older man smiled as he saw the emotions flash across his companion's features, cognizant of the internal beating the young pupil was subjecting himself. "Do not scold yourself too harshly. Oversights happen frequently. All that can be done is to learn from your mistakes, and take more care the next time to ensure you are not missing so vital a step."

The young man's head was bowed in shame as he listened to the words that both served to console him and admonish him. With a deep breath he raised his head, nodding at his teacher that he was composed and ready to continue.

Tewarn granted him a second smile, and moved to the elf's head. "We must now check your other side for further injuries," he murmured near the blonde head, waiting for the young human to assume his place beside him.

Once the two were in place, they rolled the elfling onto his stomach, taking care not to jostle him unduly. After ensuring he was able to breathe properly, the healer conducted a second examination of the elf, while his assistant monitored the elf for any reactions.

The elfling continued to display no indication that he could feel any of their actions, though he appeared quite concerned.

Unable to gauge whether his patient was in pain or not, the healer removed the remainder of his clothing to better inspect the area. From this process the pair uncovered a myriad of cuts and scrapes, accentuated by two sets of very distinct bite marks. Several larger cuts of varying severity left deep gouges and ragged scrapes on multiple parts of his body, remnants of his prolonged fall. A slight burn colored the center of his back a rosy shade of red, blistering into rosettes of orange and ruby in a few places.

The young apprentice frowned as he took in the badly marked skin, his brows furrowing together in an aggrieved expression. "How do you suppose he came to acquire such a number of wounds?" the young man asked in a voiced laced with pity, tenderly tracing a thin cut that spanned the elf's left shoulder blade.

The healer regarded his charge with a small grin, observing the concern radiating in the man's honey brown eyes. It was good that the young man felt sympathy for his patients, for it would help him relate to them better. "He came to our camp not by choice, but because he was fleeing the spiders and from the looks of it, Orcs. Most likely they had chased him for some time, and in his haste to escape them, he did not have time to carefully choose his path," he replied softly, pride in his student's compassionate demeanor coloring his tone.

After allowing him a moment longer to revel in his emotional response, the older man directed him to the care of the injuries. Together they cleaned the numerous welts left by what they assumed to be the sizable teeth of wolves, and flushed out what poison they could from the spider bites, before applying a soothing balm and bandaging them. Next they gently washed the many scrapes and cuts, rubbing the cream into these areas as well. The burn was the final injury they dealt with, and after cleaning the area they applied a special ointment for burns.

Tewarn quickly assessed their work, and after approving it, indicated for his assistant to help him return the elf to his back. "It is with luck that his wounds were not poisoned. See that he is covered and kept warm," he instructed, "Also, it would benefit him if you could get him to drink something. I will prepare a sleeping draught."

XXXXXXXXXXX

At the center of the camp, the leader watched with mild interest as the healers tended to their patient. His mind circled around what had just happened. The men of his band were still buzzing with excitement, and rightly so. Perhaps the gods truly did listen at times? He mused at the hypocrisy of such a thought. In truth, they were far from the most honest of groups, comprised of mercenaries and thieves. Their goals shifted with the ever-changing seasons, and the fickle demands of those with gold enough to spare. Still, this new development did alter their plans in no small amount. There was too much risk remaining near the forest's edge. He had no way of knowing how far away the young elf's home was, but his instinct was nagging at him to increase their distance with all haste.

Behind him, the groups of men continued to huddle together, though some of the earlier fervor had died down. He caught the many greedy gazes being cast at the not-so-distant prone figure, and frowned. While a prize without parallel, the elf raised interesting problems for the group leader. Most plunder required the entire group for successful transport, and if anxieties were raised, it could typically be divided before reaching their destination. Captives too required the effort of the entire group, but were more likely to foster complete cooperation for the entire process. But this… The elf was small, easily contained and transported. Acknowledging the pang of dread in his gut, he frowned. The men could be trusted to work when there was need, but in the face of such a great temptation he was less than confident, especially when the spoils were so rich, and the effort so trivial in comparison. He would have to tread very carefully to get them through this situation without the band falling prey to the lure of their own selfish desires.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Beside the elf child, and oblivious to any activities concerning the rest of their companions, Sade nodded as his mentor rose to sift through their supplies. Moving to replace the older man, the auburn-haired youth began arranging layers of blankets over the small form. When he had finished, he reached beside him for his water flask, and brought it close to the elfling's face.

Immediately the blonde's eyes widened in alarm, his features tensing as he watched the object move steadily nearer.

"Do not fear, young one, this is only water," Sade assured him, feeling somewhat awkward knowing that his audience could not understand him. "The healer would appreciate it very much if you would partake of a small amount." He smiled encouragingly as he very slowly slid his hand beneath the elf's head, and elevated his upper body.

Legolas soon realized what was expected of him, and readily accepted the cool water, savoring the refreshing liquid. He found it unnerving to be helpless to aid himself, however, and immediately felt embarrassed when his body was manipulated into position as if he were little more than a doll. He drank only a small amount before grunting his completion, a sign that was accurately interpreted by the young human supporting him.

Before he was laid back down, however, Tewarn returned with a mug of a steaming brew, and a bright smile on his face. "This will help you sleep, child, that your body might begin to heal itself," he explained, holding the cup up to the elf's lips.

The elfling scrunched his nose up at the repugnant smell of herbs and spices that suddenly assaulted his olfactory sense. He did not know what the substance was, but it did not appear to be pleasant. "Baw!" (No,) he declined in distaste, contorting his features in displeasure at the continued aroma. "U-hogathon saew cîn," (I will not drink your poison,) he murmured bitterly, glaring at the man who held it before him.

The healer smiled sympathetically at the blonde's grimace, but pushed the cup closer to his mouth. "The scent may not please you, my son, but you must drink this," he insisted, gazing expectantly into the sapphire eyes that had focused on him.

Frustrated, the young hunter again grumbled his unwillingness, hoping that the offending mug would be removed. "Baw! U-dheln!" (Nay! I won't!) he protested sharply. To accentuate his point, he clamped his jaw shut, and glared in annoyance at the mortal who refused to remove the mug.

The two men chuckled at the scowl that creased the fair young face, a petulant look that seemed innate to children of all races.

"I understand your displeasure, for many of our own men do not enjoy the draught either, but I must insist that you drink this," Tewarn persisted, staring meaningfully into the slightly narrowed blue orbs. His tone was no longer as gentle as it had been, gradually acquiring a firm quality that was adamant without being overly forceful. A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes as he continued to regard the unyielding youth, causing the elf's frown to deepen in suspicion. "If you do not take this willingly, we will be forced to make you drink it," he stated simply, cocking an expectant brow.

Sade watched the exchanged with a smirk he only partially attempted to mask, delighted in the stubbornness displayed by the being that no longer seemed so different from their own kind. He bit his lip to avoid a burst of laughter when the blonde fixed him with a glower that could chill the blood of an angry wolf, and had to avert his eyes to maintain his composure.

Legolas grunted in exasperation as he witnessed the amusement in the eyes of his tormentors. His gaze narrowed on the smug expression of the man before him, and immediately a feeling of uneasiness washed over him. Glancing between the two, he realized they had no intention of backing down, and he, being powerless to defend himself, could not stop them. With a resentful sigh, he opened his mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut against the taste he knew would match the foul odor of the mixture.

The two men beamed triumphantly as the elf relented, and with great care, assisted him in emptying the mug.

The elf nearly gagged as the putrid liquid hit his tongue, and forced himself not to spit the substance out. He had always found medicine to be foul, but the creation of these humans was truly revolting. "It is no wonder their kind suffer death so early," his mind sneered, astonished by the talent for concocting such horrible fluid. "I cannot imagine the draught of orcs tasting much worse!"

XXXXXXXXX

While the healers continued their care of the young elf, the remainder of the group was gathered in a circle around their leader. Having heard his proposed plan, and having had time to consider it, they all gave their assent.

Gazing pointedly at each man in turn, the solid man who commanded them carefully studied them for even the slightest hint of duplicity. Feeling at least moderately confident that all would play their part, he dismissed them and retired to a seat near the steadily burning fire.

He could hear muffled conversations picking up between various men. Deep within his thoughts, he feared the dark plots that had doubtlessly been blossoming in the minds of some of the more rogue members of his group, but resigned himself to trust them at their word. Endless worry would not help, and the coming journey would be strenuous enough. He was no stranger to betrayal or mutiny, but was confident enough in his own experience to see himself through this latest development. He had led these men well, many for several seasons, and they would trust him to be fair with the spoils as he had always been. Or so he forced himself to believe. Instead of dwelling on such doubts, however, with great effort he diverted his focus to fanciful thoughts how very rich they would all be in a short time. They had only to make it to the southern seaports.

XXXXXXXXXXX

After a small eternity, at least for the elfling, the drink was finished. Both men grinned brightly at the still grimacing elfling as they removed the mug and wiped any liquid that had spilled from his chin.

"You did very well, and I assure you that the taste will subside," the healer consoled the affronted child, chuckling softly as the angry glare returned to the crystalline pools. Slowly he laid the boy back down, smoothing the blankets over him as he waited for the drink to take effect. "Now you must sleep, young one, for your body has much work to do."

Almost immediately the young archer felt his lids begin to droop as a veil of drowsiness settled over him. He scowled belligerently at the faces that watched his progress; loathe to give in to the effects of the repulsive substance they had forced him to ingest. Though very different from what the elves used, he'd recognized the draught for what it was intended, and knew that it had been administered in his better interest. Regardless of this knowledge, the elfling was still angered that he was so utterly at the mercy of these mortals that he'd had virtually no choice in the matter. If he had not willingly accepted the tonic, he knew they would have forced it into him, and he would not have been able to stop them.

As his body gave in to the darkness that crept along the edges of his vision, he grumbled a final insult to his captors, still unwilling to admit defeat. "Levain thaur," (Foul beasts,) he hissed weakly, feeling his awareness cloud before his eyes finally glazed over into a healing trance.

For several minutes the pair of men remained breathlessly still, all expressions vanished from their faces save identical looks of astonishment.

"I-is... what... Why does he lay like that?" Sade stammered shakily, breaking the intense silence that had fallen over them.

At his words, the older man seemed to come to his senses, though he was yet unable to tear his gaze from the disturbing sight before him. "I cannot say, for I fear my knowledge of elves is far too limited. Truly it is disconcerting to us for him to remain in such a way, but perhaps it is how his kind heals. He appears to be in the embrace of sleep, therefore we must believe that he is not in danger - at least none that we may help him from," he answered thoughtfully, raising his hand to gently wave it before the vacant stare. As he suspected, the child made no move to indicate he had registered the gesture, supporting his previous conjecture that the boy was indeed asleep.

More minutes passed, with neither moving from their position, intent on watching the mythical creature as if he might vanish at any moment. Finally realizing how foolish they were behaving, Tewarn finally drew himself from his stupor, gently shaking his companion to do the same for him.

When the warm brown eyes at last met his own, he gestured behind him, indicating that they should leave the patient to his rest. Carefully monitoring the younger man, he failed to hide his smirk as the young man stole a last look at their charge, obviously hesitant to move away.

"Come, my friend. The elf is not going anywhere soon; you may watch him to your heart's content later this eve. Now we must tend to our equipment, for we have much work left to be done," the healer reminded his thoroughly distracted student, handing him several of the soiled clothes to emphasize the statement.

Sade startled slightly as the rags were placed in his hand. He sheepishly glanced up at his mentor, discerning that the man knew he hadn't been fully listening. He whispered an apology as he began gathering all the remaining soiled clothes, bringing them to the still boiling water to be washed.

Tewarn watched his progress for a few moments, humored by the look of guilt his apprentice so prominently displayed. He understood the youth's inattention, and felt nothing but amusement for the unconcealed reactions of his companion. "So young," he sighed to himself, marveling at how age had mellowed his own ability to be distracted, allowing him to retain his focus despite his intrigue.

Once everything had been cleaned and sterilized, the supplies repackaged, and the cloths arranged to be dried, master and apprentice returned to their resting patient.

"What's to become of him?" the younger of the two asked, a note of something akin to dread in his question.

Tewarn grimly regarded his companion. At times he was so young. He regretted that it had been the boy's father, a bitter man he'd known on prior "trading missions", who had dragged the boy to such an existence, for truly his nature was far too gentle for the sorts of affairs their group was typically involved with. Only through the father's unyielding persistence had he even been admitted to their group, and then only under the careful watch of the older healer.

Tewarn shook his head, theirs was a harsh reality, and the role of the healer raised even further moral complications. It was his secret hope that after learning some of what he could, the youth would leave his tutelage and follow a path more suited to his pure heart. For himself, he had long since come to terms with such moral ambiguities, and where he could not rationalize some actions, he had trained himself to purposefully ignore them.

"Without question he will be sold in the South. There has ever been great demand for one of his race, and doubtlessly the Captain will have more bids than he can sort through. Elves do not easily lend themselves to capture. His rarity will provide a most handsome sum… and no small amount of prestige for us all," he answered at last, opting to provide the most brutally honest response. Better the youth had to grapple with the harsh reality now, than be surprised later.

He could see Sade's face fall, shock and horror creeping over his features. It was soon replaced by a deadening of his eyes, as no doubt his mind reminded him of the sort of company he kept. What else could he have expected?

Sade gradually raised his gaze, turning slightly to study the man beside him. The one thing the youth had the most trouble coming to terms with was Tewarn himself. The man was the best healer he'd ever met, and so often proved himself capable of remarkable compassion. And yet, here he was contentedly resigning their young patient to a life of slavery. How did the man care one moment, but not the next? Or did he care, and just hide that fact? He shook his head. He longed to question the man on it, but knew from experience that inquiries into the healer's private life were not well received. Wisely he opted to hold his tongue on the matter, while deep down wondering if he would ever be able to detach himself so completely. At the moment, he was not inclined to think so.

Silence pervaded the area as the two sat, content to observe the slumbering elf for a time. Eventually, the beckon of sleep was too strong for the older man, and he bid goodnight to his pupil, reminding him to alert him should the elf's status change.

For some time the novice healer sat staring at the luminescent being, never tiring of the uniqueness of the creature, nor of the hours spent in silent vigilance at his side. Gradually the weariness of his body enveloped him, lulling him to sleep with the gentle embrace of slumber. At first he fought the temptation, steeling his mind against the seductive whispers of soothing release; but in the end, he succumbed to its subtle manipulation, surrendering himself to the oblivion of dreams.