A/N: I've never been able to leave well enough alone, and that may be one reason it takes me so incredibly long to finish anything. For those of you who have read the earlier chapters before this chapter was published, a few very minor changes have been made. Most notably, the name of the healer's apprentice has been changed to Sade. I can't say there's any significant reasoning for this, I was just never happy with his name before. I also realize that the story is kind of at a lull, but bear with me, because it will pick up shortly.
Much thanks to those of you who have reviewed, it's always wonderful to know that your efforts are well received!
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o
In hindsight he wondered why the men, seated not inches from his sides, had not been the first thing to catch his notice. He reluctantly supposed it was because he'd become so accustomed to being alone, that it hadn't occurred to him that anyone else would be around. Regardless, the oversight sat heavily both in his thoughts and on his heart, for it was the sort of fatal error he was supposed to be proving he was beyond.
When his thoughts and senses finally did come together once again, he was staring in petrified terror at two very strange faces. Once again his attention was drawn to those features that clearly marked them as human: the bristly hair that sprung from their chins in an almost dwarven way, the rounded ears, and the curious folds that marred the older one's face. He couldn't help but conclude that humans were certainly not Arda's most beautiful creatures. Of its own volition, his nose scrunched up while he continued to behold them. Another difference between their races had begun to make itself unmistakably clear: their smell. Amidst the aromas of the cooked meal, the charred wood in the fire, and the natural odors of the wilds, there was an overwhelming stench that hung heavily about the camp; one the blonde elfling could only liken to the smells of an unkempt stable.
Was it possible that a creature possessing any form of intelligence could allow itself to reek in such a way? Legolas thought he might be sick as he fought to block out the mingled scents of greasy skin, sweat, and other foul bodily odors. More than he had ever in his life, he yearned for a bath.
Instinct took over after several moments of shock-induced paralysis had passed, and the young Wood Elf began to grow ever more aware that he was not within his own forest. The scattered images of his flight through the forest returned, along with brief flashes of his arrival in the human's camp. There had been a knife… and a fire. Jerking himself upright in what normally would have been an agile leap to his feet, he was at once reminded of the injuries he'd sustained during that horrific retreat.
Hands immediately clasped his shoulders in gentle grips, drawing his mind back to the no longer passive onlookers. Panic rose in his chest as he fought to command his limbs, which only sluggishly responded through the throbs of pain. Anger mixing with the fear that had captured his mind, he forced away the protests of his body. They could not hold him here! He had to get away!
"Baw!" (No!) he cried, though it was only a whisper, and lacked any commanding force. Weakly, he pushed at the two figures, surprising himself by how little strength he had.
It was fascinating to observe the process by which the elf came to orient himself. At first tranquil, they could read the fear steadily mounting in the child, culminating at the point when he at last became aware of their presence. The healers reacted in unison to calm him as he shot bolt upright, his legs twitching somewhat but to no purpose they could deduce.
"Levio nin!" (Release me!) the boy cried again, though his earlier fervor seemed to be fading, regardless of how poorly his body had conveyed it. His body was beginning to protest the upright position, and his vision began to swirl in a most unsettling way.
"Ssh young one," Tewarn soothed, gently pushing against the small shoulder to guide him back down. "We are pleased to see you awake, but you must not exert yourself so."
The blonde prince struggled against the gentle, yet firm, grips that held his arms. He recognized what the older man wanted when he felt the force urging him back down onto the bedroll, but he wanted none of it. This was not his forest, and these were not his people. He needed to get away!
He kicked out with his legs feebly; at once realizing that this was perhaps not the wisest of moves. He saw the world spin wildly, its course bringing with it an incessant throb of pain that radiated from his head, down over his entire body. His already precarious hold on his muscles teetered, and the healers witnessed his form noticeably sway.
Again Tewarn increased the pressure on the young being's arm, but this time the youth did not fight him, allowing the firm grips to ease him back down. The young elf had decided that perhaps the men around him were right in insisting he lay back down; his body was certainly not agreeing with his decision to force it in any other position at the moment.
Legolas furrowed his brows together, his lips forming a thin line as he carefully regarded the two humans. To the humans, the expression was unusually contemplative for one of his apparent age, and they forced themselves not to show their amusement. Now prostrate once more, the young elf stared up at them, somewhat relieved to have the clarity of his vision restored. While he felt somewhat helpless lying there, at least his limbs pained him less, and he was able to concentrate more fully.
Other memories surfaced in his mind. The fire had been a mistake – he'd fallen right into it, and the knife as well, although he couldn't recall where exactly it had come from. And there'd been a spider… He felt a twinge on the top of his shoulder, as if to confirm the memory. Yes, the spider had bitten him. A man had tried to kill it before it did, he thought, but had been too late.
He again studied the human faces above him. They had fallen still once more, though their hands continued to rest gently on his upper arms. Perhaps they were trying to help him? He vaguely remembered someone seeing to his wounds, which, he noted after a brief glance down at himself, were well bandaged still. He could not sense any innate ill intentions about the two, but he was not quite ready to relinquish his caution. It would be much easier if he could just speak with them, or anyone.
Frustrated now that he had come to the end of what he could piece together, the blonde head fell limply upon the cloth beneath him. A soft sigh left him, and he glanced upwards, his gaze instinctively seeking out the comforting boughs of the trees. His gaze turned quizzical as he studied them; they were not the sort of trees he was used to seeing. He could see little of the surrounding land from where he lay, but he knew without a doubt that he was no longer near the forests of his birth. If only he could touch the mighty trunks of these trees, then he might be able to find answers to his questions. Familiar or not, there was an implicit trust between the Wood Elves and all forms of nature unspoilt by darkness, and he knew that if only he could ask, the trees would help him in any way they could.
He was drawn from his internal ruminations by a change in the pressure on his arm. No longer merely present, the grip was now actively seeking his attention. The blue eyes fixed themselves on the older, greyish eyes of the healer, their depths holding the question that his words were unable to ask.
"Good, my young friend. Now I must bid of you to drink something. It is only water, but will do you well," he explained in calm, soothing voice that engendered trust by its very tone. He held the canteen up for the young elf to see, motioning with it that he intended for the elf to drink from it. As he expected, the young face pinched itself into a grimace, the limp arms at once coming back to life as they attempted to push away the proffered drink.
Tewarn and Sade easily held his arms down, so depleted was the boy's strength. Far from deterred, Tewarn simply smiled at the blonde child. "The water is pure, I assure you. No herbs of any kind." To demonstrate his point, he raised the jug to his own lips, and took a good-sized gulp. After wiping his lips, he again brought the opening nearer the boy's face.
The display had the intended effect, and Legolas at once understood what was being offered. His dry throat silently rejoiced as the canteen was brought to his lips. He felt extremely vulnerable and frail as the strong hands of the healer's student raised his upper body to a better position for drinking, but did not protest. Greedily he now accepted the liquid, and gulped down as much as they would allow him.
"I see you are quite thirsty, young one," the older of the two commented with a warm smile, pulling away the drinking jug, "but it is better to drink in moderation. Too much will upset your stomach."
The reddish head turned, taking with him the canteen. Legolas could not see what he was doing, rummaging about with his back to the elf, but he did not have to wait long. Shortly the older man turned back to him, and in his hand was a cup of something that, judging from the steam raising from its surface, was quite warm.
"It may not be the best, but this will help to coat your stomach," he explained, ignoring the incomprehension that glittered in the gaze of the blue eyes. Pulling out a spoon from the nearby supplies, he repeated his earlier demonstration, first sampling the substance, which appeared to be some form of stew, then offering it to Legolas.
Again the woodland prince felt a flush of humiliation, but pushing aside his pride, he accepted the assistance in eating. The stew was not terrible, but nor was it very good. Consisting mostly of broth and a few chunks of meat, it was a meager fare. Still, it sat easily within the elf's empty stomach, and successfully assuaged his hunger for the time being.
Once he had finished the bowl, the healers cleaned away any remnants of the meal before carefully lowering him back to the ground.
"He seems to be doing very well," the younger man commented.
"Aye, the draught seems to have at last released its hold over him. He should regain his strength more quickly now."
Legolas's attention wandered as the two continued to talk. Unable to understand any of their words, the young elf saw no point in listening any further. His gaze wandered over what he could see of the campsite: bedrolls strewn haphazardly about, various packs and bundles piled in various places, a small wooden cart of some sort sitting off to one side. He counted 6 other men scattered throughout the encampment, not including the two at his side. In studying them, a small voice grew steadily more persistent within the recesses of his mind: these other men were not to be trusted. Whereas the two by his side at least seemed genuine, there was an unsettling air surrounding many of the others. One man in particular seemed to carry with him a great amount of darkness.
It was this man, with his cold, dark eyes, and greasy black hair, that approached the elf and his two human attendants.
"How does he fare?" he asked in a harsh, deep voice. There was a commanding air in his demeanor, and even his question seemed as much an order as an inquiry.
Scarcely glancing at the hulking figure that towered above them, Tewarn answered the brute with as much neutrality as he could muster, "He is weak. His injuries heal well, but he is in no condition to move on his own. Though the effects of the sleeping draught appear to have worn off, he must still rest to regain his strength."
Legolas noted the forced impassiveness the healer displayed as he addressed this foreboding man. His sensitive ears easily picked up the tones of distaste and resentment that laced his words, though he was certain the other man did not.
Prevos grunted in response, his fingers rising to run through the straggly hairs of his greasy beard. "We break camp in one hour. Until he able to walk on his own, the elf shall be carried."
Many of the men had been straining to hear the conversations surrounding the healers and the elf, and at this news they began to whisper amongst themselves.
"We will not be taking the wagon?" one man asked incredulously, glancing at the wooden cart.
"No," Prevos responded, the word coming out more of a bark than anything else. "We will travel much faster without it. I want to put more ground behind us before we take rest again. The elf child weighs little, shifts will be taken in carrying him as we march." He paused a moment, allowing his words to sink in. Pointedly, he sought out each man's gaze in turn, wordlessly intimidating them into submission. Satisfied that his words would go uncontested, he nodded, if only for his own benefit. "We leave in one hour!" he repeated the command, more loudly this time so that it was unquestionably heard by all members of the group.
"You two," he said, addressing the two healers in a quieter tone. "Find some way to allow him to be carried, and I will hear no arguments. A cloth or harness. He must not be able to struggle." He did not wait for them to respond, but simply turned and walked to the other end of the camp, seemingly content that his orders would be carried out.
Legolas had apprehensively watched the scene unfold. He could tell that he was the subject of their conversation, though he could not tell what had been discussed. Whatever had occurred, the larger man, apparently the leader of this group, had enough sway that his orders would be carried out. From the resulting expressions on the faces of the two healers, the young prince knew he was about to be subjected to a fate he would not enjoy.