Khamul slept. He slept long and deep, the kind of sleep where one does not realize he is sleeping. His sleep was dreamless- but was plagued by pain and fever. When he finally woke, he was confused, and did not realize time had passed since his meeting of- what was his name? He blinked and squinted, looking for the stranger. He felt incredibly weak and moving his head seemed impossible. He was wrapped in furs and fine fabrics, and there was a small fire and a place of blankets and furs where the stranger had lain. The horse whinnied behind him, and he tried to sit up with no luck. His strength was spent. He could feel his leg, and the pulling of the stitches in it, so at least he knew he still had it.

He heard footsteps, and looked over to the stranger as he walked across the little camp and sat down on the ground. He looked over to Khamul and looked surprised when he saw him awake. "So you are finally awake," he said.

"Was I asleep long?" Khamul asked hoarsely.

"Three days. I assumed you were just about dead." His tone was matter-of-fact. Disinterested.

Khamul coughed, "what did you say your name was again?"

"Ungossë." He had a very deep voice. He rose, and Khamul noted the grace in his stance. His movements were effortless, and his lean, willowy form came to kneel next to him. He pulled his waterskin from his side and Khamul nodded. Ungosse lifted his head with his hand and helped him drink. Khamul met his eyes. They were very light, so light he almost couldn't tell they were blue. His white-blonde hair was long and brushed his cheek. He stopped and felt his forehead. "I no longer think you're going to die," he said gruffly.

"What a relief," Khamul said sarcastically.

Ungosse uncovered him and Khamul shivered. He ignored it and turned his leg. "What did you do?"

"I fell off of my horse. It ran off without me."

"I cannot imagine why. Were you ill before you fell? You had quite a fever."

"Infection, probably." Khámul nearly whispered. He would not tell a stranger of his weaknesses. Ungossë stared at him a moment before he replaced the furs over him and returned to his side of the fire. He looked a little tired.

"Are you hungry?" Ungosse asked him after a moment or two of silence.

"No, thank you," Khamul said. Ungosse nodded and stared into the fire. The flames danced in his light eyes, and his features were angular and cruel in the shadows. Khamul slowly fell asleep as he watched him.

This time, his sleep was not merciful. He tossed and turned, nightmares of Ungosse violently killing and brutalizing him with blood on his face haunted him. He was towering above him, his eyes wild and his angled face twisted with malice and bloodlust. He held a longsword that was dripping blood over his head, and in his nightmare, Khamul was frozen in place.

When he woke, it was morning again, and Khamul was anything but rested. He felt betrayed, somehow, by Ungosse, even though he had not done anything to him here in the real world. He looked around for him, and Ungossë was brushing his horse.

"Are you hungry yet?" He asked without turning around.

Khamûl flinched, "a bit." Ungossë walked over to the fire, his eyes distant. He scooped some kind of soup into a bowl, and walked over to him. He knelt down facing him. He offered him a spoonful of soup, and Khamul was hesitant.

"Why would I poison you after exerting my time and energy to save you? eat." Khamul sighed and complied. It wasn't as awful as he had figured. He ate half the bowl slowly, and once he was finished Ungosse rose and got himself a bowl. He returned to Khamul's side with his soup. "You Easterlings do not each much."

Khamûl rolled his eyes. "No, we do not fatten ourselves like your men of the west."

Ungossë laughed, his eyes cruel. "Yes, that is what we do." They continued this dance for a few more days. Khamul would sleep through most days, and would wake and eat whatever Ungosse had for them. Slowly he grew strong and slept less, and was able to sit up and feed himself after a time.

It was not long before Ungossë returned from a hunt and Khamûl was up. He was leaning against a tree, and said, "where is my sword?" Without turning.

"I have it." He turned to look at Ungossë. His sword was in fact at Ungosse's side.

"Why did you take my sword? Are you a thief?"

Ungosse smirked. "I am a king of men, I am far from a thief."

"Where is your kingdom?" Khamul asked incredulously.

"I will not tell you. It does not matter now anyway." Khamûl was sore and favored his leg as he turned. "Where is it that you were intending to go?"

"I do not recall, to be honest," Khamul admitted.

"Come with me, I can get you a horse and safe passage back to Rhûn."

Khamûl considered. "How do I know you will not betray me?"

"You do not, but now that you are well I am leaving with or without you." Khamûl nodded and Ungossë pulled his cloak and coat on. "Get on the horse, we will go to Annatar."

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