Ramlin walked to the innkeeper's counter, muttering curses under his breath. I'm his brother, not his slave. For most of Ramlin's life, he had been nothing more than his brother's thug: he followed his older brother's orders and endured his constant insults because Ament was his only family, and despite the constant abuse, the younger sibling loved his older brother. This foolish scheme he has cooked up will be death of me. Of all things, trying to be an immortal. And Ament calls me the idiot.
The innkeeper's cheery attitude wilted under Ramlin's glare, and Jimson cowered to comply with the mercenary's requests. After negotiating a room for the night, Ramlin returned to his brother's table only to spot a man enshrouded in the darkest corner of the bar staring openly in his brother's direction, although Ament seemed unaware of the ogling stranger. Being a thug ain't so bad all the time, he thought, as he leant over their table to confer with his older sibling. At least I get to have a little fun every now and then.
"Ament. Did you notice the stranger in the corner? He seems very interested in us." Waiting the moment it took for Ament to spare a carefully disinterested glance in the stranger's direction, the younger sibling added, "Perhaps he needs a lesson in manners?"
Ramlin was confident that his brother would allow him this diversion. Despite his earlier harsh words, Ament encouraged Ramlin's perverse desire to inflict pain; it had helped in the past when necessary, and for the most part, Ament benefited from it. The younger human had hoped the grimy farmer would have been less forthcoming in providing them with the information they sought, such that his talent for persuading the reticent to reveal their secrets would be needed. The desire to inflict pain welled within Ramlin, needing an outlet. Besides, Ramlin knew that his brother's scowl was a guise – Ament's mood was lightened from the task for which they had come to Fulton. The farmer's story had been convincing and the whereabouts of the goblet had been obtained easier than expected. Tomorrow they would set out to meet the men Ament had persuaded to accompany them on its quest.
Ament's eyebrow quirked in amusement, a light smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he played with the empty cup left by the farmer on their table. "I suppose the stranger needs a lesson in manners, brother. Just do not get us thrown into jail. I need no trouble this night... not if we want to leave in the morning."
Gleefully grinning his anticipation, Ramlin told his brother, pretending to be affronted at the suggestion that he would cause trouble, "Of course not, brother, I only wish to impress upon the stranger that it is not polite to stare."
Again, Ament's eyebrow quirked, and he then shook his head in dismissal. "Go then and have your fun." Smirking at Ament's choice of words, Ramlin stalked over to the darkened corner.
Oh Valar. What does this oaf want? Aragorn knew he hadn't been attentive to Ramlin's return, as he had been staring while thinking, but he hadn't thought he had drawn any attention to himself. He looks very angry. The Ranger suddenly wished that he were facing the wrath of his brothers instead – though they may have throttled him, they would not have killed him out of fear of their father's wrath. This one looks like he kills for fun.
But the Adan remained seated, and for any who saw him, Estel was ostensibly calm. He knew that if given no other choice he could likely take the man in a fight; however, Aragorn's opportunity to follow the brothers would be lost, and he might never learn the reliability of the farmer's information. He could not justify to his conscience killing them outright without cause, and so could not stop them just to pacify his worries of what might happen with a goblet that may or may not exist where some farmer said it might be.
Ramlin was fast approaching the table, giving Aragorn naught but seconds to decide how to cope with the furious mercenary. The choice was made quickly when Ramlin, without a word of censure or reasoning for his attack, lunged at the Ranger. Aragorn moved with an unerring ease that years of mimicking his graceful Elven brothers had taught him. Standing and moving to his right in one fluid motion, he avoided the outthrust, barreling hand of the enraged brother before it slammed into its target – Aragorn's face.
Ramlin's body followed through with his fist's miss, stumbling forward and into the table as he tried to recover his useless punch. His balance was completely thrown; the mercenary lay half on the table, half dangling precariously over the edge, and the man's hands awkwardly sought purchase on the rickety wooden table's rough surface to keep him from falling onto the floor. The enclosed area Aragorn had been sitting in was not an asset if the Ranger needed his sword, so Estel stepped into the open space directly in front of the table. He was loathe to put his back to the other brother, yet he didn't detect any movement, much less hostility, when he glanced hurriedly back at Ament to check the fiery-haired mercenary's movements.
Several of the patrons had noticed the confrontation and were guffawing at Ramlin's bumbling antics. Now he'll not only be mad, but embarrassed. Great, Aragorn mused sarcastically to himself, his attention divided between the two brothers as he waited for another attack. How will I get out of this unscathed?
Ramlin had fully righted himself and was making another move towards Aragorn when the innkeeper began shouting from the counter for them to cease or else be thrown out. The Ranger had barely enough time to evade the mercenary's enormous fist once again. He sidestepped the attempt and placed himself behind Ramlin. Aragorn's opponent had strength but lacked the speed to match the Ranger's swiftness. Ramlin recovered well this time, however, and turned to Aragorn with an incensed look.
"Out of here! Both of you!" The innkeeper held his sword threateningly out towards Aragorn and Ramlin when he finally reached the altercation. "You can't stay here tonight, either." At this, he dug into his apron, pulled out several coins, and threw them in Aragorn and Ramlin's general direction in refund of what they had paid to rent their rooms. Neither man bent down to retrieve them. "You can get your supplies now, they're ready," the innkeeper told the Ranger pointedly. "And then you leave."
"Come, brother, we've much to do," Ament chastised from where he sat. "Let us go." Ramlin took a step towards Aragorn, who hadn't moved but remained ready for another assault. In a quiet, threatening tone, Ament told his brother, "We leave, now." At this, Ramlin complied, eying the Ranger warily as he moved to where his brother was seated. Aragorn noted the look of frustration Ramlin gave Ament, and Ament's complete lack of reaction to it.
The big one was obviously looking forward to a little bloodshed.
Ament stood, his scowl intact, and strode to the entrance with Ramlin in tow.
After collecting his supplies from the angered innkeeper, Aragorn exited the bar out onto the street, fully expecting Ramlin and Ament to be waiting there for him. He was not disappointed. The sound of heavy footsteps to his left were the only warning that Aragorn had of Ramlin's underhanded attack, and with the mercenary's pounce upon his back, both supply laden Ranger and oversized oaf went down to the dusty main road of Fulton, a road that was thankfully deserted of horse traffic at this time of night.
Ramlin righted himself from his sprawl across Aragorn's body, straddling the Ranger to hold him down. "Not quite as light on your feet when you are lying on your back, are you, stranger? Perhaps you'd like to explain why my brother and I were of such interest to you?"
Quickly, Estel, think of something to tell them. Aragorn hadn't the breath to answer. If this brute ever gets off me long enough so that I can breathe properly, I may live yet. His panting wasn't lost on Ament, who had moved towards the prostrate form his brother held down.
"Ramlin, give him air. You can kill him in a minute," he snorted to his brother, a humored but malevolent grin on his face. "Let me get an answer out of him first, you fool." Reluctantly, Ramlin relented, allowing Aragorn to take in a full breath. Ament leant down towards Estel while assessing his appearance. "What is your name?"
"Strider," Aragorn replied, giving a name he was known by in other, further locations he had traveled, and hoping to ameliorate his dire situation through cooperation. Perhaps I can convince them that I meant no harm. Or perhaps they will kill me whether I meant harm or not, thought Aragorn despairingly.
"And are you a Ranger, Strider? I have seen a Ranger wear a coat such as this one." Ament's look of malicious humor was growing in intensity.
Aragorn hesitated, glancing around in hopes of finding a way out of this. No bystanders were watching; in fact, none of the miscreant inhabitants of the town appeared to be out on the street this late at night. Not that any in Fulton would be of help, anyway.
The Adan's attention was returned abruptly to the crazed man straddling his chest when Ramlin snatched a handful of Estel's hair and thumped the Ranger's head against the ground. "My brother asked you a question," Ramlin growled.
Attempting to appear insulted at the prospect of being a Ranger and trying to ignore the protest of his head at the mistreatment, Aragorn responded impulsively, "Nay, I am no Ranger. I took this coat from one."
"A Ranger would not willingly give up his coat. They are accustomed to a hard life, and a coat like that serves them well. I think you lie." Ament turned to his brother and then turned away, standing and obviously now disinterested in Aragorn's fate, "Ramlin, he's impolite and he lies," the red-haired mercenary glibly stated, "a losing combination. Slit his throat."
"Happy to oblige, brother." Ramlin reached for the dagger in his boot, unintentionally allowing Aragorn more freedom than he should have. Recognizing the opportunity, the Ranger pulled his arms free from the grasp of the brother's mammoth hand and twisted his upper body to unbalance the mercenary. As Ramlin strove to maintain his poise, Aragorn kicked out with his legs, which further unbalanced his attacker and allowed Estel to disentangle himself enough to dart from Ramlin's grasp. Aragorn scrambled away quickly, pulled out his own dagger from his boot, and prepared for the oncoming assault.
"Ramlin! Can you not even kill a defenseless man?" Ament stood sneering at Aragorn while Ramlin regained his footing in haste, dagger in hand.
For the moment, Ramlin's ire seemed focused on his sibling, rather than Aragorn. "He is hardly defenseless, brother. But if you would like to do better, then I give you my leave to try." Ament sniggered in response and made no move towards Aragorn, but instead glared at his brother as if Ramlin were the cause of his bitter temperament.
This is obviously an argument that they have had before, from the looks of it. At this rate, I will never be able to trail them. Thinking rapidly, Aragorn decided he might do well to continue lying to the brothers. If I can't follow them, perhaps I can join them.
"I did not mean to raise your suspicions, strangers. I only overheard the fool farmer yelling about the cursed Elves, and my interest in you is only that you sought to destroy them, a feat that I myself would like to see achieved." Aragorn could hardly coerce his mouth to tell the lie.
Ament laughed derisively and crossed his arms over his chest, saying, "You, too, wish to see Elves destroyed? Why? What have they done to you?" Ramlin still glowered at his brother, hardly paying Aragorn any attention.
The Ranger was momentarily at a loss. His talent at lying was limited, as his brothers had so often shown him when he tried to finagle his way out of responsibility for some prank or misdeed he had committed. "The Elves have caused me much grief. They allowed my family to die from their negligence, and..." Aragorn faltered. He was beginning to feel nauseous from his betrayal. He thought back to the brothers and farmer's conversation to find some common ground on which to base his prevarication. "And besides, they've great wealth hoarded away. They've been the cause of the decline of men with their conceited attitudes." The Ranger fought to keep the bile from rising in his throat.
Ramlin and Ament simultaneously burst aloud in jovial laughter, throwing each other amused grins before turning their roguish smiles to Aragorn. This is more disconcerting than their fury.
"You would seek to join us? To help destroy the Elves?" Ament's amusement was obvious, as was his disbelief. "We've no need for another thief or a liar. We've plenty enough."
"I am no thief. I didn't say I stole this coat, stranger. I took it from a seasoned Ranger after besting him." At least this much is true. They don't need to know it was won on a bet made on a skirmish, and that the Ranger is a friend of mine. "I would be a valuable asset to you."
"Come brother, it is as you've said. We've no need for him. Let me kill him," Ramlin pled in what was nearly a disappointed whine.
"No, Ramlin." Ament scowled at Aragorn, his amusement vanishing though it belied his saying, "You are lucky I am in a good mood. You may join us. Perhaps we could use you. We are meeting up with more like-minded individuals tomorrow. A motley lot, to be sure, but I assume you can take care of yourself."
Aragorn only nodded, for he was too stunned that his shoddy plan had succeeded thus far. Seething with anger in having his prey released from him, Ramlin replaced his dagger with a sneer. I will not be able to sleep for some time it seems. This one will have my head, Aragorn mused. The three men still stood in a triangle in the center of the main thoroughfare of Fulton, and not yet had anyone else passed by. The moon was almost halfway through its nightly journey.
"Strider, you say? Well, this is my brother, Ramlin, and I am Ament. You may travel with us as long as you are not a liability. If you become one, you die. However, if you follow my orders, you will be aptly rewarded at the end of our journey. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," Aragorn replied in relief.
"Good. It is no use in getting a room at this hour. We will travel on to the meeting place." Ament walked towards the stable, with a sulking Ramlin not far behind, while Aragorn maintained his distance from the two but followed.
I hope I can keep this farce up long enough to find out where we are going and what we are truly after.
The Elf stretched his long legs out in front of him carefully, feeling the strain of the torn muscles in his hurt limb. The wound had been ill bandaged and probably not even washed, but from the looks of the dry, red stained bandaging, the bleeding had finally stopped. Legolas had awoken only moments ago, and his mind was not yet free of the befuddlements of the poison and recent unconsciousness obscuring his thinking. I do not even know how long I have been insentient. He was still in Eryn Galen: the canopy of trees above his drained and battered body was calling to him in recognition, evincing to him that he had come this way before in his many years. Even though he didn't know where in Mirkwood he lay exactly, he at least knew he hadn't been unconscious for too long since they were still in the forest.
I wish I knew where those bloody humans are. He had woken disoriented, and for the briefest of moments, had expected to roll over to find the sun shining through his bedroom window. Upon trying to roll over, the pain of his leg injury and the ropes that bound his arms and legs had shattered that wonderful delusion. I hope that they have fallen into a spiders' nest. Legolas' entertaining thoughts of his captors' demise were interrupted by the sound of approaching humans.
"Well, Elf, good to see you awake. I was getting rather tired of carrying you." The man who Legolas thought to be named Meika walked towards Legolas with two felled rabbits in one hand and a bundle of sticks in the other. "You had me worried. It's too much trouble catching damn Elves; I don't need to be in this blasted forest any longer than necessary. Certainly don't need to wait around for another Elf to fall into our laps."
Legolas didn't bother to respond, not that he thought he could. I could barely manage to stretch my legs earlier. How will I ever escape?
"We'll be out before the day's over, Meika." The other hunter, who Legolas remembered had been called Jalian, was building his own bundle of sticks into a cooking pit for the rabbits. "Yep, tomorrow we'll be well on our way down the river. Boss'll be happy to see we've done good. Took us a few days to get all those traps set, more time than I thought it would though. Still can't believe his plan worked. An Elf caught in a trap. Who woulda thought? Think we should've gathered the other traps? We spent good money on 'em, to have 'em made with such an easy tripped catch on 'em."
The two bickered about the other traps, although Legolas only hoped that none of his kinsmen would be as unfortunate as he to be caught in one. Both men, the Elf noticed, were still dressed in black but with their hoods back now. He could see the disfigured face of Jalian, replete with what seemed to be a glass eye. Jalian's hair was cut close to his scalp, and Legolas could see that the man suffered scars even between the tufts of black hair that remained on his head. Meika, on the other hand, had a handsome, old face surrounded by thick brown hair that he pulled back in a short tail at the base of his neck.
Legolas watched the exchange between his captors mutely. The poison he had been given had not yet yielded its control over his body, and he found himself vacillating between awareness and a stupor where he could not pay attention to what the Elfnappers were saying.
"…the boss promised us, though. It's not like we owe him anything. I'm just in it for the money. I don't give a whip about Elves, so long as I don't have to deal with them."
"Ah, come on, Meika, you mean you aren't looking forward to killing all those self-righteous Elves? It's not like they're humans, you know. No one but the trees will care that they are gone."
"I've always heard that Elves had magic as strong as or stronger than the Dark Lord's magic. Maybe even after we get this cup that the boss is after they'll be able to defeat any uprisin's. They aren't gonna just give up because a couple of mortals are suddenly immortal. I don't think Ament's thought this through very well, but maybe he's got plans we just don't know about yet."
Seeing him with his eyes closed, the hunters probably thought that Legolas was sleeping or unconscious. Or they don't care whether I hear or not. Had he been able, the Silvan would have laughed. Mortals becoming immortal. These men have been grievously misled, apparently. However, Legolas' sense of foreboding returned, for the men's plans for their immortality and for the Elves once the mortals achieved life everlasting only confirmed to the Prince that he needed to escape, and quickly. What good was this feeling before? Didn't keep me from stepping into a human trap. This is the last time I check on the scout parties on foot. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him that this may be the last time he had the chance to do or see many things.
"I know just what I'll do with my share," Meika said in an attempt to change the touchy subject. His captors shared their dreams; Meika wanted a house, a wife, and some kids, while Jalian wanted to invest his share into the slave trading market. While their goals of family and money were not uncommon, Legolas could not help thinking, A farm and family are earned through hard work, as is money made in the market, though hopefully not a slave trade. Surely, these men could have found a better plan than abducting one of the Eldar.
They talked while the rabbits cooked, stopping only to fill themselves of the cooked game. The hunters' sudden reticence went unnoticed by the Wood-Elf, as his body gave into the murkiness that veiled his mind, and he became oblivious again.
Legolas was growing tired of waking up in strange places, and like the last time he had woken, the Elf was not in full control of his body. The sky. I can see the sky. We must have moved out of Eryn Galen. With this comprehension came the realization that not only was he no longer in Mirkwood, but he was also swaying slightly, as if he were caught in the same breeze that blew the gray puffs of clouds through the azure sky overhead. Currently, the archer's ears were ringing loudly but he thought he could hear the gentle rush of water. The river. They said we were going down the river. I didn't think they meant it this way.
"Whoa, Jalian, you're gonna tip us with that idiocy! Who taught you to man a boat, boy?"
A burning sensation was beginning to settle in the back of the Elf's throat. He felt as if the sun was not hiding behind the clouds but in his body. I almost wish the boat would tip. He could imagine little better than to relieve his blazing body with the cool water of the Anduin. I've no doubt I would sink to the bottom. I cannot even raise my hand, much less swim should we overturn. Suddenly, Meika's face appeared in front of Legolas, blocking out the sun and casting a welcome shadow over the Elf's heated form.
"Don't die on us, Elf. Not yet anyway. Boss'll find someone to get the fever down. Don't worry. Before the end of today, we'll be at the meetin' place. Not far, not far at all."
Fever. The wound on his leg had become infected. No wonder I feel as if though I were bathing in the fire in the depths of Mordor.
"Jalian, bring over my pack. And mind you don't tip the boat!"
The scarred mercenary stepped gently around the small vessel, retrieved the pack, and then tossed it to Meika, who was not prepared for the hurtling object and almost didn't seize it in time.
"Damn it, Jalian!" Laughter was the only response from the scarred Jalian, who walked back to his place at the helm, picked up his oar again, and laughed heartily once more. Digging into his pack, Meika pulled out a glass phial and removed the cork, all the while cursing his luck that he should be on a boat with a tree hugging Elf and a complete fool who couldn't paddle his way out of a bowl of stew. "Here now. Just a wee bit more won't hurt you, methinks. Just to tide you over until we get where we're going. Don't want you getting delirious and falling over the side."
Meika stuck a stick in the poison, coating it with the bluish crystals within the glass vial. Legolas watched helplessly as the man shoved aside the crude bandage on his leg to reveal the inflamed flesh underneath. Without recourse, the Elf could only close his eyes to the searing agony as Meika rammed the coated stick into one of the almost closed wounds, not only reopening the flesh, but also poisoning Legolas with the despicable toxin that would put him back to sleep. He longed to reach down to the wound, to rub it at least. He could not even scream.
"Just relax, enjoy the rest of the ride, Elfling."
This time, Legolas welcomed the darkness that settled over him as respite from the pain.