Aragorn's initial reaction to the wrapped bundle that Doran carried was fortunately missed by the band of men jogging rapidly towards the opening of the cave where he and Ament waited. When the long blonde hair had fallen free of the cloak that was wrapped around the body, Aragorn's jaw dropped in utter incredulity. As Doran pushed past him, huffing from his run to the cave, Estel caught a glimpse of a drenched form hidden in the folds of sodden fabric. Whoever that is, his time on Middle Earth may soon be ending.

Still agape with shock, the Ranger's mouth closed with a snap when Ament turned in his direction to address Ramlin and the two men that had followed Doran to the cave. "I see you obtained the cargo. How hard was he to find?" Ament was obviously pleased that his fellow mercenaries had returned and seemed to forget that Doran had called for help only moments earlier. He eyed the two newcomers with misgiving when neither offered to answer his question. "What is it?"

"The cargo. He... fell into the river. I think he's got a fever, too," the older of the two responded hesitantly, looking suspiciously at Aragorn and shifting from foot to foot, as he talked. "We got here as fast as the storm would allow, boss."

Ament stepped forward, and placing his face dangerously close to the older man, he hissed, "You had better not have lost this one, Meika. We can't afford the time to catch another Wood-Elf, you idiot."

Wood-Elf? Sweet Eru! The Ranger's jaw nearly dropped again. They have caught a Wood-Elf?

The man named Meika started to explain but his disfigured companion interrupted, tilting his head in the Ranger's direction to indicate of whom he spoke, "Who's this, boss?" He, too, looked distrustfully at Aragorn, and did not wish to divulge any information in front of the Ranger.

Appreciating the suspicion, Ament pulled back from Meika, causing the elder man to sigh audibly in relief that his leader's attention was momentarily elsewhere. Retaining his ire and still intent on getting his answers, Ament scowled harder but replied, "He's trustworthy enough, Jalian, or as much as any of you. His name is Strider. But never you mind any of that. We've got more important things to worry about, especially you two. If this Elf dies, so do you."

Meika and Jalian cowered slightly behind Ramlin, who did not seem to notice but headed inside the cave and then turned his head, speaking to the group of men, "Let's see what damage is done, brother, before we start slitting throats. I for one want out of this rain." With Ramlin in lead, Meika and Jalian followed closely behind him in an attempt to avoid Ament's rage. Aragorn and Ament followed them into the cave, the cold water running from their clothes and hair in rivulets even after they were sheltered from the downpour.

What now? I cannot let the Elf die, the Ranger contemplated worriedly, slowing his pace behind the group of men so that they would not notice his confused indecision. If he tried to aid the Elf, he might blow his chance to follow the men on their quest or perhaps even forfeit both their lives. Why do they want an Elf? Aragorn slid past the whispering Meika and Jalian and moved towards the far interior of the small cave to where Ament and Ramlin hovered over the Wood-Elf. Doran, who was removing soiled bandages from the creature's leg, was kneeling beside the fair creature.

He does not look like he will survive the night. With the scrutiny of a trained healer, the Ranger assessed the Elf's injuries. His leg wounds are infected. Red and raw looking, several deep gouges circled the Elf's leg, the muscle and flesh torn. What created wounds such as these? Although unconscious, the Wood-Elf was shivering, the cold rainwater and sopping clothing he wore providing him with little protection from the chilly confines of the cave. He is too cold, even for an Elf, and especially with this infection. If he is not warmed and the fever reduced, he will surely pass into the Halls of Mandos before the sun rises.

Leaning over the tall archer's kneeling form, Ament inquired anxiously from Doran, "Can you help him?"

Doran turned his attention from his useless prodding of the Elf's wounds to answer his leader with a grimace. "I know nothing of healing, Ament."

Impatient to get his hands on the Elf but afraid to sound too eager, Aragorn stepped closer to the three mercenaries, physically aching to help the wounded Elda. He volunteered with what he hoped sounded like a causal offer, "I know something of healing. Perhaps I can tend him."

Ramlin and Doran's looks of surprise created within Aragorn the intense desire to fidget. If I do not play this correctly, both the Elf and I may not live the night. Ament, however, looked thrilled to have his cargo's life in Strider's hands, for there was no one else who had stepped forward to aid the Wood-Elf.

"There is much we do not know of you, Strider. Keep the Elf alive and I will reward you generously." Ament clasped Aragorn's bicep in gratitude and then turned to the mouth of the cave, ordering loudly, "Meika, come here. You will get Strider whatever he requires to treat the Elf."

Meika complied, head lowered in acceptance. Ramlin and Doran moved back from the Elf to give the Ranger room to kneel next to the woodland creature. The Elf's trembling increased as a breeze of bitter air swept into the dank and musty cave. Turning to the approaching Meika, Aragorn asked softly, "Fetch my bag."

Again, Meika complied hurriedly, picked through the satchels of the mercenaries' belongings before finding Estel's, and then handed the bag to Aragorn, who was removing the drenched cloak from the Elf's body. Valar, his skin is grayer than Gandalf's beard. Sliding his hands under the Silvan's tunic, Aragorn ran his hands over the Elf's ribs and arms, checking for broken bones or other hidden wounds. The crowd of people towering over him blocked the firelight, and he ordered them distractedly, "Move back, I cannot see to him in the dark." Ramlin grunted in annoyed surprise, though this soon gave way to irritation at being ordered, and he began to protest.

"Get back, damn it." Ament's concurring order swayed Ramlin and Doran, however, and the two marched angrily to the fire where Jalian was boiling water ineptly for their dinner of bread and stewed meat. The fiery-haired leader nodded to Aragorn, "Whatever it takes, Strider, I've no wish for delay," before joining his brother and companions.

Meika crouched next to Aragorn, careful to avoid distracting the healer from his work. Pulling a small dagger from its sheath along his inner calf, the Ranger used it to cut the Elf's binds at his hands and the torn cloth away from the Elf's seeping leg wounds. Knowing that the Wood-Elf's arms were likely numb from being tied behind his back, the Ranger rubbed them briefly before laying them over the Silvan's stomach, despite the worried look from Meika at allowing the Elf his freedom. He muttered by way of explanation, "He won't be moving anytime soon."

The elder mercenary nodded, and Aragorn continued his examination. He could find no other damage than the irregular wounds on the Elf's legs, save for some bruises and the chafing of the Wood-Elf's wrists. Knowing that Meika had been present for at least part of the Elf's captivity, he decided to question him as to why the Elda was unconscious. "How did the ... cargo obtain these wounds?" Aragorn was unsure how to speak of the Wood-Elf. He didn't want to be suspected for sympathizing with the Elda's plight.

"We caught him in a trap. Didn't think it would work but he stepped right on it." Meika's earlier reluctance towards the Ranger had switched to eagerness to help. Whether this was because his life depended on the Elf's or because Ament had assured the newcomers of Aragorn's trustworthiness, the Ranger did not know. Nor, for that matter, did he care, so long as the mercenary aided him in keeping the Elf among the living.

"A trap? You mean an animal trap?" The Ranger's own doubt was apparent in his tone. The mechanism could never have been activated by an Elf's step, unless he jumped on it.

"Yes sir, he stepped right on it. But not just any trap. Boss had some made special, so it wouldn't take much to set them off. Boss told us to lure an Elf toward them but before we even could, he done caught himself running to wherever he was going."

Running. That would have done it. I wonder why he was running, and who this Elf is. I hope that his people have noticed his absence. With the tip of his finger, the Ranger pressed the gouges on the Elda's leg, testing them to see if the wounds were hot with fever. "His wounds are not healing properly. The Elves heal much quicker than the Secondborn, yet these lacerations are still open." Taking a bladder of water in hand, Aragorn rinsed out the cuts. No doubt, his bout in the rain and river has cleaned these enough already.

"Might be that stuff that the boss said to put on the trap, then, you think? I had to give him a bit more to keep him quiet," Meika said as he wrung his hands together, vexed at what implications his decision to give the Elf more of the poison may have.

Aragorn looked up sharply from wiping the Elf's wounds with a clean piece of linen. "What did you give him?"

The older man said nothing but walked to the fire, avoiding the curious eyes of the four men sharing their meal of boiled meat. When he returned, he handed Aragorn a small phial of bluish crystals as he knelt beside the Ranger again. "This is what the boss said to give him. He didn't say how much, though."

The Ranger inspected the substance, knowing, but hoping, it was not what he feared it to be. It is not just fever, then. He is reacting to this noxious potion. "It is luingalas." Noticing the puzzlement of the mercenary, Aragorn translated, "Blueweed, as it is also known before it is extracted and dried. Normally it would only put an Elf to sleep. You must have given him more than he needed," the Ranger said, unable to keep the censure from his tone.

Meika wrung his hands harder in his increased worriment, eying the Elf. "Will he live?"

"I do not know yet. We will see."

Although I doubt his life means as much to you as your own, Aragorn thought forlornly, though he had to wonder at the older man's worry, for it seemed that Meika truly wanted the Elf to survive. Likely, he wishes the Silvan to live only for whatever use they have for him, the Ranger decided. He continued his ministrations, tending first to the obvious wounds while thinking hard as to how to counteract the poison. Searching through his bag, he found a packet of athelas, an herb he had learned to travel with if at all possible. He wasn't sure that this herb would have any effect on the poison. It wouldn't hurt, however. He was not familiar with luingalas, as it was not often used. I hope my ignorance is not the death of this immortal life. He did not know the Elf, but gauging from his clothing and light coloring, he guessed the woodland creature was from Mirkwood and more than likely one of King Thranduil's own warriors.

Aragorn blended several medicinal herbs together in a small mortar he kept with him, hoping that together the herbs known to reduce fever and poison would sustain the Elf, at least until he could find a way out of this for the both of them.

The bastard had better keep the Elf alive, Ramlin thought drearily, noting each time Strider touched the Elf, and wishing it was he doing the touching, instead. He was not looking forward to his brother's fury should the Elf die. Besides, perhaps I will get my chance to have some fun with the Elf before Ament fulfills his plans for him. Perhaps, even, Ament will abandon this dim-witted scheme and we can sell the Elf.

He was paying only half his attention to the explanation Jalian was giving for the cargo's current condition. The mercenary couldn't stop thinking about the captive. The beauty of the Elf had not gone unnoticed by Ramlin, and his unquenched need for destruction was coming to a head.

"Ramlin!"

The sudden shift in conversation was lost on the mammoth mercenary, and he was drawn abruptly from his thoughts. "What?" He didn't know who had addressed him, and so questioned the group of men as a whole.

Ament rolled his eyes. "Doran asked you, brother, to explain this plot you two had concocted earlier." The leader appeared annoyed. In fact, the younger sibling knew his brother was glad to have their new addition minding the Elf, but Ramlin also knew that Ament was concerned with his brother's excessive interest in their captive.

"Ah, yes," Ramlin thought quickly, "I told Doran on our way here that we could find our riches in selling the Elf, should he live. He would garner us great wealth for his beauty." His attention returned to the back of the cave where Meika was handing Strider more linen to bind the Wood-Elf's injuries.

"You mean as a slave? I think not, brother, this Elf is worth much to us as he is."

Ramlin clenched his fists in aggravation; Ament's easy dismissal of his younger brother's ideas came as no surprise to Ramlin, but was no less harder to accept each time Ament did it. "Brother, Jalian could easily help us find a buyer for it without even taking him to a slave trader. We could break him and then sell him. Tell me this is not easier than this plan you have."

Ament colored bright red in his own frustration, for Ramlin was questioning his brother's decision in front of the men the elder brother purported to lead. "Nay, you are mistaken. Our purposes are much higher than enslaving one Elf. We have the opportunity to make them all our servants, should we succeed."

"But Ament," Ramlin argued, "this Elf..." He couldn't finish this statement, not with Doran and Jalian watching covertly the argument between the siblings.

Ament understood what Ramlin meant, and did not care to embarrass his brother with his desires. "This Elf is handsome, yes, Ramlin." He paused, leaning over the fire and staring deep into his sibling's eyes with both determination and loathing to declare, "You will not have him. He is mine. You will not ruin this plan for me, brother." The fire's reflection in Ament's eyes matched his devilish hair, altogether making him look entirely wicked.

"Then at least let me have my pleasure with him." Their audience forgotten, the two brothers battled wills with their gazes.

"He lies on his deathbed and you wish to have your way with him."

Ramlin huffed in irritation, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, defeated in this argument, though not forever. "I only wish to have some fun, brother. Come now, it bothers you not when it suits you."

Ament could not deny this, and so changed the subject entirely, ignoring Ramlin to shove another piece of venison into his mouth, and saying between chews, "Strider will save him. I am sure of this. It is well that I brought him along."

I will persuade him, or I will take the Elf anyway. I am tired of his orders, Ramlin deliberated. He will see that I am right in the end. Turning his stare back to the captive he desired and ignoring the conversation that the men around the fire were holding about the upcoming journey, Ramlin pictured the beauty in compromising positions, imagining the sounds of the Elf screaming in torment.

Legolas tried to rouse himself from the blackness surrounding his awareness. He could hear voices in the background speaking faintly. They are talking about me. He couldn't hear what they were saying but he knew intuitively that he was the topic of their conversation, for what else would his captors have to speak about in such tones. As the Wood-Elf regained his wits, he pondered on where he was and how he had gotten here. The last thing he remembered was a particularly jarring movement of his legs against the ground when the men who had captured him had thrown him there. After hearing new voices, Legolas had blacked out entirely, missing how he had arrived where he was at the moment.

Now, as he tried to open his eyes against the heaviness that kept them shut, he overheard one of the new voices he had heard earlier saying, "...least let me have my pleasure with him." Another voice responded, "He lies on his deathbed and you wish to have your way with him."

The Wood-Elf, once sure that the voices spoke of him, now hoped that the voices spoke naught of what he assumed. He had heard many horror stories of what happened to Elves who had the ill-fated luck to be caught by the race of men and now, as he lay feverish and poisoned within their grasp, he hoped he would not soon learn the honesty of these tales. I must find a way to escape. His arms were untied and he could feel their pressure as they lay across his stomach and the lacerating pain as the circulation returned to them, but whether by poison or disuse of them, he could not move his limbs.

He tried harder to open his eyes and only with an immense endeavor did he succeed. His efforts were compensated by the view of a dark haired human with gray eyes peering down over him. The human smiled with what Legolas thought was relief and the man's furrowed brow cleared at seeing the Wood-Elf awake.

"Meika," the gray-eyed human ordered softly, turning to the man next to him, an older human that the Elf recognized with repulsion, "go get another water flask."

To Legolas the man asked in the grey-tongue, "Do you feel well?"

The Prince was momentarily flabbergasted by the man's fluent Sindarin but he could not yet find his voice to answer the human's question, or to voice his surprise that one of his captor's knew Elvish. Meika returned with the flask, handing it to the stranger silently, who looked at Meika with a trepidation that Legolas could not guess the meaning behind, before telling the elder man bluntly, "Leave us. He will be better off without your presence." The older man left without arguing, nodding and then moving to sit with his fellows by the fire.

There are more of them, the Elf thought, seeing their movement in his peripheral vision, though he could not turn his head to count the humans who held him captive.

"Do you need a drink of water?" the man asked, again using Elvish and capturing Legolas' attention away from the men around the campfire.

Not wanting to admit his need but knowing that his pride could cost him the chance to escape should he not be healthy enough to try, Legolas nodded faintly with much effort. The Elf watched as the man poured the water into a bowl of mixed herbs – what the herbs were he could not tell. The stranger placed his hand behind Legolas' head and propped the Prince up so that he would not choke on the liquid. "Drink this."

"What is it?" The sound of his own voice made him flinch, for it was raspy and broken.

Casting a glance behind him at the group of mercenaries gathered about the fire pit in the center of the cave, the stranger rejoined softly, "Don't worry, my friend. It will help your fever and alleviate the effects of the luingalas."

Worried though he was, Legolas much longed to quench the thirst that plagued him, and so decided to trust the human, at least this much, so that he could recuperate. The men wanted him alive, therefore, he reasoned, they would not have brought him here just to kill him with poison. Although they've almost done this anyway. The stranger laid the Elf's head back down on the ground tenderly when Legolas' thirst had been slaked. Switching to the common-tongue, the Elf asked of the stranger, "Are these your intentions, too?"

Mystified by the enigmatic question, the stranger only replied as he rifled through his bag of supplies, "My name is Strider. What is yours?"

Legolas considered whether to respond or not. His effort to keep his eyes open and his mind aware using more of his strength than he would have thought, the Elf's anger fueled his bitter counter, "Strider, then. You call me friend, and yet you keep me alive for the sake of the pleasure of your companions."

Again, the stranger looked puzzled, his head rose from his perusal of herbs, and he replied, "I know not of what you speak. I only know that your safety is endangered. You must trust me," the human whispered, sparing another glance at the men gathered around the fire.

"Why do you not help me escape, then?" Legolas asked him, certain that this human would no more be of aid to him than the elder human the Prince had asked to help him in the forest, but the Wood-Elf hoped to glean any information he could from the man, and it did not hurt to try.

"Are you joking? You can barely speak and I cannot handle four men by myself while trying to protect you."

The Elf knew what the man said was true but his defensive side rose to the occasion, and the only reply Strider received was a look of cold fury. Must he remind me I am weak? I am here because of him. He knew this wasn't true, however. You are here because of yourself. He hated this voice in his head, the voice of reason that so often sounded like his father or his tutors speaking to him. Your lack of care placed you here.

"I will try to help you, Master Elf, but there is something I must do first." Having replaced all of his sundry healing items back in his satchel, the human cinched it closed and then sighed, sitting back on his haunches. "Besides, the situation is complicated," Strider added conciliatorily, quietly, so that none could hear him but the Prince.

Legolas repeated in like tone, "Complicated."

The approach of a massive, dark skinned human ended the conversation at once, giving the healer no chance to explain. Legolas did not trust Strider: his words were lies, Legolas was sure of it. He will not help me. He consorts with the men who have taken me. When the opportunity arises, he will die with the rest if that's what it takes for me to be free, to get back to Eryn Galen.

"Ramlin," the healer said, nodding his head in obeisance though he saved his worried gaze for Legolas.

"Ah, I see the pretty Elf is awake." The huge oaf that the healer called Ramlin knelt down next to Strider, a coarse rope in hand. "We can't have him getting away, Strider, can we? Even if he can't move now, he'll be able to once Ament's poison wears off." He turned to Strider, demanding of the healer, "Go eat. I'll take care of him for a while."

Reluctantly, it seemed to Legolas, his healer walked to the fire pit. Legolas could hear one of the men gathered there ask if their cargo would live. Uncoiling the rope and leaning down to the Elf, Ramlin murmured, "You are very beautiful, aren't you? I've never tasted an Elf before, nor had the pleasure of one."

The Prince of Mirkwood refused to react to the man's taunts, though he recognized the human's voice as the one who had asked to bed the Elf and this alone caused Legolas' stomach to twist in disgust. Ramlin didn't seem to care that his prisoner was silent. He rebound the Wood-Elf's hands behind his back by rolling the unresisting Elf on his side, and when the knot had been tied tightly, the mercenary ran his fingers over the stretched muscles of his captive's ribs, briefly flattening his palm against the archer's lower back where the slight swell of his rear began. Legolas tried not to shudder with the waves of revulsion that assaulted him at the man's promising, unwanted touch. Suddenly, Ramlin released his hold, allowing the Elf's body to fall painfully back onto the ground.

This one I will kill for fun. Would that I could but move my arm and he would soon find his own dagger in his throat. The vehement fury in Legolas' eyes caused Ramlin to look away, for the incisive stare of an Elda, especially one angered, could make even the bravest men drop their gaze.

Instead, the beefy mercenary leered at the remainder of the Elf's body. "Very nice. We will have to do more exploring... when you are up to it. I prefer my victims fighting under me, rather than just lying there." The mercenary chuckled wolfishly, gave the Elf one last look, and then tied Legolas' feet swiftly before he moved off towards the fire.

Legolas closed his eyes, overjoyed that the human had not continued touching him, for he could still feel the man's hands fondling his back and ribs. They will all die by my hand.