Blinding, numbing throbbing was the only sensation that the mercenary knew when he opened his eyes. The poison had ravaged his system, and though no permanent damage had been done, Ament could feel the strain of his lungs to draw in air and the rapid palpitations of his heart. There was only one way to alleviate these symptoms, for now and forever: the Goblet of Melfren.
Never again will I suffer these human ailments, the mercenary pondered, blinking his aching eyes against the afternoon sunlight while trying to focus on the colossal, hovering shape above him. Ramlin. It could only be my idiot brother. Ament was aware that his sibling and another form that he believed to be Strider were trying to obtain his wavering attention. Ramlin was here beside me the whole time. He did not know whether this postulation were true or not, but he had felt his brother beside him, watching over him – it meant nothing to him that his brother cared for him, not now, not when the oaf had already threatened Ament's plans. The mercenary leader tried to tune into the animated conversation that was taking place around him.
Nervously, Ramlin queried, "...something you can give him?"
"He is waking," the healer replied conciliatorily. "Give him a moment." A cool wet cloth was placed over his forehead, and Ament felt suddenly alert, his memory of why and where he was coming to him in a rush.
"Ramlin," the injured human responded as he tried to sit, "how much time have we lost?"
"Lay back down, brother. It is good to see you awake." Ramlin's joyful grin at seeing his brother conscious muddled Ament's mind, but he laid back down when both the healer and his sibling's hands pushed him firmly back onto the bedroll. "We've only lost one day. Strider says that we can leave tomorrow morning, maybe, when you've rested more."
Ament glared at the healer; he was childishly angered that he needed the man's help and that Strider had taken charge when he was unconscious, but his better sense took hold. If anyone else had been in charge, no doubt, the forest would be burning and the Elf would be... The mercenary rose again hurriedly in panic, startling the two kneeling next to him. A deep relief flooded him when he saw the Elf across the clearing, staring emotionlessly in their direction. The foul being is still alive, as is Ramlin. I suppose he behaved himself. Strider had turned back to his mortar, mixing some concoction of herbs that Ament assumed would likely put him back to sleep or otherwise slow down their progress.
Turning to his brother, the leader ordered judiciously, "Get us ready, we leave now. What will heal me now lies only a day away."
Although he made to argue, the behemoth grunted and then leapt to his feet to obey, a fact that pleased Ament. Perhaps not having me around to guide him has reminded Ramlin how truly useless he is.
"Ament, you need more rest, you..."
The anxious leader interrupted his healer with an authoritative glare, "No, Strider. We ride through the night."
The healer did not argue, but rose deferentially from his seat on the ground to pack with the rest of the men. Ament watched them, feeling the surge of adrenaline coming back that had kept him going thus far in his quest of revenge. I am close. With the goblet and the Prince, I will have my vengeance and wealth beyond my wildest dreams. Ament's resolve returned, his desire to see King Thranduil suffer augmented by his imperative need to live an immortal life with the amenities that the King's riches would buy. Never will I want again, and I will have all of eternity to enjoy it.
The mercenaries were almost packed, though they moved sluggishly, their apprehension to travel through the dark forest in the coming night slowed their actions. He observed them, musing that he should be leading such a varied crew of criminals. None is worth what I have promised them at the end of this journey. Ament snickered to himself as he sat cross-legged on the forest floor. I have no plans to pay them. What fools.
Ramlin, too, would enjoy the vengeance that Ament sought, if Ament had bothered to tell his brother the full extent of his plans. As of the moment, the younger sibling only knew that Ament desired a goblet for immortality, not for revenge against the King of Eryn Galen. If Ramlin knew the Elf's identity or my plans for him, he would no doubt have torn the Elf's limbs from his ravaged body before now. Ament was more than willing to let his brother die to see his plan's fruition. Strider will likely rid me of my imbecile sibling, and then, at least, one of us will see our parents avenged.
While the other men saddled the horses, Ramlin came back to his brother, squatting beside him to question, "Do you want me to saddle your horse?"
Ament only nodded to his brother's question, his struggle to gain his feet taking too much of his concentration for him to answer vocally. Putting out a hand, Ramlin steadied his brother's shaky stance surreptitiously as they walked to the horses, a deed rewarded with a nod of appreciation from Ament, who did not want to appear frail before the other men. He could almost smell their fear. The Elf, he noted as he pulled his weak, wounded leg over the saddle of his horse, was tied to Strider's horse as usual. He will not last long under Ramlin's care, should the idiot survive long enough to have him.
Despite the violent soreness that he felt, and the throbbing headache that painted the scenery around him in pulses of red with each hoof beat of the hushed band of travelers, Ament smiled in genuine elation. Soon.
The three Elves had split to cover more ground in the copse of trees and outlying grassy plain. Tirn had taken to the trees, knowing that the Elf Lords were accustomed to traveling with the Rangers, and therefore likely to be better trackers. He, however, intended to commune with the wooded dell. At least three of the tracks had led directly from the copse of trees, heading towards the Mirkwood forest.
Tirn picked his way through the copse carefully; he was unsure if he was following the path of whatever creatures had ran from the birches, but the blatant tracks upon the ground confirmed it. Broken underbrush and several deep footprints were scattered in a wide pattern throughout the glade. They were all running, the sentry deliberated, or some were running, and others were chasing.
As he searched through the trees, placing his hand intermittently on them to ascertain the presence of the Prince, the fair immortal sensed the disruption in the lifesong of the birches. The further he went, the stronger the disturbance, until Tirn no longer looked for signs of a trail, but bolted towards the source of the trees' uneasiness. The Prince was here, some ill has befallen him. Breaking through a small clearing where the apex of disruption emanated, the Elf stumbled in distress. He found no Prince. Legolas was here. The trees do not know him but they speak of him just the same. Tirn paced the clearing, investigating the footprints and crumpled underbrush avidly. A flash of green cloth, nothing more than a scrap on the ground, stopped him. The Wood-Elf fell to his knees, seizing the torn fabric as if through it he could find the missing Prince.
Eryn Galen colors. He had not needed the material to be certain his Prince had been in this copse of birches, the trees themselves told him that Legolas had been there, and had been suffering. The sentry clasped the cloth tightly to his chest; it was his good fortune, and the Prince's, that the trees also told him of no death. There is hope yet.
He picked out the remaining, much lighter footprints in the dying daylight, eventually coming to the edge of the small copse where he found Elladan, Elrohir, and their horses following the trail towards him. Tirn called out to them an excited greeting, causing them to jump when he shouted, "My Lords!"
"By Ilúvatar! Silvan Elves are quiet!" Elladan jested, his mood lightened with his and Elrohir's discoveries, their excitement making the whole trio smile in a strange manner.
Elrohir began when Tirn met them outside the birches, "We have a trail into the forest, Tirn. They are traveling..."
"...into Eryn Galen. These footprints are our brother's," Elladan finished. He knelt, pointing to a small, nearly indecipherable indentation in the ground, which was soft and pliable from the recent rainfall.
"How do you know this?" The sentry, although impressed at the twin's skill, could not determine one footprint from the others, and likely would not have seen this small print on the ground, had it not been pointed out to him.
"Rangers tread lightly, much like the Elves," Elrohir explained, his grin growing. "I know this is our brother's footsteps, for we taught him to walk this softly."
Their brother is a Ranger? Tirn suppressed asking aloud the issue that had plagued him since meeting the two dark-haired Noldor, but questioned himself instead, Why is their brother journeying with the men who took the Prince? Remembering his own findings, the sentry paled. His prints lead to the place where Prince Legolas was harmed. What had this Ranger to do with this? A hand on his shoulder yanked the sentry from his thoughts, however, and Tirn's fair face colored as if he had been caught in his suspicious ponderings.
"What did you find?" Elladan's scrutinizing gaze ran over Tirn's reddened visage.
"The Prince went through these trees here," he told them, indicating with a turn of his head the birches behind him. The twins nodded their agreement and continued to stare at him, waiting for him to finish. "The trees sing of Legolas, and of his anguish. He has undergone some ill there."
Again, the twins nodded, though this time their shared countenance was sobered. Elrohir spoke, adding his hand to Tirn's other shoulder in comfort, "Close to the Mirkwood border the grass laid flat as though a struggle had occurred. We found Elven blood spattered across the ground. Prince Legolas must have tried to escape only to be recaptured. He almost made it." Tirn blanched, all color dropping from his face once more at the thought that his beloved Prince, his charge, had almost escaped, and had paid a hard levy for his attempt.
"We will find the Prince, and our brother. Have hope. The trail leads into Mirkwood, so surely your knowledge of the forest will put us at an advantage."
Elladan's trusting and friendly words revived the sentry's optimism. I do not know how well my skills will help us but we have tracks, and the forest can lead us towards the Prince.
Tirn grinned, his questions and misgivings about the Noldor's Ranger brother and worry about the incident in the trees pushed aside for now. "Let us go, then."
Deep night fell once again on the band of men in the Mirkwood forest: they were at a standstill as Ament pored over the map in his hand. Aragorn had not had the chance to speak to Legolas alone since the night before but he knew the Elf had not changed his mind. Another chance at escape is lost, now that we ride at night, also. Sighing, Strider turned his attention to the immortal before him, who sat proudly, head held high regardless of the discomfiture of his situation. He will sacrifice much to see through our shoddy plan. Snorting softly, the Ranger corrected, What plan? We have none. We walk into this danger and hope for the best.
Ament groaned, his frustration evident in his robust scowl as he finally spoke. "This should be it. If that fool farmer has led us astray..."
Valar, we have arrived already. The Ranger could sense the Prince's body stiffen in anticipation of whatever may occur now that their destination was reached. The mercenary did not finish his threat; he did not have to speak for the men and Elf around him to understand the depths of his ire. Aragorn had considered the possibility that the farmer had lied, or had been lied to, but it seemed impossible for such a thing to occur, not after all they had already endured.
Doran asked their leader, "This is it? What are we looking for, anyway?" The mercenaries had been riding all night, squirming under the watchful eyes in the trees around them, and now they were eager to be rid of Mirkwood's hospitality.
"Yes, this is it, now quiet lest you lose your tongue," Ament spat, not bothering to look at the tall archer.
Meika helped Strider remove Legolas from his bindings in the same manner as they had done previously. The actions had become routine, and the Elf did not resist; the knife the Ranger held at his throat, while of no real threat to him, gave the appearance that their captive was under control.
Sliding off his steed when Meika held Legolas upright, his feet bound once more, Aragorn inspected the area in which they had stopped. There is nothing here but dirt and trees. And the eyes. Strider was as unnerved at the yellow orbs peering from the dark limbs of the forest as the other men. Only Legolas seemed to be oblivious to the menace as Strider held him upright, waiting for instruction before he sat down the Elf. He is used to the eyes. We are in his homeland.
"It is only a few hours until daylight, brother. Surely, this is where the farmer told you it lay, though I remember not his directions. Why do we not rest, wait until the sun shines upon us, and look then?"
Ramlin's suggestion was met with hopeful enthusiasm by the tired mercenaries and scorn by his older sibling: however, their leader relented, saying, "Fine. Make camp. Tomorrow we search."
At this order, the band of men set about making camp, eager to eat and rest before they were forced back into action by the coming dawn. Aragorn aided Legolas to a tree near to the campfire that Jalian was building, intending to keep the Elf as close to the others as possible. I wish I knew what Ament knows of where this artifact is hidden.
Ere he could leave Legolas, the Elf whispered, "Nature calls, Strider."
Leaning down to speak to the captive, Aragorn whispered in return, "I suppose you didn't get the chance last time."
He was undecided, though, as to how to take the Elda without inciting another incident. Although if Ramlin causes another problem, at least I have Ament's blessing to stop him.
"Last time I planned to escape. This time I have no intention of leaving."
Frowning deeply, the Ranger's gray eyes lit with concern as he replied, "Escape is still the best option for you, my friend." Seeing the resolve in the Elf, though, the healer knew he could not convince Legolas to leave, not with his father and his people in jeopardy. The Prince said nothing, last night's humor forgotten under the serious circumstances they undertook. "Fine. Hold, and I will speak to Ament."
Swiftly, he walked to opposite the campfire, where Ramlin was aiding his brother in sitting. Valar, please, do not let Ramlin accompany us.
When he had reached the leader, he first saw to the mercenary's wounds, disregarding the man's insistence that he did not need any healing. "I am fine, Strider, leave me be."
"Your wounds may become infected, Ament. This will only take a moment."
He lifted the bandage, checking the temperature and color of the poisoned flesh. All is well, it seems. Aragorn could not help hoping that the mercenary would succumb to the poison, if only to alleviate him of another barrier to his and Legolas' safety, but was aggrieved that he should feel so. He has his reasons, as erroneous as they may be. Besides, I could not sit by and allow him to die, not if I could help him. Sometimes his teachings to be a good healer outweighed all else.
Ramlin had not left his brother's side during the examination, and now turned to Strider, asking, "Well?"
"It seems you are healing fine, Ament, though perhaps I can give you something for the pain," the Ranger responded, directing his conversation towards the leader and not his perverse brother.
"As I told you, Strider, I do not need your expertise or your herbs," Ament touted testily, though his recoil at the healer's tightening his bandage showed otherwise.
Grimacing in expectation of the leader's reaction, Aragorn stated casually, giving up on aiding the mercenary any more than what he already had, "The Elf has needs to be attended to. He did not get the chance last time." Shooting a furtive glance at Ramlin, the Ranger hoped that Ament would allow him and Legolas enough privacy that the immortal's more pressing need to flee could be foisted upon him, a need that could not be argued if Ramlin tagged along.
"Take him, Strider, but take Meika with you." The leader yelled out to the men around the fire, "Meika, help Strider take the Elf to piss."
Swallowing a moan of frustration, the Ranger stood, leaving an angered Ramlin to feed his sibling dried meat. Great, it will be hard convincing Legolas to leave with Meika in attendance. Meika followed the Ranger nervously to the Elf, helping him to ready Legolas for their excursion by securing the Elf's hands before him and cutting loose his feet, but tying a knotted length of rope about his wrists as a leash so that the Elda could not flee. Repeatedly, the older mercenary looked back to the other mercenaries, his edginess not lost on the Ranger or Elf, who shared a glance of disquiet. Why does he act so?
The three did not hike far into the dark forest before Aragorn halted, his desire to convince Legolas to escape shining clearly in his face. The Prince unlaced his leggings, his back to the two men, and relieved himself to the cacophony of the tainted woods.
"Strider," Meika mumbled, his voice lost in the soft sound of the forest.
"Yes," the Ranger replied, his hold on the leash slack as he turned to the older man, his mind more on how to convince Meika to leave them alone for a moment than listening to what the older man had to say. "What is it?"
"This is the Prince of Mirkwood, is it not?"
Aragorn tried to act nonchalant at the mention of the Elf's title, hoping his surprise did not show to know that Meika had learned Legolas' identity. No one is supposed to know. He peered at the man, trying to determine why the mercenary would ask him this and what he should tell him. Legolas, he saw, was quickly lacing his leggings, his needs tended, and his back straighter than normal with tension wrought by the human's query.
Strider countered, "Why would such a thing concern you, Meika?"
The human fidgeted in indecision before narrowing his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and claiming with his head tilted to the side in question, "I heard you, last night, talking. I know what you plan. You will set the Elf free, will you not?"
The Prince, by this time, had turned to face the two humans, his expression impassive. Aragorn's heartbeat rose in intensity quickly. We are found out.
"I do not know what you think you overheard, Meika. Perhaps you dreamt," the Ranger stated, attempting to evade the man's inquiry.
If Ament hears of this, I am dead, and Legolas soon to follow.
"I did not dream, Strider," Meika replied spitefully, "And I am not an idiot." The mercenary sighed, his brow furrowed into lines of hesitancy and determination, a mix that the Ranger found infuriatingly hard to decipher. Glaring hard at the Elf, Meika continued, "I do not understand the others' hatred. I have no love for the Elves, but nor do I hold any hatred for your kind. Ramlin has told us what he intends to do with you after you have served your purpose to Ament."
Legolas said nothing, as did Aragorn, until the tense silence was broken by the mercenary's sigh. "I've no wish to see anyone suffer at the hands of Ramlin. Not even an Elf. I was wrong to think that I could ever enjoy the spoils of such an exploit at the expense of another." Laughing derisively at himself, the human added, "'Spose that doesn't make me much of a mercenary, does it?"
Who would have guessed Meika to be a good man? the Ranger thought.
Unable to respond in their shock at the man's sudden decency, the Elf and Ranger only listened mutely as the mercenary implored, "Run. I will see that the others do not follow."
"You hazard too much," Legolas said, while making no move to leave.
Meika leant down, picking up a fallen branch the width of a human arm from the ground. "Leave," he growled, hefting the limb in his hands ominously. "Be gone, Elf, before there is trouble."
Strider stepped between the Elf and man, not sure how or whether to explain to the man that Legolas wished to stay. He was unprepared for the swinging branch that assailed his unprotected face, not believing the man meant to strike him but Legolas, and was rendered limp ere he hit the forest floor. Sweet Eru, he thought uselessly, as he fell to his hands and knees, struggling to stay alert.
It had taken convincing but the addled Ament had finally caved into letting his brother check on the errant mercenaries by reminding him of the Elf's wiliness in their last escapade. Never mind that the Elf almost escaped because of that fool Strider. He had not forgotten the healer's interference in his last chance at fun with their captive, though the healer had helped Ament, and for this Ramlin had grudgingly decided to allow Strider to remain amongst the living. Ramlin had also not forgotten the Elf's surprising assistance to the healer, though the latter he relegated to the Elf's desire to knock Ramlin unconscious, also, so that the Elf could flee unobstructed.
Ramlin tread softly through the gnarled roots of the woods, not wanting to interrupt the Elf from his business lest he miss the sight of the fair immortal partially unclothed.
The sight he came privy to was one he was even happier not to have missed. Ramlin approached the threesome unnoticed because the Elf and healer were absorbed in whatever Meika was telling the two: suddenly, Meika bent to the ground, picked up a limb from it, which he brandished at Strider and the Elf.
"...be gone, Elf, before there is trouble," Ramlin heard Meika say as the mammoth mercenary grew closer. He watched Meika pelt the healer with his wooden club, knocking Strider to the forest floor.
Ramlin rushed from the underbrush, his dagger drawn, advancing on the older mercenary. Traitor. He wants to let my Elf go free, does he?
"Meika, you fool," Ramlin growled, and then rushed towards the older mercenary, blade outthrust.
"Legolas, run," the older human hissed, turning to face the Elda, whose eyes turned wide at the sight of his previous attacker in such similar circumstances as his last assault.
Initially, Meika's words went on deaf ears: the Elf did not move. When Ramlin thrust his dagger into the unprotected back of the turned mercenary, the Elf still did not move for he was seemingly rooted to the spot, which only delighted Ramlin.
Legolas, Prince Legolas?
Strider had fallen but had not lost consciousness, and Ramlin watched as he pulled his broadsword with a singing swoosh of air, though he was surprised, despite his previous misgivings, to find the blade pointed towards him when Strider stood, not at the Elf or the fallen, dying older mercenary. Unsteadily, the healer backed towards the Elf, who remained as motionless as before, staring at Meika's sputtering, bleeding form with sad bafflement.
The brute mercenary grinned, his face lit with feral anticipation. "Legolas? Thranduilion?" Ramlin's question did not need a response, for the Elf Prince looked sharply at Ramlin, his alarmed expression answering for him.