-Siege of Dread-
By: Cassia and Siobhan

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Rating: PG-13

Feedback:
cassia_a@hotmail.com and siobhancl2@aol.com

Spoilers:
Probably some for previous stories in our series, possibly for LOTR and other Tolkien works.

Disclaimer:
We own nothing of Middle Earth or any of Tolkien’s worlds or characters. Everything recognizable belongs to JRR Tolkien; anything else belongs to us. We have no permission to use these characters and are receiving no money for this story. This story was written for enjoyment only. Please do not use our original characters or situations without asking first. Thank you.

Summary:
Rivendell has always been a place of peace. When that tranquility is threatened it leads to a cascade of events that seek to destroy Aragorn's adopted family. Two mysterious figures from the past become suddenly important and in a bizarre twist of fate, Aragorn and Legolas find themselves faced with trying to save not only the future of Rivendell, but Mirkwood as well... if they can save themselves, first.

Series:
Yes, part of the sprawling Mellon Chronicles Universe which includes:
Tears Like Rain
Captive of Darkness
Hope
Father’s Love
Never Alone
First Meetings
Change of Heart, Change of Mind
Exile
Return
Mistaken Identity
Vilya
Black Breath
Sickness
The Seventh Stone
Betrayal
Legolas’ No Good, Rotten Day
Priceless Treasure
The Stars of Harad
Dark Visions
Traitor
Escape from Mordor
Curse of Angmar
Only the Beginning
&
And So The End

This story will make much more sense if you have read those first, but if you want to be adventurous and give it a whirl by itself, go right ahead!

WARNINGS:
The usual.
Owies, angst, torture, destruction, mayhem... all the good stuff. :o)
Tissue warnings may be warranted on some of the later chapters.

Additional Disclaimers:

By now most readers should know our take on this, but just to be clear: We take the view that since Elrond raised Aragorn he became his adopted father, and Elladan and Elrohir his brothers. Gilraen does not appear in our stories so for all practical purposes both Aragorn’s birth parents died when he was little.

Although technically Elrond is part everything (Noldor, Sindar, Human and even a wee little bit of Maia) we choose to refer to him as a Noldo elf simply because that seems to be the association he has chosen for himself in the books, and all his foster parents or lords (first Maglor and then Gil-Galad) were Noldor. Much as Legolas considers himself Silvan despite being half Sindar. This is just our opinion, please don’t get upset if you disagree.

Also, this story differs on several points from some of the information laid out in the very interesting “Weapons and Warfare” book by Chris Smith. However, since that book tends to follow speculation based on the movie version of things and also carries some pretty large divergences from the LOTR books (*cough, cough* Arwen is Elrond’s ONLY child? Um... *cough* Elladan-and-Elrohir! *cough*) we don’t feel too bad about crossing opinions with it on a few other issues.
As far as we know there is nothing in actual Tolkien-written canon that excludes the scenarios we have taking place in this story, however, if there is and we just don’t know it, then please understand that this is just fiction and we’re not trying to portray anything as ‘fact’. Likewise, if you just don’t think it’s feasible, that’s okay, that’s your right, just think of it as AU if that makes you feel any better but pretty please don’t flame us over it.
All flames and scoffing will be fed to our wargs who whisper in my ear, telling me where to break chapters for maximum cliffie value and suggesting that we take longer between posts.
*innocently evil grin* – if that’s possible.

Oh, as long as I’m slapping on more disclaimers than a car advertisement, please note that because of the multi-threaded nature of this tale, it happens some times that a few chapters will be more Elrond-centric, Twins-centric or Woodelves-centric than our Aragorn & Legolas fics usually are, but it really couldn’t be helped, so I hope you enjoy anyway.

Well believe it or not this is a short header for us, so now... on with the story!

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-Siege of Dread-

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~*PART ONE*~
~Gathering Clouds and Rays of Hope~

~~~~~~~~
You haunt me in my dreams
but I can never see your face
I hold you close through midnight
but dawn leaves me no trace.

Is my heart searching for you,
or has it lost its way?
Dark portents cloud my vision,
have they led you astray?

--Cassia
~~~~~~~~

Cold. Everything was so very cold. He knew that’s what it was although the feeling was foreign, unfamiliar. He shivered. That wasn’t right... something about this was wrong. Very wrong.

What was this place? Was it the void? It could have been. It felt that empty.

But no... it wasn’t empty. There were mountains; their dark shapes barely discernable from the surrounding darkness. Evil. There was great evil all around. And there were others present... horrible creatures. Orcs and goblins.

Their fell voices rattled with the black speech, a foul curse upon every breath they took. They seemed pleased in a cruel sort of way; stirred up. They were sporting with something... nay, someone.

Someone whom they had up against a cliff wall... it seemed the being was in chains, but he couldn’t see the captive clearly through the press of foul, reeking bodies. Yet somehow he felt it was important that he know.

Who?

He felt his blood boil.

Who was being subjected so to such blatantly evil whims?

He tried to move, to help... but found himself utterly powerless to do so. He could do nothing but sit there as the orcs jeered and strangled cries were wrung from the unseen source.

The soft voice was pleading, broken, and eerily familiar as it begged someone also unseen to let death take away the pain.

“I cannot endure with them any longer. It is time for me to go, my spirit has become too weary, I cannot abide here anymore. Please help me. Free me. Do not leave me here with them. Do not leave me at their mercy again...”

The plea rent his heart and made him choke. Yet he could not shake the feeling that the voice was speaking to someone else. The words were not meant for him, he was listening as an outsider... but an outsider whose heart was breaking.

A strange flame of desperation burned in the pit of his stomach, as if he knew this, as if he had seen it before and knew that he wanted it to stop, even if he could not remember why.

The mottled, starless sky overhead disappeared and it seemed that the world shrank and pulled in on itself, trapping him in the inky blackness of a cave. Yet the figures of the orcs remained the same, undeterred from their cruel games.

Suddenly the dark mass of orc bodies parted and their prisoner was thrust forward.

His heart stopped. Time stopped. Everything became suddenly deathly silent as the orcs threw the bleeding blonde elf to the ground.

“LEGOLAS!” his heart screamed in recognition, but it was barely a trembling whisper on his lips as his son fell limply into his lap; the younger elf’s golden hair spilling across the elf king’s legs like tattered remnants of sunshine fading from sight in this darkened world.

Legolas’ head came to rest against his knees; the prince’s glazed silver-blue eyes staring up into nothing.

“NO! LEGOLAS!! What have you done to him?! LEGOLAS!!”

Thranduil sat bolt upright in his bed, the cry still on his lips. His hands were tangled in the bed sheets next to him and his chest was heaving. Perspiration moistened his brow and made his long blonde hair cling to his face.

He blinked at the familiar but unexpected sight of his own chambers, bathed in the faint light of pre-dawn creeping in under the long velvet drapes. His heart was still hammering in his chest and it took him a few moments to rationalize what he was seeing now with the gripping terror of only a few moments ago.

“Your majesty?” A concerned voice from the direction of the doorway made Thranduil look up. The Elvenking ran a shaking hand through his tousled hair, smoothing it away from his face. His voice when he answered was steady, although still slightly confused.

“Yes, Elrynd? Is something wrong?”

Elrynd was in his dressing-gown still, standing in the doorway and looking quite concerned.

“You cried out your Majesty... are you all right?” Elrynd’s gaze was openly worried. Elves did not usually suffer from nightmares, being able to wander in dreams of their own choosing when they lay down to rest on most occasions. Therefore the king’s current condition was cause for confusion and mild alarm from his loyal servant.

Thranduil let his breath out slowly, allowing the last of the unfathomable terror to roll away from him.

“Yes, I’m fine Elrynd. I simply...” Thranduil did not finish his sentence. How could he explain that he had been having nightmares for over a year now? No, not nightmares, he corrected himself. Nightmare, singular. It was always the same one, but in his dreams he never recognized it for what it was until after he awakened. These horrible visions did not come frequently, he had had it only a handful of times, but it was still a highly disturbing occurrence.

The first time the dream came to him was nearly six months after Legolas left on his journey south to visit Estel in Gondor a few years ago. At that point the King had been sorely tempted to send someone out to look for the Prince, to assure himself that everything really was all right. Reason had taken over in the end however. Thranduil had realized he had no idea *where* in Gondor his son was heading and by the time any messenger covered the great distance the prince would in all likelihood no longer have even been there.

Time passed and Thranduil had just about convinced himself that the dream had been nothing more than his subconscious mind expressing its concern for his son’s safety since it seemed always that he got into trouble whenever he went off with his human friend.

Then the dream returned.

Thranduil’s relief was unspeakable when the message came from Rivendell a few months ago that Legolas and Estel had returned to Imladris alive and well. The letter hinted that they had some rather trying adventures behind them, but Lord Elrond was nothing if not diplomatic and had obviously not wished to give a full accounting in a letter, saying rather that Legolas would explain all when he returned.

Legolas had included his own note in the dispatches. He bid his father well, made a jesting reference to whether or not his ketrals had yet become the side-dish at a feast as his father had so often threatened whenever the small creatures caused mischief, and said that he intended to stay in Rivendell for a time.

All seemed well, and yet Thranduil could not shake the small feeling that there were things he ought to know that he did not.

The dream had come again that night.

Now, less than three months later, it returned once more to haunt him. Never before had they come so close together and Thranduil did not like this one bit.

The elf lord pushed the covers aside and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. Elrynd was still standing there, staring at him.

“I’m fine,” Thranduil repeated, much more in control of himself now, his usual authoritative presence becoming clear once more. “Is there any word from the elves sent to Imladris yet?”

Not long after the return of the nightmare, Thranduil sent messengers across the mountains with responses to the letters he had received, and some carefully worded prodding that he hoped would give him some insight into what was plaguing him so.

The messengers did not return and a search party was sent out for them.

As of right now, all of them were sorely overdue. If this continued, Thranduil was going to take matters into his own hands.

Elrynd nodded his head in assent, which surprised the Elvenking, who had not expected an answer to the affirmative.

“Raniean returned late last night your highness...”

“What?” Thranduil rose swiftly, pulling a robe on over his sleeping clothes. “Why wasn’t I told? I said I wanted to be informed at once if-”

Elrynd held up his hands in apology. “I am sorry your Majesty, but it was no more than an hour or two ago and he was in no state to be able to speak to anyone. He is with the healers; they put him in one of the guestrooms for the time being. I was just coming to get you now when I heard you call out.”

Thranduil nodded as he knotted his corded sash around his waist to keep the robe shut. “The healers? He is injured? What happened? What of the others?”

Elrynd’s face was grave. “He returned alone your Majesty. It appears that they were attacked by a great host of goblins and wargs in the mountains. The passes are not safe. He said it is doubtful that the messengers they went in search of ever made it through.”

Thranduil was already on his way down the hall towards the guest chambers while Elrynd hurried along behind, explaining as they went. The Elvenking’s expression was troubled. These were not good tidings.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elrond stood quietly in the recesses of the far north balcony of his home. Here the sun touched the open veranda and warmed the cooling fall air.

Elrohir was stretched out upon the couch that faced the balustrade, overlooking the Bruinen far below. The younger twin had fallen asleep on the brocaded coverlet, his face turned towards the autumn sun. His chest rose and fell gently and he had closed his eyes against the bright afternoon light. His lips were parted slightly in sleep and the cool air had painted his cheeks a rosy pink. He stirred a little as some dream haunted his rest, but quieted with a sigh as he settled back into deep slumber.

A shadow to his right alerted the elf lord that they were not alone and he stepped forward.

Aragorn stalked quietly onto the balcony from the stairwell that led down into the gardens below. He knew that Elrohir had been spending a lot of time here lately and he fully intended to surprise his brother, hoping to lighten his spirit. Elrohir had despaired of late when his hearing did not return as quickly as he had thought it would. Withdrawing from their usual activities, he had separated himself from the others and pulled inside himself. This grieved Aragorn and he knew it was almost eating Elladan alive although the older elf was trying not to admit as much.

“Estel,” Elrond called to his human son, stopping the man in his tracks. “Don’t my son. It will only scare him.”

Aragorn swiveled in surprise towards the sound of the voice. “Ada?”

The elf lord left his vigil and walked out into the sun.

“What are you doing here?” The human asked softly.

“There is no need to whisper.” Elrond drew the man with him to a bench against the wall of the house. His gaze trailed back to the sleeping elf. “He can’t hear you.”

Aragorn sighed as he took a seat next to his father. “I know. But you and Gandalf both said you thought it was only a matter of time, surely soon...” the ranger’s voice trailed off at the pained expression on his father’s face as Elrond shook his head.

“That is what I *thought* Estel, and I still do hope. The sad fact however, is that his hearing is only a little better after all this time and he is not dealing with it well. He suffers from bouts of dizziness also; they sap his strength. Elves are not used to feeling ill. I think right now a surprise would not be the best thing for him.” The elf lord smiled softly in Elrohir’s direction before turning back to look into the silver eyes that watched him quietly.

Aragorn’s gaze flickered from his fathers to the sleeping form before resting on the blue eyes once more. “I only meant to cheer him. It worries me that he does not go out with us anymore. I wish he would realize that we do not care whether he can hear us or not, we just want to be together. Is there nothing else we can do for him, Ada?”

“There is one more thing that I have not tried,” the elf lord admitted slowly. “I was going to suggest it to him, but when I found him sleeping out here I had not the heart to wake him. It’s been a long time since I have found him curled up asleep on this balcony.” A smile spread across Elrond’s lips and he looked across the rift. His gaze did not perceive what was before them now, straying instead across the recollections of what had been.

“This was my wife’s favorite place in the autumn. We could always find her out here enjoying the sun in the late afternoons. She claimed it was the warmest spot in the house during fall. As a child, Elrohir would join her often. Sitting at her feet with a book or a toy, as contented being here as she was.” With a sigh the elf blinked slowly and it was apparent that he was once more in the present.

“He and Elladan are twins.” His gaze settled once more on the dark haired elf, “Identical in nearly everything and inseparable. It used to be hard for me to tell them apart. But as they grew older they developed their own personalities. Elladan hides his fears and what he perceives as his weaknesses in controlling the situations around him, and sometimes the people.” the elf lord glanced at the human next to him with a fond smile. He placed his arm around the ranger’s shoulders, staring into the attentive eyes. “He has taken up the role of protector, acting as the firstborn that he in fact is. Sometimes he takes his role too far.” A small laugh escaped the older elf. “His heart is soft but he hides it. Elrohir, however, never could. His tenderheartedness has ever been his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.”

Aragorn watched his brother as the elf slept. He knew that Elladan was the more stubborn, strong headed of the two. Sometimes his over protectiveness had irritated the ranger and yet there were times that he welcomed it, a reminded of home, of safety. But Elrohir had always been the one he had gone to when he had hurt himself or woken in the night afraid when Elrond was away. It hurt his heart to see his brother withdrawing and pulling away from them like he was.

He started slightly when Elrond began speaking again, pulled out of his reverie by the elf’s deep soft voice.

“When Celebrìan left, it nearly broke his heart. He knew she could not stay and yet he was torn in letting her go alone. He very nearly left with her. I... I almost expected him to, as much as that thought hurt. I never could be sure he didn’t stay simply to spare me further loss,” Elrond sighed. “For weeks I would find him out here, tears rolling his face. He said he could feel her more here than anywhere else in the house. Wounds fade in time, even for elves, but some more slowly than others. Elrohir feels deeply, but his spirit is too light and free to remain bound by sorrow forever. Still... it was not so very long ago as we reckon time. Then you came along. Many years had already passed, but I think your being here did his heart more good than any of us expected. Often were the nights I would find the two of you in your bed because he had stayed when your nightmares returned.” Elrond smiled down at the human next to him.

“I remember that.” Aragorn laughed softly, “He always came back into my room with me. Elladan was harder to wake up than Elrohir and for some reason he could never understand what I was saying in the middle of the night. Elrohir was quick to wake up and always quieted my fears. He would sing to me, tell me stories, make me laugh and stay until I fell I asleep.”

“Yes.” Elrond’s smile widened. “He loved having a child in the house. In many ways in his heart I still think he is one. They both are, but he would probably admit to it more readily than Elladan.” Elrond smiled faintly. “Elladan would rather be the mother, that is how his heart heals, but Elrohir... Elrohir would rather be the child.”

Aragorn chuckled slightly. “Maybe that is why they compliment each other so perfectly.”

With a small answering smile the elf lord rose, “I think I shall wake him and see if he would like to try this treatment. I have only heard of it, never preformed it or had reason to.” Elrond glanced back at his human son, “Would you like to help me?”

With a nod Aragorn rose also, walking to the balustrade and watching as his father sat quietly on the large couch. “Elrohir?”

Elrohir didn’t stir. It broke the elf lord’s heart as the twin slept on. He moved forward to touch his son and wake him when Aragorn interrupted.

“Ada, wait.” The ranger spoke up quickly. He was watching his brother carefully, “See if he can sense you before you waken him. Give him a minute.”

“What are you thinking, my son?” Elrond turned back and watched the ranger but Estel was intent on the twin.

“This is something I have been wondering about...” Aragorn’s voice trailed off and a smile spread across his face, “There...see?”

Elrohir stirred slightly, his right hand easing up in front of him as if to ward someone off. Gently he rested his palm on his father’s leg, his consciousness registering that someone was near. A second later, grey eyes opened and squinted questioningly up at the elf lord.

“Ada?” Elrohir pressed himself up on the couch, slightly surprised to see his father so near and yet realizing that he halfway expected it as well. He was confused.

Elrond smiled at the twin before frowning slightly at Aragorn. “How did you know?”

“What?” Elrohir questioned softly.

“Not you.” Elrond glanced back at the human again causing Elrohir to follow his gaze, “Your brother.”

“A hunch.” Aragorn shrugged, “Something I’ve been noticing lately.”

“What are you talking about?” Elrohir’s confusion was growing by the minute. He sat up, brushing the long dark strands of hair away from his face. His braids had come undone in his sleep and he pushed the wayward locks out of his eyes.

“You.” Aragorn deadpanned as he stared at his brother, “What else is there to talk about?”

With a snort of derision Elrohir shook his head, but the human’s smile was mirrored on the elven face.

“No, really?” He asked again.

“No, *really*!” Aragorn answered with a chuckle.

“Enough of this you two.” Elrond stopped the banter, giving his youngest a stern look. “I expect you to explain what you are going on about when we get inside.”

“What is it Ada?” Elrohir was sitting up fully now, watching his father and brother speaking and trying to keep up with their conversation. He was becoming more skilled at lip-reading, but it was hard when people were not talking directly to him. He lost too much of a conversation looking back and forth between the different speakers.

Elrond turned his attention back to the elf next to him. The gentle touch to his arm by the twin caught at his heart as Elrohir tried to keep up with the two of them.

With a soft smile the elf lord explained himself as he pulled Elrohir to his feet. “I would like to try one more remedy for your ears if you are willing.” He spoke softly and clearly, the words of the high tongue easiest for the younger elf to follow.

“I am.” Elrohir nodded quickly. He had had enough of living without sound and longed to hear again. At nights sometimes he would strain to hear, willing his ears to open up again, but always he was met with the same quiet, muted world. Sometimes he thought he could hear something, but he could not be sure if he actually was, or if it was the phantom of his imagination. His impairment was wearing on him and he could no longer pull himself out of the depression that dogged his spirit.

Aragorn trailed quietly behind them as Elrond led his sons into his medicine pantry. The small apothecary was comprised of shelves and cabinets that lined the walls. A countertop of burnished wood ran the full length of the long, narrow room; wrapping around the corners and making the pantry seem smaller. A waist-high worktable sat like an island in the middle of the room and Elrond quickly began clearing the contents off of it.

“Estel, bring me some towels, three or four please, whatever you can find.”

The human ran out of the room quickly to obey as his father lit a large candle, placing it in a holder beneath one of his copper pots that he frequently used.

When Aragorn returned, Elrohir was seated on the island behind Elrond as the elf lord mixed a concoction of herbs and oils. The sweet smell of the concoction lingered in the room scenting everything it touched. A dash of lavender was added to the mix and Aragorn smiled as the smell washed over him.

Unconsciously Elrohir began tapping his boot heels against the wooden cabinets underneath him. He couldn’t hear the sound, but he could feel the resonating in the table he sat upon. Elrond endured the repeated noise for a little while before turning around and touching his son’s knee, a smile softening the unspoken reprimand.

Aragorn laughed quietly, silencing quickly when his father glanced at him. Holding out his hand for the towels in the ranger’s arms, Elrond beckoned him forward.

“It smells good.” Elrohir commented, his voice hushed.

“Hopefully it will be useful for more than just its smell.” Elrond answered as he folded two of the towels into neat squares and laid them one atop the other at the far edge of the table, creating an impromptu pillow. He patted the cloth and indicated he wanted Elrohir to lie down.

Placing one hand alongside his son’s face, he gently but firmly lowered Elrohir down on the long table, positioning the elf on his side so that he faced away from the counter where Elrond had just been working.

“Estel, this is where I will need you.” Elrond glanced up at the human who stood once more quietly in the corner watching. “I want you to talk to Elrohir, tell him everything I say.”

When the ranger moved forward, the elf lord walked back around the table standing behind the twin, his hand gently resting on the younger elf’s shoulder so he would know where his father was at all times.

“What’s going on Estel?” Elrohir asked quietly, his eyes fastened on the human’s.

“I don’t know. Father wants me to tell you everything he says.” Aragorn smiled softly at his brother. He gently took the elf’s hand in his own.

“Will it hurt?”

Aragorn laughed softly; “I don’t know El. Let me ask.” He glanced up at Elrond.

The elf lord had turned back to the counter behind him and was stirring a mixture of sweet oil and healing herbs. He tested the liquid to make sure that it was not too hot and ladled out a small amount into a tiny glass pitcher.

“Tell him it won’t hurt. And I need him to unbutton his shirt and pull the collar away from his neck.” Elrond smiled slightly at the exchange. He realized he should have explained himself a little better.

Aragorn relayed the information and helped his brother roll his collar down away from his neck after he had unbuttoned it. Gently the ranger brushed the twin’s hair away from his exposed ear, pushing it back so it flowed off the thin table behind him.

With his hands, Elrond gently held Elrohir’s head firmly in place and explained to Estel exactly what was going to happen.

“Tell him that it is very important that he stay still. I need his head to remain in this position.” Elrond pressed down slightly with his fingers emphasizing the words that the twin could not hear. “I’m going to pour this oil in his ear. It will soften the eardrum and coat it with the herbs. It is liable to feel strange and he may want to resist it at first. It’s not hot, just warmed slightly. I’ll need him not to move so I don’t spill it and so that it stays in his ear for a few minutes before we remove it with water.”

With a short nod Aragorn relayed all the information to Elrohir. The elf’s blue were locked onto the human’s face, intently reading his brother’s lips as Aragorn repeated everything in the high tongue.

“Did you understand everything El?”

Elrohir nodded slightly under Elrond’s touch.

“Good.” The elf lord acknowledged as he draped one of the towels around the twin’s neck, in case he were to accidentally spill some of the oil. He tucked the ends of the cloth behind the base of Elrohir’s head and under his chin forming a ‘u’ around the elf and helping to brace him so that he would be less inclined to move.

When the first drop of oil touched his ear and trickled down to rest against his eardrum, Elrohir flinched, grimacing.

“Is it too hot?” Elrond stopped quickly and asked.

“No.” Elrohir whispered as Estel translated, “It feels...odd.” He swallowed hard, as though at high altitude.

“Don’t fight it, just rest and let it do its job.” Elrond instructed as he proceeded to fill up the elf’s ear channel with the healing oil. He pressed a heated wet towel over Elrohir’s ear and gently patted the elf’s head.

“Now I’ll need him to stay still for a bit while the oils work in. So he needs to relax. I’ll heat up some water to clean it out with while we wait. Keep him occupied will you Estel?” The elf lord explained himself to his youngest son.

Aragorn repeated everything to his brother, leaning down on the counter top and resting his head on his right arm, so he was eye level with the twin, only inches from the other’s face.

Elrohir nodded and glanced away. Soundlessly Aragorn touched the elf’s forehead with his hand, directing his attention back. “What is it?” He mouthed silently.

Knowing his brother could read lips as well, Elrohir spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t want his father to worry and wasn’t sure if the elf lord had left the room or not.

“What good is a deaf elf Estel?” The grey eyes pleaded with the human to give him a reason to not despair.

“Elrohir, your hearing does not make you more of an elf nor does your loss of it make you less.”

“I am no good to anyone like this. I am a liability. I cannot go out hunting or riding, for I cannot hear if a warning is called. I cannot go visit Beoma or anyone else because I constantly need someone to explain everything to me. I know El is more than glad to do it, but I’ll just get him in trouble too. I am defenseless and incapable of communicating. It’s as if the world has totally closed off to me.”

Aragorn’s heart ached at the words that tumbled out of his brother’s mouth and the fear and hurt that they were spoken with. He didn’t dare look up at his father, but he knew that the elf lord had heard the whole conversation because he had turned and was staring at them both now. Elrond had no idea of how to help his son and the younger elf’s words broke his heart.

“That’s not true.” Aragorn whispered, “None of it.”

In his heart Elrohir wanted to believe him, but he couldn’t and he shook his head slightly, forgetting that he was not supposed to move. Elrond’s hand lay gently on his face as a reminder, stopping the twin. Tears formed in the elf’s eyes as he stared at his brother, realizing his father had been right behind him the whole time. He hadn’t wanted Elrond to hear that.

“I’ve been watching you,” Aragorn continued, he sat back up a little to explain himself better. “You may not be able to hear, but you can *feel*.”

Scrunching up his face in confusion, Elrohir raised an eyebrow and stared quietly at the ranger, asking silently for an explanation.

“Here. Watch this for example.” Estel turned quickly, searching the countertop behind him. His fingers brushed one of Elrond’s stirring sticks and he snatched it up, moving back next to his brother. He held the utensil up and explained himself, “When I tell you to, I want you to close your eyes and try to sense when this is close to you. Understand?” When the elf mouthed a silent ‘yes’, he proceeded. “All right, then close your eyes now.”

Elrohir did as he was told and lay very still. The world about him was dark and quiet. He felt his father’s hand against his face, the rough, warm cloth that covered his injured ear and the towels that held him still. Suddenly another sensation rippled through him. Something was close to his face. Jerking back and opening his eyes he noted that the stirring stick was inches from center of his forehead.

Elrond’s hand clamped down on him forcefully as Elrohir sucked his breath in and tried to move away.

“Estel!” Elrond reprimanded, “Do not cause your brother to move!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Aragorn apologized quickly, setting the stirring stick aside and touching Elrohir’s hand once more, “No moving.” He said with a smile as he gazed into the grey eyes.

“I felt it!” Elrohir was excited. It was the first time he had had a glimmer of hope in the past few weeks. “How did you know I would?”

“I’ve been watching you.” Aragorn’s gaze flicked up to meet his father’s before focusing on the twin once more. “Your hearing may not work but your other senses are compensating. Your sense of awareness is heightened. If you think about it you *know* when someone is near, like this afternoon when Ada sat down next to you. And I’ll wager the same is true of your sense of smell,” The ranger continued on hurriedly as he noticed the way his brother was relaxing and smiling more, “Yesterday you told us dinner was ready before Celboril comes to fetch us. Your body is taking care of what you perceive as a lack. I imagine with practice you will be able to sense even more if you are aware of what you are doing.”

Aragorn laid his head back down on his crossed arms near his brother, “You are not defenseless, nor are you useless. So you can’t hear right now?” He shrugged slightly, “You are far more useful than you realize.”

Elrohir stared at him quietly for a few minutes, reading deeply into the human’s eyes. If Aragorn were just trying to placate him, he wanted to know. His heart needed something to grasp onto and he prayed his brother was telling him the truth.

“It’s almost time Estel.” Elrond spoke up quietly. When the human looked up at him the elf lord was smiling widely, “That was well done my son. You never cease to amaze me.”

“I am right am I not?”

“Yes indeed you are. I had not noticed until you brought it up, but you are correct. Elrohir has been much more observant than when he had his hearing. In fact he knew when Taradin and his men were nearing the house last week when we were in the courtyard. I think he could feel the vibrations and just didn’t realize what was happening.” Elrond smiled.

“What is father saying?” Elrohir touched Aragorn’s arm lightly.

“He is saying that it is true and he has noticed it in you as well.” The ranger smiled at the elf. “What say you we practice when you are able to move around a bit more?” He teased gently.

Elrond tapped the younger elf on the shoulder and inched his fingers underneath Elrohir encouraging him to sit up. The elf lord held the cloth pressed tightly to the side of the twin’s face as he tipped Elrohir’s head towards him, allowing the oils to run out into the cloth.

Elrond flushed the younger elf’s ear with warm water several times, cleaning it out and drying the exterior with a dry towel.

They repeated the process with the other ear; Estel keeping his brother occupied the whole time. The ranger came up with all sorts of hair-brained ideas about how they could work on sharpening Elrohir’s other senses. Some of them were out-right forbidden by Elrond as they were suggested and others just made the younger elf laugh, which had been their purpose. Estel also realized that the more he talked with his brother and the more words he used, the more adept the elf would be at lip reading. Everyone hoped Elrohir’s hearing would return, but if it did not then Aragorn was determined to prove to his brother that he could still learn to function normally once more.

Elrond’s heart warmed at his youngest son’s successful attempts at lightening his brother’s weary heart. The human had been a blessing for them from the start and he was always surprised by the young man’s ability to see what they all overlooked and took so for granted.

“Dinner is almost ready.” Elrohir spoke softly as an easy lull developed in their conversation. Elrond was washing out his ear for the second time and the elf flinched as some of the water dripped down his neck, staining his tunic a darker green.

“What are we having?” Estel asked playfully as his stomach grumbled.

Elrohir breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, grimacing as Elrond dabbed at the inside of his ear with a corner of the towel.

“We are having wild boar, with fresh baked bread. The good kind.” Elrohir smelled the air again. “The one Celboril makes with the flecks of herbs and seasonings in it.”

“What else?” Aragorn prodded as Elrond finished and pulled Elrohir’s shirt up around his neck.

“Corn.” Elrohir smiled, “sweet corn and other vegetables that I can’t identify.” He frowned slightly a little confused that he couldn’t be more specific.

“That’s okay El.” Estel touched the elf’s hand as Elrond motioned him down, off the table. “Ada watch this.” the human grinned wickedly. “What’s for dessert El?” he continued.

Elrond stepped around the twin and inspected his ears, leaving off the bandages this time.

“Apple pie.” Elrohir answered softly, a smile broadening across his face. Apple pie was one of the twin’s favorite deserts, but not one that Celboril made frequently. Doubtless he had made it as a surprise for them. Everyone knew how badly Elrohir had been feeling of late.

“Oh yes, you’ll come in very handy.” Estel teased, ducking a playing smack from his father as he warned the youngster off. Given enough time here, Aragorn always seemed to eventually revert back to the younger man who dwelt in his heart, slowly easing out of some of the care and burdens that built up on him when he was away from home.

The ranger dodged outside the room, heading up the hallway to see how far along supper was from being served.

Gently, Elrond pulled Elrohir nearer and tipped his son’s head down, kissing the top of his forehead. He spoke directly towards the blue eyes when he stepped back. “Your ears look much better. The scars are fading and the oils should help. I firmly believe that you will back to normal in no time my son. Be patient with yourself.”

“Thank you Ada.” Elrohir whispered. He stepped back from the doorway seconds before Aragorn reappeared on the threshold, deftly avoiding a collision.

“Come on. Celboril is calling us!” His eyes alight with mischief. “You were right El, its ham. I took Elladan’s place settings and hid them, we’ll see how long it is before he notices.”

“Estel.” Elrond rolled his eyes at the human’s antics. Perhaps sometimes the ranger reverted a little *too* far in his maturity level when under his brothers’ influence long enough. “How are old are you?”

“Far younger than either of them are and Elladan hid my plate last night!” Aragorn laughed at himself as they entered the dinning hall. “Turn about is fair play.”

Elladan stood near his seat staring at the ranger with a glower on his face. Legolas was already seated, trying hard not to laugh.

The prince spoke first, “It appears that Elladan will not be dinning with us tonight, he seems to have misplaced his fork and knife.” The restrained mirth in the elf’s voice was enough to send the ranger over the edge and he started chuckling.

“Hey!” Aragorn danced around the table, hiding behind Legolas as his older brother stalked towards him. “You hid my plate last night!” The ranger stepped close to the elf prince, “Fair is fair! Besides if you lay a hand on me you’ll have to deal with Legolas.”

The prince laughed and stammered objections to being dragged into the middle of this family squabble. He moved partially out of his chair as Aragorn grabbed his shoulders and positioned the Silvan Prince between himself and the glaring Noldo who stalked him.

“You’ll both have to deal with me if you don’t sit down right now! Estel produce those utensils or I will give your brother yours.” Elrond’s admonishment was softened by the smile he turned on the younger being. Good grief, had he not suffered through this endearing nonsense quite enough when they were young?

“Now.” He added quietly, raising his eyebrows to indicate that although amused, he was serious.

With a mischievous laugh the ranger retrieved the fork and knife from behind a potted plant near the wide window much to his brother’s chagrin. Aragorn made a great show of polishing them up before handing them over. Elladan growled, un-amused, and snatched the items in question away from his little brother.

Elrohir and Legolas were trying hard not to laugh and to pretend that they did not know either party involved in the antics by the time Celboril entered.

“So what was missing this time?” the older elf asked with feigned grumpiness. His questioning glare sent the younger occupants of the room into further bouts of half-choked mirth.

Aragorn dropped down in his seat on Legolas’ left as Elrohir took his own chair on Estel’s other side. His hand lightly touched the human’s arm drawing the man’s attention.

“Thank you, Estel.”

With a brilliant smile Aragorn pulled his brothers head down against his shoulder giving him a fierce hug. “You’re welcome. It’ll be all right Elrohir. You’ll see.” He answered.

He was surprised when the elf held tightly to him, moving his head so that his ear was placed directly over the human’s chest. “Say it again!” He whispered.

Aragorn tensed slightly, wondering what had happened. The whole room quieted as they watched the two.

“Say it again Estel.” The elf repeated himself, tightening his grip on the human to get his attention, “Please.”

Aragorn glanced around him hesitantly as he gently held his brother, “I said you’re welcome. And not to worry, it will be all right.”

The room was silent for a few moments and Aragorn began to wonder if every thing really was all right after all. “Elrohir?”

“Say it again.” The elf commanded him. “My name, you spoke it, did you not?”

“Elrohir.” A smile widened on his face as he felt his brother smile against him, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Elrohir whispered.

Elrond stood from where he was seated and rounded the table slowly as Elrohir sat up.

“Ada, I could hear Estel when I placed my ear against his chest.” The elf was visibly excited.

“Can you hear now my son?”

A frown marred the elf’s features. “What? Say it again?”

The elf lord repeated himself as he stopped next to the twin’s seat.

“I hear something but I cannot make it out.” The shadow that had fallen in the elf’s eyes was gone as he glanced up at his father. “I can hear but it is not clear and it comes and goes.” He sat for a minute before he glanced at Aragorn again and shouted joyfully, “But I hear *something*!”

The room erupted with everyone talking at once. Estel grabbed his brother and pounded him on the back while Elrond tried to quiet them, attempting to get his sons’ attention.

“Give it time my son. Let your ears heal on their own.” The elf lord silenced the room with his words, motioning for Celboril and his staff to bring their dinner. “Celboril, let us all dine together, for tonight we will celebrate.”

___________________________________________________________

~*PART TWO*~
~Legends and Myths~

Thranduil entered the guestroom where Elrynd indicated Raniean had been placed without preamble and surprised the young healer who was currently locked in an argument with his patient.

Raniean’s left arm was in a sling and his hair spilled around the bandage that covered his forehead, but he was on his feet and obviously attempting to leave the room.

“Nestad, stop it,” Raniean batted the healer away. “I am all right, I must speak with the King...”

“And I would speak with you Randomirion, if you are well enough.” The King’s voice startled Nestad, who had his back turned to the doorway. The healer jumped slightly, spinning around and giving a bow.

Raniean was also surprised, but quickly dropped a respectful bow as well, although lowering his head was a bad idea. He suddenly found himself required to reach out and catch hold of the wall to remain upright. Nestad grabbed his good arm quickly in a steadying gesture.

“After you fall down on your face in front of the king maybe then you’ll listen to me, hm?” the healer chastised, trying to lower Raniean back onto the bed. Raniean would have none of it; it wasn’t proper to sit when his Lord stood before him. When he took over for his father many years ago, Randomir had imparted the duties of his position to his son along with his own unbendingly strict code of honor.

“Raniean, sit,” Thranduil gestured to the bed. His captain looked pale. He needed to talk, but he did not want the younger elf to stress himself with formalities.

Raniean obeyed, his good hand drifting to the bandages on his head. It felt like there was a cave troll up there, still hard at work. “My Lord, I fear my news is ill.” A deep sadness touched Raniean’s clear blue eyes; sadness and guilt. “My companions...”

Thranduil raised his hand, wishing to spare the younger elf that particular pain right now. “I know Raniean, Elrynd told me.” The King let his hand fall to rest lightly on Raniean’s shoulder. “Do not blame yourself because you came back and they did not. It is the sad way of this world sometimes. But tell me, what news is there? Is the High Pass blocked? Why?”

Raniean laid his own personal feelings aside for the time being and focused on the King’s questions. “There is something going on up there your Highness. Never have I seen so many orcs and wargs in the mountains. The wargs caught our scent quicker than we thought they would. I... I should have known better your Majesty, I am sorry,” he admitted his culpability plainly. As a leader, anything that went wrong was his responsibility by default. “I have dealt little with those fell beasts and I fear my ignorance cost us dearly.”

Raniean dropped his gaze. It was true, few wargs had ever ventured into Mirkwood itself, seeming uncomfortable in the close confines of the trees and in border skirmishes they had only dealt with them a little outside the forest. Still, he did not feel that absolved the blunder that had cost his warrior’s lives.

Thranduil’s hand tightened gently on the younger elf’s shoulder. In a way it was Raniean’s fault, but it had not come through a lacking of care or diligence. The King knew his young Captain’s worth and this error was not going to change that. “Experience is hard-learned sometimes. Honor the memories of the fallen by learning from the mistakes made and never repeating them. But do not hold their death on your head, that wrong belongs to the creatures that killed them, not you, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Raniean nodded quickly.

Thranduil sighed and let his hand fall back to his side. He could see that Raniean didn’t really, not yet. He would need time to get past the grief first.

“Did it seem they were laying in wait for you? Do you think they mean to attack?” Thranduil was deeply disturbed about this threat, even if it was quite a distance away from any of their immediate borders. He didn’t like all this trouble coming on the heels of his disturbing nightmares, even if it was only coincidental.

Raniean shook his head slowly. “No, I do not feel that they were waiting for us at all. Their attention did not seem to be focused on the paths that we came up upon, it was more like a muster of some kind and we had the ill fortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed that many of them were arriving from away to the south. I do not know what their purpose is, but for so many of them to be out and about in the daylight... they are up to no good, that is certain.”

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. This was not good news. “How long since the attack?”

“Perhaps six or seven days my Lord, I... I do not entirely recall my entire return journey I am afraid,” Raniean admitted quietly.

Nestad eyed his patient. “Some of our scouts found him in the border woods half-delirious yesterday and brought him here with all haste your Highness,” he ventured. “He needs to rest despite what he says.”

Thranduil nodded, smiling slightly at Raniean’s glower. “Yes, I have no doubt he does. Raniean, you take after my son far too much. With that in mind Nestad, you may sedate him if he refuses to behave otherwise,” the king threatened with a small, wry grin.

Raniean was a lot like Legolas in that way...

Legolas...

Thranduil’s heart was troubled. He missed his son as a few seasons’ separation should not have warranted. Something told him that this odd concentration of orcs bode ill for the elves and they could not afford to ignore it, even if it did not seem to directly affect their kingdom.

Raniean started to protest, but Thranduil silenced it with a commanding look. “I need you well Raniean. I do not like these developments. In two days I lead a host of our people to the mountains. If there is still trouble, we will deal with it, otherwise we will journey across to take Council in Rivendell with Lord Elrond.” //And see Legolas again, to confirm with my own eyes that he is all right// Thranduil’s heart added the significant, but unspoken after-statement.

“I would that you went with us Raniean so that I might leave Amil-Garil in charge of the troops here, but I cannot allow it unless Nestad gives you a clean bill of health. So I suggest you follow his instructions.”

Raniean half-bowed in obedience. “As you command your Majesty.” It was not entirely unusual for Thranduil to ride out with his troops himself, but it usually signaled an important event. The last time it had happened was when they rode to aid Lake Men who were being devastated by the dragon Smaug, only to arrive and end up participating in the Battle of the Five Armies on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain instead.

Thranduil nodded and turned to leave. He couldn’t help smiling slightly. If only Legolas were that easy to deal with when he was convalescing. Unfortunately his son usually seemed to feel a little less honor-bound to obey the Elvenking without complaint.

Elrynd opened the door to let Thranduil out and the king found himself face to face with another elf. Although... chin-to-face was perhaps a better description since he had to look down to see anything other than the top of the other elf’s head.

“Trelan,” Thranduil smiled slightly as the younger elf quickly backed up, murmuring apologies for having almost run into the king.

“I’m sorry your highness, I heard that Raniean had returned... is he...” Trelan’s lively eyes were filled with worry.

“He is going to be fine Trelan, go in and see for yourself. You may visit, but not too long, he needs to rest.” Thranduil moved aside to let the other warrior into the room. He knew that Trelan would be able to do his friend’s heart good and Raniean needed that right now. Doubtless Raniean’s relatives would be along soon as well. If they wished to take Raniean home to recover the King would allow it, although the warrior was more than welcome to stay in the palace if he so desired. If Legolas were there the question would be moot, Raniean would stay and the prince would enjoy the chance to fuss over his friend.

But Legolas was not there.

Thranduil sighed.

Elrynd followed wordlessly in his master’s wake as they walked down the halls towards the council chambers until Thranduil spoke to him. “Elrynd, send for Lord Celemir, I need to speak with him.” Thranduil would leave Celemir regent while he was away and they had much to discuss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The fire flickered low and Estel leaned back against the cushions behind him, eyes half-lidded, only barely listening to the minstrel’s stories. He had heard most of them many times before and they were now merely a pleasant backdrop to his relaxed state. Outside the moon was high overhead.

Evenings such as this were not uncommon in Rivendell, but this evening was all the more festive an occasion because they were celebrating Elrohir’s return to the hearing world. Indeed, they had been for the past several days, so great was the whole valley’s joy at the lifting of the dark cloud that had descended on the Peredhil family.

It was a tenuous return at first, but now, after three days, it was amazing how quickly everything had begun to come back. The finer ranges of Elrohir’s hearing had yet to return, but he could already hear at least as well as a normal human. Elrohir was simply glad to be able to hear *anything* again and trusted that his hearing would continue to regain its former keenness with time.

Legolas lay on his side near where Estel sat. The elf prince was propped up on one elbow, his head resting on his hand so that his unbraided golden locks spilled down around his arm, gracefully brushing the floor. The elf had stretched out on one of the many downy spreads strewn across the large hall for the comfort of those who wished to do exactly as he was doing. The prince had a bowl of cherries and was eating them slowly while he listened to the tales. Ever and anon his attention drifted away, but he paid more heed to the stories than his human companion did, since to the Mirkwood elf, the tales of Rivendell were not nearly so familiar or well known.

Elladan and Elrohir sat on Aragorn’s other side. The elder twin was sitting on the floor, reclining against a cushion very similar to the one being used by his human brother, while Elrohir was lying down with his head resting on his brother’s leg. Elladan’s long fingers ran aimlessly through his twin’s dark tresses, lightly touching Elrohir’s healing ears with a tenderness that spoke of how relieved even his subconscious mind was that it no longer looked as if he would lose his twin to a silent world.

Aragorn lazily watched as a cherry arched gracefully over his head - the result of Legolas tossing Elladan one of the fruits he was eating. Elladan caught it easily in one hand, the fingers of his other never even leaving their protective resting-place on Elrohir’s head. Legolas and Elladan had been doing this for a while now since neither of them felt like actually moving from their comfortable positions in order to more effectively share the cherry bowl.

Elladan popped the cherry into Elrohir’s mouth and caught another for himself.

“You could just give them the bowl Legolas...” Aragorn murmured with a contented, sleepy voice.

Legolas smiled and teasingly pulled the bowl in closer to his chest, enjoying pretending to be childish. “If they want it they can come and get it. What, not worried about my aim are you?”

Aragorn chuckled softly, not even bothering to open his eyes. He was too comfortable. “I saw how much you drank at dinner. I have good reason to worry.”

That remark was rewarded by a wet cherry pit that immediately lodged itself in the ranger’s ear with a firm thwap.

Aragorn half-yelped as his contented near-doze was interrupted by the unusual feeling and he shook his head, brushing the cherry pit onto the floor.

“Your wines here are a child’s drink compared with my father’s preferred vintage of Dorwinion.” The prince’s laugh was light as he watched his friend remove the cherry pit. “Besides, I think my aim has not suffered any, hm?”

Aragorn dropped back against his cushions once more with a smile, settling easily back into his former state of semi-wakefulness. “Whatever you say Legolas.”

The prince smiled. He could learn to like arguing with the human when Aragorn was relaxed and comfortable. It made him extremely compliant. He eyed the cherry pit that Aragorn had let fall to the floor. It had rolled a little ways away and lay on the polished wood floor near the walkway.

“You’re just going to leave that there? Someone could slip.” The elf said with an apathetically lethargic tone that suggested he wasn’t really very concerned.

“Mmm,” Estel murmured. “You pick it up. You’re the one tossing them around.” He yawned. “Besides, you’re the one with the cherry bowl, it’s your ears Celboril will pull for leaving things on the floor, not mine.” That last was accompanied by a satisfied smirk.

The human was rewarded with another cherry pit that smacked right into his eye. Aragorn flinched, but didn’t get up this time, merely flicking it easily off his face with a sweep of his hand. “That makes two now. Celboril will make you wash dishes.”

Elladan and Elrohir chuckled beside them. Elrohir reached his hand out from where he was laying and picked up the two offending cherry pits, which had rolled close to the twins.

“There, I saved you from the fearsome wrath of Celboril, Legolas,” the younger twin said with a smile. “Now you owe us some more cherries.”

At that, Legolas launched a playful mini-barrage of the small fruits at the two elves, about half of which intentionally missed their target and ended up pelting the human that sat between them.

“Hey!” Aragorn batted at the flying fruit hitting his face.

The twins abandoned any attempt to catch them and laughed helplessly as it rained cherries.

Across the room, Lord Elrond sat in a high-backed chair by the fire, watching the younger beings with an unconcealed smile of fond amusement. For an instant his eyes caught those of his human son. Aragorn felt a familiar, overwhelming sense of warm serenity fill him as the elder elf’s dancing eyes held the gaze of his youngest. A small quirk of Elrond’s lips and Aragorn suddenly found himself in danger of bursting out into laughter as well. The human shook his head with a wry smile, giving his foster father a ‘what am I supposed to do with them?’ look.

Elrond just smiled but his amused eyes clearly seemed to say: ‘You think I have any idea? After all these years you should know better...’

Aragorn chuckled and let his head fall back again, his gaze languidly tracing the curves of the ceiling beams. Ignoring the small clusters of ripe red berries that pooled in the folds of his tunic and slid down to the floor beside him he listened to the centuries old elves on either side of him giggle like children.

“You elves are so strange,” he murmured with a smile.

Aragorn perceived the cherry heading for his nose after that comment and opened his mouth in time to catch it instead, eating the sweet berry and rolling the pit absently around on his tongue. These were the good times. The times he treasured. At this moment he felt so utterly complete that it didn’t matter what perils he had ever been through, nor even those that may yet lay ahead... as long as he always had his family and friends... had this special place to return to... nothing could ever be too bad.

The cherry bowl was now empty, its contents spread in a small mischievous halo around the three elves and the human. Legolas let his head fall down onto his arms, his chuckles finally dying down to a self-contented smile.

Elrohir rolled onto his back and was now playing with a pair of cherries still on the stem, dangling them from his fingers and watching them swing with a relaxed fascination that could only be accomplished after a lot of food, a fair amount of wine, a warm fire and pleasant company.

Elladan brushed cherries off his lap and out of his brother’s long brown hair that lay tangled across his legs now.

“Somebody ought to pick those up...” the elder twin glanced at the berry explosion around them, snagging one near his hand and popping it in his mouth, at the same time wiggling his leg to unsettle his brother who was still lying on him.

“Mmm, not me,” Elrohir lifted his head until his brother stopped moving, then promptly plopped it back down again. “Legolas started it.”

Legolas grinned, pillowing his head on his arms and turning his attention back to the minstrel. “That would require moving, which I do not see happening any time soon. Estel can do it.”

“No he can’t.” Estel retorted placidly without opening his eyes.

Elladan snorted. “I think you *all* had too much wine.”

“I note you’re not moving brother,” Elrohir gave the cherries another spin.

“That’s because you’re laying on me *brother*,” Elladan pointed out, quickly catching Elrohir’s head and pushing it back down when the younger twin started to pick it up.

Elrohir laughed.

Comfortable silence descended once more as the minstrel finished the rather fanciful love story he had been weaving and began to move on to another of similar sort. Some of the other elves groaned and laughed merrily in protest.

“Come Sinnarn, we can only take only so many verses about moonlit nights and flowers in a maiden’s hair; can you not sing something else?” Moranuen teased his friend.

“Something more exciting!” Another elf near the fire chimed in. “Perhaps the battle between Sauron, Hurin and Lúthien on the bridge!”

“Oh please!” someone else quickly protested as others added their opinions. “I’ve heard that one a dozen times. Can we have something not *quite* as old as the hills?”

“Something heroic!”

“Something frightening!”

“Something with great deeds!”

“Something we have not heard in a while!”

The chorus of voices called out their preferences amid merry laughter.

Sinnarn, their storyteller for the evening, chuckled at the good-natured jesting. “Well it seems we certainly could use something to shake sleep from our minds...” he commented with a smile as his gaze traveled across the half-slumbering room. “Very well then, if it’s bloodshed and mayhem you young warriors desire, I will tell you a tale of the exploits of Dehlfalhen and Glamferaen,” he smiled as he strummed his small lap-harp softly. “Although I usually doubt the wisdom of telling these tales after dinner...” he continued to tease his half-lively, half-sedated audience.

The dark haired elf’s fingers traveled rhythmically over the strings of his instrument, gently stroking them without even needing to look down at his work as he slid into his next tale.

Dehlfalhen and Glamferaen were two warriors who had lived in Rivendell what seemed a long time ago. Legolas started really paying attention only part way into the story and wasn’t sure if the two elves’ swords carried the same name as their owners, or if he was simply too tired to be separating the details because Sinnarn was using an artistically hyperbolic and symbolic story-telling manner. In any case the pair had apparently lived up to the names, which meant “Orc Slayer” and “Goblin Bane” respectively in the old tongues of the region. If the tales held true they had washed the vales and surrounding hills in a dark and vengeful tide of orc blood until there were none of the evil beings left living for hundreds of miles in any direction. And in those days no foul creature dared come near this area for fear of the merciless duo.

Legolas pondered how very much he had often wished to do the same thing for his home, but it was a foolhardy risk of life and in practicality would take a far greater number of warriors to accomplish than made for a good tale. The skill and obvious burning hatred behind Dehlfalhen and Glamferaen’s bloody purge was a little breath-taking, especially the way Sinnarn told it and the elf prince, who had never heard this story before, found himself listening with no small amount of interest. Legolas had to commend their deeds, although a few of the particulars made him wince. The prince had more than expected the tale to end in Dehlfalhen and Glamferaen’s deaths since Sinnarn spoke of them solely in the reverential past tense, as was customary only of the dead in the style of story telling being employed. However, the minstrel finished his tale without giving the specifics of their demise, but only alluding that they passed out of knowledge and their memory faded back into the hills, a warning whispered with fear and loathing by all orc-kind.

Sinnarn then moved on to an account of the Fall of Gondolin, but Legolas had heard this tale before. The blonde archer turned to Aragorn.

The ranger jerked awake when he felt a cherry pit ping his temple. “Legolas!” he was half amused, half annoyed as he rubbed his eyes. “What was *that* for?”

“You were sleeping through the story,” Legolas smiled slyly.

“I’ve heard it before,” Aragorn grumbled.

“Was it true?” the elf prince inquired.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, so they say,” Aragorn looked as if he would like to go back to sleep, but his elven friend was not about to allow that yet.

“So what happened to them?” Legolas prodded.

“What happened to who?” Aragorn’s voice was laden with traces of slumber.

“Dehlfalhen and Glamferaen!” Legolas was amused by his human friend’s sleepy state and gave the ranger’s arm a poke, causing Aragorn to grumble like a hibernating bear and try to pull farther away from the suddenly irritatingly energetic prince. “Sinnarn didn’t say how they were killed, but considering the run-ins we’ve had with orcs around here they must have departed many ages since if the tales of their purge are true. So what happened?”

There was a long pause and Legolas wasn’t sure if Aragorn was falling asleep again or just ignoring him. “I don’t know Legolas, they were long before my time.” The human closed his eyes again, seeming to say that the elf would get nothing more useful than that out of him.

Legolas turned to the twins to ask them, but Elladan and Elrohir had risen to their feet, shaking cherries out of their clothes.

“We’re retiring for the evening. Good night Legolas, good night Estel,” Elrohir yawned and bid their companions farewell.

Aragorn watched his brothers leave under half-lidded eyes and Legolas thought he heard the ranger sigh softly before his gaze darted across the room. Following his friend’s glance, Legolas’ saw Lord Elrond also watching his sons’ somewhat abrupt departure, a brief shadow flittering across the wise face.

Legolas pushed himself up on his elbows, turning questioning eyes upon his friend. “Estel? Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry.”

Aragorn shook his head against the pillows, his dark, wavy locks fanning around him a little more. He opened his eyes and turned a small, reassuring smile upon the disconcerted prince. “No, Legolas, you did nothing amiss. Do not trouble yourself over it.”

Legolas let his forehead fall forward against his arms, blinking as he found himself eye-level with a cherry. The rhythmic rise and fall of Sinnarn’s flowing voice carried his thoughts away again and he felt himself growing tired as well.

“Aragorn?” he murmured after a few minutes.

No answer.

“Aragorn?”

A soft, barely noticeable snore made the elf realize that his human companion was asleep again.

Legolas lifted his head to find Aragorn asleep with his head falling forward a little. The ranger’s right hand had automatically come up to curl under his cheek and his dark, tangled tresses tumbled in unruly curls about his brow.

A gentle smile tugged at the elf’s lips. When Aragorn slept the lines of care and age smoothed out of his face and he looked again the young man, nay, the boy that Legolas had met and befriended so many years ago.

Aragorn’s left hand was hanging out from his body in what looked to be an uncomfortable manner, so Legolas picked it up gently and placed it upon the human’s chest. Aragorn stirred but did not waken.

Legolas smiled, brushing the curls back from his friend’s face and stealing one more moment for fond reflection before rising to his feet.

“Idh mae, mellon-nín,” he whispered. “Rest well, my friend.”

A suddenly devilish grin caught at the prince’s fair features as an idea struck him. He stooped swiftly, picking up the empty cherry bowl and placing it in his slumbering friend’s lap before he turned to leave.

Legolas felt eyes on him and turned to see Elrond looking at him with an amused grin. The elf lord raised one eyebrow. Legolas just smiled. Placing his hand over his heart before sweeping it out to the side, he silently bid the elven lord good night.

Elrond shook his head, his eyes going back to his human son who now sat slumbering amid a chaotic sprinkling of cherries with an empty bowl resting incriminatingly in his lap.

Celboril would *not* be pleased.

___________________________________________________________

~*PART THREE*~
~A Moment Long in the Making~

~~~~~~~~
You have always been my safe home.
I walk, I run, I burn out into you...
You have always been my safe home.
My whole world has moved on.

I know what I am and I’ll always be,
your reality, is better than I could dream.
All my fears turn from black to white
and I’d stand and fight
the whole world for you.

--Anthrax
~~~~~~~~

Aragorn woke because of a soft swish of movement somewhere nearby. His senses swung suddenly to life and he registered a flood of things at once. It was dark, the room was cool, if not cold, and he felt a little stiff from sleeping in an unusual position. There was also someone nearby... no, not just nearby, his keen senses told him. Right next to him and moving stealthily as if wishing not to wake him. He felt the soft brush of fingers against the collar of his shirt and half-assumed that either Legolas or his brothers were attempting to do something to him.

Swift reflexes kicked in and his hand shot up, catching the unknown presence by the wrist in a firm grip. He opened his eyes to find himself looking into the last set of eyes he had expected to see.

“Ada?” he blinked a little blearily. Lord Elrond was kneeling on the floor by the ranger, leaning over his human son. The ranger’s grip on the elder elf’s wrist held him in place, but his elven father’s eyes were as gentle as they were amused. In his lap, Elrond held a nearly re-filled bowl of cherries with his free hand.

“Peace Estel,” Elrond said quietly when he saw that his youngest son’s mind was not quite as fully awake as his body.

Estel quickly released the elf lord’s wrist, rubbing his eyes.

Elrond smiled and plucked up the berry nestled in the folds of Aragorn’s shirt collar that had been his earlier goal. He dropped it into the bowl on his lap; gathering a few more out of the cushions around Aragorn with quick, graceful movements.

Aragorn realized that the house was still and quiet. It must be far into the late watches of the night now, and he and Elrond were the only two remaining occupants of the hall.

“Ada?” Aragorn tried to clear the sleep from his voice, but Legolas was not the only one who had enjoyed more than a fair share of wine at dinner last night. The ranger was not actually hung over, but he was somewhat groggier than usual and his head throbbed a bit. “What are you doing?”

Elrond chuckled, a soft, rich sound. “Keeping you from an hour-long lecture by Celboril tomorrow morning. I thought perhaps he should not be the one to wake you... especially since... well, let us just say that Legolas and your brothers left you in a... compromising position,” he gestured to the bowl and the cherries that he had now very nearly completely cleaned up.

“Figures...” Aragorn chuckled too, stretching and sitting up, rubbing his temples with a small moan.

Elrond’s gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, steadying him. He had very nearly let the little joke go, as it would be quite amusing indeed to hear just how *loud* Celboril would be when he discovered Aragorn sleeping amid a mess of cherries, stems and pits. But the elf lord had had pity on the human, judging that loud shouting was probably *not* the best thing for his youngest to hear tomorrow morning.

“You don’t have to do that Ada, I’ll get it,” Aragorn tried to take the bowl from his father, but Elrond pulled it away from him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

“No, Estel, it’s all right. I will do it. It is not often anymore that I must clean up after my children... but I find that rarity makes the experience less arduous than in the past.” His warm smile was as light and teasing as it was loving.

Aragorn tried to protest but nearly fell sideways off the cushion he was sitting on. Elrond caught him with a laugh and easily helped the human up onto his feet. “Time for rest Estel, I think you will find your own bed preferable to the floor, I will take care of this. Go on, rest now my child.”

Aragorn smiled lopsidedly, finding his eyelids difficult to keep open. Bed sounded deliciously good right now. “Are you sure?”

Elrond smiled. “Yes, Estel, I’m sure. Now go on and go lie down before you fall down.”

“Yes, Ada,” Aragorn wavered for a moment, before stepping forward and giving his father a hug. “Thank you Ada.” The human hoped his elven father knew he wasn’t speaking just about the cherries. He meant for everything. For the way the elf lord had opened his home to the orphaned human, for the way he had given him not only a place to live but a family to belong to, for always being there for him, for *loving* him.

Somehow, Elrond did know. He gave Aragorn a small, tight squeeze before turning him firmly towards the hall leading to his bedroom. “Good night, ion-nín. Good night, my son.”

Aragorn smiled one more time. “Good night Ada.”

A sudden thumping sound echoed hollowly through the silent halls of Imladris, causing both Aragorn and Elrond to pause and listen. A moment later it came again and they realized that someone was knocking on the front door... no, pounding, that was a better word to describe it. Someone was pounding urgently on the huge double doors in the main hall that had long ago been secured for the night.

“What in Arda...?” Elrond murmured, setting the cherry bowl down on one of the tables as he walked swiftly out of the feast hall.

Aragorn adjusted his intended course, trailing his adopted father down the darkened passage ways that led to the foyer. His weariness receded quickly as his reflexes took over and he readied himself for whatever they might find. The human could not imagine who would be knocking so loudly at this hour of the night... it could only mean trouble. He snatched a low burning candle from one of the wall sconces along their route to aid them should they need it, although both father and son knew their way around this house well enough that they could have traversed it with their eyes closed.

Elrond worked the bolt on the door with a single fluid motion and pulled the portal open, peering out into the starry night to see who had come to his doorstep at this hour.

Two shadowed figures stood in the archway, one leaning heavily against the other. When they stepped forward into the light of Estel’s candle, both the elf lord and the human recognized them immediately.

“Halbarad, Arendur, what’s happened?” Aragorn pressed immediately as the two rangers entered his father’s house. He assumed they were there for him.

Halbarad was supporting Arendur and the dim candlelight played faintly across dark red stains on the young ranger’s torn tunic. The older ranger walked the younger across the threshold carefully. He inclined his head respectfully towards Elrond.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour my Lord, I would not have had my mission been less urgent,” he apologized. “I fear that Arendur needs greater help than I can give him and it could not wait.”

Elrond waved the apology off quickly. “My house is open day or night to those who have need Halbarad, come in and be welcome.” The elven healer was already checking the younger of the two Dunèdain.

“Aragorn,” Halbarad turned his gaze upon his leader. “I had hoped to find you here.”

About this time Celboril arrived. His room was near the front of the house and the knocking had awakened him.

“Celboril, prepare a place for Arendur while I examine him,” Elrond requested of the seneschal. The elf lord pressed his hand against the youth’s pale, clammy cheek, making a quick decision. “Bring bedding and bandages to the Hall of Fire, we will lay him out there for the moment. His body is cold, we must get some warmth back into him.” Elrond knew that the only fire still burning at this hour of the night in his house was in the great hall, so that was the best place for them at the present.

“Come Halbarad, Aragorn and I would hear your news while we help your friend,” Elrond added to the other ranger as he helped shoulder some of Arendur’s weight, leading them away.

Elrond worked swiftly over the boy and once they were assured that Arendur’s life was no longer in serious jeopardy, Halbarad told his tale wearily.

“Aragorn, you recall that I had to leave you after the Barrow Downs incident because wargs were plaguing some of the cities we watch over? Well I met up with a few of the others on my way there, but by the time we reached the cities the wargs had moved on, leaving a line of ravaged villages heading north. We followed them as quickly as we could, trying to catch up with them and stop their unchecked spree... unfortunately, that seemed to be exactly what they wanted us to do. Two days past we tracked them into a canyon and they led us into an ambush. It was not just packs of foraging wargs as we thought, they were working with orcs and had designs more clever than we had given them credit for. Many of our people were killed, many more wounded. Most are being cared for on the outskirts of this valley, but for Arendur I was gravely concerned, so I brought him hither with me. The wargs have disappeared, for now, but I am disturbed that they would attack us in this area that has been safe for so long. They are a threat that must be dealt with and I came to request your aid in that endeavor.”

“And you shall have it,” Elrond nodded as he wound bandages around Arendur’s wounds. “I shall summon as many warriors as can come at first light. They should be ready to leave by the following day at the latest. Will that help you?”

Halbarad nodded gratefully. “That would be well. You have my thanks. It may be that the foul beasts have already retreated to their haunts in the mountains, but if they are still at large in the valleys they should be dealt with if possible.”

Aragorn nodded, it was never wise to leave a threat like that standing if it could be avoided. “When the warriors are ready, I will accompany you and them.”

Elrond smiled at both rangers as he rose, laying a blanket gently over Arendur’s now unconscious form.

“Yes, and if you go we can rest assured that Legolas and your brothers will follow. But tonight you all must rest. I shall have Celboril prepare a room for you if you wish Halbarad, but Arendur should stay here by the fire for now,” the elf lord offered.

“Thank you, but I will stay with Arendur,” Halbarad shook his head, touching the youth’s matted curls gently.

“Then I shall have Celboril bring bedding to make you comfortable here. And you my son,” he turned to Aragorn who looked prepared to stay and keep conversing with Halbarad, “*Are* going to get some rest now and let them do the same, are you not?”

Aragorn smiled wryly at his foster father, sharing a quiet laugh with Halbarad. “Yes, Ada.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The darkness of the woods concealed him as he stood on the edge of ridge in the predawn. His breath ghosted on the air as he watched the house settled in the large valley far below. Lights in the huge, ornate windows were lit one by one, casting their warm glow on the courtyards and outer regions of the gardens that surrounded the elven dwelling.

Away down in the secluded rift, movement could be seen stirring in various quarters, as if some kind of muster were underway. A dark grin quirked twisted lips into a smile.

“You see?” he whispered into the fading darkness. “What did I say? You strike against the rangers and the elves will rush out to help them... the fools.” He wanted them to gather; he wanted them all in one place, but did not intend to give them time to be prepared.

It had been centuries that he had waited for this very day. He glanced at the barely brightening sky, a few hours more wouldn’t hurt. Next to him a large, black form padded up quietly and stopped, squinting down into the valley. The animal barely resembled its distant cousin, the wolf, from which it had long ago been bred. It nuzzled the smaller creature that was fixated on the house below. Distractedly, the orc reached over and scratched the fur around the warg’s small ear. A deep rumbling purr issued from the creature’s throat.

“Today you will hunt.” He spoke softly to his mount. “Today you will feast on elf.”

The warg mumbled a staccato growl, testing the air with its sensitive nose.

“I don’t see anything,” A voice interrupted the rider’s conversation with his mount as a second warg-rider approached. “Just a vale shrouded in morning mist. Your eyes must be keen.”

It was true, Guruth’s senses were incredibly keen for an orc, but he knew this was not the case at the moment. Without acknowledging the other in anyway, the lead orc answered calmly as though speaking to a child. “No, Tmarkz, you do not see it because they do not wish you to see it. The old elf who lives there, the Healer, he is very powerful. They hide this valley, make it not to be seen by eyes like ours... but they cannot hide from me. I have touched one of them, I have seen into their collective souls. It took many years, but I learned to see it clear as day. It’s there. Look harder...”

Tmarkz blinked, slowly, he began to think he could see vague shapes moving in the mist, but only barely. “The ones you seek, they have not been heard from in years, are you sure they live there still?”

“Yes.” Guruth patted the warg next to him and folded his black gloved hands across his chest. “I know they do.”

Tmarkz watched his captain for several long moments. All orcs possessed natural long life, but Guruth was the oldest orc he had ever met, indeed, the oldest that any of them had ever known. Horrible, mauling scars covered his body and they all believed it was his hatred for the elves and his desire for revenge alone that kept him alive through the many things he had survived. Few even knew the tales from his past, but Tmarkz did. The scars he bore had twisted Guruth’s face into a cruel mask that matched the dark depths of his blackened heart. This orc was a leader to be feared, one to be followed without question; and follow him they had. It was no small thing that the dark creature could hold his minions to his will so tightly that they would prepare to attack what seemed to them an empty valley, doing battle with an enemy their eyes would not yet perceive.

Tmarkz glanced behind him into the forest that braced the edge of the cliff. A massive contingent of orcs, wargs and riders rested beneath the darkened canopy, their camps stretching away out of sight as the sat gathered around the now dead fire rings, drinking and entertaining each other with tales and displays of strength.

They were a mixed lot to behold, this army that had formed under Guruth’s leadership, drawn by his promises of plunder and mayhem. Over half came from the southern mountain passes, regions that Guruth’s kin had once called home. Yet many, many more had been added to their company as Guruth slowly gathered to him the scattered remnants of the northern goblins who had been left leaderless and bitter after the disastrous battle on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain several decades ago. Some had even wandered thither from much further south, leaving the protection of the Dark Land for a life less structured, but no less driven.

For years now, Guruth had trained his company for this moment, for this blow that would shatter the peace of the valley below... for this revenge. And it would be sweet. Very sweet.

“We will start with that group. They shall be our bait. There, see?” The older orc’s voice brought Tmarkz’s drifting attention back to the deep, mist-clad rift.

Tmarkz saw nothing, but didn’t want to say so. Guruth grinned, he knew that the underling was still blind to what he was watching, but liked the fact that he was not ready to question his authority.

A party of elves on foot and horseback was leaving the courtyard. They crossed the bridge that spanned the Bruinen and headed for the woods north of the orcs position.

“Just wait Tmarkz, you’ll see them in a moment,” Guruth purred softly, tracking their progress with his dark eyes. Beside him, Guruth’s warg rumbled softly in her throat. She didn’t have to see the elves; even this far away she could smell them.

A few minutes later Tmarkz started as he saw the group of hunters emerge from the fog as they left the protective confines of the valley behind and become fully visible to even his untrained eyes.

Guruth’s warg growled, a low warning sound as Tmarkz’ mount crested the small ridge and glanced down at the hunting party that was just disappearing into the woods. His focus was drawn to the large matriarchal warg but she was not interested in his attentions and nipped at his shoulder, sending him skittering backwards. The hair on her neck and back stood on end and she stiffened when he approached again more slowly.

Much like her master she was, a leader among her kind to be feared. This pack of wargs was hers. Most of the cubs that followed with the pack were hers. She tolerated no challenges to her authority and put down every usurper that vied for her position. Now was no different and she was not interested in the younger male’s advances, she wanted to track the elves.

When the last of the elven company had faded into the woods and were no longer visible to the naked eye, Guruth turned his attention back to his second in command.

“Tmarkz,” he barked the orcs name, “Get your mount under control. I don’t want them fighting today; I want them single-minded. Understand?”

Guruth walked past the other warg rider as Tmarkz grabbed his warg by the ear and turned the large creature away from the matriarch, pulling the beast alongside him and chiding the warg. The creature bared its fangs and rumbled at being checked, but did not buck the smaller being’s authority, for now.

“Were they in the hunting party?” Tmarkz asked as he jogged to catch up with his leader. He did not feel the need to specify what ‘they’ he meant. He doubted that Guruth had thought of much *but* them for the past few years. Tmarkz’s warg, Shelzahk, having had enough of being chastised, had sulkily joined the others who were bedded down on the outskirts of the orc encampment.

“It was hard to tell, but if they weren’t they will surely be in the muster.” Guruth stopped walking and eyed Tmarkz, “There was a ranger with the hunters though, and a younger golden haired elf. Not the older one who lives here, but the younger one whom I have seen only rarely. When it is here it keeps company with the ranger, I’ve watched them. They are much too friendly with the elves here. Kill them both; make sure they are dead. It is also time to end our trouble with the rangers, they’ve served their purpose. There are a few of them in that section of the woods there, the ones that we allowed out of the last ambush. See that they do not escape again, kill them all. They can track us and I won't have them ruining this. No one will ruin it this time.”

Tmarkz nodded and started to move in step with his captain when the older orc turned on him, grabbing a fist full of the other’s jerkin and pulling him close, “Do NOT kill our quarry should you find them first. If anyone kills them I will feed him to the wargs.” His voice was low and dangerous as he gave his orders. “They are for me alone.”

Nodding in understanding, Tmarkz stumbled slightly backwards as Guruth released him. “What if they are not here? What if we cannot capture them?”

Turning a feral grin on his second in command Guruth answered the question, “Don’t worry about that. If they escape capture they will still come to us. I intend to make sure that they will have no other options.”

Kicking out the only remaining fire, Guruth rallied his troops. It was time to move out, the element of surprise was with them and he had waited long enough.

“Tmarkz, take all the wargs and half their riders. The other half will come with me and Shelzkahz will lead those on foot. You know my mission. The rest of you will go with Tmarkz and draw the elves and rangers away from us. You may kill all of them...” Guruth turned towards his second in command and raised an eyebrow. Did the other remember his warning?

He did.

“You may kill them all but the ones Guruth described to you last night. You will recognize them by their weapons if nothing else should you meet them. If you kill the wrong elves, you forfeit your life. Understood?” Tmarkz instructed as he had been instructed. When an affirmative roar met his ears he continued, “A ranger and a golden haired elf are with them. The master wants them especially dead. All rangers we encounter should find us as their *last* encounter.” He laughed evilly evoking an affirmative round of cheers.

“Then go! We’ll wait your signal before we make our move.” Guruth patted his warg affectionately on her flank, “Go on Mrdhdúk, lead your pack out, make me proud.” The warg snarled, barring her fangs and charging off in the direction that the hunting party had been seen. The riders mounted their steeds quickly as the pack of wargs followed their leader.

In moments, Guruth and the remaining orcs were standing alone beneath the trees.

“How long do we wait my lord?” An orc soldier questioned, glancing uneasily down into the shrouded valley below.

“Until I tell you.” Guruth answered coldly, walking back to the ridge and resuming his vigilant watch. They dare not risk getting too close to any of the areas that the elves patrolled. Not yet. They had a few more hours to kill before the elves of the hunting party called for help and then, when Rivendell had emptied of its warriors and all the sentries had come running to the scene of the slaughter, then... He nodded to himself and smiled as he thought through his plan. Yes... then it would be time. It was worth waiting for. Getting his hands on *them* was worth waiting for.

The cold air carried his frosted breath out over the valley. Soon it would carry the scent of blood as well.

~*~

Legolas stopped, holding up his hand and calling for silence. He looked around, wondering what it was that had caught his attention. He saw nothing but waving, whispering trees surrounding them. The hunting party was well out of the valley now, out in the wilder-lands surrounding Imladris.

The prince had gladly joined the party that morning. It had been weeks since they had gone out with the other elves. They had been staying near the house of late and recuperating slowly from their latest misadventures.

Legolas had already fully recovered and both the twins were mending well. Aragorn too had finally recovered from the bruises and breaks he had sustained, although he healed more slowly than his elven companions did. Legolas was surprised when he realized how much time had slid by so quickly since they had come home from their little wight hunting expedition.

Home... Legolas almost laughed. It wasn’t his home, but there was something about this place that invited everyone to think of it thus.

Indeed, the months had passed swiftly under the rafters of the Last Homely House, the days uncounted, the hours unnoticed. Time seemed to nearly stand still in the peaceful dwelling. It wasn’t until Celboril had complained about the storehouses being bare that the younger elves had even considered going back out to hunt again. It had been good to lay their weapons aside for a while and not have to fear what waited around the corner.

They had put their trip off several days already, but now, with the prospect of being on the move tomorrow with Halbarad and the other warriors being called up, they could delay the hunt no longer. They would never hear the end of it when they returned if they left while the pantry was still in need of refilling.

Now that they were out in the forests again, Legolas realized how much he had missed them, the whispering of the trees as he walked, the feel of the ground beneath his soft booted feet. However, the deeper they went the more it sounded as though the forests were warning them, cautioning, trying to dissuade them from moving forward and the messages he was receiving were confusing.

“What is it?” Aragorn mouthed the words silently to his friend as he gained the elf’s side.

Pointing into the trees and then pointing at his ears, the prince wordlessly told the ranger that the woods were speaking to him. His frown gave indication that the message was not a good one.

Unease stole over Aragorn as he glanced quickly about them. The elven hunting party had fanned out over the nearby hill in search of game and the few hunters he could see were waiting for a signal from the human or the Silvan elf that it was safe to proceed.

The signal never came.

Without warning, Legolas shoved Aragorn aside and fired an arrow into the woods on his right, quickly restringing another as the forest erupted with sounds and chaos. Wargs charged them from the side and orcs rushed from every direction, attacking the hunting party.

Where had they all come from? How had they gotten so close so silently? These were questions that they did not have time to ponder as the dark wave crashed into them.

“Elrohir!” Aragorn yelled to his brother as he cut down an orc, spinning aside as the dying creature tried his best to kill the ranger.

Unprepared for the dark tide, they were sorely outnumbered as the woods were flooded with the evil beasts. They needed help and they needed a diversion. Needed it quickly. Aragorn had faced down some incredible odds before, but he was no idiot; he knew that the small hunting party would never survive this vicious and overwhelming onslaught.

Knowing what his brother was asking for, Elrohir leapt into the nearest tree, scaling its heights and breaking through the leafy canopy. Facing towards the rift that he could barely see from his position, he placed a horn against his lips and blew three rapid blasts on it. The sound echoed through the hills and rang down into the vale far behind them.

Elrond, standing on the veranda with Glorfindel discussing how many warriors should be sent to the aid of the Dunèdain, heard the signal. His head snapped up sharply, alarm sparkling in his ageless eyes.

Three blasts, sharp and urgent.

It was the most dire distress call they possessed, used only in cases of great emergency. That in itself was alarming enough... even worse however, was that he recognized the call as having come from one of his son’s horns.

In moments Rivendell was thrown into action. The already assembling elven warriors heard the distress signal and hurried to help.

Lookouts on the ridges saw the battle taking place from a distance and observed with shocked horror the wave upon wave of dark creatures pouring out of the forest. Unless something happened, the hunting party would be overwhelmed in mere minutes. Already they were being rapidly forced back towards Rivendell. After they fell, there would be no barrier to keep the dark tide from sweeping down into the valley beyond.

The sentries’ signal horns took up the urgent call, echoing their own message to every corner of the vale.

“Wake! Wake!” the clear signal of the message horns rang out. “Peril is upon you, defend your homes, defend your lives, make haste!”

Elrond gripped the wrought metal railing of the veranda. He had not heard the sentries ringing such a dire message in years. Millennia even, not since the dark days before the Last Alliance when Rivendell had almost been overwhelmed.

Glorfindel’s head was cocked to the side as he listened intently to the wildly clamoring tale of the signal horns. “The valley is in peril of attack,” he breathed, almost disbelieving as he turned his gaze back upon the dark haired elf across from him.

Elrond’s grim face said he already knew... and somehow, his children were out there in the forefront of it all.

Glorfindel did not need to wait for instructions; he already knew what to do. Vaulting the veranda railing to save the time of passing back through the house, he hurried out towards the knots of elves swiftly forming in the courtyard beyond. He saw Moranuen and called to him, beckoning the younger warrior to him as he shouted out commands to the others.

Just because Rivendell had not seen war in several thousand years did not mean it had forgotten how to fight, or that it was unprepared.

As soon as the call went out, everyone who could took up weapons and headed out to find the hunting party, and the attackers. The stable hands released all the remaining horses and the animals met up with the warriors on the cobbled bridge. Snorting and nickering they urged their fair riders to hurry and mount them so they could be away towards where the distress call was still crying for help.

Suddenly Elrohir’s horn fell silent, although the other warning signals continued to clamor.

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment. His fingers played lightly across the ring on his hand. Always, he maintained a watchful protection around the whole valley, but right now his children, and the threat, were outside of Rivendell and outside his reach. Stretching himself and pulling some of his attention away outward he extended his reach to the woods beyond his realm that were shuddering at the turmoil tearing them apart, at the spilling of the blood of the elves they loved so dear. Elrond’s hands tightened as he tried to send more of his strength and protection towards the violent battle now taking place. Valar protect them, please, protect them all.

Glorfindel and Moranuen led the assembling elves in the direction that Elladan had told them they were heading earlier that morning with all haste. A sizeable war party had been gathered in a matter of minutes, speaking well of the efficiency with which Rivendell was prepared to deal with such an emergency when it arose.

Elrond walked quickly through the house, making his way to the courtyard. He stood on the flagstone steps watching the last of the warriors head out. He had an ill, unsettled feeling that he could not pinpoint, a darkness that touched deep memories flitting across the past, but simply would not light. With a deep sigh he turned and walked back into the house. He should be prepared for anything.

As he crossed the threshold, a darkness swept behind him and the elven lord turned quickly, expecting to find someone or something behind him. The courtyard was empty and quiet. There was no one there. The birds sang softly in the trees overhead. He raised his eyes to the hills across the way and tried to pierce the darkness of the forests. There it was again... a familiarity with evil that he should not have felt.

Guruth stood on the far side of the cleft, watching the healer through slitted eyes. A feral grin spread across his face as the elf finally turned back and walked into the house.

“What? Do you see him?” A slight, stooped-over orc standing just behind Guruth asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Then we go now?” the raspy voiced creature asked, his enthusiasm getting the better of him.

“No.” Guruth shifted his stance and watched the northern woods. Soon they would be returning, the wounded ones. *Then* it would be the perfect time. “We have a little more waiting.” Guruth answered softly before turning a wide grin on his companion, “And then we will go.”

The response garnered a guttural laugh that silenced the woods around them.

~*~

The woods were choked with orcs and wargs. Fighting them in the forests was proving deadly. The wargs blended in well with the darkened undergrowth. Most of the elves had taken to the trees to better deal with the threat but Aragorn and his elven brothers had remained on the forest floor in an attempt to cut off the attack from the ground. They had lasted much longer than they should have against these odds. The elves were proving their worth in a battle and an unseen force seemed to be aiding them as well, confusing their enemy and slowing the dark creatures’ movements. It was a subtle effect, but noticeable nonetheless. Elladan and Elrohir knew enough to sense their father’s handiwork from a distance, even if no one else recognized what it was that was helping them.

A second horn resounded through the woods, followed quickly by a third. There were two parties coming to their aid now.

“Who?” Legolas shouted to Aragorn as he kicked a dead orc away from him. Spinning viciously into a third, he slit the creature’s throat with his elven blades.

Aragorn was locked in a hand-to-hand battle with a warg rider that he had knocked from its mount and did not answer. The orc had gotten the upper hand, pinning the man on his back and holding him down with his weight. He pressed his short-bladed scimitar close to the ranger’s throat. The small, black handled blades were favored by the warg riders who made it a point to keep them razor sharp.

Seeing his friend in trouble, Legolas strung his bow and targeted the orc’s back. His shot went wild as a warg barreled into the elf, blindsiding him. The beast knocked the prince down and rolled him underneath its bulk as it charged past him.

Springing back to his feet Legolas watched as the wolf-like creature turned and skidded to a stop on the dew-wet grass. Aragorn had finally turned the tables on his opponent. Placing his booted feet against his attacker’s abdomen he kicked the orc over his head and rolled away, grabbing his sword from where it had fallen in the struggle.

The warg’s attention snapped to its rider as it saw its master free of the human. At a gesture from its master, the warg darted towards the orc. Aragorn raced to Legolas’ side in the span of a heartbeat. Time slowed as the orc leapt onto his steed’s back and the two dark creatures turned towards the elf and the ranger.

Thoroughly fed up with the warg, Legolas was prepared. He strung two arrows on his bow and leveled them between the wargs eyes. His stance was solid and he let the breath leave his lungs, steadying his aim even further. Aragorn flipped his hunting knife in his hand, catching it on the blade edge and flung the weapon at the orc rider. His knife cut through the air, streaking towards the advancing threat. Still Legolas waited, counting the seconds, watching everything unfold as if in slow motion.

Aragorn’s blade hit the rider square in the throat, throwing the orc off the back of the warg. The larger beast, aware that he had lost his master, faltered for a heart beat, enough of a hesitation for the elf. Legolas’ fingers barely moved and the long bow reverberated with the release of the arrows. The projectiles struck the warg through its thick skull and the beast fell dead a foot from its intended prey.

Breathing hard, Aragorn glanced around them. For the moment the fighting seemed scattered away from their position. He clasped Legolas’ shoulder and smiled weakly at the elf, “Nice shot.” Another blast from a horn calling for help echoed to their left, bringing Legolas back to his original question.

“Who else has come?” He glanced behind, them wary, tense.

“The first call was from Rivendell.” Aragorn pulled the elf with him as he raced towards the northern glens just beyond the ridge where they were. “The second was the rangers. The rest of Halbarad’s party was camped out here somewhere nearby.” He called over his shoulder and faltered, his footsteps slowing as watched half the company of warg riders split from the fight and head for he and Legolas.

The elf saw the horror reflected in the human’s eyes and followed his gaze.

Tmarkz had seen the ranger and the golden haired elf that Guruth had pointed out to him earlier attempting to flee from the fight. Calling Mrdhdúk and spurring his own mount on, he routed half the wargs and their riders, calling to them to make sure the pair did not escape alive. If he had learned anything from the years of service to Guruth, it was to make sure his leader’s wishes were followed through.

Legolas reacted faster than his friend, grabbing the ranger and racing down the gully on their left. There was no fighting an onslaught that massive; they would both be killed. The elf could just see the water’s head from where they were. If they could get to the lake before the wargs, they could possibly put the body of water between them and their pursuers. He could hear the large animals crashing through the forest behind them, racing alongside and just reaching the open glade before them.

“Run, Aragorn!” The elf cried as they raced down the incline toward the shallow part of the river that flowed from the deep pool beneath the Bruinen’s head. The thunder of the falls filled their ears, mixing with the pounding of their own hearts and making them have to shout to be heard.

Suddenly, their plan of escape was blocked as a large female warg leapt onto the bank, her hind legs just stopping her large body from skidding backwards into the lake. More warg riders appeared on the edges of the glade, seeming to materialize out of the mists that rose from the banks of the lake where it touched the rim of the forest.

Backing up slowly, the ranger bumped into Legolas. Instinctively he grabbed the elf’s sleeve as the two of them retreated warily. With their backs to the deepest part of the lake and every other direction crawling with wargs and orcs, all avenues of escape had been effectively cut off. The ring of black creatures tightened menacingly around them.

Aragorn’s foot splashed into the lake behind them and he held on tightly to Legolas as he steadied himself.

They could retreat no farther. They were trapped.

___________________________________________________________

~*PART FOUR*~
~Paradise Lost~

Elladan bent over the body of a fallen ranger. The man had been cut down by the orc that the elf had just killed. The number of wounded was mounting, as was Elladan’s frustration. It seemed that the orcs were holding them at bay, working hard to keep them from retreating to Rivendell but not necessarily taking any and all measures to slaughter them outright. The whole situation felt wrong. And what were all these warg riders doing this far north anyway? Beside what Halbarad and Aragorn had told them this morning, he hadn’t heard any other reports that said the wargs were on the move again on this side of the mountain, in fact they hadn’t heard anything about orcs in the area for sometime. What had provoked this attack? What could these creatures possibly hope to gain from throwing themselves up against the formidable defenses of an elven stronghold like this? How had they even gotten this near the valley?

From his kneeling position Elladan watched as a warg rider bore down on his twin and quickly fired an arrow into the animal’s side, bringing the warg down on top of its rider.

“Elrohir, we must get the wounded back!” Elladan called to his brother as his twin rose from tending another fallen elf.

“What?” Elrohir called back as he turned, his brows furrowed. His hearing was much improved and on its way to being completely restored, but he was still having trouble picking individual sounds out of the chaotic clamor around them. He heard his twin’s voice call his name, but everything else was lost.

“Back!” Elladan gestured towards Rivendell and then to the bodies near his feet. “The wounded, we have to get them back to the house!”

“Agreed!” Elrohir responded quickly as the sounds of booted feet racing towards their position alerted them that others were approaching.

Two wounded rangers were supporting their unconscious leader between them. Halbarad had been seriously wounded in the fighting and was bleeding freely from a ragged cut to his midsection. Behind them Moranuen limped slowly, holding his arms across his chest. His clothes were bloodied and torn. Several more rangers and elves were with the small group, helping to support them and dragging other wounded with them.

“Elladan!” Moranuen called raggedly to the twin. “We have wounded.” He stumbled against the elf as the others gathered round. The front of the elf’s tunic was drenched in blood and he was very pale. He broke into a fit of painful coughing.

“Mora! By the Valar. You are wounded yourself.” Elrohir was alarmed by the wet rattle in his friend’s ragged breathing and tried to pry the elf’s hands away from where they were clutched tightly against his chest, but was warded off.

“There is no time. We must get back to Rivendell. Some of these will not make it if Lord Elrond does not see to them.” Moranuen regained his footing and stepped back from the twins. In truth he was not sure he would make the return trip, but he felt he had a duty to the ones that were with him, to get them the help they needed. The injured were no longer any good here and would only get in the way of the fighters. They needed a diversion so they could slip through the enemy defenses and return.

Elladan nodded grimly, he read the determination in the other elf’s eyes and moved closer to his long time friend, “Do not tread the Halls yet Mora, I would not be the one to tell Estel that you have gone on without him.”

Moranuen smiled softly, nodding in understanding. “If the Valar permit it I will stay.” He promised, swallowing hard and trying to still his heavy breathing, “Find us a way through, watch our backs.”

“We will.” Elrohir answered as he eased the elf he was tending up onto his feet and allowed another who was not so wounded to take the warrior from him. He passed his short sword to a ranger that was in better shape than most of the others, keeping only his long blade for himself. “Go and go swiftly. We’ll see that you get through.”

With a small nod, Moranuen led the wounded party out and down the valley by way of a little known trail. The twins headed back into the fray, routing the orcs and wargs away from the fleeing warriors.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lights and shapes danced in front of Moranuen’s eyes, he leaned heavily against the rocks on his right as he stumbled along. He couldn’t breathe properly. He had been trying to support one of his wounded companions, but now it was all he could do to support himself. They made it down the winding path into the valley but he felt his strength waning. They were so close, he had to get his people through; he could not fail them...

“Mora? Moranuen? Answer me.” A strong hand gripped the wounded elf’s arm, anchoring him back to reality and Moranuen looked up, startled at who he saw.

“L-Lord Elrond,” he wheezed slightly. The elven lord stood before him, his eyes shadowed with concern and compassion. Elrond had seen the small party struggling its way down the path from a distance and came quickly to their aid, bringing along Celboril and a number of other helpers.

Moranuen noted with mild, sluggish surprise that a long, curved sword hung by the healer’s side. He had not seen Elrond take Hadhafang from its decorative mounting on the study wall since... well, ever actually. But the older elves such as Celboril could trace it back farther. The number of times that the elven lord had borne his weapon since he returned from the Last Alliance could be numbered on one hand. It proved just how dark this situation had already become.

“M-my lord, things go ill with the others. The enemies are many. Glorfindel and your sons... the warriors... holding them back; the rangers have joined as well...” Moranuen’s voice was strained and failing as he tried to report. “Everyone has been pulled forward to face the threat... I do not think they can breach the valley’s defenses but the cost will be high...”

The younger elf sagged suddenly forward. Elrond caught him easily. The healer saw the bleeding, gaping gash in Moranuen’s chest and caught his breath. The elf’s lungs were punctured and the rattling sound produced by his labored struggle for air told that he was literally drowning in his own blood. It was a miracle he had made it this far.

Swiftly picking the younger elf up in his arms, Elrond gently carried Moranuen back to his house while the rest of his staff assisted the other wounded. If Moranuen was right, they were in for a very long day.

~*~

From his vantage point, he saw them first. The orcs waiting his command stopped their conversations and watched intently as Guruth straightened, tensing, his eyes riveted to a point north of them.

“When we go, be sure none of you touch the river on the way over, it reports to the filthy elves,” Guruth warned as he watched the scene unfolding far below. These things he knew from much study, from the long preparation leading up to this moment. “I don’t care what you do or don’t see, just follow me and do as I tell you, I will get you in. Once we’re inside the defenses, everything will become clear enough for you.”

A small group of elves and men moved out from the cover of the forest and worked their way down into the valley. The wounded ones; they arrived at last.

Guruth smirked softly, watching them limp across the stone bridge and into the courtyard. His smile turned into a sneer as the healer leading them threw the doors wide and ushered the returning warriors and rangers inside.

“Now.” The one word whispered command was heard by all that had waited for it the past few hours.

With a shout the orcs raced down into the rift, blindly following their leader and heading for the Last Homely House.

~*~

Elrond pushed his hair back over his shoulder distractedly as he hurried down the hall. He and Celboril had set up a triage area in the Hall of Fire, laying the other wounded out alongside Arendur. Most were seriously injured and he had been required to put the majority of them into a deep slumber so he and his helpers could tend their wounds. Moranuen was one of the few elves he had not dared put to sleep because his condition was too fragile. He had finally gotten the young warrior stable, but whether he, or any number of the others, were going to survive, was still an open question. The healer had not tried to care for these many sick or wounded at the same time since he had aided some of the neighboring human villages during a severe epidemic several hundred years ago.

Many of the injured elves and rangers here now had survived long enough to receive treatment on the power of the elf lord’s will alone. It was draining, and unfortunately required that he withdraw a good measure of the support he had been giving the defenders, but Elrond would not lose any of those he had even half a hope of saving.

So many injured... and the healer feared they were only the first wave.

Passing swiftly through several chambers, the elf lord entered his small medicine pantry near the back of the house. The air of the small apothecary was strong with the scent of herbs and spices, giving the place a musky, wholesome smell.

Elrond’s long fingers paged swiftly through the rows of bottles and sachets of herbs neatly arranged on the pantry shelves. It was well that he kept such stores of healing on hand; they were going to have need of them this day.

His subconscious mind registered movement as of someone entering the adjacent room.

“Celboril?” the elf lord called distractedly as he gathered up a number of vials and dried herbs. “Send one of the staff that can be spared into the garden and tell them to cull some fresh balium...” Elrond paused, his hands halting above the small pile of medicines he was collecting. Something not right was niggling insistently at the back of his mind.

Whoever was in the next room did not answer.

“Celboril?” Elrond called again, but this time he did not really think it was his steward. He did not know who was out there, but they were not answering and the strange tingle of warning running up and down the back of his neck put him on edge. He had never felt this sensation in Imladris before and wasn’t sure what it meant.

He had left his sword in the foyer as he was not accustomed to wearing weapons around his own home and it only interfered with his work, but strangely enough he was suddenly wishing he had not. His roving gaze quickly landed upon a small, sharp paring knife used for preparing roots and herbs. It was the closest thing to a weapon that this room contained.

The elf lord picked it up and held it in his right hand, sliding it up under the voluminous sleeve of his robe where it could not be seen. In his left hand he took a small vial of dark amber liquid off the back shelf.

Turning slowly he carefully and deliberately strode out of the pantry and into the adjoining room. There were no windows in this room and the candles had all been put out, leaving it in a muted semi-twilight. Elrond’s keen eyes scanned the area quickly, piercing the shadows. It was not a purely natural gloom, of that he was sure. It was too dark. At first glance everything seemed deceptively normal, but the elf lord’s senses were fairly screaming at him now, telling him that he was not alone and something was not right.

A shadow stirred in the far corner of the room, by the door that led into the rest of the house.

Elrond’s eyes narrowed as his attention focused in on the being that detached itself from the darkness. His shock and loathing grew as the twisted form of a sneering orc became visible, moving towards him, but stopping a stone’s throw away from the apparently unarmed elf. Three long scars ran across the right side of the creature’s face, permanently twisting one side of his lips up in an evil leer.

Elrond cast his senses quickly about him and realized this goblin was not alone. He could now see or sense at least six or seven more moving stealthily in the shadows of the room all around him, including two that he knew without turning to look, had just moved behind him to block off the pantry door.

Orcs, in Imladris? The thought burned Elrond’s mind and his eyes darkened several shades in fury. He did not waste time on surprise over how the defenses had been breached, that was an alarming puzzle he would have to work out later. These foul creatures had gone too far to trespass into his very house. They would pay.

The elf lord could see a mad flame of blood lust in the eyes of the being before him. The fact that they were not already rushing him was curious.

Elrond’s hand tightened on the hilt of his concealed knife. “What do you want here, spawn of Morgoth?” the elf’s voice was hard with disdain and loathing. “You are not welcome in my house!”

The orcs laughed. The creature in front of Elrond sneered wider and he brought the wickedly notched scimitar in his hand up a little higher. “What do we want? We want *you*, lord Elrond,” the creature mockingly stressed the elf’s title.

Elrond did not have time for the shock of that statement to register before all nine creatures rushed him at the same time.

The elf lord flung the bottle in his left hand into the face of one of the approaching orcs. The glass shattered, splattering its contents all over the creature. The orc screamed, clawing at his face and eyes in pain as the liquid inside burned him like fire.

A swift flick of Elrond’s wrist flipped the knife in his right sleeve out into his hand. He ducked under the sweeping blow of a scimitar and jabbed the short blade into the orc’s neck, jerking sideways to sever the jugular. The foul creature grabbed its throat with a gurgled cry and fell back, but Elrond was still in motion as the others closed in tighter around him. First blood had been taken and it seemed to heighten the creatures’ frenzy.

Side-stepping two of the orcs with agile grace, Elrond slit the throat of another. His blade was too short to be effective anywhere else. The dying orc flailed and Elrond had to drop to a crouch to avoid his mad gyrations. Another attacker took this moment to try to kick the elf lord in the back, but made only the slightest contact as Elrond rolled away too fast for them to follow.

An orc grabbed at the elf lord as he sprung back to his feet, the beast’s dirty, clawed fingernails catching and snagging in the draping velvety sleeves of Elrond’s robe and jerking his knife arm to the side.

Shrugging out of his large over-robe in one fluid movement, the velvet sliding easily off of silk tunic he wore underneath, Elrond left the creature holding an empty garment.

For half an instant as he spun to face his attackers on a new front, Elrond saw the scarred orc who had spoken to him standing by the doorway. He was not taking part in the fight, but looked on with a self-satisfied smirk. The dead, personal hatred in the creature’s eyes was chilling.

Four dead orcs now lay around the elf lord’s feet, but more just seemed to keep coming to take their place. Valar! How many where there? Where had they come from and however did they get all the way in here? These were questions for which Elrond did not have time to find answers.

From somewhere else in the house Elrond heard loud cries. Metal rang on metal and the crashing sound of either glass or ceramics being smashed echoed down the hallways.

A bolt of alarm shot through the elf lord as he danced away from one of his assailants. Celboril! The wounded! Obviously these orcs that he faced were not the only ones to have breached Imladris’ defenses. He knew that his staff was loyal and brave, but none of them were warriors, some hadn’t held a weapon in millennia and most never had. With all the warriors drawn off by the massive frontal assault there were none now in the house itself save the wounded, the women, and those servants who had never had occasion to learn the ways of warfare... and, of course, Elrond.

Too late he realized that for some reason this was exactly what the orcs had planned. That the massive warg attack on the valley was merely a diversion to draw Rivendell’s defenses outward, even as the initial warg attacks on the villages had been a ploy to draw the rangers to them. Why they went to all this effort and what their goal was Elrond did not know, but whatever it was, he intended to see that they failed.

The elf lord tried to break from the circle he was being contained in, edging the fight closer towards the doorway. He had given up the bearing of arms a long time ago to focus on the healing side of his skills, but right now he was the only one in this house who had ever been a warrior and his people were in trouble, they were going to need him.

The dark creatures tried to keep him hedged in, but Elrond was too fast for them, and too skilled. They had thought to find themselves an easy target in the elf lord, but just because Elrond chose to devote himself to healing now rather than fighting, did not mean that he had not kept himself in form. The elf lord had lost none of the well honed skills that made him such a deadly warrior in the Last Great Alliance and even out-numbered with an inferior weapon, he was cleaving his way through the dark forces that sought to bring him down.

Elrond gained the doorway just as a familiar voice gave a pained cry down the hall. Concern flashed through his heart and stole his attention for only half a moment. Unfortunately it was half a moment too long. The scarred goblin who had yet to join the fight took this opportunity to lunge at the elf lord. Oddly enough, he was not necessarily trying to kill the elf, but rather, disarm him.

Elrond rolled with the tackle, not allowing himself to become pinned. He felt a sharp line of biting pain slice across his right arm as a grazing stroke tore a bloody line through his sleeve from the front of his shoulder to the back of his elbow. He absorbed the pain, registered it, and then refused to give it any further hold over him as he kicked the creature off and jumped to his feet.

Momentarily in the clear, Elrond sprinted down the hall towards the sounds of distant battle.

The white, marble floor of the foyer was slick with blood; the black blood of orcs and the bright red blood of elves. A dead orc lay across the threshold, a hearth poker through his skull. Propped against the far wall was the still body of an elf; one of the kitchen staff whose eyes had been closed to this world in eternal sleep. The elf lord did not need to stop to check him to know that he was already treading the paths to Mandos’ Halls; his throat had been sliced completely open. Elrond’s stomach turned. He had seen much worse of course, but not in his home. Never had the peace of the Last Homely House been so shattered. A deadly flame burned hot in his heart. How dare they bring carnage into this sanctuary!

Elrond looked around quickly for his sword, but it was not near the door where he had left it earlier. He could hear the orcs giving chase from behind him and ahead the sounds of fighting continued from further down the passage... from the direction of the Hall of Fire where the wounded were laid out.

Hurrying forward, Elrond dashed into the hall to find Celboril locked in combat with a four huge orcs. The steward was standing in front of the wounded men and elves bedded down upon the floor behind him, obviously trying to protect them. He must have picked up Elrond’s sword from the foyer because Elrond recognized Hadhafang’s gleam as she sliced through the air, parrying the dark, rough-hewn scimitar pitted against her.

Unfortunately she was wielded by one who had never been trained in warrior arts. Celboril had a fierce heart, but he was obviously outmatched.

One of the orcs got behind the seneschal who was busy trying to fend off the three in front of him. Elrond arrived just in time to see Celboril sense the movement at the last moment, and try to turn. The elf lord was *not* in time to stop the vicious thrust that caught his steward in the stomach.

Celboril doubled forward, his mouth opening in soundless expression of shock as Hadhafang fell to the floor with a clatter. The elf’s hands flew to the bleeding wound in his midsection as the orc ruthlessly kicked the steward backwards, yanking his blade free.

“Celboril!” Elrond shouted his faithful friend’s name as he sprung forward. The orc had just raised his bloody sword to lop off the fallen elf’s head when he suddenly found himself thrown backward by a powerful kick in the ribs. Elrond knocked the orc viciously away from his friend and stopped to scoop up his weapon all in one furious blur of motion. The orc that had stabbed Celboril was dead before he even started to get up from where he had fallen and his three compatriots followed in remarkably short order.

Momentarily freed from combat, Elrond dropped down to check on his old friend and faithful servant’s vitals. Celboril had served Gil-Galad his whole life and Elrond had known him since he was but a young warrior proving himself in his new guardian’s halls. These past millennia Celboril had served Elrond as loyally as he had served Gil-Galad before him. Elrond had never thought it could end this way for them.

The elder elf’s weak pulse was fading fast. “I-I’m sorry my lord...” Celboril whispered, his body shaking. “I failed you...”

“No! No, my friend,” Elrond shook his head quickly, forbidding the tears that wanted to obscure his vision as he gently touched his steward’s pale cheek with the back of his fingers. “You have not failed me. You have never failed me.”

“This is going to be such a mess... to clean up...” Celboril almost smiled. Then his eyes glazed and his breathing shuddered.

“No...” Elrond’s anguished whisper was choked as he reached for his faithful friend’s bloodied hand.

With a cry the orcs who had been after him before spilled into the room, following their quarry. Their numbers had swelled and it seemed that more of their foul brood had come to join the fray.

The elf lord rose to his feet to meet the dark horde, raising Hadhafang in a battle-ready salute. If Elrond had been deadly before, he was terrifying now. Such a fire was in his eyes and a rage in his movements that his attackers almost quailed when he turned on them.

Hadhafang twirled in the air, biting foe after foe with the deadly sting of death, wielded now with a skill worthy of her lengthy heritage.

Elrond had locked into full battle mode now and he registered nothing and everything at the same time. The non-essential details of the world around him faded into unimportance while every move, every breath, every twitch of his opponents filled his senses like a pounding rhythm, guiding his steps as he moved in time with the warrior’s dance of death.

More orcs filled the room, and more... ten, twenty, maybe thirty of them. Elrond’s rational mind knew he could not stand off against these ever increasing odds forever, but his intense focus did not allow room for despair, only action. Hadhafang sang in her master’s hands, spilling orc blood like water and piling the casualties across the floor like chaff. Originally, the warg riders had been intent on taking the elf lord alive, but now they hewed wildly at him, intent only on bringing an end to this fight.

Suddenly a warning cut through Elrond’s focused rhythm.

“Enough of this!” a harsh voice snarled. “Keep fighting if you want elf, but if you do their deaths are on your head!”

Elrond whirled around to see who had spoken, but he kept Hadhafang held high; his defenses tense and ready for trickery. The orc with the scars from the earlier fight had dragged Celboril half-way up by the hair, his ragged blade pressed against the steward’s pale neck. Celboril’s face was white and his eyes glazed, but his chest still rose and fell with ragged irregularity. He was unconscious, but not dead.

“He’s not dead yet, but I can fix that,” the scarred one threatened. “We can put all these unfortunate maggots out of their misery for you if you so desire, *lord* Elrond.” The goblin nodded his head towards his minions behind him. The orcs had stationed themselves among the rows of wounded, blades poised to strike the defenseless beings.

Elrond could see Moranuen struggling weakly against the brute that had him pinned. The orc jabbed his elbow hard into the elf’s chest and Moranuen gasped softly, falling back with a small moan. Elrond’s fury simmered with the heat of helplessness. He could only hope Moranuen’s stitches had not been torn open.

Only Mora and one or possibly two others were actually awake; most, like Halbarad and Arendur, lay still unconscious and oblivious of their impending demise.

“At least most of them won’t even feel it I suppose,” Guruth sneered. “Not like the little squeakers what are still on their feet down in the cellars. Little weasels are trapped down there, just waiting for us to come for them. So go on and keep fighting, while you do, we’ll take care of these worms here and then go amuse ourselves with the live ones. I think I heard more than a few maidens’ voices down there... we can have lots of fun with them, can’t we boys?”

Several of the other orcs laughed and cheered their cruel assent.

Elrond found his breath coming short, but he didn’t know if it was from exertion or from the horrible choices being laid before him.

“What?” the orc sneered when Elrond did not speak. “Have you nothing to say? Not even going to tell us we won’t get away with this?” he mocked. “Just as well, because we already have. By the time your precious warriors get back here this house will be in ashes and every last person dead. And there’s not a thing you can do to stop us... except maybe one.”

“And what is that?” Elrond asked coldly, his knuckles whitening on the blood-slicked grip of his sword handle.

“Drop your weapon,” the scarred one smiled. “Understand this elf, we’re here for you, not for them,” he jerked his head towards the two dozen wounded and captive beings behind him. “But if you want to make things difficult, then we’ll kill them too and enjoy the task.”

“Don’t... my lord,” Moranuen rasped around the pain of the injuries that were slowly sapping his strength and his life. The orc above him applied a little more pressure to his wounded chest, cutting off any further thought of speech with a blinding rush of pain.

Elrond’s blade lowered a few fractions, his concerned gaze darting to Moranuen’s gasping form. “And you expect me to trust your word that they will not be harmed if I surrender to you?” his tone told just exactly how far he trusted to the honor of orcs.

Guruth shook his head. “I don’t care whether you trust us or not maggot. You’ve got to gamble now and decide what you can and can’t live with. If you comply, at least they’ve got a chance... but if you don’t, then their end is certain.”

Elrond felt the energy draining from his body along with his hope. The orc was right. He had to face the fact that there was no way he could save any of them by continuing to fight... most likely not even himself in the end, although he personally would rather die in battle than be taken prisoner by orcs. He didn’t trust the fell creatures for a moment, but if both sides of a choice were ill, then he had to at least go with the one that had some small glimmer of a chance in it, and apparently the orcs knew that as well.

“Take your time elf; I’ll just drink this one’s blood while you decide...” Guruth tilted his blade, starting to draw it across Celboril’s neck.

“No!” Elrond lowered his sword, crouching down to place it on the floor before rising back to his feet, holding his hands out to his sides in a gesture of compliance and surrender. “If it’s me you really want then you have me fuiagwaur //filth//. Let the others go.”

The scarred one laughed as his underlings quickly grabbed the elf lord’s arms, twisting them behind his back and forcing Elrond to his knees. Dropping Celboril’s unconscious form, the goblin rose and walked towards Elrond.

“And now they can all die, while you watch,” he sneered, dropping down into a crouch before his prisoner. “And once we’ve heard every last one of their screams, maybe it’s your turn. That’s what your precious warriors would have done to us, am I not right?”

Elrond’s gaze remained stony and unmoved. He had taken a gamble where either side resulted in death but he would not let these foul creatures revel in his pain. “I will never know how a race so twisted could have come from elves,” he said with quiet fury.

Guruth pushed his face up to Elrond’s, his foul breath assaulting the elf’s senses.

“You think we’re so different, you and I?” he hissed. Holding up his left hand, the creature showed his prisoner that he was missing all but his clawed thumb and forefinger. “What about this then? Or this?” He pulled back the shoulder guards of his leather armor to show terrible scars from what must have been a horrendous burn that covered almost one entire side of his body. “Or this!” he pointed to the scars on his face that Elrond had already seen.

“These were gifts from your precious warriors who left me to burn with the dead after they slaughtered my entire tribe. *You* Lord Elrond are going to pay for that, and through you the ones who did it shall also pay.” The goblin grinned, maliciously pleased with his own evil cleverness.

“Who are you?” Elrond’s hard, questioning gaze searched the face of his antagonist. The orc’s eyes were old and full of hatred. Orcs and goblins were not always entirely immortal, but many still retained a lion’s share of the longevity that Morgoth had maliciously bred into them when he crossed broken elves with the unspeakable dark things back in the far annals of history. Elrond guessed, and guessed rightly, that this particular creature was very old and had been nursing whatever twisted flame of vengeance was in his heart for quite a long time.

The goblin grabbed a handful of Elrond’s long dark hair up near his skull, tipping the elf’s head to the side.

“My name is Guruth, elf. Remember it well because I want it to be the last thing in your thoughts when you die. For five hundred lives of men have I wanted to see this day, even before I knew it was your blood that would flow to appease my vengeance. We didn’t know who they were, our killers; the warriors who drove us from our homes and slaughtered us like chattel. When they disappeared we slowly crept back...” his grip tightened painfully on the elf lord’s hair, as if he were trying to rip it out of Elrond’s head. “But I never forgot. And then, a year or two ago, I chanced to see a face that I have cursed daily my whole life. I watched them from afar and everything began to make sense. They weren’t dead, oh no, not them... but then, you know exactly what I mean *lord* Elrond, you always have. I hope that knowledge sits well with you, because you can take it to your grave!”

Elrond was beginning to suspect he did know what Guruth was going on about, but even now he still did not know the whole truth. “They say revenge is best served cold, but if yours has waited so many centuries, than it must be cold indeed.” The disdain in his tone was evident and he gave no effort to conceal it.

Guruth smiled ruthlessly. “Oh no elf, my rage has stayed very hot. You think this is not possible? I think you are wrong, and I can prove it. YOU think back almost five hundred years elf and tell me if other events that happened then are clear in your mind. Tell me what you remember. I’ll tell you what I do... I remember an elf woman with long blonde hair and pale skin. Such very, very soft skin. Those stupid elves never knew what hit them. She wasn’t the only captive we took, but most of them didn’t survive the journey north... they went slow and hard, but she survived quite long. She survived long enough for us to take her home. Oh yes... I remember. I remember the cries of her remaining companions when we killed them in front of her. I remember *her* cries in the cave that night... I remember the way she smelled, the way she bled... the way she called *your* name.”

All the color had drained from Elrond’s face as Guruth was speaking and a horrible, trembling rage claimed every inch of his consciousness. It wasn’t possible, all that twisted brood who had taken his wife from him so many years ago were dead! They were dead!

“Oh no *my lord*,” Guruth shook his head, as if reading the elf’s thoughts on his face and enjoying his twisted game. “If you thought we all died you are mistaken... I alone escaped. And I will kill you, the way we should have killed her.”

“Um-edonnant yn droeg dheleb thaur!” Elrond cursed the creature in horrible terms with all the strength and fury in his burning heart. He tugged viciously against the hands on his arms. “If you have a soul may it rot in the deepest pit of torment for all eternity!” He wasn’t shouting, but his low, trembling voice carried every bit as much venom as if he had been.

Guruth just smiled, satisfied with himself. “So you see? Rage can stay very hot even after all these years.” He gave the elf lord’s hair one more jerk before releasing him and turning back to his minions. “Kill them all. Start with the humans, then the elves.”

The orc standing over Arendur lifted the boy’s head, baring his neck to the blade.

Elrond’s seething heart could barely contain any more anger and pain than it already did and he twisted to no effect in the iron hands that held him.

Suddenly two loud blasts on an orc horn sounded nearby. Everyone stopped and looked up.

“Captain, we’ve got to go,” one of the orcs near Guruth said nervously.

Guruth swore. That was a warning signal; it meant that some of the elves were returning. He did not have enough troops with him to face off against any more than a handful of warriors at best... he had not expected anyone to be returning this soon and it hindered some of his plans. It did not spoil everything however.

A wicked grin spread over the creature’s face. “All right then, let’s go. Don’t worry elf, your fun is only delayed, not canceled,” he kicked Elrond in the stomach as he rose to his feet. “I know a nice cave that has not been used in a long time. We’ll take him to Daradwayn and show him where we entertained his wife. We can take our time with you there, maybe find a few friends for you? That would be pleasant, don’t you think?”

Elrond had doubled over his knees when kicked, and the orcs instinctually let up on their hold a little. Guruth’s taunts elicited another burst of flaming wrath and Elrond threw his head back, smashing the nose and jaw of one of the orcs behind him with his skull and twisting out of their hands. A heavy club slammed into the back of his head as he rolled away and he was unable to dodge in time. The blow slammed him hard against the floor next to Celboril, causing millions of bright lights to flash before his eyes as the world momentarily darkened.

Elrond had only moments before the orcs had complete control of him again and he knew he was never going to be able to escape them. These creatures meant to kill him one way or another, of that he had no doubt. But if they intended to take him with them, there were some things they could not be allowed to have... some things that should never fall into the hands of darkness.

Consciousness was being fickle, but with what little clarity he still possessed. Elrond jerked the blue-jeweled ring off his right hand. Shoving Vilya into the sweeping sleeves of Celboril’s unconscious form he only hoped the orcs had not noticed the small motion.

A dozen rough and punishing hands grabbed at the elf lord, catching his shoulders, his hair, anything they could reach. Blows rained around him as they tried to get the fiercely struggling elf under control once more. Unfortunately, Elrond was now at a distinct disadvantage and they never gave him the chance to rise. Three or four powerful kicks to his chest and gut left the elf lord curled on his side, gasping for air and unable to fight back as he was dragged once again to his knees.

They bound Elrond’s hands behind his back and shoved a filthy gag into his mouth, cursing all the while as the elf lord continued to buck and struggle against them like a man possessed.

Four alarmed horn blasts sounded from outside.

“Blast it you maggots get him under control and let’s go!” Guruth shouted urgently. They were running out of time. They still had to make it OUT of the valley without being spotted.

Another blow to the back of his head sent Elrond’s world tipping out of focus and effectively subdued him, although he remained conscious as he was dragged to his feet.

“What about the rest of them?” one of the other orcs questioned their leader, looking over the rows of wounded.

“Leave them!” Guruth snapped. “We haven’t got the time. Besides, we’ve got the one we need. The others will just have to come to us.” Guruth pressed his face close to Elrond’s one more time, running the fingernail of his mangled hand down the side of the elf’s face. “We’re going to have fun with you elf. Perhaps we’ll even show you the same courtesies we did your mate... if you’re a good elf and live that long.”

Elrond was dizzy and only barely conscious, but he still jerked away from the vile creature’s touch, his eyes speaking the burning hatred that his gagged tongue could not. If he lived and were able, he would see each and every one of these brutes dead.

Guruth looked amused and slapped his prisoner harshly. “Come on! Bring him!” he grunted to his minions. “And I mean *alive* or you’ll get no share in the fun!”

Elrond glanced over his shoulder as he was dragged out of the room. His eyes caught on Celboril’s still form. He desperately hoped the elf would live.

//“May the Valar keep you faithful friend, I have entrusted much to your care over the years, guard for me the last thing I entrust you now and may only the right eyes find it...// Elrond could only hope that it would be one of his sons to discover the ring he had left behind. They would know what to do. If he perished, Vilya was to be taken to Galadriel and its fate fell into the hands of she and Lord Círdan.

Behind Celboril, Elrond could see Moranuen desperately struggling to rise around the debilitating injuries that he had received barely hours before. The bandage around his chest was soaked crimson again and the younger elf coughed, choking up more blood. He would gladly die before he let these creatures take his Lord away, but his body was betraying him. The elf warrior made it up onto his hands and knees but then his strength failed him. He was unable to force his body to move around the labored spasms of his injured lungs.

Elrond shook his head warningly, trying to tell the younger being to stop, to not be stupid. Moranuen was only going to get himself killed, either by pushing himself too hard or by garnering the orcs’ attention.

Guruth heard Moranuen’s painful coughing and turned, his eyes sparkling with cruel mirth as he saw the injured elf struggling with his own body.

The orc next to Guruth lifted his bow, about to put an end to the elf’s attempts with an ugly black arrow, but Guruth put his hand on the bow, pushing it down. “Let the little worm live if he can. I have a job for him. If you live long enough maggot, tell your friends what has happened when they get here. Tell them all what I have done. Let them know what fate this one goes to,” he jerked his head towards Elrond as he was hurried out through the doorway. “It’s a message. Tell them! A message for Dehlfalhen and Glamferaen.”

With that Guruth turned and hurried after the retreating forms of his minions as they hastened to make their exit while they still could.

Moranuen’s arms buckled under him and he fell back onto his mat with a muffled moan. Dehlfalhen and Glamferaen... no... oh heaven no he didn’t want to deliver that message. Yet with each fighting breath he took, he struggled to stay alive long enough to do exactly that. They had to know. Someone had to tell what had happened to Lord Elrond. They had to save him. This could not happen again... it would destroy more lives than just Elrond’s if it did.

___________________________________________________________

~*PART FIVE*~
~Escape into Darkness~

Aragorn stepped back, balancing himself as he caught the orc’s scimitar with the edge of his sword. The feeling of cold water encasing his foot and the splashing of his own steps startled him. He hadn’t realized that they had been backed so far towards the edge of the lake that collected beneath the Bruinen’s water head. Behind him the falls thundered, obscuring the sounds of battle and even his own cry of warning to Legolas as the elf was pushed back into the cold shoals of the mountain pool.

With a sharp, quick move the ranger ran his opponent through, kicking the dying creature away from him. He glanced towards the hills that surrounded them. On their left wargs bearing their foul riders surged over the top of the rise and raced into the valley. Of the rangers or elves there was no sign. It seemed the tidal wave of orcs and wargs was slowly pushing its way towards Rivendell. Towards his home.

Gaining the lake’s edge, a large warg rushed Legolas. The elf sidestepped the brute, killing its rider with one fell stroke. As the mount turned back to finish what its master had not, Aragorn ran the few steps that separated them, leaping onto the animal’s back and plunging his sword deep into the wargs side, piercing its heart. The dark beast fell beneath him into the lake, its blood mingling with the sand and water at the pond’s edge.

There was no way out of the bowl-shaped canyon they had been caught in and there was no hope of help on the horizon. A rain of arrows hissed through the air near the two warriors. One of the projectiles nearly hit its mark as it grazed Aragorn’s left shoulder, searing a bloody line across his arm. Surprised by the attack he fell from the warg, using the large body as a shield. Warg riders did not usually use crossbows but this pack seemed to be more coordinated in their attack and the creative genius behind it frightened the man. Legolas was by his side in moments, steadying the ranger and pulling him safely behind the dead animal’s bulk. The slight protection gave them a moment’s rest and the elf glanced around them wildly.

“We are cut off. There is no way of escape.” Legolas words were rushed and hidden by the grey tongue, disguised from anyone who could hear.

Tearing his gaze away from the waterfall, Aragorn pierced his friend with a hard stare. He remembered this place all too well. The last time they had encountered orcs at the Bruinen he had fallen from the heights and been sucked behind the waterfall. He knew there was *one* way of escape but he was not so sure that they would be able to reach it in time.

“I know of a way.” Aragorn answered simply as Legolas crouched down next to him once more after releasing a volley of answering arrows. They had seconds left before their position was converged upon from all sides.

Without answering and without asking, Legolas simply nodded, ready to follow the human wherever he led them. There were no questions between them by now, no place that the elf would not follow the man. That was well, for they were out of alternatives.

Aragorn stood to his feet and raced into the lake, the water dragging at his clothing and impeding his progress. Arrows fell into the churning froth around them as Legolas easily ran after him. The sounds of the heavy feet of wargs rushing into the lake filled the elf’s heart with dread and he dared not look back.

Taking a deep breath Aragorn plunged beneath the surface of the cold mountain pool and swam to the bottom of the lake. Following the natural bowl carved into the rocks by the pounding water he headed for the waterfall. Without pause, Legolas followed his friend’s example and dived after him.

Near the back of the basin the water was turbulent and swirled in a mad rush about them, pulling at their hair, grabbing their clothing and tugging at their sodden boots. It threatened to never let them back up to the surface, pressing the two friends down against the jagged granite that lined the bottom of the pool.

Spears and arrows sliced through the water all around them. One lucky shot caught Legolas in the calf, cutting through the leg muscle and causing the elf to momentarily curl into himself, his cry cut short by the water that pressed them down. Willing the pain away the elf pushed on, locating the dim outline of Aragorn in the churned-up lake.

The human’s fingers bumped into the rough hard wall of granite that formed the cliff at the back of pond and Aragorn surfaced quickly, placing his feet beneath him and wedging them into a natural ledge of the rock face. He hugged the cliff, looking behind him for Legolas. The elf appeared a second later and the ranger grabbed the back of his tunic, hauling him up into a standing position and holding him against the rock until the prince got his feet underneath him. Legolas winced, but otherwise ignored his injury for the present. From this vantage point they were behind the waterfall, barely hidden from the sight of their pursuers by the gallons of water that fell ceaselessly from the top of the cliff.

“This is your plan!?” Legolas yelled over the roar of the falls. He glanced through the curtain of water and could see the wargs swimming out after them, their black shapes distorted and wavering when viewed through the liquid veil.

Shaking his head, Aragorn moved around the elf. Positioning himself on Legolas’ right, he inched closer and spoke loudly into the prince’s ear. “No, there is more!”

When Legolas glared at him Aragorn only nodded. He had no time to explain as the head of a warg pressed through the watery curtain, snapping and growling.

“Take a deep breath!” Was the only yelled explanation the ranger gave as he wrapped his arms around Legolas’ waist and pulled them both off the ledge. Falling back down into the dark lake, Aragorn hugged the elf against his chest. His back scraped against the cliff wall but he felt the current changing almost instantly and he ducked his head down, remembering the last trip he had into this subterranean river. One hand instinctively came up, wrapping around Legolas’ head and pressing the elf into the curve of his own body as they were sucked through the underground tunnel. Their speed increased until they were barreling down the passageway. The force of the rushing water threw them from side to side as they raced down the channel.

Despite the shouted instruction, Legolas had *not* had time to take a deep breath, or any breath before their sudden plunge. Just when he was sure that his lungs would give out, the elf felt Aragorn pulling his head up, tipping his chin back and he gulped in lungfuls of dank, musty air.

Aragorn had braced his feet against the sides of the passageway as soon as they were free of the tunnel and into the cavern. The current still threatened to pull them back deeper, farther in, but he held on tightly. The water level was significantly lower than it had been the last time he was here, making the current in the underground cistern much swifter and harder to manage as the stream was sucked back into another underground tunnel that higher water levels had rendered barely noticeable on his last visit. Dried deposits of minerals from the evaporated water crunched and slipped treacherously under the ranger’s fingers as he scrabbled to keep himself and his friend out of the hands of the current.

“Legolas I need you to get to the edge and pull yourself out. There is a ledge on either side of you. Hurry, I cannot hold on much longer.” The ranger ground out the commands as he strained to hold the weight of them both from tumbling into the darkness.

The pitch black of the cave had frozen Legolas in place. For a moment he was not even sure where they were or if they were truly alive, but his friend’s words shook him out of his stupor and he clambered out of the water more stiffly and numbly than he normally would have. The water was cold, icy cold, the last of the winter run-off and while the chill did not directly affect him so much, his wounds and the shock of his surroundings took its toll.

Breathing heavily, Aragorn flopped down next to the elf and lay quietly for several minutes on the cold rock shelf. There was not enough room to stand up here, there was barely enough room for them both. The elf’s labored breaths caught the ranger’s attention and he crawled closer to his friend.

“Easy Legolas. I’ve been here before it is well, we will be safe.” He rested his hand gently on the prince’s shoulder. His fingers softly tracing the elf’s body as he found his friend in the dark.

“Before?” The whispered question caused the man to smile slightly and he nodded, knowing the elf could probably see him now perfectly well as their eyes adjusted to the tiny bits of light that seeped in through the crack in the cliff face.

“Shhhh...” Aragorn pressed his fingers to Legolas’ lips as the light was momentarily blocked from sight. A warg had pressed its flattened snout against the rock wall, searching for the two warriors they had lost. Its growl filled the cavern. It knew the elf and ranger had passed this way, but was at a loss to figure out how. There was no chance of the creatures’ massive bodies getting sucked into the underground channel. The two smaller beings had barely made it in themselves without receiving scratches and gouges from the rocks that lined the walls. “They hunt us still.” The ranger barely whispered as he pointed towards the fissure in the wall.

Legolas stilled his movements and crouched down, dimming his light considerably so that the cave dropped into inky blackness once more. Within seconds the warg had moved away, pressed back by the thundering water that sheeted over the rocks high above. For many long minutes both elf and human remained completely still, barely breathing. The light filtered through the crevice unblocked and it seemed that their pursuers had given up the chase.

“*This* then was your brilliant idea?” Legolas turned back to glower at the ranger. His frown masked from the man who had garnered it by the darkness of the cavern. Slight sounds of mirth startled the elf and he shifted easing himself around and smacking Aragorn upside the head lightly. “It’s not funny.”

“Well, in a way it is. Remember when I said I would get you back for that stunt in Cirith Ungol?” The ranger left the question hanging between them.

Legolas’ soft laugh brought a smile to Aragorn’s face. “Then we are even. Let us not make a habit of this.”

“Oh my friend, it is far too late for that.” Aragorn eased himself back off the ledge and into the water. Legolas’ firm grip on his upper arm stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“I think they are gone.” Aragorn glanced towards the front of the cave, wedging his feet against the sides of the rough, watery tunnel to hold himself in place. “I’m going to go check.”

“You are going to go check?” Legolas’ tone was incredulous as he repeated the simple statement, “Alone?”

Pulling himself back out of the water with a sigh the ranger stared hard at the outline of his friend. He could just make out the elf’s features. “Legolas, I’ve done this before...”

“Over fifteen years ago my friend!” The elf glanced back into the water.

“Well we can’t stay here and they can’t stay out there. If they are gone I’ll come back to the crevice and tell you but if they are not it would be foolish of us both to go out there.” Worry for his friends and family still out there fighting the invaders would not allow Aragorn to remain trapped here for long.

The logic in the human’s plan couldn’t be argued but the elf fought the desire to do so anyway. “Then be quick.” Legolas released his friend and watched anxiously as the ranger took several deep breaths and slid back into the water, disappearing from sight.

Breathing slowly Legolas worked to calm his heart and still the fears that swirled through his thoughts. It wasn’t the first time he had been in a cavern, and by now he was almost positive it wouldn’t be the last. He was almost getting used to it... almost. But he did not like Aragorn going back through that tunnel alone. It worried him.

It seemed like it took longer than it should have to reach the channel’s opening. Fighting against the current was much more difficult than he remembered. Finally, Aragorn planted his feet firmly on the edge of the tunnel and pushed upward, breaking the water with a rush. He gulped in the air, keeping himself pressed hard against the cliff wall. Straining to hear any sound he remained there motionless for a few moments, hidden by the curtain of the falls.

“I’m going to take a look and see if they have moved on. I’ll be right back.” Aragorn whispered into the crevice beside him knowing the elf on the other side of the rocks could easily hear him.

Taking another deep breath, the ranger pushed off the natural shelf, diving down into the rushing water and allowing the motion of the falls to push him out into the bowl of the lake.

Surfacing a few feet from the churning water that now fell behind him, Aragorn gasped for air and shoved the hair out of his eyes. Glancing quickly towards the far shore on his left he noted that the forests were silent. The shore that had been filled with orcs and wargs a few minutes ago was empty of all life; even the dead had been removed. That struck him oddly as he had not been aware that the wargs would drag their own fallen away and hide their carcasses from the enemy. Orcs certainly did not usually take such care.

Moving his arms back and forth slowly through the water in rhythmic strides, the ranger turned in a semi-circle, barely keeping his head above the surface. As he shifted to look to his right, a dark shape exploded from the water, catching him off guard. The orcs and their mounts had had enough time to work their way to the opposite side of the lake. When the human had been spotted surfacing in the bowl beneath the falls the lead orcs had quietly sent their four-legged companions back into the water. The thundering of the waterfalls behind him had masked the wargs approach until it was too late.

Lunging, the evil creature tried to catch the ranger in its gaping maw, but the water impeded its unusually swift reflexes. The warg’s teeth grazed Aragorn’s arm as he ducked under the water. The ranger jerked backwards, tearing his coat from the warg’s fangs. He rolled onto his back, pulled his knees in tight and pushed away from the creature. His booted feet thudded hard against the beast’s bony chest and sent him shooting blindly towards the wall of the lake. The sharp kick surprised the warg, but did not move the large animal. It was just enough to throw the creature off however and had he been the only warg in the lake, Aragorn might have escaped unscathed.

As it was, several wargs on the shore had been watching. The floating human looked to them like a fun game. They had grown bored waiting on the shore and the excitement of a new chase overwhelmed them. Rushing in they joined their packmates, attempting to catch the small dark shape that swam past them underwater.

Aragorn had little breath left when the next warg attack came. He was struggling for the surface when a large paw curved down toward him, slicing easily through the water. The unretractable claws of the warg glistened darkly for a brief moment before he felt the hot, searing pain of their jagged edges raking along his leg. The swipe pushed the ranger farther down into the depths and he lost what air he had in his lungs as he cried out under the renewed attack.

When he looked back up towards the surface of the water, his wavering vision made out five large dark bodies circling overhead. He was out of time and out of air. The water rippled and churned around the wargs and Aragorn started as one of the animals thrust its head into the lake and glanced about for the ranger, its feral, black eyes tracking him. The beast snarled, revealing rows of yellow stained sharp teeth set at all angles as though they had grown in incorrectly.

Diving straight down despite his screaming lungs, Aragorn brushed the bottom of the lake. The water was more turbulent here, this close to the falls and black spots hedged the edges of his vision as his lungs cried out desperately for air. His shoulder and leg throbbed mercilessly as he somersaulted under the water. Aiming himself for the back of the waterfall he pushed up with all his strength. His head broke the surface of the water for one second before his pursuers found him. Dragging in half a lungful of clean air he was slammed back down as the wargs shouldered in, eager for an easy kill. The press of the foul bodies shoved the ranger back all the way into the subterranean tunnel and before he had time to register what exactly had happened he was sucked underneath once more.

The water raged around Aragorn, shoving him this way and that. His head smacked sharply against a rock that protruded from the side of the channel. Unprepared, he had no time to position himself correctly so that he could stay in the center of the passage and without enough air he was beginning to lose consciousness. It suddenly seemed so silly to keep fighting it all. His body went limp as he surrendered himself to the mercies of the underground stream.

Softly glowing light brightened above him and he found it odd that there was light in this tunnel. He had been here before, although it suddenly felt like a lifetime ago. There shouldn’t be any light here, he was almost sure. Staring up into the dim glow Aragorn reached out towards it and was surprised when it grabbed hold of him. If the light wanted him it could have him, and with that thought the ranger let go, drifting into unconsciousness.

Legolas heard when the wargs had converged outside the rift in the rock wall. He had been watching anxiously for the ranger to return ever since the animals outside had quieted. The silence that had fallen was deafening to the elf. A black shape under the water exited the underground tunnel and raced towards his position. It was Aragorn, but the ranger had not made any move to surface and an icy cold shaft of fear shot through the prince’s heart.

Plunging his arm down into the water, Legolas grabbed a hold of Aragorn’s over coat and stopped the human. The ranger didn’t move or help the elf as Legolas pulled him out of the cold water and dragged him up onto the shelf where the elf knelt.

“Aragorn?” Legolas leaned over the ranger, pulling him into his lap and gently tapping the side of the human’s face. “Aragorn!?” With mounting fear the prince realized his friend was not breathing. Lowering the man back onto the rock, he quickly rolled the ranger onto his side, forcefully pounding on Aragorn’s back to dislodge the obstruction in his airway.

With a choked sputter, the ranger spit out a mouthful of water and automatically drew in a deep breath. The air caught in his throat and he coughed, convulsing in the elf’s grip.

“Easy Strider. Breathe slowly.” Legolas lightened his grip on the man’s shoulder as Aragorn’s consciousness began to return.

“Where...?” His memory was slow to return. It was dark around him and the sensation of not knowing whether or not his eyes were truly opened was disorienting.

A snuffling sound came from the front of the cave and Legolas instantly dimmed his glow, curling around Aragorn’s body and covering the man’s mouth with his hand. “Shhh... they have not left.” The elf whispered in the ranger’s ear.

Aragorn stilled in Legolas’ grip, glancing towards the direction where the sounds of scratching and growling was coming from. Clarity fell into his mind like the blade of a knife and he stiffened, waiting until the warg slipped away from the crevice.

“They know we are in here.” Aragorn barely spoke, knowing the elf could hear him no matter how soft he was.

“Really?” Legolas voice held the frosty hint of sarcasm as he moved back and let the ranger stretch out. “I had not realized.”

Glaring at the elf, Aragorn pushed the prince away from him and sat up slowly. “Yes, really.” The answer was as sarcastic as the question. “We won’t be able to go back that way.” The human glanced at the fissure in the rock as the minimal sunlight that forced it way in was again blocked by the massive head of a warg.

“What did you see?” Legolas ignored the creature outside the cavern walls.

“The orcs have moved to the far side of the lake. They are pushing towards Rivendell, Legolas.” The ranger took a deep breath before continuing. His fear was mounting and he was unsure as to their next move.

“This is good...” Legolas stopped speaking when Aragorn glanced at him again. They both flinched as the sounds of claws on the rock face echoed in the chamber they occupied.

“It would be, for us, *if* they had all moved on.” The ranger’s eyes reflected the soft glow that the elf cast as he glanced towards the front of the cavern once more. “There is a small contingent that has remained behind. Either to keep us in here until their objective is complete or to take us with them when we exit the tunnel. They do not seem willing to leave without seeing us dead.”

It was silent in the cave save for the breathing of the two occupants and the muted pounding of rushing water outside.

“Were you hurt?” Legolas soft question seemed loud in the unnatural quiet.

Aragorn glanced at his torn leggings and gingerly fingered the raised welts across his shoulder and back that the warg claws had left. “Not really. Just scratches mostly and those were washed clean by the water.”

Legolas shifted closer, “Are you certain?”

“You’re the one with the arrow wound.” Aragorn reminded his friend, smiling slightly in the dark.

“A scratch.” Legolas shrugged.

“Right.” Aragorn drew the word out sarcastically, knowing full well the elf would never admit to being hurt. He stared at his friend blankly, waiting the prince out.

In moments Legolas could take it no longer and with a small laugh he shoved the human lightly, “We have bigger problems to worry about.”

“Like why the wargs and orcs are headed to Rivendell.” Aragorn replied softly.

“I was thinking more along the lines of finding a way out of here.” The elf’s counter answer lightened the mood for a moment. But the solemn look that spread over the ranger’s face chilled his heart.

“I think I know where we are.” Aragorn shifted past Legolas and gripped the edges of the tunnel that led deeper into the mountain, gazing hard down the darkened watery passageway. His thoughts distracted as he spoke softly to the elf. The last time he had been in here, he had been in no shape to think of anything, but now...

“My father used to tell us tales of the old times when dwarves inhabited the mountains near Imladris, before father built here of course.” The ranger turned an impish smile on the elf as he sat on the ledge of rock and dangled his feet into the cold water. “That was before the orcs came and drove them into the Misty Mountains, to join the others in Dwarrowdelf.

“He said in the time before the elves dwelt here, the Dwarves had hewn huge living spaces into the very mountains, much like what we saw in Moria. And that they used the Bruinen as their source of water, routing the river into deep caverns in the mountains where it would collect in pools for their use. That way they would never have to leave their homes.”

“Rock dwellers.” Legolas whispered under his breath. How an entire race of free peoples could chose to live underground and never want to come out was beyond his understanding.

“Legolas...” Aragorn growled playfully as he lowered himself back into this channel. “Look, I think *this* is one of those passages. The lip of this tunnel is smooth, not like the one we entered. It’s not natural...”

His explanation was cut off as Legolas reached out and grabbed his arm, trying to pull the ranger back out of the water. He pressed himself flat on the ledge and glared over at the human.

“You are not suggesting that we go deeper *into* the mountain?” The elf’s eyes were huge as the thought sunk into his awareness. “You do not know for certain that we won’t just be lost in darkness in the core of the earth."

It was hard not to smile, as Aragorn glanced up at his friend. He knew the fears the elf had about being in caves and darkness – a fact he still found a bit annoying as Mirkwood’s castle was built partly underground. Gently taking Legolas’ hand from his shoulder the ranger simply nodded, answering his friend’s question.

“We have to get back to Rivendell, Legolas. We have to get back to my brothers and warn them. All the warriors are out on the passes defending the valley, but those orcs and wargs will be at Imladris before the sun passes. We must stop them.” The ranger locked eyes with his friend, imploring the elf to trust him once more. “Legolas, it’s our only chance.”

The sounds of snuffling made the elf jump once more and turn towards the front of the cavern. Aragorn was right; their pursuers had not given up, and if they had not given up by now, it was unlikely that they were going to do so.

With a sigh of defeat the elf slid off the ledge and braced himself in the swift channel, “Then may the Valar direct our way. I will, as always, go with you my friend.” The ranger had turned so he was facing the elf as the prince positioned himself behind the human. “Though you do test my limits human!” The taunt was in jest and Aragorn knew it, laughing slightly as he turned back towards the darkened waterway.

“There is room to breathe in the channel, the water does not fill it completely and it looks to be much larger than the one we first entered.” Aragorn allowed the current to pull him closer to the dark gaping maw of the tunnel.

Legolas’ hand tightened on his shoulder. “Then let us see if your father’s stories were correct. We have no time to waste.”

With a quick nod Aragorn released his hold on the rocky walls on either side of him and shot into the smoothly hewn water channel. The force of the torrent pulled him quickly under and he found himself unable to maneuver in the slick passageway. Here, in the dwarf-carved aqueduct, there were no handholds and it was easier to be scraped and jostled against the hard walls.

The tunnel turned upward slightly, slowing their pace and he was able to surface and catch his breath before the channel flowed east once more, picking up speed as it angled downward toward the center of the mountains depths.

There would be no swimming back through this channel. For good or ill, they were now committed to the path they had chosen.

Legolas’ had barely gotten over his fear of being miles beneath the surface when the water in the channel picked up speed and they shot through the wide passageway heading back downwards once more. It was impossible to see where Aragorn was, but the elf was sure the human had not slipped behind him. Slowly uncurling his body he straightened his legs out and tucked his head between his outstretched arms, increasing his speed. In seconds his fingertips brushed the coarseness of rough wet leather and he relaxed, pulling himself back into a ball and raising his head just above the level of the water.

They were slowing once more.

The tunnel broadened a little as the water grew shallower and less forceful. Scrambling to get their feet back under them again and gasping for air, the two friends waded through the waist-high water in inky blackness illumed only by Legolas’ faint radiance.

After nearly an hour of sloshing through cramped, darkened twists and turns in the icy water, Legolas bumped Aragorn softly from behind, causing the ranger to turn and look at him over his shoulder.

“You take me to the most interesting places mellon-nín,” the elf remarked sarcastically.

Aragorn, far more affected by the water’s chill than the elf was, grimaced and gave Legolas a soft shove in return. “Keep talking, we could use some more hot air in here.”

Legolas snorted but resisted the urge to dunk the human. He knew that Aragorn would suffer more from this experience than he did and did not wish his friend to become ill.

Neither of them knew when or where this waterway would end so they proceeded with caution as they followed their dark, dank path deeper and deeper under the mountains.

There was nothing else they could do.

___________________________________________________________

~*PART SIX*~
~Take this Out of Me~

~~~~~~~~
Innocence, innocence,
innocence lost
all souls want it back
some uncover the cost...

--Steve Taylor
~~~~~~~~

The house was in sight at last, thank the Valar. Elladan shifted the weight of the elf leaning on his shoulder. The other warrior was trying not to be a burden, but a badly turned ankle that was possibly broken was no light matter. Elladan himself had only cuts and some wicked bruises, but getting back down into the steep valley with their wounded comrades had been a long and painful process.

Behind him Elladan could hear Elrohir whispering encouragement to the young Dùnadan he was supporting.

“We’re almost there, see? Just hold on,” Elrohir’s voice was gentle and encouraging; carefully free of his sorrowful fear that the light of young man he was almost carrying was going to be snuffed out like a candle in the wind at any moment. The boy was barely as old as Aragorn when Aragorn first met Legolas. Elrohir hated to lose them this young. Babies. Just babies.

Elrohir stole a sideways glance at Glorfindel who walked to the twins’ left, carrying yet another wounded and unconscious elf in his arms. The elder elf was quiet, but Elrohir could tell he was helping to support the younger warrior in his arms with his own strength, as Elrohir had often seen his father do... as he was trying to do with the boy he was helping.

It was a sad group that made its way back to Rivendell today. The losses and casualties were grievous, such as had not been seen by this peaceful vale since the Second Age.

“Almost there,” Elladan murmured as they drew nearer to the beautiful and welcoming vista of his home. At least some things were still as they should be.

The Warg attack had finally been routed and driven back, although at the last it seemed almost as if they had received some unknown signal to withdraw, so quick was their retreat. Elladan could not shake the disturbing feeling that they had not so much won the fight, as been allowed to disengage. Yet that was highly unusual. Orcs did not retreat unless on the point of defeat, preferring to ruthlessly destroy their enemies while there was still any chance of bringing them down, and while the elder twin hated to admit it, they had been doing a pretty good job of bringing the elves and rangers down.

A cautious rear-guard, on the lookout for any trickery or reappearance of their enemy, had been assigned to patrolling the outer perimeter around the valley and envoys had been sent to Strayton to see if they had also been attacked, although at the moment it seemed that Rivendell had been the sole recipient of the onslaught. Another curiosity to be tucked away for a later date: why would the raiding orcs attack an elven stronghold while a much more vulnerable human village was barely a day’s journey away?

Elladan felt that there were disturbing answers to these questions hovering just out of his grasp, but for now that would have to wait. Their focus was on the wounded. Rivendell was a place of peace, a haven, not a fortress and the warriors who made their home in this valley were few now in comparison to the elder days. The border guard they had posted required nearly all the available warriors who were yet uninjured. That left only a small handful to accompany Elladan and Elrohir back to their father’s house with the wounded. Most of them were also nursing injuries, although of lesser gravity than some.

Elladan wondered in which category Aragorn and Legolas would fall when they reappeared. He was sizably disturbed that he had not seen them yet, but the fighting had been very widespread and they could be some distance away by now, there were many warriors who had not yet returned.

It gave him a mental chuckle to consider the long-suffering look that would grace his father’s features if either his brother or the elven prince were once again unceremoniously dragged home by the other; an occurrence not too uncommon over the long years of their friendship. Elladan never for a moment considered that they might *not* reappear eventually, he could not. However, once the wounded were taken care of, if Elrond had things under control, he would certainly beg leave to go search for them.

The elder twin’s relief at being home quickly began bleeding away into apprehension as they neared the house. Something felt wrong.

“Something is not right,” Elrohir echoed his twin’s thoughts in a whisper. “I don’t... don’t hear anything. El?” the younger twin was not yet ready to trust his newly restored hearing and looked to his brother to see if he were merely missing something.

Elladan was frowning. He didn’t hear anything either and realized that that was part of what was bothering him. No birds, no murmur of movement from within the house, no sound of feet pattering in the halls nor the soothing tones of his father’s voice as he tended the injured... nothing.

No, there was something, only just detectable to the elven hearing. A dripping sound.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip...

No one could say why, but the small sound sent a hard chill through them all.

Elladan and Elrohir’s free hands dropped immediately to the hilts of the swords at their side.

Glorfindel’s face creased into a deep frown. He set the elf he was carrying down carefully, keeping one hand on him. “Leave the wounded here,” he said quietly. “Something is amiss.”

Elladan and Elrohir concurred with that assessment all too well. Quickly they eased their charges down to the ground. By unspoken agreement, the golden haired elf lord remained with the others to protect the wounded if need be while Elladan and Elrohir proceeded cautiously forward.

Every inch of the courtyard was a familiar haven to the twins, so why now did the hair on the back of their necks stand on end and their bodies tingle with unexplainable warnings of doom? There was a shadow over their home as if the pristine essence of Imladris had somehow been violated and even the trees and plants quivered with the shock.

They could not yet see the front of the house, shaded from their view by the artistic arbor pathway, but something on the ground caught their attention. A dark crimson stain spread across the glistening white flagstone path from around the blind corner; a deep red trickle that could have been only one thing.

Both twins’ hearts jumped up into their throats and lodged there, almost choking them.

Blood.

Rushing forward with swords drawn they turned the corner, catching the first glimpse of the main entry to their home... and then froze in horror.

Black and crimson mingled freely on the cobbles before the entry and a great, hulking orc body lay dead in the partially open doorway. The creature’s hideous blood was pooled around him on the landing, draining slowly down the stairs... drip... drip... drip...

Elrohir felt sick. Not here. Not here in his home...

Elladan felt a blinding slash of rage burn through him. What had happened? What had happened here?

From inside the house the sound of a weak, struggling cough shook them from their momentary daze.

The two elves unfroze their feet and hurried on again, stepping over the hideous orc body with revulsion and noting with sorrow the slain elf across from him.

Elladan gripped his sword tighter. He and Elrohir exchanged looks; the fire in Elrohir’s eyes for once nearly matching his brother’s. Someone was going to pay for this violation of their home.

The coughing drew them quickly to the Hall of Fire. The great hearth flickered low, but the light it cast still filled the room, dancing upon the rows of deathly still elves and rangers.

For half a horrible instant the twins thought they were all dead; then they saw the rise and fall of breath leaving the bodies and knew that although injured, these beings at least still lived.

Their attention was immediately drawn to the scene in the front of the room. Moranuen was on his hands and knees. The bandage around his chest was soaked deep red and he was unnaturally pale. He knelt next to Celboril’s still body, obviously having dragged himself there with great effort. He had pressed a wadded corner of the steward’s robe against the older elf’s bleeding stomach wound, but the effort had been too much and Mora was doubled over, coughing helplessly and gasping for air he could not find. One of the wounded Dunédain who was awake was trying to work around his own injuries to go to Moranuen’s aid, but was not able to move very fast.

“Mora!” the twins shouted in alarm, almost at the same time. Rushing forward they dropped to the ground next to him.

Elladan gently scooped Moranuen’s heaving frame into his arms, holding the other dark haired elf gently and lending him strength. Laying a hand on Mora’s chest he tried to figure out how to best help ease his friend’s breathing.

Elrohir took over the pressure on Celboril’s wound that Moranuen had been struggling to provide. It was a praise-worthy effort, the younger twin noted as he quickly worked to stabilize the beloved household overseer. Moranuen’s actions had probably saved Celboril’s life.