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Feet now entered, heavy, but not enough to vibrate the formidable black stones on which they trod. The tower room swallowed both breath and sound, pulling into itself in hideous greed — drawing life into its lifelessness. There were two figures now within its walls and though one seemed to hesitate, the other did not. Purposeful strides crossed the dark chamber, flinching neither at the crackle of the lightening, nor at the heavy clamor of the thunder. Erect the figure seemed in the dim after-light of the flare and as dark even as the room itself. There was a whispering sound of fingers probing along the face of the smooth face of the far wall, seeking with an insect-like dexterity for… something.

The second figure seemed to gather strength from his companion and moved to the alcoves, his own hands groping with more firmness than delicacy, searching out the far recesses of the shallow spaces. The hunt continued and no word was spoken for a long time between them.

There was the echo of a tree falling full length from the raging winds, but it was distant. Those trees that remained in the wasteland about the tower clung tenaciously to the soil with the unearthly grip of death.

A voice came from the direction of the furthest alcove, hoarse from long silence: "It is not here."

"It is here," his companion responded, the words careful and measured. The lithe fingers whispered along a moment longer before resting at last on the one rough place in the whole of the icy wall. There was an exhale of satisfaction as the fingertips pressed in, imprinting the engraved emblem on themselves. Nothing changed. Keeping a hand upon the place so as not to loose it in the dark, the figure hissed, "Search the floor."

A long pause ensued, punctuated only by the ripping of the storm and the occasional scraping sound of the second intruder searching about on hands and knees. At last there was a soft sound of triumph, quickly deadened by thunder.

"Bring it here," the tall figure ordered imperiously.

"But what of the book?"

"What of it?"

"It is not here! We need—"

"We need nothing. Nothing but what you hold in your hand. Now bring it here."

Hesitant footsteps crossed the room and as they passed in front of the window the lightening revealed for an instant the frowning features of a dark haired young man with granite-gray eyes; his fist was clenched about something. Then darkness swallow him whole and the sounds of two hands meeting in the dark were barely heard as he passed on what he had found.

A chanting came from the tall figure and filled the chamber — a repetition of a phrase in a strange language. Through the roiling clouds there broke for an instant a ghostly beam of moonlight, striking the side of the tower and piercing in through the window of the black room, bathing it in a blue glow. There was an echoing and reechoing of thunder, like the smashing of rock upon rock, and the fingers pressed once more in upon the round seal.

Down the center of the smooth wall a black line appeared and shone about the edges with blue light that matched the moon, curving into strange runes and ugly symbols. Then something like smoke began to creep forth, snaking through the crack and taking hold of the edges like ghastly hands. Still more blackness leaked through and began to fill the chamber, blotting out the runes and moving on, chasing the moonlight back to its source and closing the rift in the clouds once more.

The thunder seemed suddenly muted as the two halves of the wall eased still further apart and the young man unconsciously pressed himself against the door that had led him in.

His companion moved not an inch, but stood, straight as an arrow, and lifted a hand as if in greeting.

Silence lay over the trees. A breeze rustled and there was a hesitant whisper amongst the leaves, but it was swiftly stilled. The night air was as chill as the overcast day had been, and neither stars nor moon could be seen in the heavy canopy above. There was no sound of owls on the hunt; no sound of wolves in the hills; no sound of insects. And there ought to have been.

An almost inaudible crunch sounded in the dead leaves that carpeted the forest floor and the trees seemed to hang even closer together. Strange things had been traveling the wood of late. A crouching man slid into view, his sword held skillfully at the ready with a tense furtiveness that suggested he was being stalked. The breath that fogged from beneath his hood was controlled, but rough with weariness, and his head turned from side to side in an attempt to keep all things in view. Blood traced a crimson line down his leg, but he paid it no heed. The trees might almost have relaxed — rangers were common and meant them no harm.

A change in the air was the only warning Aragorn had. A scream, high in pitch and ear-shattering, sounded from immediately behind him and a heavy weight piled down upon his shoulders — a weight with glistening claws. With a reflexive cry, the ranger dropped to the ground and twisted, getting his sword up again and stabbing towards where his attacker seemed to be. Above him there hung like a thick blackness the body of the creature: lithe and pulsing like smoke, yet next to impossible to see in the darkness.

Again the ranger stabbed, and there came another scream as the beast tried to roll its prey over and break the struggling man's neck. Aragorn recognized its intentions and tried to wrench himself free of its painful grip, but the muscles of the creature seemed strong as triple-forged steel and its steady pursuit almost unearthly. Why, Aragorn wondered, had it singled him out so quickly? Swinging his sword instead to the side, he nicked the beast's front leg at the joint and caught for a splintered moment a nauseating smell that was nothing like the blood of wargs or even trolls. The claw suddenly released its grip on his arm and he seized his chance of escape. Throwing his whole weight to the side, he tore his other arm free and rolled back onto his feet, slicing his sword forward to meet the angered creature's next attack. It came at an unexpected angle: whistling towards his face. Jerking his blade up in response to the sound, he felt a shiver run up his arms as the sword connected with the incoming danger and turned it aside, causing it to miss him completely. It was too long to have been one of the beast's legs, but the glitter of claws confused him and he wished again that he could see more clearly. Oh, for a sight of the moon!

A scream even more terrible than before made his whole body tingle and the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened as he placed his back against an oak and lifted his sword to en garde position. There was a rushing, all the more terrifying for its cat-like silence, and Aragorn braced himself for the claws at his throat once again — but they didn't come. The creature seemed to rear in mid-charge and suddenly Aragorn felt a crushing against his whole body. The world seemed to tilt beneath him and he felt his body scraped away from the tree as he fell once more towards the ground, but there was no fear any longer of a broken neck. He was crushed — pinioned against the earth by the full weight of whatever had attacked him — his sword arm trapped — his chest unable to expand — his face smothered in fur. Distantly he recognized the stench of death in the beast's coat as his lungs began to cry out for air. Unwilling to give up, the ranger struggled against the deadly weight and felt the creature shift to keep him down. White spots flashed inside his eyelids as his head began to spin; his movements became weaker.

Suddenly the creature rolled free of him. For a moment he lay gasping, thinking of nothing but breathing, and then felt again the heavy forefeet of the beast on his chest. This time he had no strength to strike back. A bark of triumph echoed through the night air as again there glittered above him the strange claw that was aimed for his head. And then a second cry sang through the wood — fair and high, yet terrible. A light seemed to appear amidst the heaviness of the night and then it split into two figures, glittering with the fire of Elbereth herself as they approached. The creature froze in the midst of its victory, distracted for a few precious seconds. With the last remnants of his strength, Aragorn again twisted to the side and felt the beast's grip loosen almost unconsciously as he pulled away. Using his elbows to ease himself clear, he sank once more to the earth, closed his eyes, and tried desperately to regain his breath as behind him the sounds of battle began to shred the air.

Again and again the creature screamed, charging forward and rearing away from its attackers as they called warnings to each other in their own tongue, moving faster than eyes could follow and filling the hollow with their light. Yet still the creature seemed cloaked with shadow, its appearance difficult to distinguish, and even as it retreated from its original prey it moved as if completely uninjured. At last with a final volley of arrows the beast turned away and sprinted through the trees, its cry searing the leaves as it passed. As if from a great distance, there was a faint echo as of a cock crowing on some peaceful farm far from danger. Dawn was approaching.

Aragorn shakily pushed himself to a half-sitting position and leaned against the base of a tree, his eyes still closed. There was the feeling of approaching footsteps, though these too were silent as the creature's had been. A faint glow seemed to shimmer through his eyelids as he smiled faintly. "There you are."

A sigh of relief, which could have been a snort, came from one of his rescuers and the other retorted, "There *you* are! Run off like that again, Estel, and we won't be able to find your remains; have you taken leave of your senses?"

The ranger smiled ruefully again, "A long time ago, yes."

"This is serious, Estel. We know you to be a capable fighter, but…"

Aragorn opened his eyes and met Elladan's worried gaze. "Not everything we've ever fought has been orc or wolf, you know. Unheard of things of stalked these woods before," he said.

"Yes, but none have ever been like this either." The elder twin was crouched easily on his toes, his skin glowing in the darkness and a fire still lingering in his eyes from the elven wrath of a moment before. Elrohir was standing a bit behind him, almost a mirror image in both face and expression. Their dark hair was gathered carefully out of their way, revealing easily the points on their ears.

"Which is why I have you both to keep me from harm," Aragorn teased wryly, trying to lighten his brothers mood and calm his own beating heart. He knew how close he'd come to death a moment before and imagined his brothers knew as well. "Where were you both?"

The twins exchanged glances and there was silence for a moment before Elrohir replied soberly, "Fighting the second one."

The ranger sat upright suddenly, his blue eyes startled, "There is a second one?"

"No, there are two more at least," Elladan admitted, and reached out quickly to support his brother as Aragorn now struggled to his feet again. "Idhrin and Bartho came upon one unawares when they responded to your warning call. They left it alone for fear they would be unable to come and aid us if they stopped to engage it. It did not seem to note their passing."

"Three," Aragorn murmured, his face pale as he exhaled slowly. "What is happening?"

"Nothing that we've ever seen," Elrohir shook his head. "And whatever it is, it went after you."

The ranger wiped his sword clean, ignoring Elladan's subtle gestures that he should sit again. "It went after Erynbenn; I merely lured it off."

"No, Estel, you cut your leg and it went after *you*; Halbarad saw it happen."

"Most animals respond to blood," Aragorn reminded, starting off through the silent trees with his brothers flanking him.

"Erynbenn was bleeding before you were," Elrohir insisted. "And these are no ordinary animals we are fighting. We must be more cautious than we have been, else they will succeed in getting past us."

There was the sound of running feet approaching and a moment later three men, dark haired and clothed in similar garb to Aragorn, appeared out of the night, their weapons at hand.

"Peace, the creature has fled!" Aragorn said quickly, raising his hand to forestall their rush.

Halbarad — who had been slightly ahead of the other two — exhaled in relief, unaffected by his run. His dark eyes inspected Aragorn briefly before he relaxed his hold on his bow, but though reassured that his chief was on his feet he did not put his weapons away just yet. "Good. We may rest for a little longer, then."

"Rest?" Bartho asked in grim astonishment. "Perhaps. When fell things no longer roam the north at will."

"'Tis truth," Halbarad conceded calmly.

The third Dúnadan, who had been farthest to the rear, now approached — his light and easy footsteps belying the age that showed through his gray hair. "Are you injured, Aragorn?"

"No, Idhrin," Aragorn responded promptly, "or in no fashion that a little rest will not cure. My brothers have ever been dependable when I have found myself cornered."

"So long as you take a moment to warn us before you pursue danger single-handedly," Elladan muttered.

"Or allow *it* to pursue *you*," Elrohir added, also under his breath.

"Where is Erynbenn?" Aragorn asked, ignoring the twins.

Bartho tilted his head back over his shoulder, "His leg was no good for running or fighting so I sent him up a tree."

"Good," Aragorn said, accepting the cryptic comment.

Carefully the small patrol wended its way back through the wood, ever alert for more danger, though they doubted any would come with morning approaching. Occasionally another dark figure, green clad and blending almost invisibly with the undergrowth, would join the party and at last they reached a small clearing that was an oft-used camping site of theirs. The thirty-odd men set about silently laying down their bedrolls, with the exception of Aragorn and his companions. Following Bartho a few paces to the north of the camp, they looked up into the thickly covered branches of a pine tree. A young man was perched there like a wounded sparrow, his face still possessing the slight roundness of youth, but pale with pain.

"It is time to come down," Bartho called gruffly. "Can you find your way?"

The man nodded, understanding that he was being offered help if his injured leg was too stiff to hold him. Using arms already strong from many days practice with his bow, the young Dúnadan eased himself back to the ground, catching quickly at the hands that waited to steady him. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Aragorn still whole, but it turned into a barely concealed groan as he tried to step forward.

"Easy, Erynbenn," Aragorn murmured, helping the young man into the camp and seating him beside a tree with his leg stretched out in front of him. "That is no small gash you have there and it would be unwise to press it."

With Elladan helping him Aragorn made swift work of bandaging the leg; Erynbenn remaining stoically silent throughout the whole ordeal. He had been thrown by the creature against a fallen tree, with one of its many broken branches impaling his leg as he landed. Cleaning away the dirt and splinters was a painful but necessary process and it left him almost as white as a wraith.

Elrohir handed water around and for a time they were all silently immersed in their thoughts.

Finally Aragorn asked, "What of the other two creatures?"

Halbarad shrugged fractionally, shaking his head, "The one we fought seems to have departed as quickly as it came; just as has happened for the past two weeks. We came to find you as soon we were sure it was away."

"Yes, but fled or no: before there has only ever been one," Aragorn pointed out. He paused again and seemed to be considering something, then finally he turned to the twins and asked, "When were the beasts first sighted?"

Elladan stared thoughtfully ahead, searching his memory, then said, "We saw one the night immediately following that lightening storm. That is rather odd, isn't it?"

Elrohir was now frowning as well, and in a moment he murmured, "It is. For I have seen a storm like that before…"

His twin glanced sidelong at him and said, "It did seem familiar somehow, but we've seen many storms."

Aragorn shook his head, remembering a terrifying clash of the elements and the cold night his patrol had spent in a shallow cave. "I would hope you had not seen many like that before."

But the twins could recall nothing more of what had shaken their memory.

"Is there no way to slay these things?" Idhrin asked softly from a little ways away, his lined face heavy with weariness if not inclined to defeat.

"How can we slay what is not flesh?" another of the Dúnedain demanded, his voice pitched high with fear and frustration. "Night after night we have fought, and still not one have we managed to fell! We cannot keep on forever."

"We do not know that these things are not flesh," Aragorn reminded him. "Several times we have wounded them, and I have upon my cloak foul blood not my own. They have claws, we know, and their bodies are fur-covered and quick, but such are the wargs in many respects and we slay them by tens and twenties."

"But they are not wargs," Bartho shook his head, "and can any one of us even speculate on what they are?"

There was silence. Not even Elladan or Elrohir could venture a suggestion, and the listening company seemed to sink lower still under the weight of their exhaustion. Aragorn looked about at his brothers and his men. One thing at least was certain: they could not keep on forever. And when they fell at last, as he had nearly done that very evening, what of the lands south of them? And what of the men themselves?

With a sudden resolution, Aragorn rose to his feet. "Come, we must rest while we can. Halbarad and I will take the first watch and I will depart as early as I may."

The others looked up with either surprise, dismay, or on the part of the twins: suspicion.

"What do you intend to do?" Elladan queried, clearly expecting a wild suggestion that his younger brother go, discover the beasts' lair, and destroy them all single handedly in one battle. He still forgot from time to time that Estel, in spite of occasional dangerous inclinations, was no longer a reckless young man.

"We have all admitted that we do not know what it is we are fighting and it is clear we cannot continue in our ignorance. We must therefore request answers from someone who will know," Aragorn explained briefly. He turned to Halbarad, "I am leaving you in command when I depart, though I do not expect to be gone longer than a few days time. With my brothers here the absence of a single man should prove no great hardship for you."

"Who do you intend to ask?" Elrohir pressed, seeing that Aragorn was settling in for his watch.

"Father."

Lord Elrond stood on the balcony that encircled his study, his fingertips resting lightly upon the intricately carved railing. Beyond the Last Homely House the valley of Rivendell rose up like a verdant bowl, its sides covered thickly with green in all hues. A thin morning mist clung to everything, its tendrils mixing with the spray of the falls where the Bruinen made its entrance. Down below the soft sounds of elven voices could be heard, either in conversation or in song, as the residents of this sheltered haven rose from sleep and began their day. Elrond himself had slept very little, but with the long endurance of the elven folk he felt neither weary nor irritable. In truth, an odd smile was playing about his mouth as he thought over the events of the evening before. //I might have known a quiet night was too much to hope for…//

His reverie was interrupted by the sounds of feet upon the stones of the courtyard below. Though soft, they were not elven feet, and the lord of Rivendell's hearing was keen. The lurking smile became a full one as he recognized the windswept hair and mud-spattered clothing of his adopted son.

"What news, Ranger?" Elrond called formally.

Aragorn hesitated, not wishing to cry out his news in full for all those nearby to hear. He bestowed upon elves a more widely encompassing trust than he did upon his own kind, but it would be better not to cause anxiety in a place so peaceful. "News of the Dúnedain, Lord Elrond, and of your sons! We have need of council."

Elrond's brow creased slightly with worry, deeming now that his son had not merely returned for a visit, but nodded his head and gestured to the door below. "Enter and we will speak."

The ranger was nearly ten minutes delayed in coming and when he entered his father's study he looked, if nothing else, even more disheveled than before.

"What kept you?" Elrond asked, one delicate eyebrow arching at the expression on Aragorn's face.

"Celboril," the man said briefly. "Every time I return from the woods he feels it necessary to clean me up before allowing to roam free in 'his' house; he habitually greets me now with a warm welcome and a clothes brush. I had to tell him my business was urgent before he allowed me free passage." Aragorn ran his hand through his hair, returning it more to its original state, and sighed.

Elrond's eyes twinkled a little, but he recognized the two sides of his son and it was not the mischievous boy who had come to speak with him today. "Is your business urgent?" the elf probed.

Aragorn nodded gravely, unconsciously confirming his father's guess and looking very much a worn and tired leader of an exiled country in need of aid. "I fear so. We have encountered something which we are at a loss to understand or defeat. Knowledge we must have if there is any to be had, else I fear we will not long be able to hold it in check."

"And so you came to me?" Elrond prompted when Aragorn seemed unsure as to what to say next.

"Yes," the ranger nodded, relaxing a bit. "If there is anyone who might recall having seen such creatures before, it would be the elves here and thus you."

"We have not lived here always," the elf lord cautioned, "but if there is any information or council I can give you, I will give it gladly. What is it you have found?"

The Dúnadan's finger absently traced the edge of the table beside him. "I wish I could describe them, but though we have battled with them nearly every night for almost a month, we have yet to more than guess at their form. They are fell creatures of incredible stealth and speed. They move silently and seem to leave no mark of their coming or going, as if they possessed no physical weight, yet they are strong beyond the strongest of wargs and can knock the breath from you in one blow. They have claws upon their feet, and claws elsewhere as well — perhaps at the end of a tail. Fur covers their bodies, and they have blood in their veins and give a cry similar to how I've heard that of a dragon described. I do not know of their teeth, for they have so far only attacked with claws."

Elrond frowned over the description, disliking the number of gaps still left to be filled in, but realizing that his son must truly have not been able to see anything further, else he would have spoken of it. "Has it been then so dark when you have fought with these creatures?"

"Dark enough," Aragorn nodded. "The clouds hang heavy over the north and it is long since we have glimpsed the moon and stars. Then too," and here he paused, as though approaching the portion of his news most detestable to him, "they seem to carry their own darkness with them. There is something in them that is not quite real as an orc or a warg might be. Several times we have wounded them, and ever they have retreated from our attack when our numbers have been strong, but we have never slain one." Troubled blue eyes rose to meet the dark ones of the Elrond. "Can you think of nothing you have heard of such beasts?"

Elrond's eyes turned deep with thought as he searched back along his far-reaching memory, but in vain. Many fell things had he battled in his youth at the side of elven lords long since dead — still nothing had he fought so horrible as what his son was describing. Much could be read beyond what Aragorn had related, and this at least was certain: the Dúnedain were afraid. Willing they were to continue on in their long fight to protect the north from harm, but though dauntless against trolls and other such things of twisted birth, they were now terrified and sensed with a feeling of impending doom the failure of all their labors.

The elf exhaled heavily, shaking his head in sadness, "I am sorry, my son. Whatever you have found it is new to me as well." Noting the slump of Aragorn's shoulders, he added, "But there is a chance that others may have heard what I have not. When did these creatures first appear?"

"I am uncertain of the date, but it was the night immediately following the great storm we had near the beginning of the month. Did you see it?"

Elrond nodded, recalling the evening well, though the storm had not actually touched Rivendell itself.

Aragorn lifted one shoulder in a gesture of hopelessness, adding inconsequentially, "Elrohir declared he had seen another such storm before, though I was hard pressed to believe it. Even Elladan said it was likely the memory of another storm that was coming to him, and not one nearly so terrible. Elrohir has the oddest turns of memory at times…" The man came to a halt, realizing that he was speaking to no purpose, but his father didn't even seem to be listening to him anymore. Instead the elf had gone to the desk and lifted a large flat book of thin parchment with gently flowing elven script covering each page in what appeared to be a sort of calendar, or table of numbers. The expression on Elrond's face was intent as he paged quickly through it.

"Father?" Aragorn asked in puzzlement, coming to the desk. "What is the matter?"

"Elrohir spoke the truth," Elrond announced briefly, still scanning the pages for the information he sought. "That at least I *do* remember. It was exactly twenty-five years ago."

The elf lapsed back into silent searching and Aragorn settled in to wait patiently, a skill he had perfected in that very house. Clearly, whatever had occurred to his father was just distant enough in the past that *he* would not recall it — having only been two years old at the time mentioned.

At last Elrond paused over a single page and ran a finger down a center column, coming at last to rest on a single entry that meant no more to Aragorn than all the others had. But the elf's expression was at last one of understanding.

"Nwalme," Elrond murmured under his breath. "Every twenty-five years… the moon of Nwalme." His eyes met those of Aragorn and he continued now rapidly, but in a low voice, "'Nwalme' is 'torment' in high elven. It was the name given to a certain arrangement of the heavens during the time the Witch King of Angmar invaded Arnor and it has come every twenty-five years since. It was on the night of its appearance shortly after you were brought here to Rivendell that a storm occurred exactly like the one of a month ago. It was also at that time that Sauron dispatched his emissaries into the lands nearby to seek you out; he could not afford to allow an heir of Isildur to survive. You were too well hidden for his underlings to find, but there was trouble about Rivendell for several years before the Dark Lord felt it safe to withdraw his men and assume you had already perished. When the storm came, we feared Sauron was unleashing some long hidden devilry upon us in hopes of revealing you, but *that* storm was different from this in one respect: that it ended in but a few hours' time and departed with the morning like it had never been." Elrond gestured to the book, "It is a narrow thread upon which to travel, but though I never participated in the battles against the Witch King, I have spoken with those who have. Chief among them was Glorfindel. I feel it is from him we might gain insight."

"Has he spoken of such things as this before?" Aragorn asked, trying to sort through all his father had told him.

"What he spoke of was mere rumor, but I deem rumor to be as useful as fact in this instance. Whatever you have met it must needs be investigated through any guides possible."

The ranger nodded instant agreement, "Yes. Yes, it must. It has been put off too long already."

"Have any of your company been lost?" Elrond put the question quietly.

"Miraculously no," Aragorn shook his head. "These beasts seem more intent on wearing us down. The youngest member of our patrol was nearly slain, but the creature was lured away from him."

"By whom?" Elrond's uncanny knack of seeing straight through his son came into full play.

"Myself," Aragorn admitted, but did not add that he himself had nearly perished as well. He also did not reveal his brothers' suspicions about the creature singling him out. In spite of his father's mention of Sauron's emissaries, he still felt the notion unlikely and he did not wish to burden Elrond with unnecessary speculation. "Where are we likely to find Glorfindel? I do not mean to rush, but I must return as soon as may be."

Elrond shot his adopted son a keen glance, once again gathering more from the man than his words were meant to give, but gestured to the far door, "I am uncertain, but come: he can be found soon enough."

Aragorn started down the familiar hall at his father's heels. "I am sorry not to have come under better circumstances," he apologized. "How has Rivendell been faring in my absence?"

"There have certainly been fewer broken vases," Elrond smiled, trying to lighten the weary atmosphere. "Beyond that, a year alone can cause little change and you have not exactly isolated yourself from us as you seem to think."

"What of this morning then?" Aragorn asked agreeably, choosing a more specific topic.

"A messenger from King Thranduil arrived around midnight," the elven lord mentioned, glancing sidelong at Aragorn who predictably became more interested.

"Carried he any word of Legolas?" the ranger asked. He had not seen the elven prince since they had parted in Mirkwood after their long 'detour' to Mt. Gundabad.

"Some," Elrond nodded, guiding the way up a flight of stairs that his son was too distracted to recognize. "He had tangled with a small band of orcs by mistake on his way over the Misty Mountains and was too tired to discuss much of anything with me when he first arrived. Would you care to question him yourself?"

The man blinked, not expecting the offer, and then started as he recognized the door as the one just adjoining his own room. Knocking briefly, the elven lord apparently heard permission to enter and swung the door wide, revealing the room's single occupant.

"Legolas!" Aragorn exclaimed in surprised delight as the golden-haired elf within rose with equal pleasure to greet him.

"Aragorn, it is you!" The elf came quickly forward and embraced Aragorn tightly, in spite of the bandage about his forearm. "Lord Elrond said you were away at present!"

"I was; I only came to speak with Father of a single matter and then depart again." Aragorn almost laughed with pleasure.

Legolas looked the ranger up and down, smiling momentarily at the state of his friend's clothing, then saying, "I'm glad to see you looking so well."

"I wish that I could respond in kind — what have you done to yourself this time?" the human chided, noticing now the twin cuts across the elf's face as well as the bandaged arm.

A slight shrug came in response. "I suppose it's my unfortunate habit of sticking out when I ought to blend in. Orcs are not so unobservant as many believe."

"Whatever happened, you are now forbidden from saying that it is *I* who make your life difficult. You manage quite well on your own, it is plain to see. How fare your opponents now you have escaped them?"

"Dead," Legolas responded briefly. "And Lord Elrond can testify that I entered on my own feet at least. I am only sorry you were not present to witness such an important occurrence."

Elrond waited a little longer, allowing the two friends to quickly catch up on what had taken place since their last meeting, and in the meantime enjoying the sight of Aragorn finally releasing the load of care he had brought in with him. Never had his son and the prince of Mirkwood managed to stay long downcast when together.

At last Aragorn himself realized that he had work still undone. His face became grave again as he explained as quickly what had brought him home and begged his friend to excuse him.

Legolas nodded his reassurance, "Of course. Would it be better if I stayed here?"

"No!" Aragorn exclaimed, then amended rapidly, "That is, no, I would not wish to confine you so, but I also don't wish to trouble you with what is not your fight."

The elf laughed lightly, closing the door to the guest chambers as he stepped into the hall, "How long will it take you to realize that your fights are *always* mine."

They reached the main hall and had stood for a moment while Elrond considered where best to direct them when an elven maiden entered, shaking the dew from the red cloak about her shoulders.

"Narandune!" Elrond called to her so that she paused and came towards them.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice warm as the rising sun outside. She was tall and golden haired even as Legolas, though she was Noldor and not Sindarin in descent.

"Do you know where your father is? This man needs to speak with him."

The woman nodded, smiling, "I can take you to him."

"Thank you," Elrond bowed, but was interrupted by the sound of Celboril approaching. The two elves conferred quietly for a moment and then Elrond turned back to his son, his forehead creased. "Estel, someone has arrived that I must see to."

Aragorn was already nodding in acquiescence, "Please, do not let this keep you. If there is any news to be had, Glorfindel will know and I will be on my way as soon as I hear what he says."

Elrond nodded his own understanding and paused to rest his strong hand on his son's shoulder. "May Ilúvatar protect you."

Aragorn embraced his father and Legolas bowed formally.

"Do not fear, Lord Elrond, your sons and I shall make sure he does nothing ridiculous," the elven prince reassured with a smile.

"I know you will," Elrond nodded and left them.

"So now you are going back to the Dúnedain with me?" Aragorn's eyebrows rose as he and his friend turned to follow Narandune down a different hall.

"You have said several times that I ought to meet a few more rangers," the elf reminded him.

"Yes, but are you fit to travel yet?"

"As fit as you."

"I didn't tangle with a dozen orcs."

"And I didn't tangle with an evil beast of shadow. Your arguments will need to become better contrived ere you may rid yourself of me, my friend."

Ahead of them a barely stifled laugh from Narandune brought the two companions' argument up short as they recalled they were not alone.

"We apologize," Aragorn said quickly.

"Nay, worry not," she insisted, her green eyes twinkling as she cast a glance over her shoulder at them.

"This is a very beautiful place, Strider," Legolas said by way of changing the subject. They were passing down a long hall that the elven prince had never seen before. Along its right side a woven lattice allowed the first rays of the morning light to pattern the pale wooden floor, and along the left their ran a mural depicting scenes and people from Rivendell's long history. Thranduil's halls, though marvelously constructed, had little such decoration and Legolas was fascinated. "Do you know who painted this?" he asked his friend.

Aragorn shook his head, though he had examined the mural many times. "I can scarce keep abreast of my own family's history, let alone that of others," he sighed ruefully. Within the mural he knew were scenes of his father, his brothers, their mother, and many other fair people he did not recognize. "Narandune, do you know how this came to be here?"

The elven woman nodded, "It was begun many hundreds of years ago when these halls were first constructed and it has been added to over time. The history has been put down symbolically when there has been no space to paint the events in full, but here at the end the wall has nearly run out." She gestured to where the mural finally came to halt and at the few remaining yards still to be filled. "Some of those more inclined to gloom have suggested it is a sign of our own end."

"And you?" Legolas asked curiously.

Her head tilted as she contemplated the delicate painting. "It is unwise to dwell on such thoughts: they can create a future where one might never have been. It is a painting, nothing more, and can neither mend nor break a single thing." Her eyes drifted slowly back over the length of the hall they had just traveled and added, "It is important to remember history and learn from it, but to dwell on it too long can be dangerous. Whatever it may hold, the past is not the present." Then she straightened abruptly, "I am keeping you over long; please, come. My father is on the terrace by the river."

"Narandune," Legolas ventured one last question, "who painted that mural?"

As she started down the steps, her red cloak reflecting the rays of the sun, she called back over her shoulder, "I did."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Glorfindel greeted the man and elf warmly, rising and offering them seats when his daughter brought them. Narandune left unobtrusively, returning to whatever errand had been interrupted by her offer to escort them. The fair-haired elf was tall even as Elrond, and had much the same presence, if not the same wisdom or power. He had met both friends more than once and now welcomed them with gladness, but became sober when they sat down together.

"I deem this is no meeting of pleasure," the elf lord said as he looked from one face to the other, his piercing blue gaze difficult to meet, even for another elf. There was a keenness about him that reminded one of a steel blade, sheathed for the present in silver. And there was a restraint to his movements that suggested strength rather than weakness.

"I fear you are right," Aragorn nodded, and brought his hands rest lightly upon one another as he told his tale anew, including the details he had not had time to communicate to Legolas. When he was finished he turned intent eyes upon Glorfindel, hoping that here at last he might find an answer.

Glorfindel looked to his own hands when the account was ended and seemed almost ill at ease as he contemplated his response. At last he spoke and, though hesitant, his words were clear to be heard. "Yes, I know of what you speak. Or rather, what there is to be known; the Nwelmai were never released."

"The what?" Aragorn asked, his mind flashing suddenly to the smell of the creatures coat when it had tried to crush him. The name did not bode well.

The elf seemed to glance about, as if wondering whether this were the correct setting for his tale, but then took a breath and said, "It would be best for you to know the whole of it and judge for yourself. I could be mistaken in my assumptions and I would avoid misleading you. You know that 861 years after the beginning of the third age the king of Arnor divided his land into three kingdoms: Arthedain, Rhudaur, and Cardolan. Several thousand years ago, your ancestors turned to fight amongst themselves. Rhudaur and Cardolan desired the watchtower of Amon Sû l, resting place of the chief Palantir of the North, and they quarreled long over who ought to possess it. In their moment of weakness the Witch King struck, seeing in their strife the waning of Arnor. Out of Angmar he came bringing evil men, orcs and other foul things from the far north, and the king of Arthedain, hoping for reunion amongst his kinfolk, claimed lordship over all of Arnor once again. Cardolan joined him, but Rhudaur resisted his authority, for power in that land had already been seized by an evil lord in league with the Witch King.

"During the time Rivendell was besieged, Arthedain and Cardolan succeeded in maintaining for a time a strong front, but the Witch King attacked afresh, bringing greater forces from Angmar and his new lands of Rhudaur. Amon Sû l was razed to the ground and Cardolan was ravaged.

"With the aid of Cirdan and those of the Dúnedain still faithful, the Witch King's advance was halted, and Lord Elrond brought vast companies of elves out of Rivendell and Lorien to drive him back. For many years we had a sort of peace, but the Witch King had not yet been driven completely from the north and he had built for himself a hidden tower. Over five hundred years later he struck for the third time and this time the Dúnedain were swept back before the onslaught. Arthedain was destroyed and Arvedui, her last king, perished as well. His son and somewhat of the remnants of the Dúnedain escaped, and it is from them you are directly a descendant, Estel, but they were then a force unworthy of notice."

Legolas glanced at Aragorn briefly. Though the ranger had doubtless heard much of this before, it was fascinating to the elf, who for many centuries had known little and cared even less about the histories of men. He wondered how his friend felt about this, but doubted Aragorn would ever tell.

Glorfindel was still speaking, his gaze turned inward as he talked, "For a time the Witch King carried all before him, but at last he was turned back. It was from Gondor, and again from Cirdan in Lindon and from Rivendell, that help came, and I myself was sent to lead the elves that Lord Elrond dispatched. Cirdan marched north and challenged the Witch King. Filled with foolish pride, the ranks of Angmar came out to meet him, thinking to sweep him before them as they had the Dúnedain; yet their ranks were broken upon his like waves upon stone, and when at last they turned to retreat, Earnur of Gondor and my own force fell upon them.

"When the battle was the thickest, the Witch King himself came out and fear fell upon even the bravest, for he had long ago taken of Sauron a ring of power — though we did not know it then. He turned upon the captain of Gondor, but Earnur's horse would not heed its master and it fled in fear with Earnur still upon it. The Witch King laughed and my own horse I rode before him, cutting him off, and he turned and rode back the way he had come. He would have returned to his tower, but his men were routed and his lands taken away. Instead he disappeared and was never again seen by mortal or elf."

The soft whistling of birds down beside the Bruinen seemed strange to the human and two elves that now heard them. Aragorn and Legolas sat long in silence before the man asked softly, "And what kept he in that tower?"

Glorfindel shook his head slowly, "Perhaps only more orcs."

Legolas' voice was faintly skeptical as he said, "Perhaps?"

The elven lord nodded. "It is here that the information you seek begins, if it is true. I told you that the Witch King built for himself a tower during the days of peace before his last assault. Though we could not discover where it lay, it was known he spent much time there. Long he plotted and practiced his sorcery, and the lands about became troubled and dark, though there were no open attacks. Spirits from the north came at his bidding and took up residence in the Barrow Downs. And there were also rumors that he had crafted for himself fell creatures, terrible and deadly, after the manner of Sauron the Deceiver, and that he would one day release them upon the Dúnedain. 'The Nwelmai' they were called, 'The Tormenters'. For it was whispered that black hearted dwarves had built for the Witch King a chamber to house his beasts — a chamber in the mountain beside the tower with a great door that could be opened only during the moon of Nwalme."

The elf paused for a moment, glancing at the two friends who were listening with almost painful intensity, "Such words were seldom heeded, for fear tainted everything, but of the things spoken some came more reliably than others, and many from the mouths of captured enemies themselves. One such person I myself took prisoner.

"He was a small, withered man — old beyond the normal span of years — and little that he said was understandable, but before he died he spoke to anyone who would pause and hear him. Again and again he warned of the Nwelmai and the terrible power that controlled them. He claimed that they came with the cold lightening, were silent in attack, cloaked in darkness; that they would fall upon the Dúnedain and could smell the blood of kings. He had once been the right hand of the lord of Angmar, but no longer would he serve, he declared. We had not held him long before his life began to fail, as if he had been away from his master too long to survive. I went to him myself before he died and listened to the last things he said. 'The book,' he told me, as if it were most important that I understand. 'I left the book behind. Read it.'" Glorfindel shook his head again and sighed heavily. "He died in the night and never did we discover the truth of either the tower or its contents. During the cycle of the moon of Nwalme we wonder, but it is seldom but a passing thought."

"And so you think that someone has released the Nwelmai?" Aragorn murmured, knowing full well that was what the elf was suggesting, but having difficulty grasping the horrible significance of the thought.

"I know not," Glorfindel replied. "I will own that I thought so twenty-five years ago when you were but a child, but nothing came from it then, and I can think of no reason such an event should have been stopped so suddenly at that time if the tales were true."

"Yet Aragorn *has* met the creatures," Legolas reminded him.

"Truly," the elf agreed, "and it thus it seems the best assumption, whatever the discrepancies. What say you?"

Aragorn gazed long at the glittering waters of the river below. The mist had drifted off with the coming of the warm sun, and all of Rivendell was now awake, unconscious of the shadow in the ranger's heart. "I say I must return as soon as may be. You cannot tell me whether or how these things might be killed, but this we know at least: they will come for the Dúnedain. I cannot let the others fight unawares."

Glorfindel nodded soberly. "I wish that I could come with you, but I am even now waiting for my horse to be saddled before I must go south. Assuredly, if such trouble has sprung again then Lord Elrond will not be slow in sending aid as he did before. But be ever careful, Estel. It is uncertain who has again released these things, or what their intentions in doing so are."

Aragorn rose and bowed, "I thank you for your aid, Glorfindel. I am sorry that we cannot stay longer for more pleasant speech."

"Pleasant speech is reserved for days when darkness is finally fled this earth," Glorfindel smiled wryly. "And you, heir of Isildur, are unfortunately fated to do constant battle with it. Yet we will meet again, I am sure. May Earendil shine upon you, and upon you also, Legolas, son of Thranduil."

"Namárië," Legolas replied, touching his shoulder in farewell.

The sun was rising towards noon, making the valley golden behind them as the two friends rode up the winding path out of Rivendell and Legolas tilted his head to glance at his companion. "Are we now to discover whether all rangers are as slovenly as you?"

"*You* have been speaking too long with Celboril," Aragorn growled. "I ought to have restocked our provisions myself before I let you into his kitchens." The jest was strained.

"Are you alright, my friend?" Legolas asked without preamble.

Aragorn shook his head with a sigh, leaning forward to duck a low branch as they began to go downhill again, "No, I cannot say that I am, and you ought to be just as anxious as I. You have just found yourself drawn away from a peaceful journey home and off into the northern wilds to defend a group of short, fat farmers from the deadly onslaught of half-phantom creatures — pulled out of legend to roam the woods and slay both the Dúnedain and anyone who is foolish enough to walk in their company." The ranger grew silent when he realized his companion was none-too-subtly laughing at him. "I'm beginning to sound like Bartho," he sighed again and waited for Legolas' mirth to die down.

"Ah, Strider!" Legolas smiled, "I have never known you to be involved in anything uninteresting. If I was 'drawn' here it was by desire alone, and you needn't fear for my anxiety. Like your brothers, I need such things to keep me young."

"Or kill you altogether," Aragorn retorted, smiling in spite of himself.

"Either way," the elf conceded easily, his eyes still dancing. "Now come, we have caught up only a little on our doings since last we met, and we have a journey ahead of us. Tell me who besides fat farmers and phantom creatures have been troubling you of late."

Aragorn gently pulled his horse to a halt and rubbed the tired creature’s neck. “He deserves a long rest.”

Legolas smiled and nodded; his steed, though significantly less worn down by the journey up the East-West Road, was still heaving slightly beneath her rider and her muscles were atremble from the tension of the long run. “How close are you camped?” Legolas asked at length. Aragorn cocked an eyebrow at that but when Legolas did not return the expression the ranger gestured vaguely into the depths of the Chetwood.

“Somewhere within the trees,” he responded dryly. After a short pause he added, “At least we can hope.”

Legolas chuckled, “Not a home to call your own, is that it?”

Aragorn smiled, “Unfortunately not here. It is unlikely that they have moved out of Chetwood with these creatures still lurking so frequently in their depths. We will just have to determine where exactly they have moved our camp.”

The two riders continued beyond the tree line and with no path to follow they forged through as best they could. Both were long used to such improvising and it did not prove as difficult as Aragorn had believed to find the Dúnedain camp.

The camp, though silent to the untrained ear, could be easily picked out by the ranger and the wood elf, and in another moment they came out into the middle of it, the sentries on duty having long ago determined these two to be friends.

Many of the rangers sat whetting their dull swords to a sharp edge once more, mending tears in worn clothing, or fixing meals from what they could scavenge. A few fires were dotted around the clearing and most of the Dúnedain stood around them, but Aragorn could easily pick out which of them were away on scouting missions.

Dropping down from his horse he removed the sacks of provisions Celboril had insisted he convey to the others. When he turned it was to find Elladan and Elrohir already beside him.

“Finally you have returned!” Elladan cried with a barely concealed smile, embracing his brother. “We thought for certain you had been detained on the way.”

Aragorn smiled, trying for the moment to hide the concern he had felt upon his heart ever since his conversation with Glorfindel. “I am well Elladan: you worry far too much. In truth I have brought aid from Mirkwood with me.”

The twins turned in surprise and recognized Aragorn’s companion for the first time.

“Legolas!” Elrohir exclaimed, embracing the prince before allowing his brother to do the same. “It has been long since we last saw you.”

“Not so long, surely,” Legolas smiled, gladdened to see the brothers who now seemed very much as his own kin.

“Maybe it is only the absence of Legolas during this last winter that creates that impression,” Aragorn suggested.

"That could be it. With all the humans catching some sort of fever, a few cases of frostbite, and the wolves of the north crossing every frozen river east of the Brandywine," Elrohir shook his head, "I could have sworn the Valar were prolonging the season simply to test our endurance!"

"You two are the ones who insisted on remaining with us," Aragorn pointed out. "But believe me, Legolas, you missed nothing worth experiencing. Unless seeing a small company of Dúnedain floundering in a icy river strikes your fancy…" He laughed lightly with the others; the memory, which had been distinctly uncomfortable at the time, now seemed amusing in retrospect. Somehow there was no room for discouragement when all four of them were together.

"I greatly hope to hear how you came to be with Estel this time." Elladan was looking at the Legolas' stiff arm and his tone that suggested he would not let the prince forget to explain.

“It is indeed an interesting tale,” Aragorn put in blandly his friend could answer. He had, by one means and another, drawn the story from his friend on their journey from Rivendell and he chuckled now at the elf’s exasperated expression.

“Thank you, Strider,” Legolas sighed. “To think I *volunteered* to accompany you!”

“You shall know better next time,” Aragorn reminded gravely.

Legolas sighed and shook his head, “I doubt it.”

They moved into the camp allowing their horses to be taken by another of the rangers gathered there. Aragorn then sought out Halbarad and soon found him near the outskirts of the camp, the other having just returned from a scouting venture. He seemed very much relieved to see his captain returned and greeted Aragorn the moment he reached him.

“It is good to have you back so swiftly, Aragorn. What news do you bring from Rivendell?”

“Nothing as hopeful as I should wish,” Aragorn diverted. “I will speak of it as soon as may be.”

“You should rest first,” Idhrin interceded on behalf of the weary travelers.

In a short while, all of those not scouting were seated around fires eating the meager fare on which all rangers of the wild lived. Their spirits were kept as high as might be and in such attempts Elladan was barely prevented from telling a story of which he had been sworn to secrecy. Aragorn and Legolas practically leapt the elder twin to keep the tale concealed, much to the amusement of the other rangers, and Halbarad went on prodding them for some time before he let the matter drop.

As the night drew on, however, Halbarad told Aragorn of the newest sighting of a dark creature which had occurred in his absence. The beast had not attempted an attack and had seemingly disappeared moments later but it proved that they still roamed close to the Shire lands and Bree. Aragorn's face grew grave as the brief report ended and in return he slowly began to pass on all that Glorfindel had told him.

Legolas could not say where the change was as he watched his friend converse with the other rangers on the matter, but there was something about Strider that seemed to alter subtly when around these people. Without the usual titles, each spoke to him with great respect, and this he returned with an equal respect but also a sense of assurance and authority. Here among the last of the Dúnedain they looked up to Aragorn and depended on his judgment, or at least expected the final word to issue from him.

Here Aragorn was no longer a simple ranger among the remnants, he was a leader and the head of his people. It was yet only a small change Legolas felt in the man and it almost seemed as if Aragorn himself was entirely unaware of it. Conceivably it was the effect of seeing his friend in a different light, but perhaps it was merely that this aspect of Aragorn had not yet had the time nor the opportunity to became all it should be.

Maybe one day it would.

Aragorn completed the narrative exactly as Glorfindel had told it, ending with the grim speculation that these creatures were likely to inflict their violence on the Dúnedain alone. Though he spoke naught of their particular attention on him, his brothers noted the omission, and then for a moment only the snap of the fire and the distant creak of a tree bending under the wind could be heard.

“This changes everything,” Nindalf said at length, his pale blue eyes almost white in the dusk. Normally a runner, his slender body was tense.

“It changes nothing,” Idhrin corrected softly. “It only confirms our fears.”

“How are we to battle beasts of the fell world that cannot be destroyed?” the other ranger’s voice was pitched strangely and Aragorn looked up suddenly at his words.

“We do not know that they cannot be destroyed, Nindalf. Only that it will be difficult. We know that they can be wounded, that they bleed as any living beast; they have great advantages over us, but that is no reason to despair until we have exhausted all our efforts.”

Halbarad nodded in agreement. He was staring thoughtfully into the flames and asked at length, “What were these words of a book?”

Aragorn shook his head, “I know not. It was possibly only the mindless ramblings of a disturbed and dying man; though I am inclined to think otherwise.”

“It is unfortunate that this tower is shadowed in such mystery,” Elladan murmured from beside Aragorn, “for it seems to hold the answers to all these questions.”

Aragorn nodded, tossing a stick beside him into the fire; it sent small sparks scattering into the night sky like so many shining stars. “We must then look elsewhere for our answers and hope that we do not fail in our attempts.”

Malvegil, a towering ranger with his hair braided back over his ears in the elven fashion, made a soft attempt at levity, "Mayhaps the hobbits will have such information. I often wonder if they know more than they let on, for it seems unthinkable that any creatures could be as witless as they sometimes seem." The comment went unnoticed.

Elladan watched his younger brother closely. "Do not take this burden solely on your own shoulders," he murmured softly, his words meant only for Aragorn's ears. "We all stand together, Estel."

The human turned his head and looked about to speak again when a sound broke the air. A sentry's warning call. In another moment Erynbenn burst into the camp, his breath spent and his eyes dilated. Aragorn leapt to his feet and moved quickly to the young man’s side.

“What is it?” Aragorn took the ranger by the shoulders, feeling them tremble beneath his touch.

“Th-three!” he gasped. “They’re coming this—way!”

Aragorn took Erynbenn’s meaning instantly and his hand went to his sword. “All prepare, they've returned!”

At his call the rangers were set immediately into motion. The camp was broken in moments, the fires doused quickly, and all that carried the scent of men was gathered to one point. Each man took up his weapon and moved between or up into the trees, awaiting the attack.

Legolas drew out an arrow, took up his bow, and moved just behind the trunk of a strong oak. Aragorn sent Erynbenn to alert the other sentries before he moved to stand beside his friend.

“Three,” the elf murmured. “Have you ever faced so many?”

“Nay, only two,” Aragorn answered softly. He turned and his burning silver eyes locked on keen blue ones, “And my friend: two was quite enough.”

Legolas nodded and drew his bow taut.

In the following moment all the forest seemed to bait its breath in anticipation of the coming evil. The wind suddenly swept over them like a wave, as though it was being drained from the forest, and then abruptly all went very still.

Every small breath and rustle seemed to pound in Aragorn’s ears. He knew that his men would know how to break apart should it come to that. Excepting a bare few, each was a seasoned fighter with years of experience behind him. Even so Aragorn could easily feel the tension that gripped them as they waited to face the enemy that stalked them.

A soft rustle to Legolas’ left alerted him to the creatures’ approach. It appeared to be only the first one and Legolas glanced cautiously around Aragorn but could not see the creature. He could only glimpse the flicker of a shadow and hear the soft sound of a claw sliding against bark. Raising his bow slightly he tracked the beast’s progress up into a second oak just feet away from his and Aragorn’s position. Still he could not focus on it.

Then all sound and motion stopped and Legolas experienced the uncomfortable feeling that someone — or something — was watching him.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Its breath was silent, its body rigid. Tense. Prepared to prey upon the slightest movement. Its eyes searched the surrounding area, its nose aimed high to catch the smell it was searching for. In the still air it should be easy to find.

Its heart beat in a solid rhythm, life coursing in its seemingly lifeless shell. Inhaling the air once more it longed to satisfy its craving for blood.

A flash caught the creature’s eye.

Moving like smoke, it twisted around the trunk of the tree and its eyes picked out the glowing figure below it. From this distance it was only a bright light standing out in the swirling darkness of the beast's twisted mind. Out of the corner of its vision it could see two more such lights, but the creature ignored these.

For in the light radiating off this being it could easily see one of the prey for which it had been searching. With a high shriek the creature pushed from the tree and dove for the human below it.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The shattering of the stillness sent every man into motion. Many leapt forward to attack the creature before it reached their position; some moved past it to face the second one — which sprang into the camp directly behind the first.

There were still a scant half dozen running to Aragorn and Legolas’ aid but in another moment, the third beast had fallen from the trees, blocking their path and lunging for its prey.

Aragorn had no chance to move; only by Legolas’ quick reflexes mixed with what the utter shock had left of Aragorn’s own instincts was the human pulled aside and out of the Nwelmai's path.

Before Legolas had grabbed his friend he had managed to loose an arrow, but whether it had found purchase in the creature’s thick, shadowy hide the elf did not wait to see.

The two companions pulled further away from the creature, making a short retreat to put some distance between themselves and their assailant, and then, as if with one mind, both turned at the same moment and released arrows towards the center of the shadow. One at least, though in the dark it was difficult to tell which one, sliced into the wreaking pelt and there came a yowl of pain. Shortly afterward a foul smell drifted through the air. A second shriek came from another of the creatures and the smell grew.

For a few minutes Aragorn found it difficult to breath, but he kept his sword up and with a cry he lunged at the beast, swiping his blade towards the glitter of eyes and scoring a long slash between them; rancid blood flowed from the wound, steaming where it hit the grass. The creature, now thoroughly enraged, returned the attack with a snarl and slashed its claws towards the ranger's stomach. Its attack was met by an arrow that sank deep into its front leg, but this only altered the course of its swipe slightly and it still hit Aragorn hard in the side. The human spun back with the force of the blow, stumbling to his hands and knees — feeling no claws but gasping as he struggled to fill his lungs. A single breath knifed through his chest, but before he could fully regain it he felt the creature’s icy cold hiss against his neck.

Looking up he could only see the glint of sharp fangs and liquid that looked unnervingly like blood dripped from its mouth. Gasping again, Aragorn stretched out his hand to retrieve the sword that had been wrenched from his grasp, but the monster worked quicker and slashed its claws suddenly into the sword, sending it skittering away.

Aragorn looked up in shock — the debate over the intelligence of the Nwelmai suddenly rendered moot. With nothing else for it, Aragorn leapt to his feet and pulled away, his retreat covered by another two shots from Legolas’ bow.

Turning just behind his friend, he saw the elf shoot once again into the general center of the creature for lack of a more specific target.

“Hurry Strider!” Legolas called, motioning the man back, and Aragorn pulled back as far as he could. Relieved of his sword the ranger searched around for a replacement weapon; his bow had been dislodged and lost in the fall leaving him only with his arrows and the dagger in his boot.

The Nwelmai advanced on Legolas. Dropping to one knee the elf drew out another arrow and shot it upwards into the looming creature. This time it was ready and sprang aside, light as if the earth had no pull upon it.

The thick stench of acrid blood filled the air and seemed to suffocate the defenders, but though they had wounded all three beasts many times, still not one fell. Again the Nwelmai advanced on the Dúnedain, backing them closer to the rear of their camp.

The creature stalking Aragorn and Legolas leapt at the elf, trying to get past him to the human on his other side. Legolas took the opportunity to strike an arrow into the creature’s throat but it missed by a hair and instead buried itself near its collarbone.

The beast let out a ferocious scream like nothing Aragorn had heard before and it suddenly swung forward a massive forepaw, slamming it hard into Legolas before the elf had time to move. The shadowy arm seemed to move like a wave, and like a wash of water there was no way to stay the attack. Legolas felt the impact — felt himself being thrown into the air, and then wrenched sharply as he was slammed full against a tree.

“Legolas!” Aragorn called, the elf slid down the trunk, dazed or unconscious. The Dúnadan looked up in time to see the creature advancing on him. With no true weapon to aid him Aragorn retreated instead, hoping only that he could outrun the creature for a bit. He looked again at Legolas but the elf did not stir. Aragorn pulled back quickly as the creature hissed at him.

At last Aragorn turned and bolted away from the camp; he knew this was a foolish move but he was left with no other choice. The trees would not shield him — nor would hiding do any good, for the cunning beast knew his scent — still he must escape somehow. His breath rattled in his chest and he was very aware that the creature was just behind him. Whether it was moving through trees or along the ground the ranger knew not: he could only hope he had remained ahead of it.

In another moment Aragorn’s path broke out into another clearing leaving his cover suddenly open. Feeling the danger thrumming at his heart, he turned quickly in time to see the shadowy creature lunge towards him. Aragorn dropped to the earth instinctively and then realized he had miscalculated. Instead of bounding over him, the creature landed with the weight of a falling tree upon his back, nearly breaking his spine. In a world of pain already, he felt the claws of the beast dig into his back, its weight driving the talons in like so many nails and then it dragged them free as it leapt off of him. Aragorn let out a scream, arching his back against searing pain that suddenly enveloped him, white hot and pulsing.

Stumbling to his knees, the ranger fell again after he had gained but a few feet between himself and the creature. He could feel the warm blood running down his back — running too thick and too quickly.

The Nwelmai turned to assail him once more, its breath coming in a rumbled growl, but all at once it stopped. In an eternal moment all space around Aragorn seemed to grow black and the creature lifted its snout and sniffed the air as the new smell reached its nostrils.

Not the mere smell of man, nor even the smell of a Dúnadan: it was the smell of a royal descendant, a man of Isildur’s bloodline.

Almost fainting, Aragorn looked up as the monster moved towards him. Trying to galvanize his straining body into action he shifted a few more feet, his hands slipping on leaves slick with his own blood.

Slowly the beast crept ever closer to him. Its breath was like a hum of evil in the air and Aragorn felt it as it washed over his face and breezed through his hair, but the ranger was once more powerless to move. Again he had matched strength with a Nwelmai and again he had been proved the weaker.

The shadow was not a yard away from him. He watched with a strange fascination. Closer, closer… And then a new figure appeared. An elf — suddenly standing between beast and man —his hair blinding gold even in the darkness.

Aragorn felt relief pour through him, cooling the pain. Legolas. The elf stood protectively before his friend, his breath giving no sign of his wild run through the trees, his face no evidence of his horrible fear upon regaining consciousness. Lifting his weapon high, and he cried in a dreadful voice, “Back to the dark shadows from whence you came! Back and trouble us no more, implement of evil and servant of Ulund!”

The creature gave a mighty shriek and recoiled from the being before him. For to its eyes the elf rose and became a stern warrior at the height of his wrath, surrounded by glaring light — shining as the brightest star and standing tall and proud between the beast and its intended prey. For a long moment it hesitated, roiling like a cyclone, shifting upon its claws. Then it decided. With a thwarted scream it turned away, leaving the two friends where they stood, departing so swiftly it was as though it had disappeared.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Aragorn fell back against the ground the moment the creature was gone, his heart somehow throbbing very near his head and his breath coming in short gasps.

Legolas quickly dropped beside him. He was strangely weary after his stand against the Nwelmai, but gratefully he felt his strength returning; he knew he would have need of it.

“Strider, what happened?” was the first question, immediately followed by, “Are you all right?”

For once Aragorn shook his head slightly, “I do not think so, my friend… these wounds burn as they should not, I am not sure what could be held in the claws… when they delve so deep.” Legolas pulled his friend up against him and examined the deep bleeding grooves in his friend’s back. At the deepest point in each stab there was a spreading stain of black that worried the elf.

“I must see to these immediately,” he whispered, binding his friend's back as best he could to staunch the bleeding before gaining his feet and pulling the ranger up beside him. “Come, we cannot return to the camp this night. We must find shelter outside of the wood, and we are very near the outskirts now: I can see by the thinning of the trees.”

To all this Aragorn gave only a brief nod, concentrated as he was on his furiously beating heart and his weakening body. Still he held his own weight as best he could and together they swiftly left the forest.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

“Look ahead Strider!” Legolas urged. He had been attempting for the past hour to keep his friend fully awake. Aragorn had begun to stumble along the path and though Legolas had paused to bandage the wounds afresh, he knew they had to get to sufficient shelter before they could stop. “It is a farm I believe.”

Aragorn glanced up — wincing as the world spun with the motion — and studied the plot of land a little before them. Behind them the fringes of the Chetwood were still in view and as Legolas had said: before them lay a small farm. An area of ground had been recently tilled and it was obvious some manner of crop had been seeded. On all sides of the tilled area there was thick grass and waving wildflowers, and even in the dark Aragorn could pick out a patch of vegetables and a fruit tree. A very stout cow stood close by and it bawled softly as they passed. At the far end of the farm there was a hill that rose up against the skyline before dipping down on the other side into a small valley. And built firmly into this hill was a door and two glowing windows.

Aragorn easily recognized the dwelling but it mystified the elf.

“What manner of creature builds his home into a hill?”

“Legolas,” Aragorn smiled, though it was more of a grimace, “you yourself live in hills, remember.”

His friend nodded, still staring, “Yes, but not as these; it is very strange.”

“Not so strange to me,” Aragorn said softly.

“I will ask if we may stay until you can travel,” Legolas decided.

“No,” Aragorn said a little too hurriedly. Legolas frowned at him and the ranger sighed. “Trust me, Legolas, they will not be in want of our company….or my company at least.”

“Aragorn, you can no longer stay out in this chill with your wounds unseen to. You're getting a fever. We *must* find shelter.”

Aragorn gave up the argument but was still reluctant to approach the small house in the hill. There was a hooded expression in his eyes that the elf could not begin to read.

Legolas reached the door and was again perplexed for it was circular in shape and in the middle was a cheery design of gold leaves centering about a brass knob. The elf had not time to rap on the door before it was pushed slightly open and a pair of eyes looking out at him cautiously.

“See Dad!” a small voice piped up from within. “I *told* you it was elves!”

“What can I do for you sir?” the eyes at the door asked warily.

Legolas smiled as cordially as he could, “My friend and myself need shelter for the night and wondered if you could provide us with some.”

There was a significantly long pause and for a while all Legolas could hear were whispers exchanged behind the heavy door. He caught a few words as the debate went, none of which added up to an intelligible sentence, and he had a feeling that these beings, whoever they were, derived great pleasure from simply talking.

In another moment, however, the door was opened wider and a strange creature was revealed within the small round entrance. He was very short, which Legolas realized was a necessity as the door was very short as well. He was smaller than a dwarf and much less stout; he was dressed in simple farmer’s garb; his face was slim and fine-toned, but his cheeks stuck out in a way that suggested that he ate frequently; his head was capped in abundant curly locks, and Legolas almost missed the slight points that graced the little being's ears.

Legolas realized this must be a halfling, a hobbit; it was a creature he had only ever heard tell of and never before had he met one.

The hobbit was looking at him strangely too — almost as though he had never seen the like of Legolas before either, though it soon became clear that this was not the case.

“I can see you are an elf sir,” the hobbit said after a moment. His arms were folded loosely in front of him and he stood with his oddly hairy feet slightly spread beneath him. Still, despite the guarded look, the hobbit seemed quite intrigued by the visitor. “I met some a' your kind once before,” he spoke in a confidential tone, obviously seeming to think this meant he understood Legolas’ race very well. “Don’t see many of you elves in this part of the north. I’m named Jon Appledore.” The hobbit gave a tilt of the head at his own introduction.

“It is good to meet you, sir,” Legolas responded in kind, feeling Aragorn’s body tensing in pain under his arm. Wishing to get the ranger out of the night air soon, he asked again, “Please, may my friend and I take shelter somewhere on your land?”

“Friend you say?” the hobbit’s eyes shifted from Legolas to the man beside him. Aragorn met the other’s gaze firmly but he could easily tell the hobbit was not impressed. Suddenly Farmer Appledore’s face turned very disgusted and he turned to look at Legolas again. “You’ve been taking up with Outsiders, you have. Nasty lot them, always coming in and out of our lands without asking nice like; see all the north country as quite their own and mean us all to think so as well.”

Legolas frowned at this but tried to keep up his friendly manner, “This ranger has been wounded and I need to get him to some manner of shelter with haste.”

Jon planted his hands firmly on hips and scowled up at Legolas. “Not on my land! I know them Outsiders: they drive all sorts of ill our way — and I would know much better than you Master Elf, for I live right on the edge of Chetwood and I hear them through the trees up to all manner of commotion. Well, if they want to find trouble for themselves that’s their business, but I never met one of them rangers I didn’t think deserved what came on him. Serves 'em right and good I say.”

Legolas was slowly losing patience with the diminutive creature and just might have acted drastically if there wasn’t a sudden commotion behind Jon at that moment.

“I want to see him, Domo! Mama said I could!”

After a slight scuffle out of the two friends' view a little girl suddenly pushed out the door next to Jon. She was just about the smallest being Legolas had ever seen, clothed in a bright blue and white dress that laced up in front and back. Her feet were bare with a sparse gathering of hair like her father’s and she wore a flopping red hat on top of her wild ocher toned curls. She turned a deep brown gaze up on the two companions, peering out from under her hat which had slid over her eyes. Suddenly, giving an awed gasp, she turned to Farmer Appledore. “Will they stay Dad? Please let them stay!” she begged, starting to squeeze her father’s hand excitedly.

“Settle down, Pansy,” Jon admonished, but his countenance changed as he turned to look at his young daughter. “I don’t think they’ll be staying today.”

Legolas held his breath watching as the girl’s face fell into the most pitiful frown. “Please Dad! Domo and I will help Mama with supper, and we’ll wash up afterwards and I’ll play with Bella! Please!” At that moment another figure appeared and Legolas guessed that the little lad was Domo.

He was only a little taller than his sister and his hair was a much darker hue, but it was just as curly as Pansy’s, his eyes were just as brown and, at the moment, they were just as pleading.

“We will Dad! I promise!” the boy’s voice melded with Pansy’s in begging and Jon looked at a loss at the sudden opposition to his decision.

Legolas felt Aragorn beginning to sway beside him and sensed that if he didn’t see to his friend soon it would be too late. Turning, Legolas caught sight of a small building he had not noticed before. Unlike the home in the hill, this one stood a structure on its own, and unless Legolas was much mistaken he could just guess what it was.

“Sir,” Legolas interrupted the childrens' pleadings and the hobbit looked up at him again. “If we could only stay in the barn there, that would be quite sufficient.” There was a pause before anyone spoke.

“Oh Jon dear, let them stay there if it will do them good!" This new voice came from a fourth hobbit; the mother, as it appeared, of Pansy and Domo, for she carried another child in her arms. “The Outsider's too wounded to cause mischief and I’m sure we couldn’t refuse one of them elves now could we?” She added a winning smile to her childrens' pleading gazes and at this word of encouragement Jon finally consented.

“Very well then, if the Missis says yes, you can put up in the barn for the night.” The elf's thanks were drowned out by the excited sounds of Domo and Pansy who were apparently thrilled by the prospect of such visitors.

Legolas did not give Farmer Appledore a moment to change his mind but started guiding Aragorn towards the structure at the far end of the hobbit’s farm.

They had nearly reached the door when Jon’s voice called after them, “Just don’t be making off with my chickens, hear?”

The prince of Mirkwood could only shake his head.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Legolas gently lowered Aragorn into a mound of hay in the small barn, mindful of his friend’s wounds as he turned him slightly on his side. Aragorn groaned and Legolas realized just how ragged and shallow his breath was coming.

“I do not feel very well my friend,” Aragorn whispered dryly.

“Nor should you,” Legolas smiled, but his concern was evident.

The elf placed one palm on his friend’s forehead and pulled back at the heat. Aragorn's fever had risen swiftly and trying to stay upright while Legolas quibbled with the farmer had likely not helped the ranger’s condition. The elf’s glance showed what he was thinking and Aragorn put a hand on his friend’s.

“They are fools,” Legolas shook his head. “These people have no idea what you do for them, that you risk your own life each day to save theirs. You die so that they will live, and they treat you as though you were the reason for all their troubles.”

“Legolas,” Aragorn broke in with a weak smile. Legolas paused and looked down at him. “We have lived always with such disdain. The fear of our name, the suspicion of our doings, the sneers and the jibes. Each of us are fully aware of how the simple people think of us — but they *are* simple, Legolas. It is only through their ignorance that they treat us so. Lindamar was not…” he trailed off into a short bout of coughing, the strange word left unexplained.

“But why do you do all this my friend?” Legolas whispered in confusion sitting back and staring into silver eyes which were glazing with pain.

Aragorn looked about to speak when he suddenly arched his back again in pain and let out a choked cry. Legolas moved forward quickly, settling his friend down again. Aragorn was breathing hard and gripped Legolas’ sleeve as a wave of pain washed over him. Suddenly, he went limp.

Legolas moved frantically as he searched for the ranger’s pulse. Catching its weak beat beneath his fingers he set to work.

Acting as gently as he could, Legolas inspected the wounds on Aragorn’s back. There were four groups in all and each set was very deep. The black substance that filmed the blood seemed to have spread and it made Legolas worry more than ever. Carefully he cleansed the wounds and, using what little material he had, mixed up a poultice he had learned from Elladan on a hunting trip. They had encountered orcs armed with poisoned weapons, as was not uncommon, and not everyone had escaped unscathed. Legolas nodded slightly at the memory as the smell of the mixture filled the small barn.

After an a few hours concentrated labor Legolas knew that the fever was breaking and it had become weak enough that Legolas felt safe to rest a moment. He had also been injured in the fight and now that he had time to contemplate his own hurts his bruised ribs were beginning to loudly demand his attention. It was a miracle that none had been broken, and broken or no, he knew he could not ignore them.

He saw to as many of his own wounds as he could, then leaned back keeping one hand on his friend’s chest, a familiar habit he realized, to look after the human's breathing even in rest.

As the sounds of the night echoed from outside the barn, Legolas' eyes unfocussed and he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Legolas woke suddenly at the sound of a loud creak. He recognized it as the barn door, and the moment it had opened the sweet smell of morning and the sound of squawking chickens filled the room.

The elf looked up to see who had entered in time for a floppy red hat to drop in front of him. Inside the hat were vegetables, bread, and several pieces of fruit, and he turned a smile up at the small girl who had brought it.

Pansy seemed very pleased with herself, but now that she could see the elf right up close and he was looking right at her she seemed abruptly timid. She watched him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape, and as soon as Legolas had removed the food she grabbed the hat and pulled it back over her head, shading her eyes from view.

Legolas couldn’t help laughing and she lifted the obscuration from her eyes once more to watch him.

“You have nothing to fear from me, young one,” he smiled at her. “Thank you very much for the food and hospitality. We slept well in your barn.”

Pansy smiled at him shyly before speaking, “Mama said to bring it out to you, she makes really good butterbread.” The girl pointed at the bread by Legolas’ hand. Then she noticed Aragorn, still only half conscious and sleeping at the moment. She frowned up at Legolas. “Did he die?” she asked softly, noting the pallor of the man’s face.

Legolas shook his head reassuringly, “No, he will be fine.”

Pansy seemed willing to take the elf at his word and smiled again.

“Pansy!” a voice called so high that the girl leapt to her feet in a moment.

“I need to play with Bella now,” she confided before waving to the elf and running from the barn holding her hat on her head as her curls tried to dislodge the covering.

Legolas laughed the moment she had gone and shook his head as he turned to the offering she had brought and ate a small amount himself. He then sat reclined slightly against the wall and inhaled the cool air of the morning that drifted in from the open door.

“That is why,” a soft voice spoke from beside Legolas.

The elf turned, startled at his friend’s words. “You are awake.” He moved quickly to help Aragorn sit up as the man’s own efforts were proving in vain. “How do you feel?” Legolas asked, handing Aragorn some of the food they had been given.

“I’m aching but I feel much better,” the ranger turned to his friend and smiled. “Thanks to you, as usual.”

Legolas shook his head and laughed, “The Valar know I owe you at least that much, Aragorn son of Arathorn.”

Legolas checked Aragorn’s wounds before he left the man alone and then both sat taking in the cool morning air with relief. After a moment’s comfortable silence Aragorn nodded towards the open door. “That is why,” he repeated.

“Why?” Legolas questioned, frowning at his friend.

“That is why we do it, Legolas,” Aragorn replied, answering the question of the previous evening. “So that the simple people will be safe, so that the children of the north may keep their innocence. So that all the people of these lands may have peace, and may not have to know the things we know, nor face the same fears. That they may spend each day tending their fields or gathering together and feasting; that they may keep these lands alive and green. The Dúnedain are the protectors of the north and, yes, of a people that will never know what it is we do for them, and yet this is how we would have it, my friend.”

Legolas nodded and after a moment he smiled, “If only the elves of Mirkwood realized that the ones which they hold in such distaste are, in many ways, far more honorable than we. I have known long now that there is much elves could stand to learn from men, if only they would have eyes to see it.” The ranger smiled back and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and for a few further minutes the morning was still.

Aragorn inhaled deeply, and then inexplicably frowned at the elf, “Legolas, is that not the rank smell of that poultice Elladan taught you to prepare?” Legolas laughed by way of acknowledgment and Aragorn rolled his eyes, “I *told* him not to teach it to you!”

It had been a point of great amusement at the time of the poison wound, which had been Elrohir’s, that the whole time they had tried to mend it, Aragorn had stood at Elladan’s elbow telling him not to use the poultice because it smelled terrible. The complaint had lifted the tension considerably at the time. Legolas gently nudged Aragorn in the arm before replying, “Human, if you wish to teach me another such remedy then do so by all means; until then I have found this one to work efficiently!”

Their laughter carried outside as the sun rose, the yellow orb gathering heat as it lighted the sky, but it did not long pour its radiance down on the earth below. For, even as it rose, a thick shadow of pending rain began to gather over it, darkening the pleasant morning in a cover of gloom.

A loud howling was the first thing that greeted the young man when he entered the underground den. An unusually loud howling. Firelight flickered on the blackened walls, and there was a nauseating smell of burned flesh penetrating the air as the human looked about for the source of the trouble.

"Dregrak!" he snapped, his voice like thin ice: warning the orc who stood up to be wary. The captain had no love for orc-kind and did not bother to hide it.

"Yes, Captain?" the orc rumbled. His filthy body came too close to suit his commander's taste, but the man did no more than deepen his frown.

"Who was that?"

The hideous creature toyed briefly with a tarnished brass ring that hung from his pointed ear and shrugged, "Sharzak. Runt went for Grebul's knife and got pitched into the cook pit; he had it coming."

Then the orc was nearly jerked off his feet as the captain's ungentle fingers suddenly hooked into the brass earring and pulled him close.

"Sharzak is mine, Dregrak! And I ordered you to send him to me when he returned. Now bring him and Grebul here at once or I'll wrench your unlistening ear off and wear it around my neck. Does that penetrate?" Ignoring the guttural croakings of pain, the human cast the orc to the ground and stood waiting, impassively, as the creature went immediately in search of the two others that his captain wanted.

Only when Dregrak was out of sight did the young man let a scowl of complete revulsion cover his face. Taking a cloth from his belt, he wiped his hands upon it to rid them of the orc's filth. He would use orcs because his lord insisted, and because there were no other men at hand, but he trusted them only as far as he could throw twenty of them in one heave. Excluding brute strength, they were practically useless. Except for Sharzak, perhaps…

Dregrak returned promptly, the hulking form of Grebul just behind him, and Sharzak slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

"Put him down," the captain demanded, his flint-like gray eyes turning their most deadly as he stabbed Grebul with a look. The large orc twitched; it had taken only a few strategic deaths for the orcs to gain a careful respect for their captain. The young man did not stoop as he looked over the smaller orc's condition. The smell of scorched flesh was almost paralyzing, and shining black patches stood out rank and smoking on the orc's rough skin — burning leather mingling with flesh where the flames had ignited his badly tanned jerkin.

"Grebul, you threw Sharzak in the fire," the captain remarked coolly, his words not asking for a reply.

Grebul make a low choking sound in the back of his throat but said nothing. His small, yellow eyes twitched about and his clawed hands groped at his side, fondling the grotesque hunting trophies hanging from his belt.

He didn't see the blade coming — he merely died.

Wiping the black scum from his sword upon the back of the now decapitated orc, the captain turned to Dregrak, gesturing to the body, "You can have that, but stay a moment." He turned to the smaller orc, "Sharzak?"

A keening, sniveling sound broke from the orc's lips, but his washed-out green eyes slid open and he choked out, "Ca-aptain?"

"Why did you come back?"

"They… they are —erk— gather —kglergk— weapons and… to send …" he trailed off into a bout of coughing.

"You are sure?" the young man asked impassively.

The orc nodded silently, curling inwards with pain.

"Dregrak, give him some brew and make sure he's left alone," the captain instructed, turning about to go. "And be sure you don't keep Grebul all to yourself." As the man left the chamber and reentered the tower itself, his eyes closed again with disgust as the sounds of merrymaking echoed up to him. Grebul's demise would be perceived as an unexpected treat. Long had these orcs and their spawn been roaming the Misty Mountains, and their habits were as well known and as set as they were repulsive.

The young man climbed the now familiar black stairs with heavy steps, his broad shoulders stooping as under the weight of the very air about him. He breathed, his heart beat within his chest, but about him all was dark and thick with the sense of… something. //Why,// he wondered, //did he choose to stay here? Could he not work in any other room?// It was the closest he had come to admitting fear of anything since his lord had first told him of the tower.

At the door he straightened, his face altering to a carefully respectful expression, and he raised a strong hand to knock upon the heavy black door. There was no response but the door was opened promptly and he bowed as the tall figure gestured him in.

"Sire," he began, but was halted mid-sentence by a curt gesture and he wisely fell silent and waited. He had interrupted Lord Kallomore in the midst of Reaching. His beasts were on the move somewhere.

In appearance, Kallomore seemed to sleeping upon his feet, but he was moving easily about the dark chamber as though his eyes were open and behind his eyelids his young captain could see the black pupils racing to and fro, as if swiftly tracking the movements of invisible armies. The dark haired lord moved to stand beside the window, his long, colorless hand resting flat upon the sill.

The captain stood where he had been halted, motionless as a statue. For many long minutes there was silence until at last a faint hiss escaped his lord and Kallomore's gray eyes opened.

"Captain Eression," he spoke without moving his gaze from the young man's face and pressed his lips into a thin line of approval when the captain did not flinch or look away. "Is there a problem?"

"Perhaps," Eression said evenly, avoiding any appearance of concern. "You spoke once of Imladris and suggested the lord of that valley might intrude upon our affairs."

"I did," Kallomore agreed, moving with a fluid-like ease across the room, pouring himself a glass of dark red wine and examining it with care, looking all the while out of the corner of his eye at his captain. "What of it?"

"My spy says he has seen movement," Eression explained.

If Kallomore was thinking that the young man intended to ask him directly what to do about the elves, he was proved wrong. Having given the information and implied the question, Eression lapsed into respectful silence.

"History does indeed repeat itself," Lord Kallomore mused, taking a slow drink of his wine and setting the glass down again. "Had it not been for the meddling of immortals in the affairs of mortals this tower might have been unleashed long ago. But no matter to us should they stir themselves — I have already conceived a snare for Lord Elrond. He will not dare come against us."

"Yes, sire," Eression nodded. "Will you have need of me?"

Kallomore had moved on to stand in front of the smooth black wall, his fingers reaching to caress the hairline crack that still split the glassy surface. Now he nodded slowly and deliberately, the tones of his voice like curling smoke, "Yes, Captain. You and your orcs. No matter how devious in hunting, the Nwelmai can only kill."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Legolas might have protested Aragorn's insistence that they regroup with the others if it had not been for Farmer Appledore arriving to sharpen his scythe.

The hobbit answered good-humoredly enough the few direct questions Legolas put to him about the coming harvest, but he kept a watchful eye on Aragorn the whole while and he had the farming implement none too subtly at hand when Pansy came in. All this Aragorn accepted as normal and he made efforts not to look directly at either the hobbit or his daughter, but the atmosphere was strained and soon Legolas could tell there would be no peace for Aragorn until they departed.

It was still overcast outside and there was a hint of dampness in the air. Appledore saw them to the edge of his land, seemingly unaware of the helping hand the elf gave his friend as they made their way over the stile. Aragorn smiled faintly and did not bother to mention that he already felt very much better. Legolas would never believe him and Appledore might misinterpret his meaning.

"Farewell, sir," the hobbit nodded, his browned face pleasant as he bobbed his head briefly to Legolas, and added as an afterthought to Aragorn, "You seem well enough this morning. Come now Pansy, Domo."

The children had trailed in Appledore's shadow and now Domo darted back towards the house; Pansy instead waited expectantly and her father hoisted her lightly onto his shoulders. Even with their heights combined, the two hobbits came only just to Aragorn's chest, but there was a comfortable sureness in the farmer's steps and as he went back into the barn he began to hum a cheerful song about mugs of ale in winter. The possible troublemaker had left his land and he could return to his work in peace.

With one last glance at the small farm, the elf and the human started back into the wood.

They traveled without speaking for several minutes, the only sounds being those of their feet in the leaves. Aragorn glanced to the side, unable to see his friend's face beneath the concealing hood. "Legolas, you may stop glaring on my behalf now."

The elf's words were carefully nonchalant, "How did you know I was glaring?"

Aragorn snorted dryly, "I could feel the heat. Truly, his suspicions cannot be easily disqualified: they live closer to wild parts than most hobbits and he has a family he must protect. Besides, do I not look like a chicken thief?"

The elf chuckled and removed his hood, shaking his head at old memories. "Where might these Dúnedain of yours have gone now?"

The ranger shrugged, "It is hard to say. We do not generally travel in such large numbers as you saw when you arrived, and the attack will likely have divided them up. These creatures have an aptitude for such tactics." Aragorn's eyes grew distant as he added under his breath, "I hope nothing has happened."

It took them much of the day to find their way back to the last campsite, but as Aragorn had intimated, it was deserted: not a man remained. However, all the gear was gone as well, and that seemed hopeful. Aragorn traveled around the clearing's edge, searching for clues of their whereabouts, and found a few marks that led deeper into the trees. These he followed until they reached a small stream and he gave a soft sound of frustration.

"I need to speak to Halbarad about not training them so well," the Dúnadan shook his head.

"It would certainly be easier," a voice came softly from the weeds. Bartho and Erynbenn rose from concealment, putting away their bows as they approached; it was Erynbenn who had spoken and he smiled briefly before relapsing into sober maturity.

"We returned in search of you," Bartho explained, gesturing back across the stream, "and the lad needed more practice with stealth." Here he gave the young man a glance and Legolas almost fancied a hint of a twinkle was hidden in the dark gray eyes.

"I was getting restless and hindering Halbarad," Erynbenn said honestly. "Bartho brought me to keep me out of trouble."

"What of the others?" Aragorn asked.

"Halbarad was collecting them together — we were all scattered by the attack," the older Dúnadan explained. "If you'll follow us, we can save you the trouble of tracking him." The words were dry, but not teasing.

"A good suggestion," said Aragorn. "How did the fight run with you?"

"As well as might be expected," Bartho replied, starting back over the stream with Erynbenn walking easily beside him. The lightness of the young man's steps presented an interesting contrast to Bartho's steady tread. "A few men injured — Malvegil especially — still none dead. Idhrin might have been, but Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir drew the third one away from him and led it on a chase into the trees. Several of us," here he glanced at Erynbenn, "went after them for fear they would find themselves outmatched when they finally turned to face it, but it outran us without much effort, and they must have still been ahead of it if it didn't stop. Neither had returned when we rejoined Halbarad."

Legolas cast a glance at Aragorn, but though the ranger frowned, he did not seem unduly worried.

"They have fought one of these creatures alone before," Aragorn explained. "Likely they will have already returned to camp; it's now well past dawn."

Bartho shot a expert look at the sky, "Aye, but not promising. More rain before evening, I expect. We'd best go quickly."

An hour later they came upon another small clearing, this one surrounded by younger trees than those elsewhere in the wood. At the center lay a sprawling pile of masonry that had once been a sort of small guard outpost. The tower had been short enough when standing — now only a portion of the square base remained intact with broken carvings of eagles perched at each of the four corners. From the entrance Halbarad appeared, his expression loosening into a smile when he saw four figures approaching.

"You found them," the Dúnadan greeted Bartho, who inclined his head but did not reply. Halbarad moved over to them, apparently not expecting an answer, and rested his hand briefly on Aragorn's shoulder. "We have lost no one."

"I am glad," Aragorn nodded, his eyes saying much more than the words themselves. "Have my brothers returned?"

Halbarad's face clouded, "I fear they have not, but there is time yet in the day. If they lured the creature far, it would take a while to walk back."

"You are right," the ranger acknowledged, feeling a faint dizziness steal over him. His wound was still painful and he moved to sit down upon a chunk of stone before he revealed his condition. "Halbarad, what more can we do? We cannot keep fighting like this. Even on the nights when the creatures do not appear we lose sleep through over-watchfulness, and when they come we are already wearied. Sooner or later someone will be slain, and though we may pray Ilúvatar it be later… what then?"

Halbarad took a seat beside him and Legolas leaned easily against a tree, watching the lowering skies above.

"I do not know, Aragorn," the Dúnadan admitted and sighed. "I fear this is truly a thing beyond us, though I will not speak so to the others. All we can do is to fight and trust a solution will yet present itself; it is to be hoped that Lord Elrond will soon send us aid. And we cannot despair, whatever we do. What will the younger men do — what will Erynbenn do if we give up hope?" He gestured briefly at where the young ranger sat, his still sore leg propped up before him as he listened intently to a heavily bandaged Malvegil explaining the ways of mountain trolls.

"He seems to be frequently with Bartho and that has not altered his mood," Legolas pointed out.

Halbarad smiled, "Bartho predicts doom in good times as well as bad; it is well, for he keeps us from becoming lax in our duties. He has reasons, and we have learned to accept it from him: Erynbenn more than any of us. And I have yet to see Bartho truly despair, even when his predictions are at their most dire."

A soft snort from Aragorn called their attention and he added, "When Erynbenn first joined us on patrol, Bartho looked him in the eye and said quite calmly, 'You look as though you could survive at least a few years, with some instruction.' He meant it as a compliment in his own way, but the poor lad looked horrified."

Halbarad chuckled at the shared memory and rose, "It is well you told Erynbenn about Lindamar. I'd best go find some wood for a fire before the rain comes. No, Aragorn, sit inside and rest; if you aggravate that injury now you'll be several days in recuperating and we can't afford that. Legolas, take him in."

Legolas waited to see if Aragorn would come without urging and to the elf's surprise, he did — shaking his head in disbelief at Halbarad's perception.

Inside the base of the tower it was cool. Green moss grew between the joints in the masonry and trailing vines snaked their way in through old loopholes and windows. For a long while the two friends rested quietly, recovering their strength as the light began to fade and a distant sound of thunder was heard. Aragorn began to shift restlessly and the elf cast about for something to distract him, asking him at last, "How came this tower to be built here? Was it a watchtower?"

Aragorn shook his head, "Not really; it was too short and in a poor position for that. It was built by men of Cardolan when their own country and Rhudur were in disagreement about the holding of Amon Sû l, or Weathertop. It was a small gesture of defiance and perhaps a move towards forceful taking of Amon Sû l; but it never came to fruition. The Witch King intervened. When Cardolan was laid waste this tower was knocked down like everything else, and here it still rests. A monument to ancient disputes." His tone was distracted, as if his mind were not really upon the words he was speaking. He rose and moved to the doorway, the dim light silhouetting him as his hand rested against the lintel.

Abruptly he asked, "Why must it always be my relatives that cause so much trouble?"

Legolas shook his head doggedly, "It is not your fault that your ancestors quarreled."

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder as if in surprise before nodding out towards the woods with a grimace, "I was speaking of my brothers."

"Oh!" Legolas rose and moved to stand beside him. "Perhaps they feel they owe it to you for all the trouble you have caused them through the years."

"Perhaps, but they have neglected to consider Father in their calculations of debt," the ranger pointed out. "He's had more than enough trouble from all three of us and I do not wish to bear him ill news of them. I'm going to find them."

"Might they not take offense at that?" Legolas asked with a smile.

"They may take offense if they choose," Aragorn shrugged, pulling his cloak once more over his worn overcoat and refastening his bow and quiver to his back. "But if we are speaking of scores that need settling, my going into the woods and rain to search would seem fitting indeed."

“Admit it.”

Elladan frowned but did not respond.

“Admit it, brother,” the voice persisted but the elf still refused to answer, scanning the path ahead of him — though maybe ‘path’ was the wrong word. “Oh don’t be so ashamed about it.” The voice took on a impudent tone that Elladan knew all too well. “I’m sure many elves lose their way in forests, even ones so small as the Chetwood, and I highly doubt anyone will find it at all strange.”

“Elrohir,” there was a warning in Elladan’s tone but his twin only smiled and this aggravated him still more. To add to this most recent irritation: the clouds which had been gathering thickly since morning had begun to rain down their heavy load. It was not improving Elladan‘s mood any. “If you think it so shameful, why don’t *you* find our way back.”

Elrohir laughed and shook his head, loose strands of hair slapping wetly across his face. “Not for all the gold in the Lonely Mountain; you took us both into this predicament and you are the elder, as you so oft make me aware.”

Elladan shook his head and turned back to the task at hand. The ground was growing slippery, but this proved a minor inconvenience to the sure-footed and he started up the path in front of him. “I shan’t be able to find anything with your endless noise, so if you want to ever see anything living again I’d suggest you quiet yourself.”

Elrohir did and, though it was only for a few minutes, Elladan had to begrudgingly admit it was more than he had expected.

“But Elladan, how can you say that we will never see a living thing when we are surrounded by trees?"

The elven twin patiently stared his brother into silence before returning to his tracking. “Here is a fresh plan Elrohir: you remain here and I shall find my own way back.”

“It sounds as though you are trying to be rid of me,” Elrohir said, with the obvious sound of a smile in his voice.

“Not at all,” Elladan responded dryly, pulling himself over a log that barred the path and starting into the trees once more. "Better yet, do not remain here, turn south and ask directions of Lindamar."

He knew his brother would follow him, so he did not concern himself with looking back. He had gotten only four paces when, through the pelt of rain and a sudden roll of distant thunder, he heard a snap and a wide rustle of disturbed brush. Whirling suddenly he spied through the growing mist something that made his heart freeze.

Elrohir, who was still standing a good few yards away from his brother on the opposite side of the thick log, was suddenly hemmed in on every side by orcs. An ambush. Now that they were upon them Elladan could not guess how they had moved so stealthily; or hidden so well, if they had instead been lying in wait for their prey. He had only known of one group of orcs to possess such skills and these he had wished never to see the like of again.

Elrohir called a warning to his brother even as the enemy appeared and he drew out his bow. Starting back towards him, Elladan found his way blocked by more orcs spilling out of the forest on all sides. As they came so did the rain; it began to fall more fiercely and a peal of thunder rent the air.

“Elrohir!” Elladan called over the din, pulling out his own weapon. He heard the bare sound of an arrow release beyond hideous creatures blocking him and the shriek of an orc in response. Leasing an arrow of his own Elladan shot it with enough force to send it straight through one orc to impale the one behind. Both fell against one another and crumpled to the ground.

The enemy were so tightly packed that Elladan repeated the same maneuver and felled many of the beasts. None had yet managed to venture close to him, but at each shot new orcs replaced the old. At such close quarters he knew he would never gain a great enough advantage to pass through their ranks and he felt a desperate need to reach Elrohir.

Unsheathing his sword he struck at the orc closest to Elrohir’s position, hoping to break through. From the screams beyond he guessed that Elrohir was doing the same.

Swinging a back cut at an orc just behind him, Elladan felt the familiar hatred rising cold in his heart. It was the old and long-held revulsion that all the first born carried for Melkor's twisted recreations of them; and in Elladan and Elrohir the emotion was all the more strong. With a cry he slashed forward again causing many to fall around him; slitting them at the throat, slashing them in the middle and impaling them at the chest. Long had the sons of Elrond battled such spawn of the shadow and they knew how to bring even such a great host to their destruction.

In a very short time Elladan could again see his brother battling close by — though through the ever growing rain it was difficult. The younger twin turned, seeing his brother in a brilliant flash of lighting.

Taking a chance Elrohir pushed forward, turning constantly to keep himself from being set upon from behind, and at last he reached the log and vaulted its height with one leap, landing steadily beside his brother.

“We must flee now,” Elladan turned briefly to speak, again having to face the fresh attack from their brutal opponents. “We shall not be able to hold our stand so long if they continue to replenish themselves, and this ill weather shall bear us to ruin unless we reach firmer ground.”

Elladan did not wish to admit it, but he knew in an effort to break through to each other, the orcs had been allowed to gain ground on their other sides; they were becoming trapped and Elladan knew that before long it would be too late for any escape.

Moving quickly to escape the charge of an orc warrior, Elladan broke apart from Elrohir only briefly and the brothers each tried to push his way out from under the ever growing mêlée. All around the orcs gave shouts of glee; this foul weather to them was familiar fighting ground and they pushed its use for all they were worth. Even as the water pooled around them they kept surprisingly steady feet and never once eased their ferocious attack.

Elladan took advantage from a brilliant flash of lighting followed by a crack of thunder and shoved his way through an opening provided him. He had only gained a few feet of free ground however before he suddenly heard a voice break through the chaotic din. It was the voice of neither orc nor goblin and it confused him, for it sounded like the voice of a man.

“Drop them!”

Elladan knew not what the words meant, but in another moment he was made to see. A creak above him, which could not be mistook for lightning, made him look up a moment too late. A heavy, tightly webbed net fell on him from the trees, bearing him to the ground under its weight. Elladan tried to cut through the bonds but another moment brought a second net down upon him, crushing him closer to the ground. He caught brief sight of Elrohir being born down in the same way. Elladan felt his legs kicked from beneath him by a vicious blow. He sank to his knees into the mud and felt it seep around his legs. At a blow to the head he crumpled beneath the netting, only just able to keep from landing face first in the miring ground beneath him. He vaguely heard Elrohir cry out and the elf clenched his fists in the sodden netting, wishing to tear it apart, but a second vicious kick to the head left him disoriented and he saw the world hazing and spinning around him as another loud rumble of thunder was heard.

The last thing Elladan remembered was the strange sensation of being drawn across the ground and the distant sound of someone calling out his name.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Aragorn swung underneath the slick branch dropping down the incline; dirt and leaves wetted by rain were thrown up around him as he skidded to the bottom. Legolas was close behind, sprinting easily down the same incline until he reached Aragorn’s side, breathing evenly and already trying to follow the ranger’s next move, but the man was giving his friend a patient glare.

Legolas caught his gaze and returned it with a bewildered expression. “What is wrong?” he asked, a little anxiously.

“You,” Aragorn responded shortly shaking his head and starting forward again, pushing lightly over a crisscross of fallen branches barring his path.

“What did I do?” Legolas was still confused as he scaled the precarious debris after his friend.

Abruptly Aragorn laughed as he caught his friend’s mystification. “Oh, you’re showing off — that is all.”

Legolas jumped down from the branches to land beside Aragorn once more and frowned, “I don’t mean to.”

“I know that,” Aragorn waved a hand. “It’s an unfortunate thing that your light-footedness and extended years are two of the many things I could never aspire to gain.”

“You do your best,” Legolas pointed out. “Rangers may be human, but they are the most elf-like humans I have ever had the pleasure to know.”

Aragorn chuckled at that. “Celboril would be quick to tell you that the surest differences are to be found in appearance and cleanliness.” Considering that the rain pouring down in light currents seemed to be centered fully on Aragorn at that moment and very nearly missed the elf prince altogether they could both find the observation accurate.

Legolas leaned across the way to pull a tattered leaf from his friend’s weather-worn coat and tossed it into the foliage. “Cleanliness I cannot answer for in this climate. As to appearance, if only you would dress in elven attire instead of this dark, earthen toned garb then it would not be so obvious.”

“Legolas Greenleaf, I may as well tell you now that this is one battle you will never win against me. Ask my brothers, I would never be seen in the wooded-lands in such attire as you favor.”

“Well I would ask them,” Legolas replied absently, “if only we could find them.”

Aragorn nodded, “Yes it is beginning to worry me; they are usually not so hard to find. I’ve tracked them with fair ease up till now, but the rain will make it difficult if I cannot find them soon; they strayed quite far from the camp, that is sure.”

Legolas concentrated on tracing the signs of passage before them, but he knew that Aragorn far surpassed him in this area, especially when it came to his brothers.

They walked a fair distance forwards — the rain had begun to pick up and the thunder rolled heavily above them — and Legolas kept his ears strained for any sound of movement, allowing Aragorn to concentrate on his tracking. It was decided between them that this was the quickest way to track without being caught unawares and Aragorn appreciated not having to split his attention.

It was between a great peal of thunder that Legolas heard it and halted. “Aragorn,” he whispered.

The ranger came to a halt and turned, “What is it?”

“Listen!” Legolas held up a hand and motioned to the east, his eyes scouring the trees. Aragorn came up beside him. The splattering of rain, the distant preamble to a thunder clap, and then, quite abruptly, an unearthly scream rent the air — scoring the silence.

“Orcs,” Aragorn whispered, starting at a run in the direction from whence the sounds came, Legolas close behind. Another orc’s scream was heard and though Aragorn felt sure he would find his brothers at the source of the commotion, he began to fear in what state he would find them.

As they went the rain suddenly broke loose, beating upon the two friends and blinding Aragorn as he ran down a steep incline. Taking a few short jumps, he managed to keep a sure footing and avoid a collision. Legolas remained just at his elbow.

As they drew nearer the noises grew louder and they heard the clash of metal against metal. The screams of the orcs were now plain.

Aragorn thought for a moment he had heard Elladan’s voice, but it was drowned out in a clap of thunder. Briefly again he tried to focus on the sound, but a sudden brilliant flash showed him a broken tree just before him and he swerved to miss it.

With his eyes raking the trees ahead Aragorn knew they had nearly reached the place when he heard a sound that made him pull up short. It was Elrohir crying out. Aragorn looked at Legolas, saw the elf draw out his bow and set an arrow upon the string, and as their eyes locked for only a second, the man nodded. Pushing the last few steps, fighting against the fear that beat mercilessly at his heart, Aragorn broke through the trees.

The ranger came out behind the orc host, while Legolas quickly ran along a fallen log which split the clearing in two. Neither wasted a moment, and even as Aragorn withdrew his sword from the twisted body of the first orc, he saw that the two just beside him had fallen to elven arrows. Aragorn made a path towards Legolas, the elf covering his approach until he had reached the fallen tree. The orcs, who at first seemed to have been leaving the clearing at the unexpected attack, recovered quickly and now tried to charge the human in their midst. Aragorn spun through, attempting to protect himself on all sides as he sought out his brothers in the fray — but this was to no avail. He drew up to the log and placed his back against it as he slashed at the orcs pressing on him. Ducking down Legolas hastily grabbed his arm from above, pulling him up beside him before another blow finally reached his throat. The orcs tried to follow, angry at loosing their prey, only to be met with more arrows.

“Where are they?” Aragorn could not keep his voice calm as he turned frantically on the slick wood, trying to sight the elven twins.

“I do not know.” Legolas responded before leasing another two arrows into the orcs attempting to converge on them, now on both sides. “But we have stepped into a snare, my friend.” Aragorn's head came up and he suddenly realized how many orcs surrounded them. As he cast an eye around the glade and saw the many tens of the foul creatures wending between the trees, his mind reeled; how could they have come down from the mountains with such haste and in such great numbers?

“Elladan!” he called, his hopes of an answer faint indeed. Another orc leapt up; halted; fell back, headless. “Elrohir!” Aragorn called again, turning his gaze each way as he tried desperately to catch sight of one of the twins.

Then he saw the man.

He was standing in the rain between two great ash trees, his arms held loosely at his sides —seemingly unconcerned by the foul weather or the loud conflict. He was a young man — scarcely Aragorn's age — but a strong bearing balanced his years; his hair was dark, and the hood he wore only half shielded him from the rain. Silver gaze clashed with silver gaze as the two men met each other's eyes squarely. An unreadable look played across the stranger’s face as he recognized a Dúnadan. Then, giving a short nod, the man turned and motioned to the side.

Aragorn followed his gesture and reached to grip Legolas’ arm. The wood elf's arrow reeled off course but struck an orc anyway in the closely knitted swarm. He turned to Aragorn with a frown.

“My friend, we cannot—”

Aragorn nodded to the sight that held his heart captive and the elf stiffened with understanding.

Somewhere around a dozen orcs were bearing two heavily woven burdens through the pooled water. Grunting and growling the monsters jerked the loads roughly across the churned up earth. And through the woven rope of one bundle both friends recognized the form of an elf. His ebony hair was just visible — as was a pale hand and a trail of red blood trickled from the netting trickling into the mud, thin and bright as a crimson thread.

A snarl quite close to Aragorn's ear alerted him that his watch had been far too lax. Spinning to look into the flat yellow eyes of a snarling orc, he saw only its gleaming teeth before its face sunk, its eyes glazed, and it fell limply back, an arrow protruding from its skull.

“Come Aragorn!” Legolas tried to recall Aragorn’s attention. “We need to fight free!”

“I must follow them,” Aragorn responded tensely. He moved to defend himself now, but almost as though he was in a trance, and his eyes continued watching in horror as his brothers were born away by their captors. “They are escaping,” he whispered. “Legolas!” Aragorn turned back to his friend, the orcs had for a moment risen up around them and Legolas had turned to his knives. Slashing furiously, Legolas cut each from the log and pushed their corpses down into the remaining horde.

The orcs snarled beneath them and Legolas turned, gripping Aragorn‘s arm. “I know, Aragorn," he said, forcing Aragorn to meet his gaze. “I know. But I need you now; we need to get free of these orcs before we can follow.”

Aragorn gave a single nod, tearing his gaze away from the forms retreating into the gathering mist around them as Legolas released him to return to the fight.

The ranger brought up his sword in a series of hard cuts. Decapitating any orcs that drew close enough and impaling the ones too far, he made quick work of those that had gained the fallen tree.

Behind him Legolas worked quickly as well, his jaw clenched in grim concentration as he moved nimbly across the slick wood and efficiently slit each of the monsters’ throats; gradually turning the black tide back.

With the advantage of higher ground, Legolas soon returned to his bow and though now the orcs scattered back into the woods as if upon a prearranged signal, the elf caught many of them in their retreat. Before long both friends stood upon the broken tree, alone in the clearing with only the fallen corpses of their enemies.

Aragorn drew in a long breath. Ignoring the stinging cut he had received on his forearm, he quickly dropped down from the height and stumbled slightly. Even in his weakened state he ran in the direction that his brothers had been taken; he felt ache in his legs from tracking first his men and then his brothers so far, he felt the burn in his back and his arm, he felt weary and drained — but something like mad resolution pushed him on and he reached the crest of the rise where the mist gathered. He gripped a thin tree for support as he tried to find the definite tracks. But because of the last scattering of the orcs, every inch of ground had been churned up in all directions and he could not tell one set of tracks from another. Pushing himself forwards he dropped onto the filthy ground and tried to find the direction: digging through the mud with his fingers… pressing aside the ground foliage… he *had* to find the direction!

Aragorn’s breath came in a shuddering form that sounded far too close to a sob and he bit it back, closing his eyes as he sank back on his knees and clenched his fists in the earth. He knew it was useless.

He was aware of someone beside him and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes he saw Legolas crouching beside him.

“Aragorn?” he inquired gently.

“I cannot find the direction,” Aragorn whispered , rain or tears falling down his cheeks as he dropped his head, letting out a staggered breath. Legolas waited for a moment before giving his friend’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“We will find them, Aragorn, we will.”

Aragorn turned his eyes up and there were surely tears standing in them. “We cannot, they have hidden themselves too well. They chose this place for a purpose, the rain—the rain covered everything, the orcs were left behind, they knew where they were…” Aragorn cared not that he was rambling aimlessly, he couldn’t help it, his heart was twisting inside him and he couldn’t think straight. “The blood Legolas….what if they—”

“They are not,” Legolas intervened quickly with conviction. “They are alive. If we cannot track them, then we will find them another way, but we *will* find them. I swear it to you.”

Aragorn gripped Legolas’ arm, the wet earth on the human’s fingers staining the elf's tunic sleeve. At last Aragorn looked up at him through the rain that was pounding about them like a cold veil. There was a fervor in the blue eyes as the man gave a short nod.

“Yes Legolas, we will find them…we must.”

Elrond rose early as usual, entering his library and pausing to gaze appreciatively at the strange vibrancy the night's rain had lent the trees. The air smelled of moisture and damp earth. If he felt a faint unease, he attributed it to the distant sounds of thunder that still lingered beyond the valley.

The morning eased towards noon, but all was still pleasantly cool and the sky remained overcast as the lord of Rivendell finished writing several letters and began to put away his materials, placing the unused parchment in a thin drawer at the center of the desk and reaching to close his inkstand. The movements were automatic, and the things nearly as old as the elf who used them.

A sound of footsteps brought Elrond's head up and in mid-motion his hand seemed to freeze, his fingers just brushing the delicately carved lid on the inkwell as he caught the expression of the elf who entered.

"What is it?" Elrond asked quickly, looking from the Moranuen's face to what he carried in his hands.

Moranuen bowed hastily, more intent upon his errand than formalities. "I only just returned with the rest of the hunting party and I have found a piece of parchment in my quiver that is not mine, and was not there when I left this morning. I think it must have been slipped in at some moment when I was distracted. It bears your name."

"Did you ask the others if they had placed it there?" Elrond asked, trying to quell a strange and sudden fear.

"They didn't," the elf replied quietly. "I know. It reeks of orc."

"And what does it say?"

The question was not sharp, but Moranuen winced anyway. "I did not read much when I realized for whom it was intended, but… it concerns your sons." The elf started forward abruptly, "My lord? Here, let me help you."

Elrond watched distantly as the younger elf caught up a cloth from the desk and moved to clean up the ink he had spilled. He had been unable to control his start and the small bottle had overturned; ink was sliding in a dark, wet mass across the desk's wooden surface.

Moranuen moved quickly, fingering the sodden cloth gingerly as he looked about for something else to clean up the rest of it— and then his eyes fell on Elrond's taut face and the cloth dropped back onto the desk, forgotten.

"Where is the parchment?"

It was a short message, but it took reading the sinuous Numenorean script twice for the elf to finally understand its meaning. History often repeats itself… an agreement to our mutual advantage… your gates will remain closed, your troops remain within… a violation of this agreement…

//Elladan. Elrohir.//

"My lord?" Moranuen asked again, this time even more alarmed. Elrond's face looked paler than death itself.

"Leave me, please," Elrond whispered and he felt relieved as the other left without question. Like being plunged beneath a pounding waterfall, or thrown off a high cliff, he could not get his bearings. He, Elrond, who had remained clear-headed when half his warriors were falling around him on the slopes of Mount Doom; who had stood firm when within the volcano itself, when the resolve of his companion had failed; who had met with calm every disaster that had ever come upon the valley that he ruled.

Ice had filled his lungs, cutting off his breath. He could not breathe. Almost falling, he staggered as one wounded onto his balcony, his cold hands clenching the railing. It was too much. Too much to bear alone, and there was no one else.

His lips moved, forming pleas in his own tongue. "Celebrian…" the name fell like a wind-tossed leaf into the courtyard below. But though a phantom of a beautiful elven woman looked up from her roses and smiled, a wind whistled through and carried her away before she could speak to him. Or perhaps she had never been there.

Had he truly come to such a choice? He did not doubt the sender; could not doubt him, whoever he was. The proof was in the words themselves and in the knowledge behind them. The Nwelmai of whom Glorfindel had spoken: it was this person who held them in his control. And now the lord of Rivendell had been left at the choosing of ways… what decision could he make? His sons! His sons at all costs! Whatever it took — there was too much father in him to risk going out as he had intended. The Dúnedain were strong; they could stand long without aid!

His eyes were still resting on the courtyard, and now there seemed to solidify before him the memory of another figure standing below him. A familiar face. A Dúnadan. And also a son.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The return through the woods was to the untrained ear as quiet as a still pool; the only sounds being the constant dripping of water off the trees and from the north the occasional damp crack of a branch, or the slipping sound of a boot against wet tree bark, or the splash of a disturbed puddle. To Legolas, whose ear knew well the usual care the Dúnedain took when they traveled, the noise was terrible. His eyes rose from his own path and sought the face of Aragorn at his side, but the human did not lift his own head in response. His chin rested on his chest and his sodden hair obscured his features, slapping his face lightly as his head swayed a little from side to side. It was as though he were unsure of his path, or else was too deep in thought to control the movement.

The elf held his peace, knowing his friend would speak when he wished and that rushing him would bring no results. In the following silence, Legolas was allowed time to sort out his own feelings. He had no brothers of his own and in a strange way when he had allowed Aragorn into his life — human though the ranger was — he had allowed the entrance of Aragorn's whole family. Elrond, in some ways wiser than Legolas' own father and a calm place in the midst of even the most violent of storms; Elladan, warrior and ever the elder brother figure to those around him; Elrohir, equally the most sensitive when confronted by evil and the most inclined to pranks when surrounded by tranquility. Through numerous adventures he had come to rely heavily on all three, even as Aragorn himself did, and through equally pleasant and quiet times together he had come to respect and appreciate the individual qualities that made the strangely mixed family so enviable.

And now they had been torn asunder in a way the elf had never quite experienced before, for usually it was he and Aragorn who were lost this way and their feelings were more taken up with the surrounding danger, leaving little time for worrying about what might be befalling the others in their absence. Now the unknown was more terrible to him than any sudden attack of orcs upon his own person could have been, and to Aragorn, who had lived his whole life with the twins at his side, the affect must be a thousand times worse.

"What will I tell Father?" a hollow question finally broke the layer of silence that had covered them both.

Legolas looked quickly at him and a new emotion took hold briefly in the elf's eyes as he recalled the twins being dragged away — as he saw Aragorn's confused grief — as he envisioned the reaction of Lord Elrond when word reached him. It was fury. A boiling righteous anger, washing over and through him and changing the color of his gaze to a tingling steel. Had an orc appeared at that moment, he would have fled in terror without a single blow having been struck.

Slowly, the feeling ran its course, the raw emotion leaving him instead with an iron resolve. He would not set foot on the road home until the evils begun were put to flight and Elladan and Elrohir brought home to Rivendell. With a readjustment of his slim shoulders, his promise was made and he exhaled, relaxing back into his usual elven calm. There was a job to do and he would need control of himself to do it.

Then he realized he had not answered Aragorn's question. "Best to send one of the Dúnedain as soon as we return," the elf recommended softly. "Lord Elrond will probably wish to send others to help you in your search."

"Yes," Aragorn nodded and seemed to take hold of the task like a lifeline of normalcy. When they came upon the few Dúnedain who still remained about the feet of the tower, only his eyes still betrayed his great anxiety, for his voice was calm and his hands no longer trembled as they pushed his hair from his face.

"Idhrin, I need you to carry a message to Lord Elrond in Rivendell."

The elder Dúnadan nodded and stood up alertly, his gear already stowed as though he had been anticipating departure once his leader returned. He waited to be either handed or told the message, dreading already what it might contain.

"His sons, Elladan and Elrohir, have been taken by a large company of orcs, heading north. The trail has been obliterated due to the rain, but Legolas and I will try to learn of their location and bring them back as soon as may be." Aragorn opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then closed it again and nodded once.

Halbarad's eyes closed briefly before he lifted his own gear and nodded to Idhrin, "You had best start immediately; there are horses in the lower clearing with Malvegil. The rest of us shall continue on our patrols: we will need to be doubly watchful while short of men." It was bravely said, for the ranger could sense the disquiet amongst the men, though they showed no sign of their feelings. That of all the members of their company it should be the two strongest who would so suddenly be taken away was a thought that had occurred to none of them. Turning about, the men dispersed silently, disappearing into the familiar trees in all directions. Only Erynbenn and Halbarad remained, the younger Dúnadan with the air of uncertainty, as though he felt he ought to say something and could not think what.

"My friend," Halbarad murmured, "will you be all right?"

Aragorn released a breath, "I will have to be. My brothers are in jeopardy and time is short — I cannot waste even minutes on brooding." He gave a ghost of a smile as he gripped Halbarad's shoulder briefly, "Thank you."

The Dúnadan gripped Aragorn's shoulder in return and turned to Legolas, "So the impossible falls to you."

"Impossible?" Legolas' brow creased in confusion.

"He means keeping Aragorn out of danger," Erynbenn explained. "All but a few of us have given it up completely; he refuses to be 'followed', as he terms it."

Legolas bowed solemnly, knowing full well the identity of the 'few' to whom the young man was referring. "I can only do my best and pray the Valar will cover my lapses in vigilance."

Aragorn shook his head in what might have been exasperation, though he did not laugh as he usually would have done. Instead he turned and led the way back towards where he and his friend had last seen the twins. Somehow, there had to be a trail somewhere.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

It was several days before Halbarad saw his leader again, and when they once more crossed paths Aragorn seemed to have both recovered somewhat and to have aged a great deal. Care had creased lines in a face where there had already been too many, and the Dúnadan could only hope these would disappear if— no, *when* Aragorn's brothers were found.

"Nothing?" Halbarad asked, knowing already the answer.

"Nothing," the answer came anyway, only it was from Legolas, not Aragorn. "The trail is completely gone and we can find no clues of their destination."

"How have you fared?" Aragorn queried with concern, realizing that his company must still be scattered for only Bartho stood nearby.

"We have done well," Halbarad said. "Only one attack since you left. There is a chance they are moving off, or it has also been suggested by…someone… that they are lulling us into a false sense of security."

"Of course," Aragorn nodded dryly. "What of Idhrin?"

"He has returned and brought with him a friend of yours," the Dúnadan replied, already leading him towards the old tower and the figure who had now appeared in front of it. It was Moranuen.

"Mora!" the ranger cried, a look of actual pleasure appearing on his face as he embraced his friend. "I am glad to see you, and so soon! I had not dared to hope Idhrin would return with such speed. What news from my father?" And his eyes now betrayed his anxiety.

The elf had smiled in return at his welcome and had greeted Legolas warmly, but at the question his expression grew grave. "I met your messenger on the road and he came back directly with me instead of making the whole journey. I already have a response to your message."

"How did Father know…?" the question trailed off as Aragorn accepted the message and broke the seal. The ink used was blue rather than the black Elrond usually favored, and the writing was slanted as if the words had been written hastily. It was painfully short.

Legolas started at the pallor that overspread his friend's face. "Aragorn, what is it?"

The ranger dropped the parchment as if it burned him, his eyes going wide as he stared at it, lying white in the grass. "Is there no way to stop him?"

"Stop him from what?" the elf pressed, reaching down to lift the letter again and glancing desperately through its contents when the ranger made no reply. It was every bit as heart wrenching as he had feared — the bleak honesty and rawness of emotion showing through each syllable. His eyes shot up from the last lines to Aragorn's face, "You're thinking that he's chosen you over your brothers, aren't you?"

"Hasn't he?" the Dúnadan shuddered. "I know not what possessed him, but he cannot mean this!"

Mora's eyes were pained, "Aragorn, even were Lord Elrond to remain in Rivendell it is unlikely that Elladan and Elrohir would be returned; such men of the sort as this one, whoever he is, seldom consider themselves bound by their word. If he is to get his sons back, and you your brothers, your only hope lies in finding them and retaking them without their captor's consent!"

"I agree," Aragorn nodded vigorously, "but the moment it becomes clear that Father has not kept his end of this cruel bargain Elladan and Elrohir's life will be forfeit! There will be no time to prevent their being slain, and even less for discovering their whereabouts. At all costs if we are to find them we must find them before he sets out."

The ranger spun around, walking three steps away from them and stopping, his shoulders just noticeably trembling as he strove to master himself. Everyone else was silent — knowing he was correct. When he came back to stand with them, his face was again calm and he spoke quickly, as one who knew now his course and was ready to travel it, "Mora, I thank you for coming with such speed. Now I must ask you a great favor: that you will return with equal speed and bear back to my father a message in return. Please tell him to withhold his aid until the middle of this coming month at the very least. We will need every day of it."

"Of course," Moranuen nodded, his slender dark brows connecting in a frown. "I doubt he will approve."

"I doubt it also, but it is the only way. Thank you, my friend."

The elf did not linger after he had been given fresh provisions, but started his horse back into the trees with only a brief backward glance.

"Where do you intend to look?" Halbarad asked quietly.

Legolas glanced at Aragorn, who was staring thoughtfully at the ground, and shrugged his shoulders, "Not in the woods, unless we can find clearer directions to this tower of which Glorfindel spoke."

"I think that would be the most logical," Bartho nodded. "It seems unlikely that such valuable prisoners would be left in an easily accessible place, and that is assuredly the least accessible choice the enemy could make."

The elf nodded, glancing again at Aragorn and wondering if the other was going to have any input.

"The greatest obstacle," Halbarad mused, "is our ignorance. It is something, I suppose, to know that the same person or persons are responsible for both these beasts and the capture of Elladan and Elrohir, but as for who exactly we are dealing with… one orc looks very much like any other."

Aragorn looked up, "Yes, but humans don't."

"Humans?" Legolas repeated.

"Humans, and don't even think about denying it." There was a spark of the old humor back in Aragorn's eyes. "Elves are not as observant as they think they are."

At any other time Legolas might have disagreed and loudly, though he had to plead guilty on having once claimed that all humans were very similar in appearance. Now he felt as if, unconsciously, he'd been alone in the woods for the past several days and at last he had found his best friend.

"There was a man in charge of the orcs," Aragorn was explaining rapidly to the other two Dúnedain.

"What good does that do you in your search?" Bartho frowned. "Think you to ask the birds if they've seen this person?"

"What birds?" the ranger asked rhetorically, gesturing impatiently to the silent trees. "And no, that would be of no use to us at all. What will aid us is actually not the man's appearance, but instead the fact that he is human." Turning to Legolas, the ranger smiled briefly, "Our search is suddenly not quite so hopeless, my friend. Though I'm not sure if you will favor my next suggestion…"

History was not a subject for the young. Such scholars that read the details off parchment and toyed with the words of ancient days were deluded if they felt they could delve so far past their own existence. It was a mystery that only the experienced could truly claim to understand or hope to duplicate.

There were many tales of the Black Numenoreans to be found in transcript, and these tales issued from the mouths of just such historians — and even from some elder ones who thought that they knew the truth. Of course the initial history was well known. The Black Numenoreans had come to Middle Earth from Numenor prior to the foolish leaders of that land who had attempted to storm Valinor and take the gift of immortality.

It was no secret that these black descendants of Numenor had traveled to the new shores to pillage the land and take it as their own, nor was it a secret that these men were led by nine princes, each doomed to fall into darkness.

But even in all the supposed truths, error could be found. For the tomes of history also stated that the Black Numenoreans — all but the nine princes — had died after the last battle of Angmar.

However, as it went with all survivors, it must be understood that overlooking them was no serious error; it is quite easy to believe a race to be wiped out when all that remains is a single affluent man.

After gaining prestige and wealth in the plundered lands he had watched from a distance as his fellow men were destroyed, for no lot would he take up in folly. This man would not fight to the death beneath his Prince, the great Sorcerer, the Witch King of Angmar’s banner; he knew that each of the Black Numenoreans would fall to ruin in this attempt and he knew better than to rise against Arnor and the elves, even when victory seemed assured.

When at last all of Angmar fell to Gondor and the Noldorim, and the Witch King fled at the last stand, this man had found his wisdom to be well rewarded. Now he stood alone with only his kin and servants. They had lived solitary lives, far in the north, out of sight and knowledge for hundreds of years, until a plague had struck them all. All but two. One man had again survived, with only a young lieutenant, now his captain of war. And they were now the only Black Numenoreans left truly alive in Middle Earth…

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Kallomore stood by the wall, his hand tracing gently the grooves imbedded there, stains like blood melded with black stone in the shapes of strange beings, grotesque in shape and with a strange sort of vibrancy that seemed to almost speak to him in whispers and screams.

His slender hand was ashen and the skin hung loosely on it as though he had grown old in hands alone. Moving his bent finger over the crimson shapes his hand paused at last over the stained image of a being like none other. Scratches like a shaggy mane distorted much of the creature and lifelike claws jutted from its form. It was on these claws that the pallid fingers stayed their movement. A cold smile came over Kallomore’s face and he curled his hand into a fist before the image.

Turning at last from the wall and moving to the alcove at the side of the room, he traced his fingers carefully in a place where the dust had not settled so thickly. It was in the clear outline of a square shape. Yes, he knew what article of the past should lie here, but he had no need of it; it did not concern him.

History might be for the experienced to tell, and perhaps they were the only ones who should duplicate it, but he was far more competent than any historian could hope to be.

There came a military knock on the door — easily recognizable. Kallomore gazed at the entrance, wondering if perhaps he ought to wait a few minutes to teach his young captain patience. A warrior in his own right, Kallomore had long made a practice of training his underlings in his service from their childhood. Eression had been different, it was true, but he would never have gained the position of second in command like this if Kallomore's original captain had not perished during the plague. He was a fine enough soldier and had learned the art of keeping his councils within his own head, but there were still times when Kallomore could see something in the back of his eyes; something unworthy of a future king's chief general. Like every other flaw the Numenorean lord had found it would have to be driven out of him sooner or later.

However, Kallomore could honestly admit that the flaw was certainly not impatience. Eression had not even so much as knocked a second time. Besides which, he would be bringing news of his mission.

Opening the black door, Kallomore stood looked the captain up and down. Eression was clearly weary — the journey south and back was not a short one, and with the orcs none too trustworthy it would have been unwise for him to rest for long. But he was also triumphant.

"Greetings, Captain. I trust you bring me good tidings?" Kallomore asked.

"Yes, my lord. We have succeeded in seizing both the sons of Lord Elrond. I sent my spy to deliver your message as soon as we had secured them." He seemed to be waiting for a commendation.

"Where are you intending to keep them?" Kallomore asked.

"On the second level in two of the barracks rooms. I decided that there would be the best place for them — given the lack of outlets on the second level, and also given the orcs and their ways. The doors are well constructed there."

"You 'decided'?" The question was a dangerous one and Kallomore watched carefully for the reaction.

"I — yes, my lord," the captain replied, apparently aiming for sheer honesty.

There it was, though. The small weed in the young man's mind. "I am altering your decision. I grow weary of your orcs causing mischief beneath my tower, Captain Eression. By one means or another I must have silence or I will not be able to concentrate my powers and direct those… other creatures which are under my authority. You will double the current rations and place the prisoners down with your army. Food and amusement; that should accomplish what I desire. The fact that I am forced to turn my attention to a matter which ought to be under *your* control is inexcusable, Captain."

"Yes, my lord. But if they are hostages—"

Kallomore's eyes seemed to flame, a red glow lighting his gray gaze. "Captain Eression," he hissed, ever so softly. "Are you questioning me?"

Eression paled. "No, my lord."

"We are at war, Captain. We are no longer in our old lands. Here things *will* be different, or I shall give *you* to your army for their pleasure and place your head above the front entrance." The flames sank away into bottomless wells of blackness. "Do not question me again."

"No, my lord." The young man's face was hard now. Hard and unyielding. The weed had been pulled.

"Inform the orcs that they may do as they please, but they are forbidden to slay their captives. If they cannot restrain themselves, then one elf can easily do the work of two. But it does not matter overmuch; in only a few months I shall not need them at all. Go."

"As you command."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

When Elladan woke he could not open his eyes immediately. For some unrecalled reason he hurt everywhere and his head throbbed mercilessly. He was slowly made aware that someone was pulling him roughly by the arms on either side; his feet felt heavy and he realized that they were being dragged behind him. Somehow, he knew he had been unconscious for more than a few days, and he wondered what had kept him asleep for so long. Had someone drugged him? He squinted his shut eyes trying to grasp what was going on around him.

Then, with a flash of bursting pain in his head he recalled it in one gasp. His eyes flew open and he was met with a dark passageway deepening before him. There was an orc in front of him and, he realized a moment later, two orcs held his arms dragging him through the hall. Elladan turned his gaze quickly to the side and before he could fully grab hold of himself he blurted.

“What have you done with Elrohir?”

The orc just in front of him turned and grinned wickedly. “Oh, you mean the little one like you?” it sneered. “Nothing. We've done nothing to him…yet.” Elladan did not miss the tone at all and he felt his heart skip a beat. He tried once more to find his brother among the orcs around him, but he was disoriented from the fight and the long journey to this place and his head pounded from where it had been struck.

After a while longer down the hall, they final came to a halt and Elladan saw a human step up to the orc in the front.

“Rogkhar,” the young man said with authority, “Lord Kallomore has ordered that your rations be doubled and that the prisoners be placed under your watch. He further says that you may do what you will with them, but keep at least one alive, and if it is in your power, both. Is that understood?”

The orc known as Rogkhar gave a tilt of the head. “It is understood Captain,” he turned his cold sneer on Elladan and the elf felt his heart freeze.

The captain gave a curt gesture towards a door to the side, “Then be gone from my sight, and I want to hear no more reports of dissension in your ranks; if I hear so much as a whisper of trouble, I shall have your heads.” With these words the young man left the orcs without a glance at Elladan.

Rogkhar pounded the door open, sharply bringing Elladan’s attention to him, and started down a set of sheer stairs into a darkness impenetrable. Elladan gave a vain attempt to struggle, feeling the evil like a wave of stale air wash up to him, but he knew it was to no purpose and soon he was being pulled against his will into the dark.

At the base of the stairs the stench of orc, burning flesh, blood, and other foul matter filled Elladan with disgust and strengthened the sense of dread that was coiling within him. He had only a moment to look about the gloomy chamber before he was dragged to an alcove in the far wall. In the light of scattered fires he could just see the grotesque forms of more orcs and the meals they were eating, but Elladan did not wish to dwell on the chamber’s occupants at the moment.

He was abruptly forced to put all such thoughts out of his mind anyway as he was slammed hard against the wall. His hands were jerked above him until he could only just touch the floor; his wrists brutally bound in twisted metal manacles. The ill cut bindings dug into his wrists and he winced in spite of himself.

Then, at last, he saw Elrohir. His younger brother was pushed to the wall as he had been and bound against it with manacles in the same fashion. Elrohir only just seemed to be coming around and Elladan saw the blood that trickled from a bad wound on his brother’s head. A burning rage was building inside the elf and now, seeing his brother like this, the disgust he felt for the foul creatures that held them captive grew until it rose up as biting words in his throat.

“Spawn of the decaying realm of Ulund,” he spat viciously in his own tongue, then turning to words they could understand. “You are in grave error if you believe us pliant to your whims!” In the elf’s eyes there burned a light that radiated from him, the faint glow he presented by the nature of his kind seemed grow until it blinded the orcs for a moment. Rogkhar growled and sharply cuffed Elladan across the face, jerking his head to the side. Within the orc kind there dwelt an unquenchable lust for blood and Elladan’s outburst seemed to only fuel their hunger.

“The captain said we must keep only one alive,” Rogkhar snickered to his fellows. "The other *we* may keep, eh lads?" After a moment of discussion disguised in a dark, poisoned tongue that left Elladan’s head ringing strangely, they moved up to the two prisoners.

“This one,” Rogkhar decided aloud, pointing one gnarled finger at Elrohir. The orcs moved on the instant to the younger elf removing his bonds and dragging him to the floor.

“No,” Elladan whispered, his eyes transfixed as his brother was pulled down onto his knees. He had felt sure that his rash words would bring their brutality upon himself.

Elrohir was still dazed and did not have a chance to see the blow coming until he was hit hard in the stomach, dropping him down onto his hands on the cruel stone floor. The elf gasped, trying to take in his breath, but before he could he was struck again in the same place, dropping him closer to the floor. Elrohir coughed and shuddered again as he tried to fill his lungs; Rogkhar moved close to him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head up and pulling him back to his knees. The orcs kicked him down again and twice more after this until Elrohir could barely breathe and had curled numbly in on himself. Rogkhar yanked him up to his knees by his hair again and sneered in the elf’s face.

Elladan felt his heart pounding hard in his ears. He remembered vividly. The fearful eyes, the tears, the pitiful screams, the deathly pale skin — his mother’s breath gasping into his shoulder as he carried her from the orc’s lair, their blood still staining his hands as he held her. It was these orcs, these fell beasts of the Misty Mountains, that had so broken his fair mother’s spirit until she had no will remaining to live in Middle Earth. After all her sons and husband had done, still it had caused her to pass to Undying Lands once and for all. Leaving them. It was like an ember awoken in Elladan’s heart. He could not, *could not* allow them to do this to Elrohir. But Elladan was also painfully aware that just like with his mother, there was nothing he could do.

Rogkhar studied Elrohir for a long time and the elf met his gaze squarely, refusing flinch away, though Elladan knew his brother could remember these orcs as well as he.

“You see this?” Rogkhar gestured with his free hand at Elrohir and grinned. “He is just like us only he is made all fair and fine, but it wouldn’t take a lot to make him *look* like us.”

Elladan tensed and for a moment met his brother’s gaze. Elrohir’s fear was masked behind a well built calm, but Elladan could see through it and he felt more helpless than ever.

“His hands are not like ours at all,” one orc sneered, gripping one of Elrohir’s fair hands in his own scarred, perverted hand and twisting it sharply, making Elrohir wince.

Rogkhar nodded to three of the orcs beside him. The three chosen knocked Elrohir to the ground, pulling his hands out in front of him, stretched across the floor. One orc placed his foot firmly on Elrohir’s back, pinning him, while another bound the elf’s hands together at the wrists..

Elladan felt his heart pound so hard he couldn’t think. Rogkhar hefted his knife stained black with orc blood, and when the blade fell to Elrohir’s hands Elladan knew he would not be able to bare it.

“No!” Elladan screamed suddenly. “Please no! Leave him alone!”

The orcs however were not listening, almost as if Elladan was not there or had not spoken, Rogkhar dropped his blade against Elrohir’s hand and cut a fine line across the back of the elf’s right hand. Expertly he traced it down to his wrists and dug it deeper, dragging it up once more. He began to make slashes in Elrohir’s palms and across his fingers, causing them to bleed freely and sting terribly. Elrohir kept as silent as he could and did not utter a word, but the gasps were not lost to Elladan’s ears and he closed his eyes trying desperately to suppress the pain in his heart.

When at last the orcs had finished with the elf’s hands they unbound them and surveyed their captive for new mischief.

“No scars on his back,” Rogkhar decided at last, placing one hand on Elrohir’s back and tracing imaginary lines across it. To this the orcs took immediately — beating a prisoner was like a beloved sport to them.

The orcs forced Elrohir’s head to the ground bending him over his knees, exposing his back to the hard lash that fell across it. Elladan flinched and clenched his fists hard above him. The lash fell again and again, digging deep lines that the orcs hoped would surely leave lasting marks. Elrohir began to make louder gasping sounds. Clutching his bloodied hands to his chest he whispered softly so that only Elladan could hear.

They were elvish phrases and Elrond recognized them as the words to a song that their mother had taught their sister Arwen so many years ago. Elladan tried to whisper the words, tried to calm himself, tried to breathe; but he felt his heart wrench at the harsh treatment he was forced to watch and instead he became desperate. Pulling at his bonds he tried to get closer to Elrohir — he had to stop his brother’s suffering, he could not fail his twin like this: he couldn’t leave him alone.

The orcs paid him no heed and the lash fell again and again drawing blood from Elrohir’s back and at last causing the elf to bite back cries he could not help.

“Stop!” Elladan cried clenching his fists and trying with all his might to break free. “Stop! Let him go! Please….” His begging dropped off, they refused to hear him, they were too overcome with their own cruel delight in hurting Elrohir, hurting him for no other reason than their own pleasure. Elladan closed his eyes wishing desperately that he could block out the cries as painful tears fell to stain his cheeks.

When at last they had completed their work with the whip they dragged Elrohir to his knees once again. He could barely keep upright and swayed uneasily under the pain. Mocking Elrohir cruelly, the orcs began to gouge blood from Elrohir’s wounds, stringing it through his dark hair and causing it to cluster in thick dirty strands, even as the orcs' foul manes hung. Elladan twisted his wrists in his bonds, drawing blood as the edges of the metal dug into his flesh, and clenched his teeth until it sent flashes of pain through his head.

Still no words would penetrate these cruel monsters and they continued to torment the younger elf in any way they could devise.

“His face is far to fair." One orc with flat eyes and a crooked mouth stepped near Elrohir and dragged his knife across Elrohir’s cheek, drawing blood at once. The elf cried out and it came as a sob. Elrohir was in severe pain — too much to hide it — and he was falling prey to their torment.

Elladan could bear it no longer, he did not care if it was hopeless, he would do all he could to draw their attention away from Elrohir.

The elf waited until one orc drew close enough and with a vicious kick he caught the creature in the back, throwing it forwards. Leaning as far forward as he could, Elladan kicked out again, catching the skull of another that bent low.

Rogkhar laughed scornfully at his efforts. “You think you can overcome us little elf?”

Elladan did not respond, he only retaliated, again striking his foot against one that drew too near. Now that he had their notice, he would try to keep it.

“You fear me then," he said as simply as he could around his burning throat. “You hurt the young and leave me here: you know you can never break me. I am too strong for you repulsive, pathetic spawn!”

Rogkhar grinned wickedly at that, “You are so sure we cannot break you elfling. I think you need a strong lesson in pain; be sure that you are listening when your screams fill this chamber.” Rogkhar motioned to the others who dragged Elrohir back to the wall and bound him against it once more. The younger elf slumped limply against the dark stone; Elladan could see that his brother was trembling from strain and fear. His filthy hair was plastered against his cheeks and above him his hands were badly cut and scored. It looked too familiar…far too familiar.

“Elladan,” Elrohir whispered with what little strength he had left, turning his pain glazed eyes up to meet his brother’s, “please…don’t….”

“Sh…” Elladan whispered gently as the orcs began to pull him down from his own manacles. “Do not worry for me Elrohir; do not give up hope. We will endure this; only remain strong.”

Neither could say any more, for now the orcs were pulling Elladan to the center of the chamber, jerking him roughly to his knees. Elladan heard the sound of a leather whip being shaken down and he closed his eyes.

This was his final thought before the lash fell.

Rain dripped off the large wooden gate and trickled through the high set gutters, splattering down onto the cobblestone streets. Above the sky was not clearing but it appeared to have had its fill of rain for a time and now it rested, leaving the clouds to drift ominously over the town —foreboding the further work of the elements.

Amongst the many occupants of the winding streets the two strangers walked, wending their way between penned animals — including the public stable that held their own mounts — and shops from which emanated an orange glow, signifying life within. The locals ignored both figures and dismissed them easily, though if they had not been wearing their hoods things might have been different.

One of the strangers spoke at last, not moving his gaze from the wet cobblestones before him lest he should stray into something foul on the less than savory streets, “Strider, are these frequent visits to all your favorite towns a trend contrived simply to impress me?”

“If I am to witness Mirkwood and all its glories my friend, I think it only fair that we in turn see such towns as this one,” the other replied dryly, knowing full well that whatever Mirkwood’s current shadows, there was truly no comparison between it and this town in this weather. Still, Aragorn could not help feeling greatly at home in such places, despite how much he disliked certain of them. “You will be pleased to know that, notwithstanding certain fools as Bill Ferney and the more vacuous sorts as Lindamar, this place is one of the less hostile and can in fact be friendly in its own way.” Aragorn’s following smile was enough to create a barely concealed grimace on his friend’s face. “Don’t worry about it, Legolas, just talk as little as you wish and I’ll handle it.”

To this the elf shook his head and dropped the subject.

“Where are we going?” Legolas looked around the slowly crowding street at the many buildings which lined it.

“The Prancing Pony,” Aragorn answered. “It’s just ahead.” He gestured vaguely towards the apparent end of the street, though Legolas could see a few alleys branching off it. At the place where Aragorn indicated, however, there stood a building. It seemed a good deal wider than the others and somehow better kept. Warm lights filtered from the windows onto the street illuminating a sign with a rearing pony embossed with metal and painted white. As they drew nearer Legolas could hear the pitches of many voices and an occasional burst of laughter or lines from a song.

The elf's overall impression was not made until he and Aragorn pushed inside the crowded inn, but even from the outside he could see why the Prancing Pony would be different from many of the towns he and his friend had been unfortunate enough to stray into.

The opening room of the inn was indeed very busy; men, halflings, and one that looked like a dwarf crowded around tables — now talking, now laughing loudly. A lot of attention was centered on a man about Aragorn’s age who was telling a lively story of some hunt; it was apparently fraught with alternating tension and humor and he was gathering more and more of an audience as the tale progressed. Legolas saw a stairway leading up to the inn’s rooms. It had close walls on either side and turned a corner up to the next floor. A black animal caught his eye and after a moment he recognized a cat which had draped itself over a partition between the room and the stairs. Its lamp-like eyes fixed on him briefly before turning to something more interesting.

Aragorn gave a short shake of the head and Legolas felt light splatters of rain strike his cheek; the ranger was still wet through from their journey to Bree, but it didn’t seem to bother him and already he was moving up to the counter just in front of the door. No one stood behind it, though frequent noises were coming from the kitchen area.

“Burgess!” Aragorn called in the direction of the door. There was a very long pause before the noises in the kitchen ceased and a large man came from the doorway. He was tall but stout at the same time and gave Legolas the impression of someone who had lived his entire life in only as much space as his inn afforded. The innkeeper seemed rather flustered and almost annoyed when he realized who he’d been called by — if such an emotion were possible on such a round, jovial face.

“Strider then,” Burgess Butterbur said by way of welcome. “You choose very poor times for me. The night’s been busy and excepting my own boy the help’s been as bad as spoiled eggs, if you take my meaning. Then there were the gents who gave me some mischief because they didn’t approve of one of my costumers; said he was speaking brashly and they didn’t take kindly to my ale, to which I can only avow that their taste must be very dull. It‘s been raining and that one gentleman complained about the floor, they don‘t understand it at all I tell you. The weather I can‘t help whatever else I may—”

“Burgess,” Aragorn cut in smoothly. “I need to ask you about a man I think may have come through town. If he was looking for supplies, he likely would have stayed here.”

“Then ask, though I don’t rightly know why you think I would know; I can’t be expected to remember every—”

“He was a tall man, dark haired, gray eyed, and like a soldier in build. He was no Breelander; I am guessing he haled from somewhere further north than here.” Aragorn waited patiently as Burgess pondered the description.

“Tall man you say?”

The ranger nodded and the Burgess squinted vaguely in Legolas' direction. Legolas caught Aragorn’s expression which had become somewhat fixed and the elf couldn’t help smiling.

“And he was foreign you say?” The man’s eyes continued to squint until he at last straightened a little. “Can’t say’s I remember any gentleman by that description. You remember his name by any chance?”

“No,” Aragorn replied simply.

“Well…” the bartenders face gave away that he was concentrating again and at last he turned to the Dúnadan again. “Did he have a horse at all?”

“I’m not sure.” Aragorn waited.

“Barli!” Burgess called suddenly back towards the kitchen. “Barli?”

A short figure, astonishingly similar to the innkeeper in build and expression, poked his head out from the kitchen door and called back loudly, “Wha', Dad?”

“Did we have a tall sort of foreign man in here at some time or another?”

“Might 'ave,” Barli replied, looking agitated. “What’s his name?”

“We don’t know that,” Burgess replied. “There was that fellow with the beard and his friend with that bad temper, and they were traveling north as I recall. Had a pretty feisty gray mare didn’t 'e?”

“Could 'ave been the one,” Barli shrugged before ducking back in the kitchen. Burgess turned back to the other two and for a moment seemed to be thinking on something else entirely.

“Eh…” he looked from one to the other. “Right, so will you be having the home brew or some of my fine ale?”

Aragorn gave the man a patient glare before turning to Legolas. “You go sit down somewhere out of the way. I’ll talk to him and see if I can figure anything out.” Legolas gave a short nod and moved away before his expression could betray him.

Leaving Aragorn to rifle the needed information from Burgess Butterbur’s cluttered brain, the elf moved to sit at an empty table close to the wall and surveyed the bar with an apparent disinterest.

The hunter's long tale was still on and a few more had joined the audience; the cat, bored of its perch on the partition, had contented itself with rubbing against table legs — all the while emitting a thick purring. There were other patrons scattered about in twos and threes at other tables but no one seemed stand out much as a threat.

Then Legolas finally caught sight of one table that grabbed his interest. There were only two figures sitting at this table, which was only a few feet away from him. One, the one facing him, was a woman in her elder years. Her hair was graying from its previous auburn hues and her eyes were a pale green that seemed almost faded. She was clothed simply, wrapped also in a thin purple shawl, and holding a mug before her with both hands while listening with simple interest to the hunting story.

It was the man beside her, however, on whom Legolas fixed his attention. This man was close to the woman in age, but there was something altogether different about his appearance. His hair was very gray, almost prematurely so; his hands also held a mug, but the bent fingers clutched it so tightly Legolas wondered if the beaker would shatter in a moment. The man’s clothing was drab as though he always wore it and his boots seemed to be splitting on his feet. His face was gaunt and drawn, the skin seeming to cling to the skull and giving the man even more the appearance of being held up by constant tension and nothing else. But it was his eyes that truly drew one's attention. They were both wild and wide, sunken slightly, and their green tones seemed to seep into darker hues with each breath he took. And though occasionally the eyes would dart edgily to the side, they were almost completely riveted on one thing.

Legolas followed the man’s glance and felt his heart skip a beat when he realized what the man was staring at. It was Aragorn.

Why would he be watching Aragorn? Legolas turned his attention on his friend, who had resorted to very clipped requests to the bartender.

A light tap came on the elf's shoulder and he turned sharply, startled suddenly out of his thoughts. Almost immediately he relaxed; it was only a halfling. Having gotten Legolas' attention, the hobbit seated himself at the elf's table and gestured cautiously towards Aragorn.

“You ought to be careful, sir: takin' up with them rangers,” he whispered confidentially. “Dangerous folk.”

Legolas stifled any desire to laugh, memories of the ranger in question tumbling out of the sky on his head flickering across his mind. He gave a short nod. “Thank you. I shall keep that in mind.”

The hobbit returned the nod, his pleasant face solemn, and cast a suspicious look at Aragorn — then he quickly rose and moved away as Aragorn turned from the bar.

Watching the hobbit go Aragorn raised his eyebrows at Legolas, but he just shook his head. The ranger seemed to sigh and started towards his friend again, lifting his hands in a sign of helplessness as he jerked a glance back at Butterbur. The flickering torchlight caught on the human’s finger the Ring of Barahir, causing the ring to gleam with verdant fire.

Aragorn was unaware of the attack until it was upon him.

Without warning the old man leapt up from the table just in front of him. A terrified snarl was heard before Aragorn felt a hand clamp down hard on his wrist, twisting it sharply. Aragorn looked up into a pair of crazed green eyes before the man jerked him around, pinning him against his chest. He was aware of Legolas calling his name, but that was all he could distinguish between the throaty snarls until he thought he heard a scream. Again he was quickly distracted by the threat around him as the man who held him suddenly jerked his hand up so that the ring on his finger again caught the light.

The man shrieked and almost immediately there was knife in the hand that held Aragorn against him. The ranger tried desperately to struggle away as the man brought the knife down towards the his index finger, his intention clear.

Then, at the same moment, Legolas and the woman were upon the man. Legolas grabbed the hand that held the knife and twisted it, causing the man to drop the blade to the floor, and the woman grabbed the man’s other arm.

“Raane! Raane!” she cried urgently, jerking on the man’s arm. “Let him go Raane!”

With a pitiful cry the man released Aragorn and turned to the woman. “He doesn’t know! He doesn’t know what it will do to him!” he whimpered. Aragorn stumbled forward into Legolas who steadied his friend, looking the man over concernedly.

“Are you all right?” Legolas queried. Aragorn gave a short nod as he tried to gain his breath again, his eyes never leaving the man and woman.

After a moment the woman left the man at the table and came over to them, tears standing in her eyes as she looked fearfully from one to the other.

“I am so deeply sorry sirs! He did not know what he was doing! He has fits sometimes, I never let him out alone… I don’t know where he got the knife! I would never let him have a knife! I promise he didn’t mean it!” Her gaze settled on Aragorn and her eyes were begging, “Please…please don’t—”

“No, all is well,” Aragorn assured her, placing his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her. “No harm has been done.”

“I'll remove him at once,” the woman continued, trembling. She moved quickly over to the man who was staring blankly at the wall. “Come Raane,” she murmured, taking hold of his arm and pulling it gently. The man flinched away and shook his head. “Come Raane!” she said a little louder, but the man refused to come.

“Let us help you,” Aragorn came to stand beside her as she rose.

She looked up at him then nodded miserably. “Thank you, sir.”

Aragorn smiled and pulled Barahir from his finger, gently concealing the ring in his coat pocket before he came to stand next to the man. Aragorn knew that Legolas was at his elbow and when he and the woman had helped Raane to his feet Legolas was ready to clear a way to the door. Aragorn was aware of every person’s eyes on them, but he ignored that and helped the man out the door, Legolas shutting it behind them.

“Where do you live?” Aragorn asked gently.

The woman, obviously relieved to be out of the Prancing Pony, gestured up one of the alleys that branched off the main road. Both followed her lead down the darkened road and soon reached a dimly lit home in a chain of such houses. The woman opened the door to admit them and allowed the man to stumble into a chair near the fire. He stared into it intently and did not face them.

The woman was still trembling, but seemed to recover slowly. “I thank you so much sirs for your help and I am so deeply sorry for my brother’s behavior.”

Aragorn felt pressed to leave, but somehow he felt he shouldn’t — not just yet anyway. “I am called Strider, my friend is Legolas.” Legolas had let his hood drop so that his golden hair was plain to be seen and he smiled at the woman, taking her hand and clasping it kindly. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at the elf, but she seemed too surprised to comment.

“I—I am Helin,” she introduced herself with a slight curtsy to the friends. “This is my brother Raane.” She gestured to the man seated by the fire, who was now rocking back and forth and humming something softly to himself. “He isn’t always like this,” she tried to explain embarrassedly. “Sometimes he’s quite himself, but things upset him and he tends to ramble and—and…” She trailed of again and after a moment she gestured into the living space, “May I offer you something to drink?” Aragorn would have refused, but he sensed that Helin could use something to keep her hands busy so he nodded.

“Thank you, we would appreciate that.” He nodded to Legolas and the elf seated himself in one of the chairs; Aragorn sat beside him, close to Raane. Helin moved quickly to the kitchen and very soon returned with mugs of a sweet tea.

When they were all seated in the quiet Aragorn asked, “Has he always been this way, Helin?”

Helin shook her head and the ranger saw the most incredible sadness coming over her face as she looked at her brother. “No… not always,” she whispered softly. “Once he was so much more… alive. He always was there for me… I suppose this is how I repay him for that. There's no one as can do anything for him; it’s as though he is lost and they don't know where to look for him, even when he sits right there in front of them.”

“I don’t want you to speak of what pains you, Helin,” Aragorn murmured.

“It does not pain me so much any more,” Helin shook her head, turning away and adding randomly, “If he had never gone off with Qualin this would not have happened.” She then seemed to draw within herself and was frowning at the burning fire, holding the warm tea rather tightly in her hands. “I thought Qualin had more sense than that, but then I thought that of Raane as well.”

Something was tugging at Aragorn’s mind; he didn’t know what, but somehow the things she were saying seemed to be important to him. “Qualin?” he queried.

“Yes,” she gave a short nod. “Raane and I had only just arrived in Bree — Raane was a tanner —when Qualin came to him, speaking of some ‘grand opportunity’ something that they couldn’t pass up. Raane went with him and bless me if I know why now, I encouraged him. Just a short trip north and we'd have money enough for a decent house.” Helin shook her head, moving slowly to the fire and throwing another log rather forcefully into the flame, sending sparks up that glinted in Raane’s eyes. “Some time after he left there was a storm — the worst storm we’d ever had.” She shook her head, becoming distant again. “I remember worrying about him in that storm…to think how much more I would soon have to worry about.”

At the words of the storm, Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a glance. It was becoming clear to both of them that they had stumbled across something that very likely dealt with the mystery they were trying to solve.

“Then he returned,” Aragorn prompted softly, bringing Helin back to the present once more.

“Yes he did,” she nodded. “Alone. Without Qualin. And he was mad. He screamed and wailed about ghosts of the dead and a book, an archway, a dark hole, and again and again he repeated this one word I could not understand.” She frowned at the floor, it seemed as though she had never before told anyone her story and now it spilled from her like some dam had been broken. “Strange word,” she whispered trying to remember. “'Twas something like New, or Nua--”

“Nwelmai!” Raane shrieked suddenly. Whirling on the three of them, his eyes large and his hands clutching tightly to the chair’s back until his knuckles were white. “Nwelmai! They will come! They will come! They will kill the last…. last… Isil… Isild-duh,” he trailed into a whisper, sinking back into his chair. Turning his sunken eyes to Aragorn he seemed to remember the man. “Do not put it on. It will kill you! It will drain your life like sap from a tree, it will drain your life into shadow, it will show you darkness…. shadow…. it will show you blood!”

Aragorn felt his heart suddenly beating fast and he stared transfixed at the man before him.

“Don’t ever put it on! Save yourself from the shadow and … and Nwalme!”

“I will not put it on,” Aragorn promised suddenly, not entirely sure what he was promising, but trying to calm the man. Legolas and Helin remained wisely silent, watching the two and not daring to speak.

At Aragorn’s words Raane relaxed and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. Aragorn was suddenly afraid that the man was dead as all the blood seemed to have drained from his face, but with a sharp breath the man woke again and turned his eyes to Aragorn. His expression almost normal, he seemed himself for a moment as he stared at Aragorn.

“You want to know what happened….don’t you?”

Aragorn nodded imperceptibly.

Raane straightened and fixed his eyes on the ranger and Aragorn did not shy away, though he felt uncomfortable under the powerful gaze. “We left, Qualin and I,” Raane began softly, as though he was recalling a dream. “We were told to do it, told to release them, to kill a little boy.” Legolas looked up at Aragorn. The man did not look back. “Money was the promise…. so much money. So much opportunity…” Raane’s eyes suddenly hardened. “So much folly.”

For a long time he did not speak, the hiss of the fire was all that could be heard and this eerily loud in Aragorn’s ears.

“Such a fool,” Raane whispered. He looked directly into Aragorn’s face and reached out, touching the man’s hand where the ring of Barahir had been. “Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, I put it on, and then they came. Nwelmai. They came from the hole and they were upon us. But we stopped it!” he cried suddenly, jerking away from Aragorn. “And they were trapped! Yes and we took it! Took the book! The book. No one can find it without the book… We ran away then. We took it with us. Over hills, through fields, through trees…through fog.” His voice seemed to choke off in the last words and he sank back into his chair. “Then we were lost. Lost in the fog. Lost.” Raane trailed off once more and Aragorn suddenly saw tears shining in the man’s eyes. At last Raane turned his gaze away. “They took us down into the fog, under the archway in the hills. Their dead souls alive and screaming, and singing, chanting our requiem in our ears…Wights. Living in the barrows; so much treasure, so much laid waste. I ran…. yes ran. Qualin didn’t run. The book didn’t—” Raane broke off and for a last moment he turned his haunted face back to Aragorn. “I can still hear his screaming.”

Then Raane spoke no more.

Aragorn started slightly as Legolas laid a hand on his shoulder. The human turned his eyes up to his friend's and searched them for a moment. Then, giving a short nod, he rose and turned to Helin.

“I am sorry if we have disturbed you and brought unrest to your brother, Helin,” the ranger spoke with more calm than he felt.

Helin, who had been staring fixedly at Raane, turned back to Aragorn and stood quickly, shaking her head. “N-No, I am sorry you were forced to witness him in such a state… I thought he would never have such a moment again.” She turned her gaze back to her brother for only a moment before smiling at them weakly and following them to the door.

Before Legolas and Aragorn turned away from the dwelling Aragorn took one of Helin’s hands in his own and looked her steadily in the eyes.

“I sincerely hope that you and Raane will be relieved of your suffering. I know not what evil may have possessed him, but I do know that it has robbed both of you of something dear, and for that I can only give my deepest regret.” Aragorn could think of no more to say but already the woman's pale green eyes glimmered with tears.

“I thank you sir.” Helin smiled at last and when he released her hand she closed the door on the hurting home, leaving the two friends in the shadows of growing night.

Aragorn turned at last away from the door. Legolas could see that his friend was distressed by the encounter and wished dearly that he could offer some manner of support. To admit the truth, the ordeal had unsettled him as well and it left him strangely drained as though he had just battled a servant of the shadow all alone. He knew Aragorn must be feeling the same way and likely more so.

Legolas decided to let his friend speak first and not to rush anything as they moved back down the streets of Bree.

“He has been to the tower we seek, I doubt that not in the least now,” Aragorn said at last, and Legolas who nodded in agreement.

“Yes, and has seen the Nwelmai. Most certainly he and Qualin were the ones who tried to release them when you were young.”

“It appears that way.” Aragorn went strangely quiet again for a long time before speaking again. “Elladan and Elrohir are in that tower,” he whispered, stopping in his tracks and not meeting Legolas’ gaze. “Who can know what vile shadows brought Raane to this state?”

Legolas reached out and touched his friend gently on arm, bringing the words to a halt. He waited until Aragorn looked up at him. “Estel, there are many things still a mystery right now, but from what I can see Raane became this way because he tried to wield a power too great for him and failed. Your brothers are strong, they will resist such evil with all their might. And be assured: they will conquer it. We can do naught by continuing to worry for their safety; all we can do now is continue on our way and never stop searching until we find them.”

Aragorn nodded and shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in the damp night air deeply. When they were opened again Legolas could see a calm had come over his friend once more and he smiled.

“Thank you Legolas, mellon nin,” Aragorn gripped Legolas’ forearm and he shook his head. “Ilúvatar only knows what I would do without you.”

The elf smiled back before they both returned once more to their path, heading now determinedly towards the gate by way of a long ally.

“Where will we go next?” Legolas queried, catching his friend’s suppressed sigh as the rain began to fall once more.

“That is one question I can easily answer,” Aragorn replied, bringing his hood back up over his head. “Raane spoke again of that book, which now seems to be the possible answer to this mystery. I believe that whatever that book contains must be important to us, though whether that belief is the result of foresight or mere conjecture, I do not know.”

“But where do we search for it?” Legolas questioned. “I understood that Raane and his companion removed it from the tower, but it could be anywhere.”

“No,” Aragorn shook his head. “Not anywhere. Raane also spoke of dead souls, the Wights, the barrows, and an archway. We must travel to the Barrow Downs to seek out the book.”

Legolas did not recognize the name but he could easily catch the grim tone in the ranger’s voice. “The Barrow Downs?” he frowned

“The tombs of Numenoreans. The dead buried there were brought to life by the vile specters of Angmar after its fall. They live beneath downs where their treasure is hoarded, and woe to the man who falls prey to them. Few ever return once they are taken down by the wights.”

Legolas felt as though a long shadow had fallen across both of them and he let out a long breath before speaking, “Why, my friend, must we always traverse the most dangerous of roads, taking always the path which is the most crooked and uncertain?”

Aragorn laughed mirthlessly at that, “I assume it is because we both of us strive for too much adventure.”

Legolas rolled his eyes, “I ceased striving for such things quite some time ago; danger always seems to come to me.”

“Indeed,” Aragorn nodded, “it is a great fool who seeks out trouble in dangerous places…don’t you agree?”

Legolas thought for a moment that Aragorn was talking to him, but a second later the ranger made a complete about-face and Legolas heard a startled cry. Turning he found his friend holding a small boy by the wrists. One of the boy’s hands was halfway into Aragorn’s coat pocket, but it was quickly jerked out as the child looked up at the man who held him.

Sodden by rain with brilliant eyes just barely gleaming beneath his hood, Aragorn's tall and powerful form was quite menacing. The boy, who was a good deal smaller with wide brown eyes and a shock of auburn hair, seemed to shrink and cower before the ranger.

“You are likely to find you are better received by strangers when you do not try to pick their pockets,” Aragorn's voice was quiet and firm. Almost immediately the boy began to stammer his apology, letting the words tumble over one another.

“I—I’m sorry sir, I didn’ mean to… I can’t… I don’t have no food is all and I… don' hurt me! I-I never meant…. Please, I’m sorry, sir! Truly sorry!”

Legolas glanced from one to the other and hid a smile as his friend bent to the boy’s level and met him right in the eye, stilling the torrent of words. “If you had wanted something from me, you had only to ask me.”

The child gave a slow nod and when Aragorn still did not release him he stuttered timidly, “Please…d'you have any- anything you could spare me?” Aragorn’s demeanor instantly changed and he at last released the boy’s wrists and took out several coins, handing them to the boy. The child immediately disappeared, not waiting one moment longer than he had to. Aragorn turned a glance to Legolas who was no longer hiding his laughter.

“You really have a unique way with children, Strider.”

Aragorn shook his head, glancing in the direction the boy had fled, “I very much doubt he will try such a thing again.”

“As do I,” Legolas agreed wryly as the two left Bree by way of the gate. “Of course he may never approach a stranger again at all, even for a pleasant exchange of greetings,” he added.

“There are times when having a commanding manner can be helpful,” Aragorn defended himself with a smile. “Even if the chance does not come about often for a ranger.”

“No, I entirely agree with that," Legolas took a step took to the side. “But it really is no wonder halflings find you so daunting.”

Aragorn gave his friend a tolerant glare and feigned a step in the elf’s direction before laughing and shaking his head as the rain began to gain force. Legolas joined him back on the path and the two friends continued on their chosen road, to they could only guess what dangers.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The Greenway carried its name well in the wetness; the damp grass that had begun to take over the old road rippled slightly in the fitful breeze. The horses moved at a steady gait, ignoring both the rain and the mud that it was creating.

"Well, my friend," Legolas said lightly, readjusting his hood so that the water ran down the back of his cloak instead of into his eyes, "I have come to a favorable conclusion concerning the Dúnedain."

Aragorn said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows.

"Your near constant state of disarray is largely the fault of this damp country of yours."

"How magnanimous," Aragorn nodded gravely. "'Largely', you say? What about the smaller portion of our slovenliness?"

"That, I fear, is due to your species," Legolas teased with equal gravity, shaking his head mournfully. "Men simply attract dirt."

"How helpful," this time the human rolled his eyes to hide a sneaking smile. "Have you any more gems of elven wisdom to pass on, or shall I take this opportunity to explain that such rain as we have had over these past weeks is unusual in these parts?"

"Branch, Strider," the elf replied, and it took Aragorn a split second to realize that his friend was referring to the trees they were now passing through. Turning forward, he just had time to duck a low hanging pine bough before it swept him from his saddle.

"You don't need any more mud on you," Legolas shook his head in an unconscious imitation of Celboril.

"My thanks," the ranger chuckled, "your concern is dear to me. I defy Lindamar to provide such solicitude! There ahead: we are nearing the downs."

Legolas peered ahead, distracted again from the strange name, his vision obscured by the fog that was beginning to roll in with the breeze. It tore as it passed between the trees, rippling by in tatters before melding again into a white whole. The horse nickered briefly, shifting its feet in the unsubstantial quagmire that had wafted around its fetlocks.

Slowly the Barrow Downs melted away by shades, each breath of mist taking away another layer of depth, and the air now grew almost painfully still with the last gusts of wind doing little but swirling the fog about. All hopes that this was a passing condition vanished along with the rolling shapes of the downs themselves.

"And what now are the chances of us seeing that archway of Raane's?" Legolas sighed.

Aragorn's eyes grew gray as the fog about him, a sign he was deep in thought. He shook himself slightly, feeling the damp seep through his cloak. "I ought to have worn my overcoat instead," he noted absently.

The elf's eyebrows arched as he shot a glance over his shoulder at his friend, but he refrained from any teasing comments. The time for jesting had come to an end as swiftly as the mist had wrapped about them.

"We cannot wait," the ranger decided at last. "We will angle towards the north; that is where he and his friend must have entered the downs if they were trying to return home. Besides, I have seen monuments of the sort he described: they are large and easily seen."

"Nothing will be easily seen out there today," Legolas demurred, but started his horse forward readily, keeping the tail of Aragorn's mount in view ahead of him to prevent them being separated.

It was easy to lose track of time on the downs. Very soon it was only the horses' unwavering sense of direction that connected them to the rest of the world. Behind them somewhere must lie the town of Bree: Helin would be cooking either the noon or the evening meal for her brother and perhaps wondering what had become of the odd strangers she had met earlier in the day; a distance ahead of them, if Legolas had understood correctly, lay the Old Forest. But in both directions neither sight nor sign of either place could be detected. Whiteness, muffling like damp wool, enveloped them. Sometimes a window of empty space would open for a moment, revealing yet another stretch of grass, or the rise of one of the barrows to their left or right. Once a single pillar, like a warning finger, rose suddenly before them, but Aragorn took one look and guided his horse wide around it.

Legolas' own steed, borrowed from the Dúnedain, seemed little concerned by the mist itself and kept a straight course, only showing signs of nervousness when they passed too close to a barrow. Perhaps it was the anxiety of the animal, or the last vestiges of weariness from his encounter with Raane, but the elf found himself imagining figures standing just beyond his vision. Once he brought his horse to a halt and turned quickly in his saddle, feeling sure he had seen someone out of the corner of his eye, but it was only the distant outline of another stone monument — and it was half a dozen stones standing in a ring, not the archway that they sought. Turning forward again, he had been startled for a moment to catch no sight of his friend, but when he urged his mount suddenly forward, Aragorn's back once more materialized before him.

Aragorn himself was dangerously mired in his own thoughts. Again and again he roused himself, knowing the danger of loosing track of his surroundings, but it was difficult to stay alert when there was nothing to be vigilant towards. Nothing, that is, except an occasional monument. These he had seen up close only a few times before and always in the daylight. The rangers did not often linger at the burial places of their ancestors.

Conversation was impossible between the two companions. There was a vague fear between them that they might be incapable of speech in this place, even should they need to warn of some impending danger or call for help.

Then, at the moment when Aragorn began to feel sure they would soon come to the end of the downs having found nothing, Legolas gave a soft cry and pointed. To their left, through a rift in the fog, a tall, black archway could be seen: a door from nothing onto nothing. As before the horses began to nicker softly with nervousness and the elf and ranger dismounted, each whispering to their steeds to wait. The Dúnedain, like the elves of whom they had learned much, had trained their horses to serve them well and the animals remained at the base of the mound.

Climbing up the sloping sides of the barrow, Legolas slid out his knives carefully and glanced about, wondering if the view would be clearer when they were higher up. It was not. The top of the barrow was wide and flat, punctuated only by the archway at the center. Aragorn moved slowly towards it, checking about in the grass for some sign of previous disturbance.

Behind him Legolas could hear the horses shifting in agitation. Once a short whinny began and then was stifled into a low snuffling sound as the animal responsible chewed at its bit. The elf's head moved quickly from side to side, his knives still at the ready, trying to be sure nothing came upon them while Aragorn was distracted with his searching. A heavy blackness seemed close about him, partly physical and partly… He started, turning completely around in response to a half-perceived movement behind him. Nothing. //Do I now fear ghosts?// he wondered in annoyance with himself. And yet Aragorn had not spoken of ghosts, but of other far fouler things living amongst these old tombs.

Turning back to follow his friend, Legolas felt a hand like ice close round his throat and darkness fell.

Aragorn approached the archway warily, gazing up the dark, stone pillars and over the crosspiece above him. There was no sign of anyone having been there before him. Smooth grass stood pale and wet beneath the mist. Had he truly expected the book to be lying upon the ground expecting him? He sighed, resting a hand upon lintel of the strange doorway.

"Legolas," he turned about to the dim figure of his friend behind him, "I've been a fool."

The figure let out a hissing sound, as if its foot had been trodden upon, and replied softly, "Yes, you have."

Aragorn's hand flew to his sword, but then he was caught from behind by grasping hands and felt the world dissolving about him. Distantly there came the sounds of the horses whinnying in terror, and then hooves pounding the turf as they fled. //Where is Legolas?// he wondered frantically, and then knew no more.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Cold. Cold was the first sensation. But it was cold as he had never experienced… it went deep and nestled within his heart. //Where am I?//

His eyes opened with painful slowness, as if they were weighted by lead or ice. Faintly he blinked, trying to clear his mind, but there was a haze there. Who was he? *Strider, because of his haughty gait…* Legolas! The person speaking was Legolas! But there was no one speaking; it was only a memory. His hand shifted upon his breast and he wondered when he had laid it there. Aragorn. He was Aragorn. And where then was Legolas?

It was green all about him, he now realized. Green like poison, and the air was stale as if no living thing had ever breathed it. Still, beside him, he felt another's presence. Shifting his head, he began to discern shapes out of the greenness: a familiar face was lying close to his own, its eyes closed and its lips sealed in a distant expression. Legolas. The elf was wearing white robes down to his feet and his hands rested as did Aragorn's upon his breast, crossed one over the other. The ranger too was wearing clothing not his own, and though weapons hung upon the walls, his own sword was not among them. About both companions lay in shadowed piles the riches that had been buried within the tomb, but no sight of the body that ought to have been resting there.

As if his surroundings were only coming in slow stages, Aragorn now began to hear a voice speaking above him: a low hissing voice that he could remember having spoken only once.

From the shadows to their right a stooping figure could only faintly be seen, standing just beyond the sickly light, stooping to lift a long sword from the ground. Aragorn's heart began to beat suddenly faster, warming his chilled body and sending feeling to his limbs. It was a barrow wight! Foolish indeed he had been to linger even for a few moments upon the height of the barrow in so thick a fog! And what of his friend? Had the incantation frozen him beyond waking?

While the wight was still stooped, muttering ever more quickly the words that would imprison the human and the elf forever, Aragorn rolled slowly onto his side. Bending his knees under him, he stood suddenly upright, fighting the dizziness that rocked his vision. The wight seemed to look up, if indeed it had eyes that could see, and then there came a piercing whistle, like the last syllables of a scream pitched too high for human ears. The sword in the evil creature's hands came up and into the light, the green cast lending a horrible luminescence to the chalk white fingers as they gripped the hilt. There was a rushing as the thing came at its prey, and Aragorn grasped desperately for one of the swords along the wall, spinning about to parry the first blow awkwardly with one hand.

"Legolas!" he cried, readjusting his grip and falling back before the inhuman blows that seemed to shiver his arm to the marrow. "Legolas, I need you!"

"You cannot wake him," the wight hissed. "You are ours; this is your dwelling now."

"No!" Aragorn swung forward in a sharp attack, stumbling over mounds of treasure when the wight fell back into the blackest of the shadows. "Legolas Greenleaf! Return and forsake the shadows! Awake!"

A whispery voice, echoing as if from another part of the barrow, seemed to drown out his call, throwing his words back at him, "Come, you are wanted: first born of the wood. Come. Come down with us." Then higher the voice cried, "Slay him!"

The first wight snaked forward, still invisible except for when its hand or booted foot appeared out of the shadows. Even as Aragorn braced himself to meet it, he felt a blast as of an icy wind and stumbled, tripping upon the hem of the robe he wore. Sliding upon the piles of ancient gold, the human fell back and cried out as a protruding piece of armor caught him in a sharp cut between his shoulder blades. The wight took swift advantage of its prey's position of weakness. With another strange cry, this time of triumph, the sword descended towards Aragorn's chest — and then the ranger brought up his own weapon. The two blades met and held in an 'x' of steel above him, but the wight, instead of pulling its weapon back for a second blow, moved to press the two blades home. Aragorn's wrists began to tremble under the strain and he heard the faint scratching sounds as the blades shifted against one another under the pressure.

"Legolas," the ranger whispered hoarsely. "Help."

There was a flash of steel so close to his face that for a moment he thought the wight had pulled out a dagger and stabbed him, but he felt no pain… and then there was a high shattering as of heated glass. The new blade exploded into shimmering sparks and the wight screamed in a long, spine-chilling wail that quaked the barrow to its earthen foundations. The wight's sword seemed to have been suddenly released for it clattered to the floor, nearly causing Aragorn to drop his own blade at the released tension. There was the soft impact of something falling upon his chest and he looked to see what it might have been — only to start back in revulsion. The thing fell to the floor, long and wriggling still. Pale, it twitched upon the sickly gold beside where its mate had also fallen: the wight's two severed hands.

"Aragorn!" an anxious voice cried sharply and the human looked up to find his friend crouching now beside him.

"Legolas! You are all right!" the ranger gasped in relief, gripping the elf's forearm and getting quickly to his feet.

"I am now, or will be. I heard your voice, but did not recognize it at first. How do we get away from this place?"

Looking around swiftly to get his bearings, the human looked also to see what had become of the wight, but it seemed to have vanished and then he glimpsed a darker shade of black amongst the shadows on his left: the opening of a passageway. "They must have a route to the surface, else they could not have brought us down here. Come, this seems the only way in." Tossing a fresh sword to his friend, Aragorn started across the chamber casting only one warning back over his shoulder, "Be wary; there is another in here somewhere."

Behind them the strange green light was fading slightly and ahead the tunnel was dark as a starless night. Fearing to come upon the enemy suddenly, Aragorn moved with painful slowness, straining to see ahead. The light that normally glowed around Legolas seemed stifled somehow. An eerie silence had replaced the strange cries and chantings of only a little while ago. Abruptly, the hand Aragorn had been sliding along the wall to guide him dropped into open space. For a moment he groped, fearing an attack if it turned out they had come upon another chamber like the one they had left — but the air was not moving in the right way for that to be the answer.

"Legolas, place your hand on my back. We've come to a fork in the tunnel and we cannot afford to lose each other."

With reassuring quickness, Aragorn felt the light touch of the elf's hand upon his shoulder and he started to the right, hoping he was not merely imagining the faint sense of clean air.

On they walked, their nerves becoming nearly raw with the strain of listening for danger and hearing nothing. The tunnel divided again a short while later and again they took the right fork. The strange network of passageways seemed to extend further out than did the barrow itself. Still there was no breath of movement, either ahead or behind them. Almost Aragorn dared to hope that the wights would let them leave unhindered.

Even Legolas was ignorant of its presence when it attacked.

The touch on Aragorn's shoulder was suddenly gone. His friend gave a startled cry, grappling in the dark with an invisible assailant. An angry scream and the clash sounded of a steel blade scraping on rock, but then came a chocking sound as if the wight had caught Legolas around the neck and was pulling him down.

Fearing to strike his friend by mistake, Aragorn could only hold his sword in one hand while he felt blindly behind him, trying to find the elf by touch and pull him to safety. Once his hand brushed something like flesh, but it was clammy and he recoiled as a wave of terror seemed to wash over him from the very touch.

"Legolas?" he cried desperately, as suddenly there was a sound of flesh striking stone and the choking ceased. "Legolas!"

A chilling hiss sounded only inches away from his ear and he swung to away from it, nearly colliding with the tunnel wall. There were fingers grabbing at his sleeve — the hiss sounded again, this time right before his face — he swung his blade reflexively upward. There was a shattering, familiar to him now, as his blade burst asunder. A final scream threatened to throw him off his feet and then, somehow, he knew it had gone. Falling to his hands and knees, ignoring the stinging pain when he cut his palms on the shards of steel, he groped along the ground until he encountered the elf's hand. The elf was still breathing but in an unnatural, rasping fashion. Trying to be gentle in spite of the need for haste Aragorn lifted his friend half way onto his lap, wishing he had water with him.

After only a few minutes, though it seemed much longer to the ranger, Legolas coughed hard and stiffened into a sitting position, reaching to his back for the knives that weren't there.

"Easy, my friend," Aragorn cautioned, helping the elf onto his feet and continuing hurriedly, "we cannot remain here. I know not how many more there may be in this place."

This time they set off down the tunnel more quickly, following the scent of air. When Aragorn began to see the faint tinges of green again he at first mistook them for an hallucination and then grew wary. There was another chamber between them and the outside world. A nudge at his back and Legolas pressed the hilt of his sword into the human's hand.

"You know better how to use it than I."

Slowing again, they crept up to the end of the tunnel and peered out with eyes that blinked, even though the light was but hazy. It was a round chamber not unlike the first they had entered, but though the last had been unoccupied save for themselves and the gold, this one held several figures. None were wights, but there was a stark grimness to the scene even if it did not endanger them. In a row around one side of the room there lay several men, clothed as the two companions were in white and girt with swords and gems, but dead as the air around them. Towards the end was one figure that may have been either a child or a halfling, but neither Aragorn nor Legolas wished to approach nearer and discover which.

Sensing Aragorn growing stiff at the spectacle before him, Legolas gave the human a slight push, stooping only to lift a dagger from the mound of gold nearest him. "Quickly, my friend! The passage leads out the other side of the room!"

Shuddering, Aragorn shook himself and nodded, averting his eyes as he moved quickly around the other side of the chamber. He was walking in the shadows rather than in the strange green light, trying to stay far away from the bewitched corpses, when suddenly he stumbled over something in his path. For a moment he thought it to be a piece of armor, but then started as he recognized it for what it was. A skeleton sat huddled in the corner, its stiff hands clasped over the back of its head as though protecting itself from a final blast of sorcery.

"Aragorn," Legolas whispered, the word trailing off as he pointed.

Sheltered in the skeleton's lap there was a black book.

The faint patting of dew slid from the leaves and down the back of Bartho's tunic. Reaching back he pulled his hood up. He had been awake nearly all night, but amidst the many lines on his weathered face his steady dark eyes betrayed only slight weariness. In the distance faint sounds came of the farms around Bree waking up; the occasional bark of a dog or neigh of a horse. Beside the Dúnadan something stirred, but he did not turn his head.

"Bartho?" a voice asked, hoarse from sleep.

"Aye?"

"Why did you not wake me for my watch?" the voice this time held a frown.

"There is rain on the air," Bartho replied evenly, cocking an eye towards the dark clouds.

Halbarad frowned and glanced about for a third companion who seemed to be absent. "What has that to do with my question?"

"Did I say it was related?"

Halbarad stared. Faintly, at the corners of his mouth, a smile appeared and he shook his head. "In other words you do not intend to answer me. Very well, if it is so important you may keep your secrets."

"Thank you," Bartho grunted.

"Where is Erynbenn?"

"He set off nearly an hour ago, if I read his trail aright. Your lessons in stealth were learned well."

There was surprised silence until Halbarad began to gather his gear, "We'd best be off after him."

"Perhaps." Bartho rose, but seemed almost reluctant to leave.

"You're a riddle at times, my friend," Halbarad sighed. "I cannot understand why you would let the lad run off like that."

"He's not made of glass, Halbarad."

"No, but neither is he made of granite. Quite aside from what I would feel if Erynbenn himself came to harm, I do not know if I could relay the news to Aragorn. You should have kept him here." Halbarad took a close look at the ground, checking for the young Dúnadan's trail, and started off into the trees with Bartho at his heels.

After a long silence, Halbarad sighed and slowed to a halt, turning to face the man behind him. "Will you forgive me? I did not mean to disparage you."

"There's nothing to forgive," the other reassured him briefly, shrugging. "You all worry like hens over that boy."

"You don't?" Halbarad retorted, moving on again and quickening his pace.

"No. If something is to happen, it will happen. Worry brings neither aid, provision, nor peace. It only drains you."

"I feel drained dry already, though I would never say so before the others. Somehow it is even more unnerving seeing nothing of these Nwelmai than it was when we saw them every night. Always we wonder: where have they gone and why? Last night was the first sleep I've had in nearly a week."

Bartho nodded without speaking.

"It almost seems," Halbarad mused softly, "that they really are trying to trap us. They are fouler than any beast we have so far met; why might they not also be more intelligent? And if a trap has been set, how long before we trip it?" He sighed, a faint exhale in the cool air. "Our existence here is being tested. If we weather the storm then perhaps Aragorn may one day indeed be king over his ancestor's lands and we will serve him as true soldiers, not merely woodsmen. If we do not… I fear for this land. There is no one else who will take our place." The Dúnadan gazed around at the familiar trees; trees he had slept beneath and through which he had scouted. Shifting his shoulders, he cast a self-deprecating half smile at his feet, "Such thoughts run too far for any mortal. I know what you're about to say: there is work to be done, strength to do it, and no time for delay."

He was surprised to feel the quick pressure of a hand on his shoulder. But when he turned to look at his friend, Bartho was gazing straight ahead and a moment later he said briefly, "You keep on this trail; I think I see something off to the right of us."

Halbarad nodded, silencing his steps out of habit. The Dúnedain walked quietly enough, but there was something odd in his companion's tone that recommended caution. Further conversation would have to wait.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The last stretch of tunnel was as dark as the first had been, but the air was moving about them and the knowledge that Aragorn carried what they had come to retrieve leant them new strength to find their way out. There was a short struggle with an ancient door, crafted by the barrow diggers centuries ago and never meant to be opened had it not been for the coming of the wights, but a sharp turn of Legolas' dagger in the lock caused the opening swung wide, letting in a cold gust of air. From far back in the barrow there came a last shriek, but the wight who made it was too far away to reach them.

A clang echoed as Aragorn heaved the door to behind them and then the companions slid the last short distance out, brushing aside the grass that covered the entrance. They were on the far side of the towering, black archway, lying upon the grass, and the sun was high in the sky.

"How long were we in there?" Aragorn murmured aloud.

"Long enough," Legolas declared, sitting up and leaning against his knees as he dealt with the unfamiliar sensation of exhaustion. He glanced up at the ranger and smiled wearily, finding the expression almost easy in the sunlight, "You held out against your ancestors."

"They were not my ancestors, they were evil spirits in the bodies of my ancestors," Aragorn reminded him dryly, understanding his point all the same.

"Either way, you did what I could not," Legolas replied seriously. "Thank you, my friend."

"It was Ilúvatar's intervention alone. Clearly he must still have a use for you."

"Perhaps," the elf agreed. "And it would doubtless be better served in different clothing."

For the first time since waking, Aragorn took note of the robes he was wearing. It was no longer the pristine white it had been, but it was also nothing like any outfit he would have worn of his own volition. The belt about his waist was gold and there were jewels studded along it. The hilt of the sword he still held was finely wrought silver: a blade of Westerness forged by the Numenoreans before the waning years.

"This I shall keep," he said suddenly, rising to stand upon the grass. "It is not evil of itself and my own sword is lost beyond recovery." He glanced significantly at the tunnel behind them. "But I agree on the matter of the clothing. I wonder what has become of our horses?"

"If they escaped they might well return," Legolas suggested, starting up the side of the barrow once again, this time unafraid of an attack. The wights could not walk in broad daylight.

Reaching the summit, the elf gazed keenly in all directions, searching for movement of any kind. Behind him Aragorn stooped to lift something from the ground. There, lying still where they had fallen, were Legolas' knives. It was a strange reminder of what had taken place — had it been only the night before, or many nights ago?

"Aragorn!" Legolas cried, his fair voice light with relief, "I see the horses! They are but a league or so off, towards the forest."

"Then we will go after them," the ranger nodded, though to him the Old Forest was but a dark smudge in the distance.

Because they had headed north on an angle, they still had a fair walk ahead of them, in spite of the relative narrowness of the downs. The horses waited patiently for their return, making no further move towards them, but not bolting either. Fortunately, both the Dúnadan and the elf knew well the art of stowing their gear and all was still lashed firmly about the saddles of the two animals.

After a short rest upon the edge of the downs, the two friends changed into the one spare set of garments each had brought, Aragorn pulling on his overcoat against the cool of approaching evening. He also unstrapped his bow and quiver from behind the saddle and handed them to Legolas.

"Will you not need them yourself?" Legolas queried, readjusting the sheaths he had fashioned for his knives.

"You know better how to use them than I."

The elf smiled and accepted the weapon, nodding his approval at the crafting of the arrows in particular. There was an astonishing resemblance to the ones he had fashioned for his own bow: even down to the distinctive Mirkwood arrowhead design. His fingers brushed the metal thoughtfully as he glanced at his friend.

"It keeps my brothers from claiming my shots for their own," Aragorn explained. "Their arrowheads are like all the others of Rivendell, but their aim… and when we hunt together…" he trailed off, frowning at the stirrup and still stroking his horse's mane, though mechanically.

"You miss them already, don't you?" Legolas murmured.

"I've missed them every moment since I last saw them," came the honest answer.

Legolas was silent, knowing he could have no reply to that. There was fear beneath the words; horrible fear that loss might once again strike the one who had already lost both his blood parents and many friends throughout the years. It was silence that Aragorn seemed to need, for after a while he looked up. Giving a tired half smile, as if to apologize for his weakness, he mounted and turned his horse towards the forest.

"We cannot pass back over the downs before sunset and I have no intention of staying another night upon them; it would be best if we were to sleep tonight in the wood and return north on the morrow. You still have all your provisions, do you not?"

"Yes, all," Legolas nodded, mounting fluidly and following his friend's lead once again.

The Old Forest was dark even during the day and now, at the approach of evening, the overcast sky and the closely laced branches combined to block out all light. Squirrels, not black like those of Mirkwood but not entirely wholesome either, scurried home through the leaves, sending droplets of old dew down upon them. A thick carpet of leaves, uncleared from centuries of autumns, muffled the steps of the horses. Still there was a security in the closeness and compared to the tunnels of the barrow wights the narrow trail seemed almost welcoming.

They did not travel far into the wood before Aragorn dismounted and tilted his head towards a small alcove in the earth at the base of a large tree. If any rain could truly penetrate the trees above, they would be sheltered at least a little.

"The sun has not yet gone down," Legolas noted, basing his conclusion on scent rather than sight.

"Yes, but we have a book to examine and it is not wise to travel weary among these trees. We shall be safe enough here, and a night's sleep is all we really need."

"Not you, my friend," Legolas retorted, indicating his friend's back. Aragorn had torn the white robe into strips when he had changed into his spare clothing, using them to bind the cut he had sustained in his battle with the wight. Though not in the least dangerous, it had been difficult to tend and the elf did not doubt it would need rebandaging before the morrow.

"Dare I even argue with you?" the ranger sighed, removing the saddle from his horse and patting the beast's neck.

"You daren't, especially when Halbarad charged me to watch over you. You have so far done more of that for me than I have for you, and I at least intend to prevent your returning bleeding and infected."

"If I had been alone, I would have perished," Aragorn said firmly, and sat obediently.

There was a long silence, for the trees seemed to have no birds roosting among them. Legolas worked quickly, knowing his business well after so many trips in the ranger's company. Then softly there came the sounds of singing. The elf glanced at his friend, wondering if the sound came from him and then realized it was most certainly too far off. Besides that Aragorn was looking about as well; his blue eyes concentrated as he tried to make out the words. Not that there was much to be understood from them…

"Hey come! Ring a dong, ding a ling a die!

White shine the coming stars in a darkened sky

Sing a dol a chorus, oh! Sing it high and low

When the moon drifts into cove; off to home I go

There my lady waits for me, singing down the dew

Here oh, merry-o, I say good-night to you!"

"What is that?" Legolas whispered, strangely unafraid by the odd voice.

Aragorn had also begun to relax and he even smiled as he nodded his head in the direction of the singing, "Tom Bombadil is his name, though what he is would be impossible to discover. He won't harm us; he would likely help us if we truly needed it, but I don't think we do anymore."

"Does he live here?"

"Yes, though I have never actually been to his home. I have met him in the woods but once or twice. I would hesitate to say he is powerful, but he is not a common man either. I hope you may meet him someday; you would get along well I think."

"Will he object to us sleeping here?"

"No," Aragorn shook his head reassuringly. "Now come, my friend, the book."

The human built a small fire out of old wood, drawing some amount of comfort from the soft orange of the flames. When he finished, he looked up and Legolas reached across and slid the ancient book carefully from his companion's saddle bag. But then he hesitated to hand it over.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked.

"I wonder if it would be best for us to wait. We do not know what evil may be in this book; there is an air about it that I do not like, and night will soon be upon us."

"Perhaps you are right," the ranger nodded, "but the days do not lengthen at our command. I feel some things must be risked if we are to return in time."

"Risked? Like the downs?" Legolas looked away as soon as he spoke, knowing the question would sound like an accusation, no matter his tone or intentions. Quickly, before his friend could respond, he nodded briskly, "You are right."

The binding on the old book cracked as the covers were eased gently apart, and the pages within were stained with age. Legolas needed only one look at the text to realize he would be of no use in its interpretation: it was written in an erratic form of the Numenorean script.

"Aragorn, what is this?" the elf asked softly, his sensitive fingers brushing the opening page. It seemed to have been written in a different style — with the words arranged as if for a poem of some kind — and it also seemed to have been written last of all, even though it came first in the book. The words were almost illegible, and yet they had been written over top of some of the stains rather than under all of them.

Legolas' eyes seemed to reflect the firelight like mirrors as he stared at his friend. "Go on," he whispered. "What follows?"

Aragorn forced himself back to the pages, scanning through a great many which could not be read for more than a few sentences at a time. "It is a sort of journal, or personal history, but the like of which I've never seen. The author must have been nearly mad."

"Well?" the elf prodded.

Aragorn did not immediately close the book or turn to speak. Instead he sat long in silence, gazing at the last brave sentence as if it held something solely for him. He knew where the man had next been found: in the territory of the defenders by Glorfindel. And there he had perished, wild and raving, with only one thought to comfort him: he had left his book behind and never again would any man attempt so foolhardy a thing as he had described. Except that Raane and Qualin had. Full of eagerness for the reward they had likely been promised, and ready to run any risk without pause, they had set out to slay a child; though perhaps they had not realized that until later. Raane too was now wild with madness, and Qualin… Qualin had understood what had gone amiss. He had taken the answers and his companion and fled the evil tower, only to be slain mere leagues from his home.

Absently Aragorn's fingers moved to finger the next page, even though the writer had clearly written no more in his journal. No, wait… Perhaps he had written one thing more.

"What is it?" Legolas asked, his question no more than a breath.

"It… it is a map. He drew a map, Legolas." His voice was dazed, as though he could not believe what he had discovered. Determination alone had fueled his search for his brothers and he had driven himself hard, refusing to slow either movement or thought for fear the realization of his true helplessness might seize hold of him. And now, against all hope, he had been presented with a chance — a chance as fragile as a single strand of silk. He could only pray Ilúvatar it wouldn't snap.

Similar thoughts had passed with equal swiftness through Legolas' mind and now he gripped his friend's shoulder, "That, Estel, is well worth the journey it took to find it. It is nothing short of the power of the Valar that Qualin thought to bring the book out with him."

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, running his hand slowly over the cracked cover as if it were made of mithril. "I wish he too could have profited from his foresight."

The thought was a stray one, but very like Aragorn. "As do I, my friend," Legolas murmured. "If I had such power I would wish a curse upon whoever tricked them into making such a journey."

"So many dead," mused the Dúnadan, his eyes dark with sadness. "So many. And who now has taken hold of this power? They cannot have read the book: it is here."

"Whoever they are, they understand not the dangers. If this power does indeed consume the current wielder of this strange gem, there will be nothing to control them and nothing to bind them solely to the attacking of the Dúnedain." Legolas' words were low, following the rapid trail of his realizations. "You were right, Aragorn: time presses even more greatly than we had thought. I wonder now if there is even time to sleep; no more must we save only your brothers, but we must somehow contain or destroy the Nwelmai before they may roam at will."

"True," Aragorn agreed wearily, and laid the book aside. "But you were right as well."

"Oh?"

"It would be foolish to risk another night journey upon the downs." The human shook his head, his words slowing as soon as his head came to rest upon his cloak. "We will leave at first light."

Legolas smiled and eased down into a comfortable half sitting position, "As you command."

"Naturally," came the dry response, and then the gentle sounds of heavy breathing. More than the terrifying capture by the wights, the reading of the book seemed to have drained the ranger completely. He had not even mentioned taking turns to watch.

Deciding to take the watch upon himself, Legolas gazed about into the blackness for nearly an hour. An hour after that, the elf too had succumbed to weariness and his eyes were glassy with sleep.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

He was unaware of sight except for the occasional flashes of blood, a shadow, or his own trembling hands before him. He was unaware of any sound but that of his or his brother’s screams in his ears and the eerie screeches of the orcs. He was unaware of feeling — all but the overwhelming sense of unfathomable pain, a constant flowing, throbbing, beating, raging, seething pain that filled every part of his being.

Right then Elladan was certain all that stood between him and giving up on this life and world was that his brother still needed him and he would fight beyond any pain to spare the younger elf.

Days had become irrelevant and hours were a blur — all Elladan understood was that they would beat him until he could scream no longer and take no more. But the moment they began again on Elrohir he would do all in his feeble power to regain the attention on himself. Though he knew the orcs were beginning to tire of his persistence, it was all he had left and he clung to it with all his might.

Elrohir seemed lost in delirium himself and all he was able to do was whimper his brother’s name, his father’s name, or Estel’s name over and over like a hurting child. And these small pleas never ceased to send the orcs into tumults of cruel laughter and taunts, and Elladan into fits of uncontrollable rage.

For the most part Elladan seemed able to draw the attention away, but sometimes they would bring their cruelty harder upon his brother simply to spite him and it was all Elladan’s fogged mind could do to decipher which the orcs had decided was their leisure.

This was their fate until Elladan finally overstepped even the orcs' bounds.

They had beaten Elrohir until the younger elf couldn’t even breathe. Every time he’d tried inhale they had delivered a blow to his stomach forcing every bit of air from him again. The elf’s pale face was growing paler and tingeing blue at the lack of oxygen and Elladan remembered vividly how the orcs had told them before that their captain would not fault them for killing just one. Just one.

The elder twin realized in that moment that they intended to kill his brother. Their interest had waned, they grew board of drawing blood and choked screams, it was time to have their blood lust truly satisfied. Perhaps their captain would even allow them to devour their kill.

Elladan knew he had to do something. Elrohir was trying desperately to shield himself from the blows but two of the creatures wrenched him back in time to receive another blow in the midsection. Elladan himself was not bound on the iron loops as usual — he was being held firmly on his knees by two of the orcs.

Then, when Elrohir went limp under the blows, Elladan watched in horror as the orcs laid the younger elf flat on the ground and an orc raised its scimitar over his brother’s throat, a gleam in his pale eyes.

“NO!” Elladan screamed with all the breathe left in him. Moving with a ferocity that shocked the orcs he shoved the filthy hands away, denying his weakened state.

Throwing himself forward with more momentum than actual conscious force he slammed himself bodily into the orc standing over his brother and knocked him back, taking hold of the scimitar in the orc's moment of startled inattention. Elladan pulled hard on the scimitar, jerked it from the orc’s hands, and letting out an enraged cry he whirled the weapon around, decapitating the orc in an instant. This was all the advantage he was allowed, for the orcs were upon him immediately. Elladan went down beneath them, his adrenaline rush failing him and leaving him without strength for resistance. The scimitar was wrenched away and five orcs grouped around him, pining him down with one at his shoulders, one at his head, and two holding his left leg.

Rogkhar approached him with an hideous snarl. Elladan breathed heavily as he watched the two orcs holding his leg between them. He had an idea what they intended and felt a catch in his heart that he couldn’t help, but he didn’t care. Their attention had completely left Elrohir and that was all he wanted.

Rogkhar leveled his scimitar over the elf’s face, knowing Elladan could not flinch away with another orc's hand tangled in his dark hair.

“I should kill you now, *elf*,” Rogkhar spat the last as though he could contrive no worse slur. He tilted his head to the side grinning slightly at Elladan. “But I know that wouldn’t be nearly as painful as it ought to be.”

Elladan had been bracing himself, but when Rogkhar nodded to the orcs holding his leg and he heard the sickening snap of his own bones breaking he could not hold back the strangled scream that came to his lips.

Elrohir jerked behind him and a few of the orcs turned to the younger elf, grabbing him by his arms and hauling him up to his knees, even though he had not regained full consciousness.

The elder twin was lost in his pain for what seemed like an eternity. He tried desperately to twist away from his captors as they contemplated him.

“Are you still sure you want to be the one to die?” Rogkhar asked with mirth. Elladan only returned the look with his own steely gaze and the orc gave a short nod. “More pain then?” He gave a snarl and nodded to the orcs who moved to Elladan’s right arm, taking it in their hands and tightening their grip. Elladan braced himself as much as he could but he knew that it would do no good… this was it then, they would take him apart piece by painful piece and finally they would kill him, if the horrendous injuries did not kill him first.

Elladan awaited the crunch of bones and fresh wave of agony… but strangely neither came.

The elf tried briefly to turn his head to see what why they had not carried out their plan, but his hair was still held tightly and an orc was blocking his view. Still, they all appeared to be looking away from him at someone else who had only just entered the lair.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Eression stared disgustedly around at the rabble that filled the underground chamber. The smell of blood and sweat was thick in the air and heat rolled off the ever present fires. He crossed to the far alcove to find the orcs still tormenting their elven prisoners.

One look told Eression that he had underestimated the orcs ability to deliver pain without killing their prey… or perhaps they were already dead.

If they had killed both Elrond’s sons…

But no, a kick to the ribs from one of the orcs told him that the elf on the floor was at least alive. The other looked as near to death as the captain could imagine, but he too was gasping for air. The damage was so ruthless… and so pointless. Like everything the foul breed did. There was one dead orc as well, but Eression did not heed it.

“You do your work thoroughly.” The dark haired man let his revulsion sink into his voice. Rogkhar gave a grin which only served to disgust Eression further. “But it shall end here,” the young captain stated with more authority and he saw Rogkhar’s face turn suddenly surly. Eression’s gaze dropped again to the elf on the floor and he recognized the odd angle of the left leg; it was broken. He surveyed the other wounds of both elves and gave a curt nod. “No more,” he clarified shortly. “Not an orc touches these prisoners again. Bind their hands, though I see little need, and leave them where they lie.” Eression had little doubt that one of the elves would yet meet the keeper of their Halls — he could only hope they would not *both* flee the waking world.

When Rogkhar did not accept the command immediately, Eression took a step forward and glared icily at the creature. “Do I make myself understood?”

There was a sizeable pause before the orc nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

Eression nodded and turned from the forms of the two elves. If the orcs dared to transgress his orders, he swore silently, they would not live long enough to regret it.

Erynbenn had to admit his half formed ideas of protecting his companions had come to little or nothing. For a while he had felt a certain pride at being able to slip out on Bartho, but his lack of experience in this part of the wood rendered him confused in the dark and by the time he had identified the source of the strange cracking noises as nothing more dangerous than a few deer, he could not see his way back to his companions. What light was allowed through by the thickening clouds was already brushing the leaves when he recognized a tree he had passed over an hour ago.

"Well, I can comfort myself that they didn't have to come and find me," he sighed, readjusting the worn leather strap on his quiver.

At the soft sounds of undergrowth brushing aside, he spun about, the knife from his belt already in his hand. It was Bartho.

"I spoke too soon," the young man said drearily.

Bartho's eyebrow rose at the odd statement. "Find anything?"

"No." Erynbenn's voice was clipped with frustration at himself. "I know that I was wrong to leave without asking either of you, and that it was foolish to rush off at only a sound like that in the first place." He was too busy gazing down at his hands to notice the hidden tension in the other's shoulders.

"No, lad," Bartho said evenly, "your instincts were correct, and your mistake lay only in not taking one of us with you. It's best to travel in pairs, especially in times like these; why do you think Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir always stay together?"

Erynbenn didn't answer and the older ranger shook his head; it had taken very little observation to recognize the lad's hero worship of the elven twins. Undoubtedly Erynbenn admired them second only to Aragorn himself, and their disappearance had bothered the young man greatly, even if he had kept his feelings to himself.

"If anyone can find them, it's Aragorn," Bartho said.

"*Will* he?" Erynbenn asked absently, his hair brushing his shoulders as he turned his head.

Bartho gave half a shrug, "Perhaps."

Strangely the young man felt comforted.

Distantly there came the sounds of thunder breaking several miles away and around the two men the air took on a sickly hue. Rain had become almost constant over the past weeks and the sound was not surprising, but there was something lurking at the backs of their minds: something was amiss.

"Where is Halbarad?" Erynbenn asked softly.

"He's still following your trail," Bartho answered, his gaze intensifying as he looked carefully around. There it was again: that feeling of lurking menace. "We'd best get back to him before—"

A shriek split the silence. Bartho swung about, his sword in his hand, and felt the impact as the creature slammed shoulder first into him, laying him flat on the ground and knocking the air from him. Two slashes of lightening fast claws in a billowing mass of darkness and the arms that the man had jerked up to protect his neck were pouring blood. Another slash and Bartho curled up in pain, hugging his abdomen reflexively.

Erynbenn opened his mouth to call the other's name, and then found he had no time. Lunging forward towards what seemed more shadow than flesh, he smelled decay and then stabbed with his short knife, hoping to distract the beast even if such a blow could not have slain a wolf.

Thick fluid poured over his hands and he gasped in pain. The blood was like acid upon his bare skin, burning until he wished only to let go of the knife hilt. Still he hung on, gritting his teeth and waiting for the creature to swipe him off. A glittering claw came swiftly, aimed for his head, and he wrenched his knife free to swing wildly at it, but it evaded him and caught him instead across the thigh, sending him staggering back with an cry of pain.

It was the first noise that had been made since the creature shrieked, except for the rustling of leaves as the two men moved, for the footfalls of the fell thing were silent as falling snow. It seemed to gather itself for a second rush upon the young man, it's shadowy form coiling for a spring or a blow, but instead of the rush that Erynbenn expected there came a lash out of no where that threw him back against a tree. Bright spots danced before his eyes. He had forgotten what Aragorn had said about the creature having a tail.

A second lash came, this time raking his back and leaving bloody furrows in his tunic. Stifling a scream, the young man twisted around, trying to see, trying to block— and then another blow came and this time it was the creature's front claws, pressing, and the glimmer of teeth in a black hole of its mouth.

Sharp as the sound of a razor slicing cloth, there was the buzz of an arrow and a thud as it struck home. The creature reared and howled, spinning round like a blur of wind, and through the mist one could see the feathers of the arrow protruding from its side.

In return Halbarad gave a yell, releasing a second arrow. At the same moment the creature jumped, reaching for his throat, and it and the arrow met in mid-air. A second sound of impact and the creature changed course, whipping its body through the air as though uncontrolled by gravity. A ripple of putrid fur under blackness was the only indicator of its next move and Halbarad had to throw himself flat to avoid the creature's leap. In the half second that it took the beast to turn about and crouch for a second spring, Halbarad had fitted a fresh arrow and again he fired.

This time the creature evaded it, leaping up and perching itself on the lowest branch of a tree, hissing sibilantly. The branch creaked and for a long moment there was a pause as both man and beast froze and gazed upon one another. Halbarad had drawn out his sword and his muscles were taut, waiting for his adversary to move. Why had it stopped so suddenly?

Pain ripped into his back. The ground came up to meet him and sharp teeth bit deep, trying to break his neck. His sword had fallen from his hand and his nails scraped at the ground, gouging furrows as he tried to twist himself free. Again the teeth bit, but his thrashing prevented it from getting a good hold. A scream shattered his ears, for a moment leaving his world soundless: only the beating of his heart echoed within his head. He could not hear what happened immediately after, but the claws suddenly released him. Twisting, he rolled aside and caught up his sword, swinging it back to clip the creature's leg before it leapt back again.

Squinting, he saw only rushing shadow and fur above him, and then suddenly the world was full of sound again and he heard someone calling his name.

"Halbarad! The throat!"

Just above him he caught a glimpse of teeth stained with his own blood, and just within his arm's reach there stretched the beast's neck. Only once he stabbed and blood poured down his blade. Then the creature was gone like a whirlwind, blasting him to the ground and driving his senses from him.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

When Halbarad awoke, Erynbenn was sitting beside him, his face weary and pale, but his eyes alert. The young man smiled starkly, his hands trembling where they rested on his knees.

"Are they dead?" Halbarad whispered.

"I don't know," the other ranger admitted. "I shot one where I think its eye may have been, and Bartho actually seized the tail of the one that attacked you, but though we wounded them both, I don't think our weapons are capable of slaying these Nwelmai." He lifted one shoulder fractionally. "At least they went back into the woods instead of on to Bree."

"Where is Bartho?" Halbarad eased himself up, reaching back to feel the familiar sensation of bandaging around the back of his neck. It was fortunate the hood on his cloak had stood between the creature's teeth and his flesh, or he knew he could have easily been dead. Erynbenn was also bandaged.

"He went a little closer to the town; I think he was in search of more herbs. He used nearly all of his on cleaning the venom from all our claw wounds, and a horrible poultice it was too. Are you sure you can stand?" The young man's voice was concerned as he pulled himself up quickly to steady his superior.

"What about you? I only have a few bruises and this one wound; you seem about ready to fall over."

"I won't be falling over," Erynbenn said firmly, but he didn't elaborate — he merely pulled a pair of gloves on over his burned hands and lifted his quiver from its resting place.

"Then we ought to go after him," Halbarad said

"Do you fear a repeat of Lindamar? I have caught neither sight nor sound of any trolls." Erynbenn's mouth quirked into a small smile.

Halbarad snorted briefly, "Hardly. Though it wouldn't necessarily be trolls this time — it might be something worse."

Descendants of Numenor though they were, the steps of the Dúnedain were heavy with pain and weariness. Lesser men would have perished in the attack, but long had these rangers hardened themselves against all injury, and now they did not think of resting.

The forest ended at the top of low rise and the two companions paused for a moment at its crest, their eyes taking in the town in the distance and the black storm clouds above them. A narrow road wound down from the trees, used chiefly by farmers in search of wood. The rangers seldom took such roads unless to avoid them meant to trespass upon private land, but now Halbarad started down without pause. Likely Bartho would have had to purchase some of what he needed and a night in Bree would be better than sleeping in the rain.

As they walked the town became temporarily lost to view in the rolling hills and for stretches there were no farm houses within sight either but only straggling patches of the wood that they had left behind. Passing through one of these they became aware of sounds up ahead. Touching Erynbenn briefly on the shoulder, Halbarad reached back and withdrew his bow carefully. At the same time they both stepped off either side of the path and melting more clumsily than usual into the trees.

The commotion was significant considering the small number of people involved. At the center was a carefully made farm cart, the horse before it moving anxiously back and forth. In the back of the cart bundles of wood lay piled neatly under burlap sacking to keep it dry. A tall man with short gray beard and the clothing of a farmer was arguing furiously with three other men, all of them clothed poorly and carrying their weapons openly as they jeered at him.

"I tell you this road here is free to any honest man!" the farmer shouted, giving no ground in spite of being outnumbered.

"And we tell you that either you'll pay your toll or we take your horse, your wood, and your life!" the closest of the armed men retorted.

A derisive laugh greeted this statement, "You think you can bluff travelers into paying you what isn't your due?"

"Silence, old man! Now will you pay in gold or in blood?"

"I've no gold to pay you; not until I take this wood into town! You fools are wasting your time with me."

"*You* are wasting *our* time!" the man yelled and all three lunged forward.

The farmer backed against his cart, a long staff his only weapon. But before he could strike a blow there was a furious triple hissing of air, the barest glimpse of three shafts in flight, and then all three highwaymen fell at once, identical expressions of shock on each of their faces.

For a moment there was an eerie silence as the farmer gazed down at the dead about his feet, and then he looked up to find himself surrounded yet again.

"Who are you?" he demanded, raising his staff once more — not ready to take friendship for granted. Then he frowned as he took in both their gear and their injuries. "Wait, you're rangers, aren't you? You live in the woods up north a'ways."

"Aye," Halbarad acknowledged, inclining his head. "I am Halbarad. The young man here is Erynbenn, and the one behind you is Bartho. We mean you no harm."

Slowly the staff was lowered as the old man glanced ruefully down at the highwaymen, "Apparently not. Why did you kill them?"

Erynbenn blinked in surprise, "Because they were about to kill you! Why else?"

The farmer tilted his head to one side, eyeing the young man with interest, "Why else indeed. If only people thought so simply as a rule, but you see precious little of such logic nowadays." He smiled and the expression seemed to bring out the warm tan of his skin and the twinkle in his weathered brown eyes. "Well, good sirs, you've saved my life sure enough and I hope you'll allow me to repay you as far as I'm able. You look as though you tangled with one too many wolves at once. If you'll ride into town with me I'll see to it you get fresh bandages and food, if you'll oblige me by accepting it."

"Gratefully," Halbarad bowed, and turned to the bodies in the road. "We'd best load these up as well. No doubt your local sheriff will be interested, and we cannot leave them here."

"Oh?" the farmer's eyebrows rose, his expression distasteful. "And why not, sir?"

"We cannot," Bartho repeated firmly, and there was no room for arguing.

As they moved quickly about their work Erynbenn shifted close enough to whisper to Halbarad, "It was not a troll."

The other ranger shot a swift look at Bartho, reassuring himself that the man was too far away to hear, "True. What is more to the point, though, is that this farmer resembles Lindamar as closely as Tom Bombadil resembles the Lady of the Golden Wood." He smiles slightly as the younger man had to cover his mouth to hide his surprised laugh.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

"If none can enter or exit the tower once it has been closed, then how are we to enter it?"

"Perhaps we could disguise you as an orc." Aragorn managed to maintain a straight face as he said it, but it cracked a moment later. "I was jesting, Legolas. Of course there is absolutely no chance of you being mistaken for an orc! You would make a poor enough man as it is."

"Careful Strider or I shall have to say something regrettable on your performance as a wood elf."

The man frowned, "I have never disguised myself as a wood elf…"

"No doubt the opportunity will arise and in the meanwhile your skills leave much to be desired."

"It is an unfair contest, my friend. I am required to successfully imitate an immortal being whose years have been filled with the improving of its talents. The appearance I will not even mention, for there comes a point when mere washing will not make up for the lack of pointed ears. You, on the other hand, have only the behaviors of a short living, filthy, and relatively unskilled hunter to acquire. Given the difficulties involved with the prospective roles, I feel I am being called to account for a good deal more than is equitable." He inclined his head solemnly. "As the elven folk are all wise and understanding you may of course make your own judgments regarding my case."

Legolas shook his head, "Nay, there is no winning against you, Strider. You have lived too long already with elves and I cannot scold you in any way that you have not already heard. I hope all previous critiques have been as unserious as mine…?"

"Some," the human agreed, not elaborating. "I think the tower's defenses are not so well arranged as it seems."

"What?" The land slanted suddenly down hill under Legolas' horse and he hesitated at the similar shift in conversation.

"You asked how we were to enter the tower once it was closed to us. According to the book the Nwelmai were kept somehow within the cliff face against which the tower is built. They had two exits: one into the uppermost room in the tower, the other in base of the cliff. I deem it was the Witch King's intention to have access to his creations and yet not to allow them within his fortress — even when he needed to release them to do their work."

"And you believe that because this exit is separate from the tower itself that it will not be closed to us," Legolas finished.

"Yes. It would not be necessary to fortify it when the Nwelmai were kept within, for they were more than enough of a deterrent, but now they have been released and no long reside there. It is possible that whoever now controls the tower has not thought to close the passage against intruders."

"Such as yourself."

Aragorn nodded once.

"It will not be a pleasant journey, Strider, but I can find no fault in this plan. Even should orcs have been sent to guard these caverns, it is still a better plan to evade them than to try storming an unconquerable tower by force."

"Or trying to dress you as an orc," Aragorn added, moving automatically to dodge a light cuff from his friend. "I had hoped we might avoid causing a disturbance and merely slip in and out before the tower could be locked against us, but there seems to be only one entrance to the tower and it is too small a door to allow such a plan. With all the guards that will certainly be ranged about it, the best plan may be for Halbarad to lead an attack on the tower itself and draw away their attention from our doings."

Legolas frowned, his eyes narrowing against the sun, "That would work, certainly, but would it not place your men in a great deal of danger? The new lord of the tower is certain to call the Nwelmai onto you, quite aside from these orcs."

"Yes." Aragorn's tone implied he'd already thought a great deal upon that fact. "But here it comes to it: we have seen that we cannot kill the Nwelmai on our own strength. Yet to leave them to roam is to turn the possibility of death for all of us into a certainty. Whatever power moves through them and gives them their life and invulnerability must somehow be cut off if we are to destroy them." His face seemed to stiffen as his eyes assumed an odd brilliance. "Thus it is not only for Elladan and Elrohir that we must do this. Somehow we must end this war before it has rightly begun."

"What if the source of the Nwelmai's power is no easier to defeat than the beasts themselves?" Legolas' frown was not directed at the ranger, but rather turned inward as he voiced his thoughts. "I fear the folly in such an attempt; it is a great task for so few men."

"And what then was the Last Alliance?" Aragorn queried. He would not have asked this question of any other wood elf. Thranduil and his people had always born a sort of resentment towards the conflict because of their initial unwillingness to involve themselves, and also their heavy losses after they joined the fight. For his part Legolas had long ago accepted the validity of the Alliance — even as he had accepted the friendship of Isildur's heir. He also understood the point.

"You are right, Aragorn," he nodded slowly. "It must be done. Whatever the cost."

The ranger straightened in his saddle, his posture seeming to imitate his resolve, yet he had no words to reply.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Celboril entered his lord's study as quietly as possible, a tray of food balanced on one hand. He had long since discovered that the best way to convince Elrond to sup whenever he was absorbed in some study or anxiety was to leave the food lying about where he would eat it out of sheer absent-mindedness. With practiced ease, the elf deposited the tray silently on the edge of Elrond's writing desk. His eyes flicked briefly over to note the papers scattered there. A volume on the Witch King's war in Arnor, a schedule covering the phases of the moon, the message from Estel concerning Elladan and Elrohir, and a half completed epistle to back to the ranger that had been intended to tell him when Rivendell's troops would arrive.

The moment of inattention to his surroundings cost Celboril his scheme.

"Please don't, Celboril. I really cannot eat anything." Elrond was standing only a few paces behind him, a few books under one arm and a worn smile on his face.

"My lord, I would not have you wasting away like this," Celboril protested. "Estel has promised to bring home your sons if it can possibly be done, but what good shall his efforts be if you sicken before they come?"

Elrond sighed and lowered the new books to the desk, his fingers lingering over them. "Many nights I have nearly convinced myself that it is futile. Time and again, I leave my rooms intending to go to Glorfindel and tell him to gather our warriors again and prepare to set out. In truth, I have almost given up grieving. The feeling is growing in me that I cannot continue in inaction much longer, for fear of compounding my grief by losing my adopted son as well."

Celboril stared. Elrond's candidness startled him, as did the vulnerability that seemed to hang about the elven lord's stooping shoulders. "What is it that stops you?" he asked softly.

Elrond's dark gaze drifted towards the western edge of Rivendell. "Estel."

And whether he was referring to Isildur's heir or something more indefinable, Celboril decided not to ask.

When the three Dúnedain realized that they would soon reach the gates of Bree, they carefully drew up their hoods.

"Mighty mysterious you look," the old man smiled, shaking his head. "No wonder people take you for lunatics or robbers."

"It's better this way, Kemen, trust me," Halbarad reassured the man calmly. The less any of Bree's citizens saw of the Dúnedain, the safer it would be for all of them.

"Which did you think we were?" Erynbenn asked curiously. "Lunatics or robbers?"

"Lunatics," Kemen said frankly.

"And now?"

"I couldn't say," the farmer shrugged. "I can't pretend to know you beyond what you did for me back there, and though I'll allow you to be good shots in such a pinch, I must say you should have chosen your previous fight more carefully; whatever you took on trounced you good."

"Thank you," Bartho grunted, faintly sarcastic. "We'll remember that next time."

Halbarad, perhaps fearing the other ranger would say too much, broke in with a question, "Do you live here in Bree?"

"Yes and no," Kemen smiled. "I have my fields outside of town, and I chop my wood back the way you found me, but I have a small house here that I stay in when I'm not traveling."

The house was indeed small, but sturdy and welcome in that it had a roof. The rain had begun again, giving the streets outside an uninviting quality, for the byways had seen too much rain to be anything less than thick mud and the beams of all the houses were dark with moisture.

Inside the Dúnedain removed their cloaks and sat quietly about the table in the center of the room while Kemen disappeared briefly into the store room to seek out his herb provisions. He came back well supplied and deposited the dried plants neatly before them, nodding as he explained, "You'd best see to each other while I take this wood into town and get Willem back into his stall. He doesn't like the damp any more than I, and no one buys wet firewood." He nodded and was gone.

Silently directing Erynbenn to turn about, Bartho examined the bloodstained bandages grimly. "It's a miracle we're not all dead."

Halbarad only nodded and busied himself starting a fire in the small hearth and putting on water to boil. His neck and the back of his head were throbbing, leaving him little or no attention left for any other of his lesser injuries. By the time he had completed his work, Bartho had nearly finished cleaning Erynbenn's wounds. The young ranger's back had been scored badly, leaving him in much pain, but not so deeply that stitching had been needed. His hands were still red and sore from the creature's blood, but he slid his gloves on again and seemed little bothered by them after washing them in cold water. The wound in his thigh was the chief worry amongst all three of them, for with it he would not be able to travel far or very swiftly.

As if catching the worry of his companions, Erynbenn looked up with an inaudible sigh, "You'll have to leave me here. You can't afford to have someone already injured or unfit; at the least I will slow you."

Bartho snorted roughly through his nose, his dark brows connecting in a frown. "We're none of us fit just now, and not one of us would have survived without the rest."

Erynbenn gave the ghost of a smile as the man's quick fingers rewrapped the bandage about his leg, but he shook his head and there was a new maturity in his eyes. "I may be young, but I do recognize when I will be underfoot. There are too few of us to spare anyone on looking after an injured boy."

For a long silence Halbarad sat and gazed thoughtfully at the young man. Somewhere in that decision, he had seen something of great value, and it was not the over-enthusiasm of a lad. "No," he said at last, rising to remove the water from the fire. "I don't leave *men* behind." There was a faint emphasis on the word. "And there are too few of us to spare anyone to a town of suspicious shopkeepers." He smiled briefly over his shoulder. "With your sinister appearance they'd throw you out as soon as beg your name."

Erynbenn chuckled, then asked curiously, "Do you think Aragorn and Legolas might still be here?"

"Unlikely," Bartho shook his head. "Aragorn wouldn't linger, especially now. He'd get his information and be off in a day at most."

"True," Halbarad nodded, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by the door swinging open.

Except that it wasn't Kemen who appeared in the entrance, but rather an old woman with a basket over her arm. At the sight of the three men she stifled a small cry and seemed about to back out again.

"Master Furdock will be back shortly," Halbarad reassured her quickly. "He left to deliver his wood and stable his horse."

The woman stopped and looked at them more carefully. Strangely, a light of recognition seemed to flit across her face and she nodded, turning to guide in a figure standing just behind her. It was an old man, muttering quietly to himself. He did not look at them, merely moved to a corner at the end of the small bed that he seemed to consider his own and crouched there.

"Who might you be?" the woman asked, "And how came Kem— Master Furdock by you?"

"We were fortunate to lend him a hand on the northward road and he invited us in out of the rain," Halbarad explained, looking about in an attempt to distract the newcomer from the bloodstained bandages that would be sure to alarm her, but somehow they were already gone. A brief flick of white under Bartho's cloak was the only sign that anything was amiss.

"That sounds like him," she admitted, and allowed a brief smile as she moved to put her basket on the table and remove its contents. "I was only baking a little and thought I saw the light from the fire through the window. I generally pass on what I have extra when Master Furdock is in town; he not having a wife to care for him." Every few minutes as she talked she cast an watchful glance over at the man in the corner, but he still did not look up.

The door opened again, this time disclosing the owner of the house, his cloak dark with wet. "It never rains, but pours it certainly does— why Helin! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! You can't imagine how I've missed your baking the past weeks; wood just isn't the company that a fine young woman can be."

To Erynbenn's surprise the old woman turned pink as she shook her head, "You're a handsome flatterer, Kemen, but I've too much sense to listen to you."

"That you have," he agreed, "but you can't blame a man for trying. How've you been, Raane?" This question he directed to the corner and now the huddled man looked up, his eyes drifting to the familiar face of the farmer, and on to Halbarad beside him… With a surprised little cry that may have been recognition he started forward suddenly, Helin moving instinctively to try and stop him.

"Did you get rid of it?" Raane asked eagerly. "It is not on your finger."

"What?" Halbarad asked with some surprise.

"Don't mind my brother, sir," Helin said quickly, "he's mistook you for another ranger."

The three Dúnedain stared.

"Which ranger might that have been?" Halbarad asked carefully, and then, when she hesitated, he hazarded, "Strider, was it?"

Her eyes widened, "Why yes! You know him, then?"

"Yes," Halbarad nodded, "and it might be well if you would tell us—" He started as Raane grabbed his wrist, pulling him down to the dusty wood floor. The old man was squatting like a child, tracing his finger in the dust and leaving small patterns.

"Look," he breathed, pointing at his work. "Horrible, isn't it?"

The others in the room turned to look at the drawing from his angle. It was a strangely accurate drawing from such a man, and depicted a creature with lithe body, clawed feet, flat head, and long, clawed tail. Bartho glanced sharply at his companions and saw matching expressions of amazement only half hidden on their faced.

"Raane," Halbarad whispered, "what is that?"

The man was rocking slowly on his heels, oblivious to the question and all the world for a moment as he hummed for a while under his breath. When he finally spoke it was in random phrases, his voice rising almost merrily at times, and then falling into stark fear. "Lovely carvings all along the walls… beautiful carvings… worth much gold! Horrible carvings, monsters — horrible monsters. Qualin said the book… said the book said… He shouldn't be reading now! 't says the last one, the last and greatest one will stay behind… guard the tunnels… Nobody in or out through tower doors… Nobody in, nobody out, nobody in, nobody out… out… Let me out!" This last was a shrill cry as he started up, scuffing at the dust until the drawing was swept away, and then turned wildly in search of the door.

Kemen stepped quickly forward, catching the insane man by the elbows and holding him still as Helin tried desperately to calm her brother again. Two outbursts in only a few days was too much for her. By the time she finally had Raane settled happily in his corner, she was sobbing hard into Kemen's shoulder as he gently patted her graying hair.

When the woman was calm again, she moved firmly over to her pie and laid it out, going to get plates from the cupboard. "You'll be hungry after all the wood delivering," she said to Kemen with a wet smile.

"He's harmless as harmless most of the time," Kemen explained to the others in an undertone, "but the rest of the time he drives poor Helin near hysterical with his outbursts. She really shouldn't be at home alone with him all the time; one of these days he'll push her over by accident and she'll hurt herself."

Halbarad nodded, his mind busy working through what he had just heard from this crazy man. Aimless rambling it might be to these simple folk about him, but to the Dúnedain it was of vital importance.

"Helin," the ranger said gently, "if it wouldn't be too painful, I'd very much like to know what your brother said to my friend Strider."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Idhrin had labored long with the Dúnedain — long even for the waning descendants of Numenor, whose lives spanned more years than normal men. He had begun his duties under Arador, continued through the life of Arathorn, and now he served Aragorn. Three captains. Yet out of all of them, he knew that he trusted Aragorn the most. Idhrin had honed his skills of reading people through many long years of experience, and there was a wisdom and a strength in the young leader of the Dúnedain that belied his age.

But the old ranger himself, on the other hand, had always been content to follow others, and how could he rightly do what was being asked of him? He was no leader of men; not even a lieutenant as Halbarad was. Unaware of the gesture, he ran his hand through his gray hair. What Aragorn needed from him now was that same desire to follow orders that had guided Idhrin through his whole life. And what was more, Idhrin trusted Aragorn not to make such a decision as this in haste.

"I will do it, Aragorn. I will lead the attack. Though I hope you will not take the sentiment amiss if I say that I hope the Valar may produce Halbarad before morning."

Aragorn shook his head, "Of course not, Idhrin. I hope that myself, for I greatly fear that we may at last have suffered casualties. Halbarad's death I could not easily bear, nor Bartho or Erynbenn's. If time were less pressing I would wait for them but this is no small journey we must take and I must trust Ilúvatar that they will be waiting to greet us upon our return." He chose a few more pieces of kindling and tossed them onto the cooking fire in front of him.

"Aye," Idhrin agreed. His sober brown eyes softened as he added, "Perhaps Bartho has stumbled upon a second Lindamar."

It was not the first time Legolas had heard the strange word, and he was opening his mouth to request an explanation when to his surprise Aragorn began to laugh. It was a low laugh, but a genuine one.

"I sincerely hope not," the ranger said at last, his eyes twinkling suddenly in a way that proved Idhrin's attempt to cheer him had indeed been successful. He added ruefully, "Really, this ought not to be amusing."

"Perhaps not," Legolas' tone was light, "but this stew is as finished as it will ever be and you have gone too far to end this conversation without finally telling me what Lindamar is."

"'Who'," Malvegil corrected from the other side of the fire. "Lindamar was a woman."

The elf's eyebrows rose and Aragorn retreated into a fresh bout of laughter.

"Aye, you would not think it to look at Bartho, would you?" Malvegil shrugged his broad shoulders.

"But perhaps it explains his outlook better than even the warg fight on Oronta Crag," Idhrin said. "In many ways it molded him more than even hypothermia could have." The elder Dúnadan eased himself down within the circle of orange light and accepted the bowl of stew that Legolas passed him.

"Are you saying this Lindamar was someone important to Bartho?" Legolas frowned, wondering where the humor in this might be if the story was as he suspected.

"Important, yes, but no relation," Aragorn shook his head. "And it's not a very complicated story either, though perhaps a bit long. She lived in Archet, near Bree, and was the daughter of a wealthy farmer whose many losses to roving bandits somehow did not manage to decrease his income. She worked with the local weaver and bode fair to build for herself a fine reputation in that line. It was on a journey to market her cloth in another town — and a very foolish journey it was for a lass all alone like that — that she was set upon by a troll."

"Largest troll I'd ever seen that far out from Trollshaws," Idhrin nodded meditatively. "Gave quite a fight before Bartho managed to slit its throat. I still cannot see how he failed to break his leg on the way down…"

"You haven't mentioned she was beautiful," Malvegil interrupted.

"Oh yes, she also had a reputation as the village beauty. I can't say for sure — she paled in comparison with most elven women — but I will grant she had small, fair face, and rather large distracting eyes." Aragorn shook his head in a sort of shrug. "In any event, Bartho, despite being possessed of a very serious mind and a driving loyalty to his own people, was besotted. He offered to escort her to her destination and then home again, and by the time he returned from this self-imposed mission he was in no temper to listen to any voices of reason."

"And I admit I did protest right strongly when I found he had not told her he was of the Dúnedain," Idhrin sighed.

"But he wouldn't hear a word against her," Malvegil chuckled. "I don't think we could have ever found it so amusing if it weren't for the melodramatic way in which he defended her honor against all dissenters. She was Tinuviel! She was Varda! She rivaled the sun with her brilliance!"

"Did she return his feelings?" Legolas prompted, finishing his own stew and laying the bowl aside.

"She seemed to. Whenever he could steal away he visited her, and she wove for him highly impractical pieces of outer wear that he kept in his satchel at all times — though he never donned them," Malvegil said. "It was as if he had turned into a completely different man."

Idhrin held up a restraining hand to interject something, "Understand, Legolas, that we Dúnedain do not often marry, and when we do it is to women of Numenorean descent. Lindamar had no such heritage, and most of us dearly hoped that their mutual interest would die out very soon."

"Very true," Aragorn agreed. "In any case, Bartho's endless sonnets of Lindamar's beauty soon turned to endless rhapsodies on their coming betrothal. He hadn't seen her for nearly a month, but when the stars were finally in their correct places, or whatever he used to determine his moment, Bartho set out for Archet to ask for her hand."

"And then she jilted him?" Legolas asked, finally beginning to grasp where this tale was aimed.

"Oh, if only she had!" groaned Malvegil.

"Aye, that would have been the best time," Idhrin agreed.

"Unfortunately, she accepted," Aragorn shook his head with a sigh. "He came back with his feet hardly touching the earth."

"At which time I suddenly recalled that I had never heard him tell of her reaction to his position here amongst us," Idhrin stoked the fire idly with a dead branch.

Legolas stared. "He had never told her he was a ranger?"

"No," Aragorn replied, "never. Fortunately (or perhaps not), Bartho still had his unswerving loyalty to the Dúnedain and it was only with a very little difficulty that he was persuaded to go and confess to her. After all, she would have to go with him after they were wed, and living in the wild is very difficult for those women who do marry amongst us.

"When he returned from his journey, he seemed pleased, but distracted. We gathered that he had pleaded his case — explaining the true purpose behind our presence here in the north — and she had accepted his explanation, but that there had been an odd turn in the conversation where she had suddenly left the room and then returned to give her answer. I could not think why he would have mentioned it if it had not somehow bothered him. Still, she had agreed to come with him and certain of us prepared ourselves for the actual introduction to Bartho's chosen bride. He intended to bring her out to meet us before the wedding in Archet, which was to be a lavish affair provided by Lindamar's father; the sort of event where a half dozen filthy, orc-blood spattered rangers would hardly be welcomed. Erynbenn was not with us at the time, though he knows the story — as do my brothers, actually — and it was chiefly Idhrin, Halbarad, Malvegil, and myself. At the appointed time we gathered and waited… and waited… and waited…"

"It was nigh on midnight before we realized something must have befallen them," Malvegil put in.

Idhrin smiled lopsidedly, "We tracked Bartho all the way into Archet, keeping well hidden in case some enemy still lurked in wait for us."

"Where was he?" Legolas asked. "At her house?"

"Somewhere closer to the town gallows, actually," Malvegil tilted his head thoughtfully.

"To put it simpler: the town prison," said Aragorn.

"Prison? What had he done?" the elf's eyes widened in surprise.

"Absolutely nothing," Idhrin sighed, "and it is here that the tale ceases to be humorous. There had recently been a great many local disturbances — largely of the thieving variety, but also some burned property and a few murders — of which Bartho had been unaware because of his long absences. For lack of any evidence to actually track down the ruffians responsible, the full blame was laid upon 'those lawless rangers'. In his ignorance, Bartho had chosen a very poor time to confess."

"True. But even more terrible than the town's reaction to his identity was the way in which he was caught." Aragorn's face was now sad as he gazed into the red flames. "As soon as she learned who he was, Lindamar had gone immediately to her father, leaving Bartho standing in the entrance way. For all her beauty, Lindamar simply did not have the intelligence to contrast what she knew of Bartho with the crimes that had been committed. At her father's instruction she returned to her betrothed, agreed to the marriage, declared herself willing to meet us, and requested that he come and escort her to us that night. I expect she felt herself a grand heroine for aiding in the capture of a pillaging highwayman."

"Her father arranged an ambush quite easily, even in spite of Bartho's sharp eyes and ears." Malvegil said. "Bartho wasn't expecting trouble in Lindamar's house, you see, especially when she herself greeted him cheerily at the door."

"And they intended to hang him over this?" Legolas asked in disbelief.

"Oh, aye," Idhrin nodded calmly. "The local magistrate had been ordered to take action, so action had to be taken. We arrived just in time for Aragorn to pick the lock on poor Bartho's cell before his early morning execution. You never did tell us where you learned that, you know."

Legolas' eyes darted over to meet the twinkling ones of his friend, but Aragorn didn't answer the unspoken question.

Idhrin tossed a last piece of wood on the fire, sending up sparks. "Before the month was out the actual bandits were caught and hung, with Halbarad and Aragorn lending a little anonymous help, and the whole trouble died down — as well as it ever does in these dark days. Even Bartho agreed immediately that Lindamar's seeming treachery was more due to idiocy than malice, but it was still a betrayal of his love and it changed him. Lindamar was the one thing he took for granted; he's never made the mistake since, if he could help it. And though I'm afraid we still laugh over how astonishingly witless she was, and how foolish he made himself over her, we don't mention her name to him anymore."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "It is a strange tale for me; I cannot imagine such a thing ever happening amongst elves. All the same, I thank you for the explanation."

"Our pleasure," Aragorn inclined his head. "Maybe now you'll be prepared to forgive Elladan and Elrohir for the odd stories about *you* that they've passed on in the evenings."

"I do not even wish to know," Legolas groaned, causing Malvegil to laugh.

Idhrin rose to his feet and lifted his bed roll. "We must to bed if we are to set out in the morning."

"Yes," Aragorn nodded readily. "To bed, and quickly before Legolas decides he is more irritated than amused."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The early morning air was gray and uninviting, but the three Dúnedain did not seem to notice as they slid on their cloaks and other gear.

"Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to stay a while?" Kemen asked.

"Yes," Halbarad nodded. "We thank you very much for your hospitality, but we must be away."

"Very well then. I hope you stocked up from my larder as I told you? Good. Then have a good journey, sirs, wherever you may be going. I'm still not quite sure what to make of you folk, but I'll allow I've been pleasantly surprised by your help and your manners. Please don't hesitate to stop in if you ever come through town, and don't mind if the neighbors stare: they've sawdust for brains."

Bree was at their backs before Erynbenn permitted himself a low laugh. "You should feel happy, Bartho," he teased gravely. "You manners were pleasantly surprising."

Bartho snorted, but Halbarad joined in the laugh in spite of himself. It felt good.

"Now come, if I know Aragorn he'll have started off through the Barrow Downs that very night, in spite of the fog. I hope he has not come to harm — and with Legolas beside him it is unlikely — but we need to find him before he starts north for that tower. I'd be willing to stake my life that this book Raane described, if it could be found, would give him all the information he needs."

"And?" Erynbenn prodded. "Is that not what we had hoped when he left?"

"Yes, but to get his brothers out it is unlikely he will take all of us with him, and if he leaves before we can speak with him…" Halbarad trailed off, remembering the drawing in the dust. Nobody in or out through the tower doors… the last and greatest one will stay behind… guard the tunnels…

At first glance, the ruined watchtower seemed to be deserted. Cupping his hands about his mouth, Halbarad gave a short whistle and a lone figure appeared in the doorway at the tower's base.

"Halbarad?" the figure asked. It was an elf.

For a moment, the ranger's breath left him as he saw the dark hair, but then the elf came closer and he recognized his face. "Moranuen?"

"Yes," the Rivendell elf nodded quickly. "I was hoping to find Aragorn here, but no one is about. Do you have any word of him?"

"We only just arrived," Halbarad shook his head. "Come, though, there should be someone left nearby."

Moranuen followed readily, his light feet leaving scarcely a mark on the rain-softened ground. He cast the three Dúnedain a sidelong look. "You look as though you battled a cave troll and lost."

Erynbenn gave a small smile, Bartho a grunt, and Halbarad stared back at the elf. "Aragorn has most definitely had a bad influence upon you," the ranger sighed.

"Perhaps," Moranuen agreed. "How was he when you left?"

"Fine," Halbarad said, "but I dearly hope that he has not departed yet."

The elf's dark head came up suddenly, "Why?"

Halbarad's answer was delayed by the appearance of Eldacar from the trees ahead of him. The Dúnadan had a weary and grim look about him, as if the night watches had been especially long of late.

"What news, Eldacar? Where is Aragorn?" Halbarad asked urgently.

Eldacar pushed his hood back and gave a brief nod of greeting. "Aragorn left in the dark hours this morning with much of the company — he selected eight of us to stay behind. He had found a map to where Lord Elladan and Elrohir were taken."

Bartho's eyes closed briefly, his grim expression darkening still further.

"Then we are too late," Erynbenn said.

"No, not yet," Halbarad denied firmly. "If we leave now we may yet catch them up before they reach the tower."

"Too late for what?" Moranuen demanded. "What tower is this that you speak of? Lord Elrond sent me to seek word of you, and your half words are all of mystery."

Halbarad glanced towards the sky. It was difficult to tell through the clouds, but he guessed the time to be early evening. Looking back at Moranuen he said, "There is a Nwelmai yet lying in Aragorn's path of which he knows nothing. If we can warn him, perhaps he can find a different route in and yet save your lord's sons. If we cannot, he may very well be slain."

The elf did not flinch at the raw assessment of his friend's danger. "Is there anyone you can spare to return to Lord Elrond with this news in my place?"

Eldacar nodded, "Aye, if it is needed."

"It is needed."

Bartho frowned, "Are you not returning yourself?"

"No." The elf turned back towards where his horse was grazing beside the tower base. "I am coming with you."

The reply caught Halbarad by surprise. He had naturally recognized that Moranuen had been a good friend of Aragorn's, but he only now realized how much a friend. Nodding to Erynbenn and Bartho, he too started back to the horses. They had a long ride ahead of them and somehow they had to both track and catch up with Aragorn before he entered that tower. Somehow.

In a way, it was comforting to have an uninjured elf as a companion.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Legolas had felt sure that the sky could not possibly be any more gray, nor the rain so heavy as it was around the Chetwood. By the end of the fourth day of travel, he realized he had been very wrong. Above him the lowering sky was so dark he could scarcely believe it was early afternoon, and the constant rain had managed to soak completely through his cloak, his leather over tunic, and his silken under tunic. With a better tolerance for cold than humans had, he did not pay much heed to his chilled feet and hands, but he guessed that the Dúnedain were even more uncomfortable than he was. And each day took them even further into the colder climate of the north.

At the elf's side, Aragorn rode in silence. He was not brooding — on the contrary, he had shown an unexpected eagerness through the past few days of hard travel. The feeling that he was blundering about with no hope of ever finding his brothers had dissipated with the finding of the map, and now he had thrown his full energy into reaching the tower as soon as possible. It was a desire that all the company seemed to share, with the possible exception of the tired horses.

Topping a ridgeline, Aragorn glanced at the map and led them along a steep trail that took them down into the gully below. Pale trees that did not look as though they received enough sunlight hung over them as they went even deeper. Plant life began to dwindle, with only the occasional skeleton of a tree to mark where there might once have been a flourishing wood. The ridges on either side began to close in, narrowing the gully until it was only possible to travel single file. Idhrin looked up uneasily; any rocks falling from above would reach a speed fast enough to kill a man once they actually hit the ground. The gray sky had dwindled to a narrow snaking ribbon far above their heads.

When it seemed the track must finally disappear into a dead end of blackness, Aragorn halted. The cliff walls shielded them from the rain, but they also blocked out most of the light and Legolas could not tell what his friend was looking at.

Dismounting, Aragorn took a few steps forward along the rocky ground and placed his hand on the cliff wall, his fingers feeling along it.

"What is it?" Legolas asked.

"There are Numenorean words carved into the wall here," Aragorn murmured. "And the lichen has already been brushed from them."

"You think it must have been that man who came this way?" the elf questioned, dismounting and moving to Aragorn's side.

"Yes. Orcs would not know this speech, and it is unlikely they would look for such an entrance to begin with; they would attempt something more direct, such as smashing the door down."

"It is a door?"

In answer Aragorn reached out his hand and placed his palm over a twisted carving of a black tree. Looking up to the inscription he whispered a word in a language Legolas did not understand. Red lines seemed to crawl out from under each of the ranger's fingers, snaking across the face of the rock and glimmering dully like blood. A soft crack echoed as the door's edges were revealed and the red lines crept through the crack and on into the tunnel behind. Reaching into the gap, Aragorn grasped the edge of the door and swung it open and to the side.

"We should leave it thus," Malvegil suggested. "We do not know if we will be able to open it again once it is closed behind us."

Aragorn nodded and frowned at the door, holding it pressed back against the cliff face as Malvegil shifted a large stone to keep it open.

Without another word, they mounted and rode inward. There was no suggestion made of torches — everyone knew full well there was not a dry stick of wood left to be found. After an hour a dim light began to shine up ahead and the tunnel opened out at last onto a small plateau. To their right the other side of the cliff curved around to create a sort of wide, circular valley. To their left the cliff also curved a short way, but then it pressed a tongue of itself into the center of the valley, like a jetty into the sea, or a single spoke reaching towards the center of a wheel.

Built against and into the side of this outcropping of stone there rose the high, black shape of a tower.

Legolas shuddered silently as a bolt of lightening crackled above. The whole sky was a black, roiling mass of storm clouds, but where everywhere else the clouds had given way to icy rain, here everything was dry as ancient bones. Clinging wearily to the hard soil, blasted trees leaned their twisted forms away from tower at their center. Mounds of stone rose and fell, desolate black refuse from when the tower had been constructed hundreds of years before. The torpid grasses lay limp upon the ground. The lack of sunlight turned everything to shades of gray.

A path had been trampled by orc feet through the low hills of stone towards the tower's base, but it led past the door through which the Dúnedain had entered and farther along to what seemed to be an even larger entrance into the valley. It was from there that Elladan and Elrohir had likely first caught sight of their prison. //If they are still alive.// Legolas shook himself harshly at the thought. If only for Aragorn's sake, he would not even consider such possibility.

Slowly, Aragorn closed the black book and slid it into his saddle bag. He knew where the entrance to the Nwelmai's tunnel was; he'd looked at the drawing so often as to have it memorized.

"Idhrin?"

"Aye?"

Aragorn pointed towards the orc path, "This leads around to the eastern side of the tower. Take your men and travel as careful a route as you need to keep yourself from being noted and attacked. So long as you can initiate the conflict, the size of entrance should limit the size of the force they can send against you."

"Lord Aragorn," Malvegil said carefully, "may I again suggest it would be wise for more than you and Legolas to enter the tunnels?"

"No," Aragorn shook his head, "there are few enough of us here. I already know I am condemning some of you to death with this plan — I will not condemn more by stripping you of extra men; especially when it is best if only a few enter the tower. Our hope lies in the fact that the Nwelmai tunnels are empty so that we can therefore avoid a fight within; and all the caution in the world will be in vain if too many of us go."

Malvegil nodded unhappily, turning his horse and heading it down the rough trail at Idhrin's instruction.

The old ranger, Aragorn, and Legolas all waited as each of the Dúnedain rode past. When the last one was several yards away, Idhrin turned soberly to Aragorn. "Since Halbarad is not here, I will pass on what I know he would have said. You do not condemn us to death, Aragorn. We are men of Arnor, though it stands no more, and we follow our king gladly. If it is to our deaths, then so be it. But you travel a path too dark already and we will not grant you the burden of our own choices." His gray hair twisted about him in the cold wind as he touched his left shoulder in farewell. "May the Valar be with you, my lord."

Turning away, he urged his horse down the path and out of sight amidst the stones.

A hollow moan echoed through the valley as the wind whistled through some arch or crevice. Aragorn let out a breath.

"Come, my friend," Legolas urged gently. "There is a cave awaiting us, and I have no intention of entering it alone."

The human tilted his head and grimaced. "I am sorry, Legolas; I seem always to be dragging you underground."

"It is not underground, for the cliff into which it was carved is aboveground. What is more, there are no orcs in this one," Legolas retorted firmly. "That difference alone makes our portion of this attack very much simpler."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

"Still nothing, my lord," Sharzak shook his hideous head slowly. "The filthy elf-kind put away their weapons a few days after the letter arrived. They have not brought them out again."

"Yes, that is what you *saw*," Captain Eression agreed. "What did you hear?"

The orc shifted from one foot to the other, his head lolling to the side as he tilted his poison green eyes to meet the steely ones of his human captain. "The elf king is anxious for his sons," Sharzak spat. "It is rumored that soon he will come for them against all threats. The hunters: they say this when they go out for deer in the evenings."

"But he has not moved yet," Eression mused. "I am rather surprised, in a way… I had always heard that Elron—" he broke off, recalling that his spy was still cringing before him. "Go back to the caves; I wish you to leave again in the morning. Rogkhar will give you provisions."

After a little groveling, Sharzak turned to go — only to leap back from the doorway with a squeal as a gravelly shout echoed down the corridor.

"Attack at the doors! Attack! Attack! Come on, you mangy louts, to the doors as fast as your miserable stumps can take you!"

Leaping to his feet, his first instinct to race up to Kallomore in the tower, Eression instead turned towards the entrance. A defense had to be arranged first. Somehow the impossible had happened: they had been found. And who could possibly be at the gates? Lord Elrond must have sent his troops after all.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

It had been more difficult to find the Nwelmai's exit in the cliffs than Legolas had thought. The rift in the rock was narrow and ragged, like an open wound, and as the elf slid through it behind his friend, he could feel the evil pressing down on him like a physical force. For a paralyzing minute he feared he would not be able to walk the long tunnels up to the tower's summit. It was too dark, too strong — just too dark.

A hand reached back out of the blackness and touched his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Legolas nodded, taking several more steps inside. His skin glowed only barely, for the light was choked off before it had traveled far beyond him. There was the scratch of flint and steel as Aragorn struck a light. The torch, which he had cut from one of the dead trees outside, burned slowly and showed them the black walls and ceiling around and above them.

Crushed rock lay on the floor. Every surface was pitted and scored with crisscrossing lines — as if claws had been scraped along them. Up ahead the tunnel wound upwards towards their destination.

"Come," Aragorn whispered.

Trying to move quickly they started forwards, but their movements were sluggish as if they were trying to swim upstream against a strong current. Legolas licked his lips as if to begin a song, but the notes were hurled back in his throat to choke him. Aragorn reached a narrow rift in the floor and took a short jump to clear it, only to barely reach the other side as his feet stumbled on some loose shale. The pieces of rock clattered down the vent, taking an eerie amount of time to hit the bottom.

"They have left their mark," Legolas shook his head as they pressed even further in. "There can be no cleansing this place."

Aragorn nodded silently. Though not an elf with an elf's perception of the earth around him, he was yet elf-raised and a ranger. The very stones had been blackened to their cores. No redemption.

And then the torch went out.

"Aragorn?!" Legolas called, whirling to where his friend had been.

A blood-freezing cry — like death in winter — like something soulless and hungry — ricocheted off the walls. It was above them, behind them, in front of them, within them. Somewhere something pounced like a whirlwind and Legolas felt a moment of relief as he smelled the decay of the creature's coat; at least now he knew where it was. Then he felt a blow with claws catch him on the shoulder, spinning him around and sending him off balance. His body felt pain in a dozen places as he slammed over rocks and down a short incline he could not remember being there.

Blindly, the elf scrabbled in the utter darkness, feeling again the horrible helplessness of the Barrow. There. His knives. He still had them. Up above him another scream sounded, followed by a deep, barking battle roar and the crush of more stones as the creature leapt again and landed. The ground seemed to tremble a minute, sending a shower of gravel down the incline over Legolas' head. The elf could only assume that somehow a Nwelmai had remained in the tunnel, but if so it was twice the size of any they had faced before. And he and Aragorn had little enough time as it was.

The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed as Aragorn gave a muffled cry and fell, rising again and swinging his sword in a whistling arch that struck something. Whatever it was, it only enraged the beast further.

Legolas scrambled up the slope, the glow about him showing only near glimpses of a clawed foot, a pile of stones, a pitted wall.

"Aragorn? Aragorn!" the elf shouted anxiously, darting forward and slashing once at a portion of the gray furred hide, flinching back as some of the blood dripped onto his fingers and burned.

"Legolas, the torch—" Aragorn's plea was cut off as another blow caught him across the chest and knocked the air from him.

Legolas stared about, trying for bearings and finding none in the impenetrable dark. Where had the torch been dropped? Throwing himself recklessly forward, the horrible screeches of claws scoring the stones filling his ears and setting his teeth on edge, the elf's hands wandered about after the torch.

The Valar were still with them. His hand grasped charred wood and he cared not for the burning that told him he had grasped the wrong end of it. His hand dove for his own flint and steel as the scratching continued. It was now accompanied by furious screaming barks as the beast caught the scent of blood. And not just any blood.

With a spark, the torch sputtered to life again, throwing a feeble light at best, but light enough for Legolas to at last discover what the noises had been. Aragorn had wedged himself firmly into a narrow crevice in the wall, out of reach of the Nwelmai's claws, and it was tearing furiously at the entrance to his refuge. A thin trickle of blood from a wound above the human's ear was making its slow way over the lip of the rock.

The Nwelmai itself…

It was larger than Legolas had even imagined, almost filling the space between floor and ceiling, except that so little of it seemed to be flesh that the elf imagined it could fit into a tunnel half this size. The black cloud that followed the unnatural creatures roiled as it moved, almost as if the beast were a storm and its claws lightening.

//And we cannot kill it.// The elf thrust the thought aside and cast down the torch, drawing two arrows almost before it struck the ground. With only stone upon the floor, the torch did not go out, and the shots soared true. They lodged but three inches apart in the side of the Nwelmai's neck. The beast bucked, whether in surprise or real pain Legolas could not tell.

"Aragorn, come!" he shouted, firing three times more in rapid succession. One shot sailed through the black mist without striking anything, but the other two seemed to vanish into moldering fur and the creature yelled again, lunging for Legolas. The elf took a long step back — realizing then that it was not long enough.

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Aragorn meanwhile had acted instantly, worming his way back out of his hiding place and drawing his sword before his balance was really regained. His first swing was clumsy. His second struck the Nwelmai's tail and noxious blood poured onto the stones as if he had struck an artery.

Again the creature swerved about so quickly that the elf he had lunged for was sent slamming into a wall with the force of the motion. Raging and thundering it reared up so that the ceiling seemed to crack to accommodate it.

Baiting the monster back and forth like this could only last minutes at best and they had nothing with which to slay it. At best they could hope to get past it in such a way that it would let them free. At worst, it would kill them before they ever reached the top. And by the time the Dúnedain realized that they would not be coming back down, it would be too late for them to make their own retreat. One Nwelmai might well cost all of them their lives.

"Up the tunnel!" Aragorn shouted. As the creature clawed the ceiling in fury, preparatory to falling back to all fours, the ranger ran recklessly forward and directly into the black mist. So great was the creature — so thick its darkness — that for a moment it enveloped and blinded him, freezing the blood in his veins and the breath in his lungs. He floundered, drowning in the stench of death, until his hands briefly brushed fur covered muscle on either side of him. The Nwelmai's back legs. And then he was through the dreadful archway and Legolas was in front of him, staring at Aragorn as if he might be a ghost.

"This way," Aragorn shouted pointlessly, scooping up the torch and dashing up the narrow tunnel as if a demon of the underworld was on his heels.

It was.

On the two companions ran, up and in. Somehow, perhaps because they had injured it, they managed a short lead on the creature and they attempted to keep it. Rock slid away beneath them, shafts opened in front of them, but sheer desperation kept their balance and never did there seem to be more than one tunnel. Then, after what seemed miles of rocky passageways, the tunnel abruptly split, left and right.

"Aragorn, which—"

"Left," the ranger replied promptly, noting the way the right had been more evenly carved out, as if by orcs or humans, whereas the right had higher, domed ceilings, as if it had been an air pocket enlarged by the Nwelmai themselves instead of by their masters.

They were about to turn to the left when Aragorn paused, slit a piece of his tunic off and with a wince wiped it hastily across the wound above his ear before dropping it just within the right hand tunnel. Slitting another piece of tunic free, he wrapped it around his head to stem the bleeding as he ran.

"Do you think that will draw it away?" Legolas asked quietly, trying hard to run silently in spite of the loose stones.

"Not for long," Aragorn shook his head. "I can only hope it will delay it a few minutes at least before it realizes we are no longer in front of it. It is too clever to be fooled so simply."

It was after another half hour of running in silence without a breath of air stirring at their backs that Legolas again looked at his friend, "Where did it go?"

Aragorn's brow furrowed. "I don't know; I still cannot imagine it falling for so ridiculous a ruse, especially not for this long. It must still be behind us. Perhaps it is moving silently in hopes of sneaking in upon us."

It was an unnerving thought. The claustrophobia that Legolas had been holding at bay seemed to well up inside him. Forcefully, almost angrily, he struggled to contain it again. Nodding his head once hard, he caught a glimpse of something glittering in the ceiling above him. For only a second, he wondered at the thought of diamonds in such caves as these, and then he leapt forward reflexively. He nearly collided with his friend and Aragorn shot only a quick glance back at him before the elf pushed him sharply forward.

"Look out!"

Like a stone in weight, but more like a fetid waterfall, the Nwelmai pounced from the overhead tunnel way and screamed so loud their ears rang and dust fell from the ceiling. It seemed the right hand tunnel had been a short cut. Faster than lightening it sprang after them, hissing between glittering razor teeth and breathing in gusts they could feel rustling their hair.

Its claws snaked out and tangled with Aragorn's legs, bringing the human crashing to the ground. An eerie familiarity washed over Aragorn as the Nwelmai's front legs flipped him over and then pinned his shoulders to the ground. Its snout came within inches of his face, breathing death over him. Last time Elladan and Elrohir had saved him from this very predicament; now he had to survive to save them. Arching his lower back, he hooked his boot under the torch he had dropped and threw it up towards the creature's belly. The fur did not truly ignite, but embers caught in it and the stink of burned flesh filled Aragorn's nostrils as the Nwelmai jerked again. This time, however, it was apparently not surprised enough to let him free.

With a running leap, Legolas sailed into the air and landed upon the creature's massive back. It's steel muscles moved beneath him and the cloud of fear about it froze his fingers where he gripped its fur. Withdrawing his knives he plunged them in quick succession into the back of the creature's neck, not far above where his arrows still protruded. Plunging them in again, he hauled back hard on their ivory handles, dragging long slashes down the Nwelmai's shoulders. This time the creature leaped back, freeing its human prey accidentally as it tried to crane its neck and snap at the elf. Legolas had assumed it would try such a tactic and had shifted himself backwards out of reach.

Lancing fire like a brand upon his back reminded him suddenly of the tail.

Aragorn heard his friend cry out involuntarily and swung the Numenorean blade in an attempt to distract the Nwelmai from the elf clinging to it. Almost lazily, the creature snapped at him, its glittering eyes seeming to twinkle with mirth. In spite of all possible pain that had been inflicted upon it, Aragorn could almost feel its enjoyment washing over him. Somehow, it had never lost control of the human and the elf. It was playing with them.

Yelling a battle cry, Aragorn swung again at its snout and missed by a few inches as it sprang back like a cat. Its tail came whistling around to strike at his head, but while his first swing had missed, his back cut struck flesh. The jolt traveled up his arm and in the split second of silence before the shriek of rage, he felt a heavy thud on his boot as the severed tail claw fell. Instinctively, he dodged back away from the Nwelmai's rush.

With the tail now useless, Legolas again dug his knives in and dragged them out, occasionally hanging onto the imbedded knives' handles for balance when the creature turned a sharp corner in pursuit of Aragorn. Somehow, he had to make it halt again! After perhaps eight more stabs, the creature finally did halt, but a premonition of danger flooded the elf's senses as he felt the Nwelmai's muscles bunch beneath him.

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From in front of the beast, Aragorn saw it first. "Legolas, jump!" he yelled, but too late.

The creature thrust itself straight up off the ground. Its back slammed against the tunnel ceiling, sending shockwaves through the rock and crushing the elf's body against the rough stones.

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With his hands still laced into the Nwelmai's hide and his eyes turned toward its back, his face and chest were cushioned by the creature's flesh, but his head and back hit the ceiling hard enough that his grasp on consciousness slip wildly. His whole back throbbed dully in a way that assured him it would have hurt worse had his head not been ringing. He had to get off and quickly before the Nwelmai leapt again.

Rolling unsteadily to the side, he tried to twist his body so that he landed on his feet, but he miscalculated in his disorientation and crashed instead to his hands and knees. Ahead of him he could hear Aragorn yelling again, and the sounds of steel against claws and flesh connecting with flesh confused him. Clawed feet moved over and around him and he found himself dodging near blows as he tried to recover full grasp of his senses.

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With a shallow swing, Aragorn struck a slicing blow across the beast's muzzle and it twisted away, seemingly running half way up the wall before turning in midair to land on all fours again. Before it could land, Aragorn caught his friend's elbow and hauled him to his feet and down the passage once again.

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Using Aragorn's grasp as a reference in a world that was spinning too fast, Legolas soon managed to blink away the dizziness and turn his attention from seeing to running.

"It knows its way," Aragorn was saying, his voice labored as he ran. "We can't outrun it all the way to the tower, we'll have to—"

The elf didn't hear the last part because the tunnel opened out into a wide room, like another air pocket, and he automatically jerked his friend up against the wall so as to give the creature no time to come alongside them. With the tunnel no longer keeping it strictly at their backs, their situation suddenly became even more deadly than before.

The Nwelmai sprang into the room, its blackness billowing up high, expanding to fill the larger space. Aragorn had been right: before the pursuit had been almost a game. The beast had been confined for hundreds of years, its only role to remain within the tunnels and hold them against any foe, and the human and the elf were the only ones to ever attempt such a thing. Though the Dúnadan's blood was demanding a swift kill, the Nwelmai's own boredom had led it to allow them a certain leeway in the chase. Now its tail throbbed and bled behind it as it pursued them and its wroth burned high. The game had ended.

Aragorn watched in fascinated horror as the creature reared again and came around in front of them, blocking access to the dark opening opposite them that showed where the tunnel continued on. Its lashing tail spattered black blood across the ceiling. Running still, trying to get around the Nwelmai, Aragorn searched with half an eye for any other exits. There were none.

"Legolas, can you shoot at its eyes?" he called.

The elf did not answer, moving instead to draw his bow and string an arrow. There was a faint glitter, invisible to all but elven eyes, that seemed to mark where the weak torchlight reflected from jet black pupils. Drawing the arrow back to its full length he fired. The shot did not strike its target, for the beast moved its head, but it found a mark in the area of the Nwelmai's shoulder. The creature did not react.

"No," the elf shook his head, reaching out a hand to pull Aragorn down as the bloody, swinging tail lashed past them at head height.

In return, Aragorn shoved him to the right, throwing himself to the left as a clawed foot raked the stone between them. The creature had sprung, its fangs bared and dripping with blackness as if it had bitten something in its own mouth. Two more slashes separated them even further, and then Aragorn gave a startled gasp as a gap in the ground opened beneath him. It was not a deep crevice — only seven feet — but he was still holding the torch, and as he fell into the narrow space, the rest of the cave was plunged into near darkness.

Legolas' eyes burned bright as he moved quickly along, the beast still behind him. A dim orange glow issuing from the ground in the direction Aragorn had run was the only sign he had that his friend had not disappeared for good. There was the all too familiar sound of the beast lifting itself into a spring, and then the elf was brought up short as the Nwelmai landed a mere foot in front of him. Spinning about, he ran the other direction, only to be cut off again. The near invisibility of the creature in the dark made it impossible to tell where it was aiming next. He was too far below, and too close to the beast to aim accurately for anything vital.

The elf backed against the wall and felt the press of a stone edge against his spine. It sent pain slicing through the gash on his back, but without taking any more attention from his attacker than he could help, he ran a hand hastily up the outcrop. It was maybe nine inches wide, and that was wide enough.

The Nwelmai had drawn back for another spring. Running swiftly forward, the elf spun on his heel and ran straight back at the wall, leaping upwards and twisting in mid-air to land hard on the narrow ledge. For a man the feat would have been impossible. For an elf it was very nearly so. As he ran up the sloping track, it occasionally widened and occasionally dropped off all together. It took several nerve-wracking jumps to get him far enough up the wall for a bow shot to be feasible. Finding himself then at a place where the ledge jutted suddenly out into a short finger of rock, he braced his feet and drew an arrow.

In spite of the swiftness of his ascent, the beast had already come back once to take a ranging leap at him. It came up short, but it now knew where he was.

The wood elf took as careful aim as he could with no light, knowing he would have perhaps two shots before he was thrown from his perch. Letting the arrow free, he drew another and only then looked up to see whether his first shot had struck home. He blinked. He could no longer see the Nwelmai below him. He hastily searched, his aim following his gaze as he tried desperately to see into the blackness. Where was it? What was it preparing to do? He needed light… he needed the torch!

"Aragorn," he called desperately, "throw it here!"

Across the cavern Aragorn had finally hauled himself out of the rift and he drew his sword again, staring about before turning to retrieve the torch. The elf's incomplete request arrested him mid-motion and he left the torch behind as he ran to his friend's aid

There was a sibilant hiss from the direction of the floor. With a rush of horror, Legolas looked straight down and finally saw the Nwelmai crouched silently beneath him. His body reacted in spite of his frozen mind. Aiming the arrow down he let it fly at the back of the creature's skull— and then the Nwelmai twitched to the side, faster than even Legolas could track, and caught the arrow in its mouth. The shaft cracked in between the strong jaws. A glimmer of triumph flickered in the beast's eyes. Rearing again, it brought its front feet to rest on either side of the trapped elf and screamed one last time.

As Legolas reached for his knives and simultaneously felt the blast of the cry hammer into his sensitive ears, the Nwelmai jerked suddenly back. Legolas could hear his own blood flowing in his ears, but all else was silent as he stared ahead in bewilderment. The creature stood, balanced on its back legs, and opened and closed its mouth as if it were making sounds, though Legolas could not hear them. Its claws came up to tear at its own throat and at something sticking there, but the elf could not tell what it was. Then, with a crash that shook the walls, the beast fell over backwards and lay writhing.

Legolas braced himself against the cavern wall, trying to see a way down and wishing his hearing would return. If he called for Aragorn now, he would not hear any answer that might be given. He frowned down at his feet, wondering why the stone outcropping beneath him was still trembling when the Nwelmai had already been felled…

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"Legolas! Get down from there!" Aragorn yelled again, wondering why his friend had not moved. The echoing sounds of stones cracking blasted around him like sharp bursts of thunder. The shock of the Nwelmai's fall seemed to be growing in intensity. In a moment, the whole cavern might drop itself inward on them.

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With a rush, Legolas' hearing returned, bringing with it at last the ranger's warning, "— down from there! Jump!"

Trusting instinctively, the elf leapt from the wall, feeling the outcropping crack and drop away from beneath him as he jumped. It was a fair drop and Legolas rolled a short way before painfully coming to a stop against a large chunk of stone. He pushed himself upright and turned to run with his friend towards the far tunnel.

Aragorn paused only once, dodging in amongst the flailing limbs of the Nwelmai to haul his sword from its throat.

Running then even faster than when the creature had been pursuing them, they wove between the rocks now tumbling from the ceiling like rain and ducked into the protection of the tunnel. Even then they did not cease their flight. It was only when the echoes of the cave-in were becoming distant that Aragorn was at last forced to call a halt. With the torch deeply buried in the cavern behind them, the ranger sank onto a short boulder and gasped for breath in the blackness. His only way of determining that Legolas was still nearby was the elf's own quick breathing. They had not run far, but they had run hard.

"Is it dead, do you think?" Legolas whispered.

"No," Aragorn shook his head, the elf's keen hearing catching the sound of his hair brushing his shoulders. "Without some way to break the witchcraft that controls them, there is no way to slay them. After a while it would have recovered enough to pursue us, but hopefully the added help of the cavern falling in will hold it there for a few weeks at least."

The elf nodded in understanding. "Then we'd best press on before those weeks are up."

The human rose to his feet to signify his agreement, but paused as he felt his friend's hand on his shoulder. "Only one more question," Legolas gave a half smile which the ranger heard, though he could not see it. "How did your sword find its way to the Nwelmai's throat?"

Aragorn gave a shrug to match the elf's smile. "You told me to throw it."

After a quarter mile or more, the tunnel seemed to suddenly end. Aragorn reached out and touched the smooth dead end, his filthy hands finding a narrow seam in the stones. Bracing his feet, the Dúnadan pressed his palms on either side of the crack and pushed firmly outwards.

And with a crash, the two stone doors swung back.

It was as though he were stepping into a nightmare; a night apparition of the past haunting his mind and playing tricks on his eyes. As though he was remembering things he had never known and seeing things that he knew could not be real. Yet somehow he knew how real it was. The floor whispered beneath his feet, the walls seemed to scream silently in an agony only they could feel, leaping tongues of flame twisted towards Aragorn as he entered the room from torches bracketed on the walls. They seemed to be beckoning him, but he paid them no heed.

As he and Legolas stepped through into the chamber the door swung shut as though someone had shoved it with an invisible hand. Aragorn resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and kept his eyes fixed on the man in the center of the room.

This man…this being could only be the specter of a vision, an escaped phantom from the dark dreams that the evil man sees when he knows his end is near. Tall he was, and though power seemed to writhe over his very being, he was pale and gaunt and his skin seemed a slight cover against the black evil that shone beneath the mask. His eyes were of a piercing silver and these eyes stared unflinchingly at Aragorn, as though he were not surprised to see him there. His mouth twisted and contorted, sucking and tasting the air.

Aragorn felt his heart throb inside him and wished desperately that the man would turn his gaze, but when he did not the Dúnedain met it squarely and did not cringe away from the horrible face.

At last the man leaned forward and though he did not drop his gaze he suddenly began to sniff the air as though he perceived a desirably scent close by. Aragorn, who suddenly became aware that he had lost the bandage around his head somewhere in the fight, had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew what the man was smelling.

All remained quiet for a moment then the man’s face tightened in what may have been a smile but appeared revolting to Aragorn.

“I have waited long for you to come… heir of Isildur.”

Aragorn flinched suddenly at that though he tried hard to hide it. He felt his heart hammering in his chest now and his breath seemed to be caught in his throat. None save a choice few were to know his identity, and if this man knew…

The man laughed mirthlessly in a mocking way that made Aragorn cringe inwardly. Slowly, deliberately the specter took a step forward and the ranger became aware of Legolas moving close behind him.

“Now, now young heir, do you think me a fool? I can smell your heritage from where I stand, I could see it from afar, I can taste every breath you breathe, I could feel you through the beings I send out by my hand…” The man trailed off and slowly, as though it caused him pain, he reached his hand out towards Aragorn.

Aragorn bit down a startled gasp and he felt Legolas stiffen behind him.

It barely looked like a hand any longer. The bones could plainly be seen and each finger seemed to twist and bend in grotesque ways; the nails were cracked and a sickly black, and from the wrist to the tips of the fingers the hand convulsed and twitched like a living creature.

It was upon the second right finger that he saw it though. A glimmering gem on the mutilated finger: round as a pearl, hard as a diamond, and white as poisoned milk. Two bodiless sets of claws clutched the stone tightly to the wide, black band; digging into it with the strength of their greed. The metal was dull and lusterless except for the white stone and the glittering silver tips on the claws. An aura radiated from it like cold from ice.

Aragorn recognized it. Disembodied claws, reaching — ever reaching. It was an ancient design that he had seen on many ruins of Angmar and printed on the pages of the old book found in the Downs. It sent an wintry chill down his spine and he knew… he remembered…

The man at last pulled his hand back.

“You have come in due time Aragorn son of Arathorn, for I have just prepared to spring the trap that I have long set…upon the foes of darkness…” Slowly, the man moved back to the center of the room and raised his hand towards the tower ceiling flexing his fingers outwards. “Captain Eression, be sure that I am not… interrupted.”

That was when Aragorn saw the other man standing in the corner. For a moment Aragorn was certain he looked familiar and as the eyes flicked to him the ranger remembered the man all at once. This was the same human who had been present at the capture of his brothers. Aragorn felt his gaze turn fiery as he watched the captain step towards them.

Legolas, who had apparently noted the man long ago, was already tracing the man’s every movement, and Aragorn knew what his friend intended.

Their attention was suddenly turned back to the dark man in the center of the room as he began to murmur to the ring on his hand.

At first Aragorn could make out no words between the chanting, but at last the words became nothing but sounds, high, fearful, blood-chilling screams that Aragorn had heard many times of late. The cry of the Nwelmai came from the man’s pale lips and filled Aragorn with undesired terror; the rocks seemed to shake around them.

“Come Nwelmai!” the man shrieked loudly. “Come! Come and devour! Come and destroy! Lord Kallomore calls! Bring them to the grave! Send the sons of the North to shadow!”

“No!” Aragorn realized the cry had come from him — though for a moment he was unsure whether he had said it or only thought it. All at once he saw what the dark human was doing, calling all the beasts upon the Dúnedain just outside, not to push back, not to play with, not as a test of their strength, but to kill. To kill them all.

Aragorn started towards the Kallomore but Eression, anticipating the man’s move, had already come at a run towards Aragorn, throwing his weight forcibly into the ranger. Aragorn was toppled off his feet and onto the floor. He felt the breath jolted out of him and dimly he heard the sound of a blade being pulled from a sheath but could not find the source of the sound, all he knew was that in another moment the captain was off of him. He quickly got to his feet and turned to find Legolas pinning the man hard against the wall.

“Aragorn!” Legolas called towards him, thrown back slightly as Eression kicked out at the elf.

Aragorn needed no prompting. Running forward he lunged towards the chanting man.

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Halbarad could never remember such a hard ride in his life. The only sound in his ears was the thud of hooves beneath him and the pounding of his heart in his head. His unbound hair obscured his vision such that he simply trusted the animal he rode to keep him on the right course. Nothing but absolute determination could have driven the four riders so hard, but Halbarad knew as Bartho knew as Moranuen knew as Erynbenn knew that they had not a moment to lose. As it was, Halbarad begrudged every moment that passed. He could only hope they would reach their destination in time, though for what he feared to speculate.

It was Erynbenn who heard it first. His keen young ears were sharp and he was at the far rear of the group.

“Halbarad!” he called up towards the front. “Something is upon us!”

Bartho took the first initiative, pulling back slightly until he rode just beside the younger ranger and he heard it as well. Moranuen gave a short nod.

“They are close.”

“Nwelmai?” Halbarad asked tentatively, glancing at Bartho who had come beside him again. Bartho was not given a moment to respond.

All at once they were upon them. Through the tangle it was nearly impossible to know just how many there were but it seemed as though six or seven Nwelmai were suddenly surrounding them, running alongside the terrified horses and then outdistancing them. Halbarad pulled his horse to a halt, shortly followed by the others.

Ahead the fell creatures pushed across the chill grass, their screams echoing back to the riders. Halbarad drew in a strained breath and Moranuen wondered aloud, “Why did they not attack us?”

But they all felt certain they knew.

“They have been called back,” Bartho replied grimly. “To aid in the fight.”

“No,” Halbarad whispered. “To end it.”

As one the riders pushed their steeds forward again, resolve and utter desperation pressing them, if possible, faster than before.

The sky grew dark as twilight.

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“Ride to the head! Push them back!” Idhrin resisted his own urge to order the retreat. He knew it was a fruitless venture they undertook now and ever muscle in his body screamed for him to turn and run. But he would not, and neither would any of the men. They all knew their deaths were very near, but this was a price they would pay to buy Aragorn the time he needed.

“Push them back!” someone echoed Idhrin’s command to several Dúnedain further down. And as one the men rode forward slashing downwards at their enemies, cleaving heads, slitting throats, stabbing chests and bringing the mutilated beasts to their end. Idhrin felt sure that they could overcome the orcs if not for their superior numbers. But not all the orcs came from the tower entrance. Most came from an underground den, and many spilled from the wasteland behind the tower, appearing like maggots from every curve and crevice. The dead were replaced by reinforcements, and all the time the numbers grew. The skill of the Dúnedain was great and their will to survive strong, but while none of the men had yet been killed each had many injuries to boast. Idhrin knew it was only a matter of time…

A crackle of thunder sounded overhead and the Dúnedain made another charge for the ranks of orcs shoving them back as best they could, the earth trembled then in a strange reverberation that spoke of danger, and suddenly the orcs backed down from their advance. Idhrin gave the order to push the advantage though he knew it was not necessary. For some unknown reason the battle had taken an unusual turn. The orcs fell back shrieking, most returning to their caves. Idhrin pulled up his horse suddenly and gave the order to halt.

Some of the men were confused, but he knew several had felt the same thing he had. The orcs were fleeing…but not from the rangers.

A horrible scream filled the air and the horses reared under their masters giving cries of alarm. The howls of the Nwelmai rebounded off the tower and echoed back into Idhrin’s ears. Malvegil came up beside him, his eyes squinting against a burst of lightening from the darkening sky.

“They have come,” he said.

Idhrin turned to him, jerking his sword up. “They shall not get past us,” he said with vehemence he could only partially feel. Malvegil gave a short nod and brought up his own weapon. All down the line the other rangers followed suit as they turned to face the new threat, they're faces calm and grim.

Then they came.

It was nearly impossible to tell how many there were; Idhrin could at least count seven, but some seemed to come apart and be truly two instead of one. Shapes could be seen and sometimes he would make out a foot, a claw, a tail, perhaps a head, but all of it seemed to fuse together into a wall of darkness that could sweep through the valley and rob it of all life.

Idhrin raised his sword high. “For the North!” All the Dúnedain repeated the cry and as one surged to meet the enemy as it came.

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Aragorn’s head-long momentum was not well aimed but he still caught the man in the middle, knocking him down.

The man’s eerie incantation was instantly halted as the ranger bore him to the ground. Aragorn felt the man impact the floor beneath him and wondered suddenly if he had killed him…but a moment later this was proved a foolish idea. With more strength than Aragorn would have thought possible Kallomore shoved the Dúnadan off of him, knocking the ranger to the floor and rising swiftly to his feet. His eyes were hard and flinty as he stared down at the younger man. Aragorn was transfixed by the gaze for a moment, then he collected himself as the man moved towards him. Hastily he tried to rise but again he was stalled as he felt the mutilated hand slide behind his head, gripping his hair very close to the skull. The hand felt like the darkest cold, wet and clammy. The ring was touching his skull and it seemed to burn the ranger where it touched him. Aragorn tried to squirm away as the specter jerked him to his feet. But the man only gave a dry chuckle and drew Aragorn’s face close to his own.

“You think you can stop it, young heir? No one can stop it.” Kallomore’s voice hummed like a serpent though he spoke to Aragorn as if he were a child. “It has begun… it has ended. There is naught you can do to change what is already over… and you are only prolonging their deaths… and your death…” Kallomore’s tone suddenly turned into an almost chant, a chant that was echoed by the gruesome pictures that littered the walls, “Accept it. Accept it.”

Aragorn looked into the eyes and felt something screaming very close by his ear. Close to his head. Close to his heart.

Accept it.

Accept it…

Aragorn gave a sudden jerk of the head, as much as he could in the man’s grip, and shut his eyes, shaking away the remnants of his confusion and with it the voice that was clawing at his mind. Twisting again in the man’s tight grasp he brought his forehead up to connect with the man’s nose, ending once again Kallomore’s dark ramblings. There came a sickening crunch and Aragorn knew full well he had broken it. Kallomore gave an inhuman howl and threw the ranger back.

Somewhere behind him Legolas was locked in close battle with Kallomore’s captain but Aragorn couldn’t seem to move his head to see how his friend fared. He watched as Kallomore’s hand moved from his nose which was bleeding heavily — then the Dúnadan drew back as he saw that the blood was tainted like the rancid blood of the Nwelmai. It seemed to burn the dark man as it slid towards his mouth and he swiped it away, moving towards Aragorn once again.

Aragorn was ready this time though and as he rose to his feet he drew out his sword. Prepared to end it here and now.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Malvegil felt the impact as he was thrown from his horse. He rose quickly to his feet to meet the attack he knew was coming. One of the Nwelmai had singled him out some time ago and at each turning he had found that it was tracking his moves until its tail had finally found his steed and lashed it badly. Without giving the motion much thought Malvegil thrust his sword up into what he guessed to be the creature’s throat. He heard it hiss with pain but at the same moment he saw a black liquid sliding down his blade and quickly jerked the sword out before the blood reached his hand.

He fell back a step and the Nwelmai took this as an advantage — not that it needed one.

With a deft blow the Nwelmai knocked him back further and landed him hard on the ground. Malvegil struggled to rise, bringing his sword up, but suddenly felt a great paw press on his stomach. He looked up and saw the shadowy hairs just before his face and felt his heart thud wildly as the pressure began to increase: his air was being forced from his lungs. Distantly he wondered if this was the same Nwelmai that had nearly killed Aragorn; it seemed to favor this tactic on its victims.

Blotches blurred his vision and Malvegil felt the darkness taking him… then the Nwelmai gave a deafening shriek and pulled back, releasing the Dúnadan and whirling savagely on some new foe. Malvegil gasped hard and tried to find his breath. He could hear the Nwelmai shrieking in anger and tried to see past the splotches; he began to cough on the air he attempted to breathe and felt as though his lungs had been punctured. Suddenly he felt someone beside him.

“Breathe, my friend. Start slow, then longer.” Malvegil concentrated on doing as he was instructed though his battle adrenaline was screaming at him to rise. At last he felt the air fill his lungs and turned to the one beside him.

“Mora?” Malvegil gave a tired breath before rising next to the elf, his broad shoulders straightening.

“Yes,” Moranuen nodded not releasing the man‘s elbow until he was sure he could stand. “It was lured away for a moment to lick its wounds. Those that should have been fatal,” he added ruefully.

Malvegil turned for a moment and looked to the mêlée around him, wondering from whence his help had appeared. He saw Halbarad also, and Erynbenn and Bartho caught in the fray. No others. Yet still he saw no fallen bodies and for that he felt his hope rise.

“Come Malvegil,” Moranuen touched his arm and then reached back to draw another arrow. “We must return to the battle.”

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Legolas ducked the full-fisted blow Eression sent at his head and twisted around to grip the captain by the wrist.

Eression brought a short knife up from his side and slashed towards Legolas' face, forcing the elf to arch back and avoid the strike while still keeping a firm grip on the man’s wrist. The human was a formidable opponent, Legolas could not deny that. Nothing seemed to surprise the man and he always recovered quickly from Legolas’ attack as though he had already planned Legolas’ advantages and his own defenses long before this night. Or was it still day?

Eression’s advantage was furthered in Legolas’ unavoidable distraction by his friend’s plight. The elf could not risk much more than furtive glances in Aragorn’s direction but this was enough to know that Kallomore was not falling prey to Aragorn’s attacks and often took the upper hand. Legolas longed above all to take Eression down so that he could aid his friend, but Eression seemed equally determined to perform his leader’s order.

Still holding the captain’s wrist Legolas pushed his grip to a sudden advantage. Swerving to the left to avoid the dagger, he drove the man back towards the wall at the same time. Eression resisted this maneuver but Legolas was the stronger and soon had the man pinned against the wall.

Bringing his right hand up with the dagger still clenched there Eression snapped it out in short arch to imbed it in Legolas’ back. Out of the corner of his eye Legolas saw the move and countered it quickly. Bringing his right hand over his left and slamming the heel of his hand into Eression’s shoulder he bent the joint suddenly, sending Eression’s hand jolting upwards. Pressing his advantage Legolas jerked the captain away from the wall and twisted him around, pinning his arm behind his back.

In his right hand Eression still held the knife, but he could no longer find a clear place to strike Legolas and seemed unable to wrench out of the prince‘s hold. The elf thrust his knee into the man’s back, tugging him forward against his grip and catching hold of his right forearm, pulling the knife towards him.

With his back to the elf and both arms effectively captured Eression could only struggle against his opponent’s hold. The human gave a checked cry as Legolas drove him to the ground, pinning him on his knees with one deceptively light foot.

What Legolas would have done then, however, was halted suddenly as a cry brought the elf’s attention to the other side of the room.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Aragorn held his sword tightly and slashed again at his opponent but it mattered not how close his blow had come, for it could find naught but empty air. The swish of a blade missing its mark drove his warrior’s heart to frustration. He could feel the man’s presence — see him standing idly as though Aragorn’s feeble attempts to fell him were as hopeless as his situation — but he could not strike him down. Kallomore was always several inches abreast of his attack and he felt his apprehension mount.

Could this man not be struck down? Had he then become so like to the fell beasts under his command — was he immortal?

Aragorn gave a desperate yell and cut again towards the man. He could hear Kallomore laughing and looked up into the haunting silver eyes; again, it seemed, he had stepped from the path of the ranger’s blade.

His muscles throbbed and his wounds stung like bitter flames as Aragorn lowered his weapon slightly. He heard his breath coming short and unsteady. Kallomore only laughed again.

But Aragorn could not give up — he knew he could not. Too many lives depended on these next moments and he would fight to his last drop of blood. He would neither surrender his men to their deaths nor would he sacrifice his brothers if they yet lived; not while he had breath in him.

With another cry Aragorn lunged for the man once again. Stroke upon stroke he laid on the air, advancing on the man and watching him back steadily away. The images on the wall seemed to mock him in every long forgotten and vile tongue imaginable, but Aragorn heeded not their words.

Suddenly, upon a high stroke aimed for the man’s head, Kallomore moved unexpectedly forward and cut his arm down hard to land on Aragorn’s forearm, sending a jolt down the man’s whole body. Slipping behind the ranger, Kallomore took him by elbow, pressing his fingers harshly into between the bones at the joint. Aragorn gave a startled cry as a spasm of pain ran up his arms to his finger tips and he dropped the sword with a clatter the floor.

He made a brief struggle but the man’s strength was overpowering. Kallmore pulled one arm behind the ranger, pinning it, and then he forcefully slid his mutilated fingers around Aragorn’s throat, and the pressure he put there told the Dúnadan how he was to die.

Aragorn held still, hearing the man’s voice whisper very close to his ear.

“Accept it… Aragorn…” The pressure intensified —

“Hold!”

The voice startled Aragorn and he jerked his head up sharply, or as much as he could with the man still gripping him around the neck, Kallomore looked up as well, and what he saw gave him sudden pause.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Erynbenn thrust his sword clumsily towards the monster’s feet. He felt the shock of pain as the gash in his arm screamed at him, but the ranger grit his teeth and struck again. The creature seemed to find Erynbenn’s attempts to fell it amusing; there was a sense of dark humor in the air.

The human was not prepared for the strong cuff he received across the side of the head. He was knocked sideways and fell hard on his injured arm; he heard a cry and was vaguely aware that it had come from his lips. Twisting around on the oppressive earth, feeling sharp rocks dig into his skin as he moved, he looked up into the face of his attacker. For a moment he felt he could almost define its features: a pair of glittering eyes the color of ink, a smooth head with gray fur clinging close, a hunter's nose. The nostrils flared with every breath and Erynbenn felt exhaled air burn his face as the creature stood over him. As the mouth opened the teeth appeared, translucent in front and yellow in back, sliding into the beasts mouth where blackened blood had collected. Erynbenn felt fear but he knew that now was not the time to lose his control. Moving with the speed of desperation he thrust his blade upwards right into the creature’s belly.

The high shriek nearly deafened him as it was screamed to his face. He was sickeningly aware of the blood that slid down the blade and quickly jerked his sword up the Nwelmai’s underside. The monster gave a yowl and leapt up, the blade was jerked from Erynbenn’s hands, and, with the sword still lodged in its belly, the Nwelmai reared above the Dúnadan. Erynbenn pulled himself from his prone position and struggled back quickly, with no other option of escape.

A sharp pain stabbed through his leg and he let out a startled cry. Looking down he saw that the beast’s tail had wrapped around his ankle, imbedding its claw in his flesh. Erynbenn felt his heart hammering as the shadow above him made a gleeful clicking noise that echoed around the ravine. Desperately the ranger searched for some manner of weapon but all he could find were rocks and that would do nothing to this beast.

Giving one final howl the Nwelmai descended back towards Erynbenn, its claws extended to their full span and a hungry look in its hollow eyes.

Then a sudden war cry jerked Erynbenn from his trance and he dropped his gaze in time to see another figure appear before him. A blade flashed and the creature gave a guttural scream as his tail was severed close to Erynbenn’s foot.

The Nwelmai came down suddenly but its attacker was ready and he quickly jerked his own weapon into the creature’s bleeding underside, drawing his blade swiftly to its chest.

Bartho turned his head for a moment to the young man behind him who was rising shakily to his feet, prying the severed tail from his ankle.

“Erynbenn,” the Dúnadan called, “get your sword!”

Erynbenn nodded, but that brush with death had been close enough to send his adrenaline soaring and now he tried hard to concentrate on what Bartho had just said. His sword? Where was his sword? He had lost it.

In the Nwelmai.

His sluggish brain caught up with him suddenly and he rushed back towards Bartho who was still trying to drag his weapon through the shadowed beast. Diving between the Nwelmai’s legs Erynbenn saw the glint of his blade and grabbed hold of its hilt, dragging it back and then jerking it upwards. The Nwelmai gave a scream of agony and tried to rear up again and crush the human beneath him, but Bartho had thrust his blade between the ribs, twisting it so that it could not be jerked loose, and though the Nwelmai tried, it could not dislodge the steel from its ribs.

It only had one choice left and in its cruel mind it cared not how much pain the action cost it. One of the men at least was its rightful prey.

Turning suddenly it began to lower itself to the ground, altering the angle of its descent to match the angle of the sword. Slowly, Bartho’s blade cut higher in the wound, glancing and skittering between the bones.

The ranger frowned as he was no longer having to force his blade upward — the beast was impaling itself. Then understanding suddenly dawned and Bartho's heart lurched.

“Erynbenn! Get out!”

Erynbenn heard his companion's call but already he could feel his legs giving way as the creature's body fell upon him like an avalanche of stone, forcing him to the earth. The ground was hard, merciless, unyielding. As the weight crushed Erynbenn's ribs, the last of his breath came out in a whisper,

"Bartho…"

“Hold,” Legolas repeated, his tone lowering the moment he realized he’d obtained the man’s attention. Kallomore locked eyes with the elf but did not move his fingers from the ranger’s throat. Legolas could feel his heart hammering somewhere in his head and tried to swallow it back down into his chest. “Kill the ranger…” he said slowly and deliberately, “and I shall kill your captain.” Legolas could feel a cold whisper murmuring around him though he had no idea from whence it came. He only held his captive tightly on the floor and hoped that this would buy him even a few minutes in which to plan.

Eression looked up slightly at his lord and Legolas slowly followed his gaze.

Kallomore had paused and though he still refused to release Aragorn, his fingers did not increase in pressure. He only stared from Legolas to his captain and back to Legolas.

Something like uncertainty seemed to hang in those bitter gray eyes but the elf could not be sure he had really seen it, for in another moment it disappeared.

It had not occurred to Legolas that the capture of his captain would have any effect on the man, but now that the elf knew he moved to press his point. Forcing Eression further towards the ground Legolas gave a meaningful look towards the crazed man and again he saw Kallomore pause as the man on the floor flinched.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Idhrin’s blade swung again into the shadow and sliced through the flesh under the creature’s jaw so that blood poured from the wound. The creature hissed like a serpent at its attacker, the sound bubbling through its blood, but Idhrin did not waste time: he had to push whatever advantage he gained. Throwing his weight behind the blade, he thrust it for the chest. He was rewarded with another angry cry and he smashed the blade against the Nwelmai’s muzzle, moving closer and closer to its face.

Idhrin could not have known what a mistake this was.

Slashing again and again and the creature’s face, trying to keep it occupied so that it would not have a chance to attack with its fangs, he was unaware of the clawed foot that the creature raised up behind him, trailing smoke as it moved.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Halbarad turned from the Nwelmai he had been fighting as Moranuen shot its skull full of arrows, luring its attention away again. He felt the tremor of his fatigue and adrenaline sweeping through him, causing his hands to shake. He watched with almost detached confusion as the elven warrior drove both his blades into the beasts neck, his eyes flaming and his mouth fixed in a snarl as he screamed out some elven war cry and slashed again, this time across the Nwelmai's sunken eyes.

Looking about Halbarad saw Idhrin fighting a creature quite close. The Dúnadan had the beast pinned under his accurate blows at the creature’s eyes, muzzle and skull.

It raised a paw to fend off the attack — no…

Halbarad watched in horror as the Nwelmai's shadowed claws slid around behind Idhrin, forcing the ranger forward towards its fangs.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Idhrin realized what the monster was doing a moment and a eon too late.

With an abruptly clear awareness he felt his heart pound in his ears as he was pushed towards his end. He could hear someone call his name, he could hear the rubbing of his palm on the pommel of his sword as he hefted it. Letting out one last powerful cry he thrust his blade into the creature’s open throat.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

“Idhrin!” Halbarad shouted across the ravine.

In a flicker of movement and teeth sinking into vital flesh, the monster had struck.

The elder man fell to the ground, his gray hair spreading about him in the dust. His farseeing eyes closed slowly as his body gave a final tremble and went still. Swift, but horrible. Idhrin was gone.

Halbarad felt his weary anger rising into fierce rage and it grew like a fire as the creature drew back, clawing at the sword in its throat which was preventing it from devouring its prey.

Halbarad raised his own sword to shoulder height. Throwing all caution to the wind, he charged the beast screaming out what he well knew may be his last cry in battle. With Idhrin departed for the Halls, death for the rest of them would not wait long.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Slowly, very slowly, Kallomore's attention was drawn from his hold on Aragorn. His fingers loosened only slightly and the ranger knew it might well be the only chance he had.

Moving with sudden ferocity he jerked back against the man’s grip, loosing his pinned left arm and swinging it up to the hand on his throat. His fingers closed over the decaying hand and he felt the burn of ice as his finger brushed the ring the man wore. It seemed to hum beneath his touch, throbbing, pulsing, beating like a living thing.

A living thing.

And like a wash of light, he knew. Knew the only way to stop the man. Prying the fingers from his throat with a new found strength, Aragorn twisted forwards out of the man's reach.

At that same moment Eression also tried to escape. Jerking backward abruptly he knocked the elf aside just far enough to gain his feet, but he had done nothing to loosen the grip on his arms. Legolas pulled the captain back instantly and turned desperately towards Aragorn, knowing that all he could do for his friend now was keep the other enemy at bay.

Kallomore was quickly trying to recover his loss of control. His eyes turned fiery with rage as he lunged at Aragorn.

The Dúnadan stumbled forward to his knees and found his sword laying beside him. Feeling the presence of the man rushing up behind him he snatched the blade up and whirled in the same swift movement.

With resolute purpose he brought the Numenorean blade up above his head. It flashed like lightning as it descended, humming like wind through a chasm, and with a great cry Aragorn severed Kallomore’s decayed hand from his wrist in one stroke.

Stumbling back, Kallomore gave a horrible scream. Unhindered, the ranger gained his feet and swinging the sword low he knocked the ring from the detached hand. The evil token sang across the stone floor.

Aragorn moved slowly and deliberately to the ring’s resting place, his blade held tightly in his hand.

No. Not only a blade, for such swords as this were now few in Middle Earth, having been buried with dead in the Barrow Downs. It was a blade forged for kings. For the very kings that had destroyed this wicked realm — that had brought it to its knees.

The sword seemed to tremble in the hands of the heir of the kings of Numeneor as Aragorn raised it again.

As the blade struck the ring a mighty tremble seemed to shake all through the tower. A crash of lighting pounded the darkness. Kallomore howled in pain. The wind began to blow as a storm through the chamber. The images on the wall shrieked one last time in agony, crying their misery to the maelstrom as it bore them away to their dark hell.

The elf and ranger could hear the high scream of the great Nwelmai buried in the tunnel as its bones were at last crushed beneath the weight of the stones and its new mortality. Aragorn hefted the blade one last time and smashed the ring again. With a sharp crack both gem and sword exploded into glittering shards. The black metal band, sheared in two, seemed to melt into dust and be drawn away on the wind that still shrieked through the room, carrying all manner of the evil with it. Thunder pounded in the sky. Lightning snapped like a ringing whip. The wind gave one final howl.

And all was silent.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Halbarad's hand flashed in between the Nwelmai's gnashing teeth and caught the hilt of Idhrin's sword, wrenching it from the dark hollow of its bleeding throat. Driving his own blade into the creature's tail as it tried to come around behind him, he swung his second weapon across its muzzle and then slid away a few paces before striking again. Both blades reached the Nwelmai’s chest and he drove them viciously into the shadow’s heart, unsure what he would do from there. Withdrawing Idhrin's sword, he struck towards the eyes, the shoulder, and into its chest again. Wild fury had taken the Dúnadan and he would see the creature felled if it took the last of his breath.

Then, as he jerked both swords free again, he was suddenly struck that the creature had not reacted. It had screamed in agony as the creatures always had, but it had not attacked. Halbarad felt his heart hammer violently in his chest as he took a long step backwards. The beast was lying on the ground looking more like a shadow than ever before; it seemed to be fading as it panted and choked on its own cries.

Halbarad watched in absolute shock as the Nwelmai began to disintegrate before his eyes. Withering into shadow, it began to bleed profusely from every wound it had sustained from Halbarad and Idhrin’s attacks.

The Nwelmai was dying.

The Dúnadan turned to see that the battle had ceased everywhere. Nwelmai fell suddenly prey to their fatal wounds, writhing as they faded in their death throes. The one before Moranuen had turned to black ash at his feet and was being born away on the wind.

Bartho was pulling a body from the dust of another. It was Erynbenn, but at this distance Halbarad could not tell if the young man still lived.

Suddenly a howling whirlwind shook the canyon around them. Breaking as though from the sky it took up the ashes and dust and shadow that had been the Nwelmai and bore them all from the valley, raking them back into the unnatural clouds.

A final pained shriek echoed back to the Dúnedain, then all around them became quiet.

Halbarad sank to his knees and reached over to touch Idhrin’s still form… the only Dúnadan to die in the fight against the Nwelmai. A miracle. And a tragic loss.

The only Dúnadan?

Halbarad turned and moved slowly to Bartho's side.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Aragorn let out a long, slow breath and turned wearily in time to see Kallomore, suddenly as pale as a wight, fall limply to the floor.

“No!” Eression cried suddenly, pulling against Legolas’ hold with a desperate strength. “No! Release me! Release me! FATHER!”

At this last Legolas immediately let go of the struggling man. Eression ran to Kallomore’s side, all semblance of the façade he had been building since childhood gone as he took the withered man up in his arms.

Aragorn walked slowly back towards them, the sword still clutched in his hand though its silver blade was now nothing but a few inches of jagged steel.

In shock and some confusion Legolas stared at the captain, who was now weeping openly over the dying man in his arms.

“Father… please, Father! It is Eression… it is your son…”

Kallomore’s breath seemed barely to come as his silver eyes, eyes that matched Eression’s, slid slowly open. He looked up into the man’s face and suddenly appeared very different to Aragorn.

He was tired, worn, and drained. A stern, proud man he had been once. Perhaps even an affectionate one in his own way. Long ago. Now he was old and it was as though he were already long dead, but merely unable yet to escape the bonds that trapped him in the waking world.

Looking up into Eression’s eyes he saw the tears there and smiled slightly, though it was not the grotesque smile of the black specter any longer.

“Eression,” Kallomore whispered. Spending the last of his strength he reached up with his one hand and touch his son’s cheek, gently wiping the tears away. “My son…I have been a fool.” Then Kallomore’s hand dropped suddenly and his eyes fluttered closed before he went limp in his son’s arms.

“No…” Eression breathed. His broken heart could be heard in his voice as he gently rocked the form of his father, his weeping soft and muffled in the dead man's shoulder.

Legolas turned to see Aragorn moving slowly towards them, his eyes compassionate as he moved behind the captain.

Tenderly, Aragorn lay a hand on the man’s shoulder. Eression stiffened and seemed to expect he was to follow his father to the grave… It was as he deserved, he could not deny that. With painful clarity he sensed the weight of his past actions and he felt no pride in them… he had been a fool as well.

“Eression,” Aragorn said softly. “He is free…”

Eression nodded slowly.

“We need you to aid us now,” Aragorn said after a moment. “We must find my brothers… the sons of Elrond, do you know where they are?”

Eression nodded again, turning his eyes up to meet Aragorn’s.

“All is not lost. You yet live Eression; it is your choice whether or not you will help us. Yours alone. And I cannot force you to make it…” Aragorn trailed off and met the other man’s eyes steadily.

Eression turned his gaze back to his father, breathing softly. The chamber was silent around them, no longer haunted by the whispers of evil and voices of death. At last he moved the fallen man’s head to the floor beside him and rose. Looking first at Legolas, then turning to Aragorn, he gave a short nod.

“I will show you where they are,” he said at length, his voice regaining a measure of its former strength. Without another word he started for a door at the opposite end of the chamber. Legolas and Aragorn followed quickly, leaving the dark room at their backs and following the captain down the steps outside.

None then saw the shining, poison green eyes that flashed in the shadows outside the door as they passed through.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

“Come on lad,” Bartho whispered gently, holding Erynbenn’s fragile form against him. He knew full well that the young man likely had more broken than whole ribs left in him. He could only hope it was not worse.

Bartho became aware of Halbarad just behind him and let out a breath.

“His pulse is weak,” the man reported in a low voice. “But it's still there.”

Halbarad dropped beside the other ranger, watching the young man in his arms carefully.

“Come, Erynbenn, just breathe. I know it hurts you…” The raspy breaths coming from the young man and sounded as though they did indeed cause him great pain.

//Oh Valar,// Halbarad prayed , //don’t let him give up. Help him to keep breathing.//

For what seemed like an age but was likely only a few minutes, Bartho held Erynbenn against him, hoping against hope that the Dúnadan's heart would only keep beating.

“What happened?” Halbarad whispered at last.

“He was crushed beneath a Nwelmai,” Bartho’s voice was strained and seemed very far away. “I don’t know how badly…”

Several other Dúnedain lingered close by and Halbarad sent a few to find what provisions they could gather for the wounded.

Bartho held one hand on Erynbenn’s forehead and one arm around his waist, feeling the breath come and go. “Don’t give in — keep on now.”

In another moment Moranuen came on silent feet. He was bloody and looked tired, but he had several bandages for Erynbenn. Moving as carefully as they could the two men and the elf bandaged their companion's chest, setting as many of the broken ribs as they could, and each time sending the young man through such a spasm of pain that Halbarad feared he would yet die in their arms.

With Idhrin's former command now resting upon his own shoulders, Halbarad knew he had to leave Erynbenn with Bartho and see to the others. Moranuen had already moved off to help Malvegil with a bandage the man was trying unsuccessfully to wrap about himself, and Bartho had wounds that would need to be seen to as well, though for the moment he was gruffly ignoring them. Turning, Halbarad started off when a sound akin to a relieved cry turned him back again.

Erynbenn was stirring and slowly he opened his eyes, looking up Bartho.

The young man blinked; perhaps because he was having trouble focusing, or perhaps because Bartho was actually smiling faintly at him.

“Do I want to remember what happened?” the younger Dúnadan asked, working around his sluggish lips as best he could; he hurt everywhere.

“Probably not,” Bartho’s smile broadened a fraction.

“You had us worried Erynbenn,” Halbarad smiled openly at the young man as he dropped back down beside him. “I am glad to see you are well.”

“I don’t *feel* well,” Erynbenn protested.

“That’s only natural,” Bartho grunted, his smile gone but his eyes betraying his relief. “I should be surprised if you don’t feel it for quite some time, though perhaps after Aragorn has had a look at you he will say differently.”

“Aragorn,” Halbarad repeated slowly, his eyes raising to the tower. Nindalf, who had not sustained many injuries, had already returned to report that the Nwelmai's entrance into the tower was blocked by a cave-in. Halbarad could not let on how much these tidings worried him, but this also meant that, with the tower door still closed against him, he could not bring the men in to aid their leader.

And even as he looked around him he knew none of them were in any condition to launch an attack; at most he could hope for a defensive strategy if the orcs returned. It pained him, but he knew that they would simply have to wait and regain their strength. Especially in case Aragorn, Legolas and Elrond’s sons were pursued.

That was all they could do for now.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

It seemed to take a dark eternity to reach the bottom of the tower; the black stairs spiraled ever downwards and gave Aragorn the unpleasant feeling of going underground.

When at last they reached the darkened door, nearly invisible as the passage was lit only by a fading torch, Eression halted and turned.

“I will bring them out to you but keep yourselves out of sight. The orcs will have all retreated underground at the appearance of the Nwelmai, and I have little doubt that if they discover my intentions they will rebel. As long as they do not know their lord is dead, naught should work against us.”

Aragorn gave a slight nod and felt a painful jolt in his stomach. He was suddenly afraid of how he would find his brothers. Did Eression even know if they still lived?

He was not given any further time to concern himself with this, however, for the captain pushed the door open and entered the chamber beyond.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Eression felt certain his heart could be heard by every ear in the cavern as he moved with a purposeful stride to the far alcove. The orcs watched him quizzically as he came to a halt before the bound elves who still lay on the floor. The one with the broken leg seemed sunk in a half stupor; the other lay still and was as pale as death.

“They both live,” Rogkhar informed the captain, resentment obvious in his voice.

Eression knew the best response was to pretend he didn’t care and not bother to explain his actions to the orc. Leaning over he slid an arm under the half-conscious elf’s shoulders and pulled him up.

The elf tried weakly to get his good leg beneath him, but the pain of suddenly being upright seemed to be too much and he moaned softly as Eression started pulling him for the chamber door.

A murmur ran through the orcs, who had apparently been hoping that the captain would change his mind about allowing them to kill and devour the prisoners.

Eression reached the door and pulled it open with his free hand. He did not meet Aragorn’s gaze as he pushed the elf as carefully as he could into the other’s arms.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Aragorn caught Elladan and lowered him gently to the steps. Legolas saw his friend’s face turn pale in complete horror. His breath came short as he held his brother limply against him.

“Elladan…” Aragorn whispered. Closing his eyes he buried his face in the elf’s hair, unable to say anything further as tears slid down his cheeks. Legolas crouched on the steps beside his friend, a slender hand resting on the back of the man's head.

A moment later the door opened again. Legolas gently took Elrohir from Eression, his heart failing him at the condition of the younger twin. His dark hair was matted with blood, and wounds seen and unseen had left the elf nearly drained of life.

Eression stood in the doorway, still in the dark chamber, his eyes unable to leave the pitiful sight of Aragorn weeping over his brother. Rationalizations of loyalty to his father seemed now as solid as ash. The blame was his. The condemnation in the captain’s own heart was ready to drive him mad, but no words could come to his lips.

“Come Eression,” Legolas whispered, still holding Elrohir against him. “We must get them away from this place.”

Eression gave a short nod then moved forward to the stairs.

Legolas started as the human was suddenly jerked backwards from the doorway. The force of the pull wrenched his hand from the door, causing it to swing back towards Legolas and shield the elf and his friends from sight.

Legolas watched through the slight opening as a wily looking orc pulled Eression bodily back into the room and threw him to the floor amidst the orcs.

“Going somewhere Captain?”

“Sharzak! What is the meaning of this?” Eression demanded, his tone icy with displeasure, but through the crack of the door Legolas could plainly read fear in his eyes.

Sharzak gave a guttural chuckle. “Don’t play me the fool, human. You try to trick us but it does you no good.”

Rogkhar had no idea what the other orc meant but he caught the idea that they might get a raw meal after all and quickly took Eression by the arms, hauling him to his feet.

“Release me!” Eression commanded sharply. “Lord Kallomore will hear of this!”

“Oh yes…” Sharzak crooned slowly. “But he won’t do anything about it, for the Lord Kallomore is dead!” The orcs around him laughed gleefully at this idea. “Aye,” Sharzak smiled, long-held designs for power over his captain becoming clear in his pale green eyes. “All dead is the lord of this tower… and we have no bond to follow this human worm.”

Eression made an attempt to struggle, but Rogkhar’s grip was too strong. The captain watched Sharzak bitterly. He had always known this orc was far more cunning than most… it seemed such an advantage would soon become his undoing.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Crouched silently in the darkness, Legolas heard every word that passed between the orcs and Eression. And despite everything he had been forced to see he knew in his heart he simply could not let the inevitable happen.

He turned to his friend, a sadness overwhelming him as he did.

Aragorn still sat on the stairs, Elladan supported in his arms, and as Legolas lay Elrohir beside his twin he saw that the man was trembling all over. With fingers unexpectedly clumsy, his friend was wrestling with the cruel ropes that bound the elder twin’s hands together. He could not get the ropes to loosen and his breath was coming hard as he became frustrated with the task. Gently Legolas slid his knife between Elladan’s wrists and first sliced the ropes apart, then cut them from each wrist. He turned and did the same for Elrohir before returning his attention to Aragorn.

The ranger stared down at his brothers, his face dark with emotion, but Legolas caught his attention for a moment, touching him gently on his cheek. Slowly Aragorn looked up, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

“Aragorn,” the wood elf said softly. “We will save your brothers yet for they have not passed from this world. But now you must come. We must do something to help Eression.” Legolas understood all the many things Aragorn must be feeling about this captain the elf was proposing to save — he could read them in his own heart. But Aragorn also knew that he could not leave any man to these foul creatures, and so he nodded. Gently moving Elladan to rest beside him, he rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Yes my friend,” he whispered, drawing out his dagger.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Eression watched in forcibly concealed horror as Sharzak approached him with a long, wicked knife in hand. “Oh but maybe it’s too good for you,” the orc sneered, his face coming very close to Eression’s. “Maybe we shouldn't kill you first… living fare is so much better than when it's dead.”

The former captain felt his face pale against his will as the orcs laughed, high and menacing.

“Then…” Sharzak continued, enjoying the approval of those orcs who had formerly kicked him about as 'the runt'. “Then, when you are dead, we'll go find ourselves those prisoners and that elf and ranger who killed Lord Kallomore… a good feast, I'd say. Plenty for all!”

Rogkhar’s grip tightened hard on Eression’s arms, causing the man to flinch as the bones were pulled perilously close to dislocation.

The sound of the door into the tower suddenly slamming closed drew the orcs attention away. For a moment there was uncertainty as to whether the sound had meant the entrance or the exit of someone, and then the screams of orcs filled the chamber as Aragorn and Legolas broke through the crowds of filthy bodies, working swiftly at close quarters to lay the beasts low like a field of grain at threshing time.

Aragorn fought only with the remains of his sword and his short dagger, but the moment a scimitar dropped to the floor, he took it from the orc and dropped the Numenorean hilt to the floor. The weapon was hideous and blackened his palm, but the blade was sharp. The orcs became a seething mass of temporary chaos; all seemed divided between fighting back against the unknown menace or taking advantage of the dead now all around them.

Legolas spun his daggers into two before him, slicing and then withdrawing before the creatures had time to flinch, and Aragorn swung the heavy orcish blade through three at once. Steadily they beat a path to Eression, fending off attacks and trying to keep their backs to each other as much as possible. They knew the darkness and confusion could only benefit them for so long, and there was still a chance of the door being forced open and the twins discovered.

Rogkhar, not wishing to release his captive, drew Eression back to the wall, clutching the human painfully tight. Beside him Sharzak watched in seething anger and hatred as the elf and ranger broke the ranks towards them.

Legolas gave a cry which Aragorn echoed and as though they had planned their course ahead of time, in the same moment Legolas broke left and Aragorn broke right. An elven knife dragged a short cut across Sharzak's thin chest, sending the orc skittering back like a beetle, cursing loudly.

Simultaneously, Aragorn’s scimitar found purchase in Rogkhar’s shoulder, the only place he could strike the large orc without hitting Eression. The captain attempted to lean to the side to avoid the blade, but Rogkhar was working for just the opposite goal, trying to get his prey within the path of the danger rather than risk his own hide for a live meal.

Aragorn jerked the blade down the beast’s arm causing it to loosen its grip Eression’s arm for just a moment. The captain took full advantage of this and twisted to the side.

His face set, Aragorn swung the scimitar at shoulder height and drove it into the orc’s chest.

Rogkhar fell dead, bearing Eression to the floor. Aragorn leaned to assist him but at a warning cry from Eression he turned quickly to face a new swarm of orcs attempting to get in on the battle.

Legolas struck again at Sharzak but the small creature dove around the blade and clambered towards his former captain, who was now on the floor with Rogkhar's corpse. Eression tried to jerk his arm from the dead orc’s hold but could not release the fingers in time, and Sharzak flew at him with a wild shriek that made Eression’s heart stop.

However the scheming orc was still two feet away when it gave a jerk and fell back onto the floor, an elven arrow protruding from its back.

Legolas ran forward, dropping to one knee he quickly freed Eression’s arm from Rogkhar’s grip. They both rose and ran after Aragorn who was already wending his way towards the door. Taking out his knife Eression helped clear their path.

The three reached it at the same moment and quickly jerked it open yanking it shut with a slam. Eression pulled the bar down to latch it.

“It will not hold them long,” he warned them quickly. “The main gate has been closed, and though I am now the only one who can open it, the orcs there cannot have helped hearing the commotion. They will not let us through."

"Is there an alternative route?" Legolas asked.

"Yes and no. There is, but our chances of it being unguarded at the other end are slender at best."

"Why?" Aragorn's tone was urgent.

Eression opened his mouth, and then realized there was no time for explanations. "Follow me."

Aragorn and Legolas quickly gathered up the twins and followed the man's lead, turning into the shadows at the left of the quaking door and taking a short flight of steps down. The passage was stiflingly narrow — obviously it had been built for the use of single runners in need of a quick departure. Behind them they heard the sound of a splintering wood and knew their time was running short. Soon some of the orcs would realize that they had not gone back into the tower itself and would draw the correct conclusions.

“Even once we get out, we will never outstrip them,” Eression shook his head in the dark, his voice low. “Not with the wounded.”

“My men are outside,” Aragorn replied, hoping that they were indeed still there and had not been slain.

After they had been staggering through the rubble strewn passage for perhaps five minutes the sounds of pursuit began to echo chillingly around them. Aragorn held his brother's slender body close, trying to keep from jostling him. Once or twice Eression whispered back a warning when the ceiling dropped suddenly low above them, threatening to collide with their heads.

When the orcs were so close that Aragorn could smell the stench of their filthy bodies and hear distinctly their yells and taunts, the narrow tunnel ended abruptly in a rough stone door. Eression reached into a cavity on its pitted surface and manipulated something, causing the exit to swing wide on concealed hinges. And suddenly enough that it hurt their eyes, daylight streamed in upon them. They had exited into a tunnel of much greater proportions. To their left, flickering red around the bend, they could see the fires of the orcs' cavern. To their right the wide, low-ceilinged exit that the orcs used sat with its own stone doors sitting open, gray sunlight rippling through, with only an iron portcullis blocking their way. They broke into a flat run.

A prolonged yell of fury battered their ears as they went, coming not only from the runner passage but also from the orc cavern itself. As they came closer to the last barrier Eression stooped in mid-stride and caught up a rock the size of his own head. Slowing his pace to better his aim, he heaved the missile at a target no wider than his own hand: the brake lever for the portcullis. The lever snapped out of place for a few seconds and the chains to ran loose, dropping their stone counterweights and lifting the gate a few feet before the lever fell back into place.

"Get out!" Eression cried, pointing ahead and veering towards the alcove that housed the workings for the stone gates.

Legolas and Aragorn moved with a speed and instinct born of countless battles together. Shifting his grip on Elladan so that he supported his brother with one arm, Aragorn held out his other arm and took Elrohir from Legolas. Dropping flat, the wood elf rolled quickly under the portcullis and onto his knees on the other side, reaching back under and easing first the younger then the elder twin after him.

Making sure they were safely under, Aragorn called over his shoulder to Eression, "We are through!" Then the ranger slid under as well, barely catching the other man's acknowledgement. Lifting Elladan once more, Aragorn turned to follow Legolas out. Only when they were completely beyond the gateway did they turn and look back. Eression had not yet appeared, but the orcs were now visible through the bars of the portcullis.

Then a shrieking, wrenching sound filled the air. The sound of orcish gears running against each other and of chains clattering and tangling. A crack of shattering rock was heard, and then a grinding as the stone doors began to drag themselves closed. When the space between the doors had narrowed to the width of a farm cart, the portcullis behind them broke free with a clang and it plummeted down again — nearly impaling the dark haired man who threw himself under it at the last moment. Stumbling upright, Eression ran forward through the stone gates as they closed with a crash, and behind him the noise of falling stones and machinery echoed within the sealed cavern.

Exhaling the breath he had been holding, Aragorn felt his body trembling with adrenaline as he closed his eyes briefly. No orcs would be coming from that tower. Not for some time.

Eression drew level with them, his gray eyes surveying his work impassively. "Father never trusted hired underlings," he explained briefly. "The orc cavern was not originally part of the tower — it would have been a defense error to have another entrance like that — and he wanted a secondary plan if the orcs turned on us." The man looked about worriedly, "You had best get back to your men, and quickly."

Legolas frowned, "Why, if all the orcs are trapped?"

"The original company is, but there was no room in the caverns for the fresh troops that came from the mountains a few days ago." Eression refrained from mentioning that the new orcs had been brought for the invasion of Rivendell; doubtless the heir of Isildur could guess as much. Instead he finished, "Unless the Dúnedain succeeded in slaying them all before the Nwelmai arrived, they are still encamped in the valley."

With a nod, Aragorn turned, "Come with us, then."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Halbarad's heart leapt as he saw his leader issuing from the orcs' gates and felt the thunder of the cave-in through the earth. Calling all rangers in hearing to his side, he ran to the Aragorn’s aid as they left the tower behind them. Bartho quickly relieved Aragorn of Elladan and Moranuen took Elrohir from Legolas as the friends let out tired breaths.

“Orcs are coming…” Aragorn turned as he spoke, his ears picking out the sounds of the approaching enemies.

“We will handle them,” Halbarad assured. “Fall back and see to your brothers, we must get away from this place as soon as possible.”

Malvegil eyed Eression skeptically. “And him?”

“I will help with the orcs,” Eression responded before Aragorn could. Aragorn gave a short nod, casting a reassuring glance to Malvegil and Halbarad.

“He is with us,” he said before following Legolas towards the others.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The battle was heated, but short. Against all odds the Dúnedain once again had both their leader and the sons of Elrond, and their triumph gave strength to their tired limbs. In only a few hours, most of Elladan and Elrohir’s tormentors lay dead upon the tower steps, before the sealed gates, and in the valley.

Eression kicked one of their carcasses bitterly and turned to find Malvegil watching him closely.

“I have never had a love for orcs,” Eression said briefly, his voice taut and his heart weary. Mavegil nodded and together they returned to the camp near the edge of the ravine.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Though he could do very little for his brothers in that foul valley, Aragorn worked steadily. Moranuen and Legolas labored alongside him, binding only the most obvious injuries for now.

“Lord Aragorn,” Halbarad's unusual use of titles announced he meant to make a suggestion for their next plans. “I feel we must leave this place now. The weather makes me wary and we have need to set this evil behind us.”

Aragorn gave a stiff nod as he slowly wound cloth around Elladan’s wrists where the manacles had been fastened.

“Yes,” he said. “As soon as may be.”

"What about Idhrin?" Halbarad asked softly, hating to burden Aragorn further.

His leader's eyes closed briefly. Aragorn had been much grieved at the death of a man whose quiet presence he had long depended upon as a strong point in a shifting wilderness. Now that strength was gone. Even the relief that no more had perished could not remove the loss.

"What about him?"

Halbarad looked away for a moment, torn. He knew all too well that time was short and few men were able enough to bear any weight but their own.

His face softening, Aragorn touched his friend's arm. "We will not leave him here, Halbarad. Not even in death." Turning back to the elves he said, "Mora? Will you help Legolas and I get my brothers onto our horses? It is dangerous to move them, but still more so to remain."

Moranuen nodded his assent and cast a last glance back at the tower in the cliff face, still standing like an immortal monolith. Then he moved to lift Elladan up into Aragorn's arms. He did not look back again as they departed.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The moment they had left the tower and the last noises of its dying storms behind them, Aragorn felt something in his heart ease. Though his worry did not yet lift, it was as though a long shadow had departed. The Witch King had only been another servant in the end — mimicking the craft of his master. But he had marked for himself a dwelling of evil, and only with his passing would it fade. For now at least, Aragorn was relieved simply to be away from it.

It was a weary and haggard group that came to rest outside Arnor by the boarders of the Weathered Hills. Their shelter was made by a small stream, unknown to many, that carried past the hills, ideal for seeing to the many injuries sustained by all.

Aragorn immediately sent Nindalf with a message to Lord Elrond, assuring him of his sons' safety, but in his haste he had no time to write such a message as he would have liked.

Halbarad took the organizing of camp upon himself while Aragorn and Legolas saw to Elladan and Elrohir. The Dúnedain were well used to making impromptu shelters and soon fires blazed around the area and water was hauled from the cold stream. Those who could still walk with comparative ease moved from fire to fire seeing to the others who had not been so fortunate. Unsurprisingly, Bartho had to be argued down before he would allow Halbarad to see to his wounds, and Halbarad found these to be many and grievous.

“Not as bad as some,” Bartho contradicted shortly, clenching his teeth as Halbarad gently cleansed several deep welts on the other ranger’s side and lower back. Everywhere around him Halbarad could see the toll that the Nwalmai’s attack had taken on his fellow rangers… then there were Elrond’s sons. Halbarad noticed that Aragorn had set up camp with Legolas far from the rest of the camp, near the stream, and he was even now tenderly seeing to his brothers' hurts. Neither twin had regained consciousness.

Halbarad turned his gaze away and let out a breath, finishing with Bartho’s injuries and turning to the next ranger in need of help.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Aragorn was aware that his fingers were trembling as he washed out and bound Elrohir’s many wounds, and his breath caught in his throat painfully with the sting of suppressed emotion, but these things he tried hard to ignore as he continued to work.

He felt Legolas’ presence as the elf tended to Elladan mere inches away, and though he worked in silence Aragorn knew there was something urgent distressing his friend. This sense had been growing steadily since they had first begun to examine the twins’ wounds, but Aragorn did not think he could take any more ill news and instead of addressing the wood elf, he began to rinse Elrohir’s hair where it clung to his face with dried blood.

“Estel,” Legolas whispered at length, his hand coming to rest on his friend’s shoulder. Aragorn flinched in spite of himself. Turning reluctantly he immediately recognized Legolas' hesitation. “Estel, Elladan’s leg: it has been broken for some time and… and it seems as though the orcs did not bother to set it properly…” The prince trailed off and waited to see if the ranger had understood the meaning of his words. Aragorn dropped his gaze and Legolas finished, forcing the words out in a rush, “We must set it aright, my friend; he will be permanently crippled if we do not. It is not too late, but it has been too long attempting to heal; we must break it and reset it.” Legolas’ watched his friend, an anguished pity rushing through his heart. He knew how hard Aragorn must be taking this.

For a long time the human did not move. Legolas wondered if he had not heard. Then his head came up, his face a mask of grim determination, and he nodded.

“Yes, you are right. We must.” Gently laying Elrohir on his bedroll the ranger moved over to Elladan and crouched beside the elf’s leg.

Silent as falling snow Legolas moved to Aragorn’s side, touching Elladan’s leg gently to indicate a certain place. “Here, below the knee.”

Aragorn nodded and placed his hands where Legolas indicated. The elf took the other side and gripped Elladan’s leg firmly. “Ready?” Legolas managed the one word only and Aragorn nodded once more.

At the same instant Aragorn and Legolas pressed against either side of the leg, Legolas providing the exact amount of pressure while Aragorn resisted from the opposite side. There was a sickening crack as the bones broke once more. Elladan twisted as he jolted back into consciousness from the sheer pain and cried out desperately before the wave of agony overwhelmed him again and he fell back weakly into blackness. Aragorn pulled away and allowed Legolas to set the bones correctly in a splint so that they would heal straight. The human seemed to be avoiding looking into his brother’s pale face and stared instead at Legolas’ hands as they moved expertly over the broken limb.

He knew it had been necessary. He had had to do it…

At last Legolas’ hands moved away and Aragorn’s eyes turned up to meet his friend’s. He knew there were tears in his eyes from the way the wood elf's face was blurred.

It was too much, it was all too much. Having to find his brothers in such condition in the midst of a horrific nightmare — it had been the very worst pain he could imagine. As the ranger turned his gaze from Elladan to Elrohir slowly, he seemed to lose track of time and space as the power that had held him up and the determination that had kept him going suddenly left him, draining him of all the strength he had left.

The next thing he knew he was weeping heart torn sobs into his hands and Legolas was holding him gently against his shoulder, speaking comforting words that Aragorn couldn’t understand, until slowly the fear, worry and pain began to ebb away.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Legolas wound a last bandage around Elrohir’s palm, securely but with an expert care learned from years of experience. He moved then to sit with Aragorn who was kneeling at Elladan‘s side, his hand resting on the elf‘s chest to assure himself of the steady rise and fall of the other‘s breathing. The ranger gave a slight smile at the elf as he approached.

“I am not sure my friend,” Legolas said lightly, “but I think these injuries may be equal to all of our wounds over the years put together.”

Aragorn’s smile turned dry, “They’ll never live it down.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “Oh that is certain.”

Around the friends the camp had gone to rest. Many Dúnedain lay sleeping, some sat together in quiet groups, their talk coming in snatches to the ranger’s ears.

Aragorn let out a long breath and turned slowly to look at his brothers once more. “I should have been there sooner.” The regret in his voice was evident but Legolas had clearly expected the words to come and immediately shook his head.

“Do not blame yourself Estel, you could have done no more than you did.”

Aragorn’s blue eyes shone with the echoes of tears, but Legolas knew they would not fall again and after a moment the ranger gave a nod and reached his free hand over to clasp the elf on the shoulder.

“Thank you, my friend,” he whispered. “I could not have reached them if not for you. And you have again turned back my own despair.”

Legolas smiled and reached out to return the gesture which they held for moments, no further words needing to be spoken before their hands dropped away once more.

Aragorn smiled wearily as a cool wind slipped by carrying the earthy smell of the nearby stream and the ranger closed his eyes to take in the quiet sounds of night.

His eyes opened suddenly as something beneath his fingers stirred. Looking down the first thing he saw were Elladan’s eyes staring up at him blearily. The elf blinked to assure himself of reality, and then he smiled suddenly as he recognized the face above him.

"Estel." The word was a mere breath.

Aragorn smiled back in absolute relief, but he seemed unable to speak and Legolas moved beside him, redirecting Elladan’s attention for a moment.

“Welcome back Elladan, how do you feel?”

“That *is* a question,” Elladan turned his smile on Legolas, his voice whispery and low, but tinged with humor and life. “I can’t say that I have felt worse.” Elladan turned his gaze back to Aragorn and gently reached up to touch his brother’s face. Aragorn put his own hand around the elf’s and held it there. “It is good to see you,” Elladan whispered, recalling how deeply he had deeply feared he would never see his young brother again.

“It is good to see you finally awake!” the ranger chided with a smile. “You had us worried.”

“You worry too much Estel.”

Aragorn’s eyes turned mildly defensive, “*I* worry too much? You, my brother, are far more the offender than I!”

Elladan let out a hoarse laugh but stopped at the ache in his ribs, flinching as Aragorn quickly moved to help settle him again.

“Easy,” Legolas admonished, turning to lift a water skin from Aragorn’s satchel. “You had too close a brush with death to be pushing your strength now.” Aragorn took the water from the elf and helped Elladan sit up slightly in order to drink it without choking. However the dark-haired elf pushed it away at Legolas’ words and turned concerned eyes up to Aragorn.

“Elrohir…is he—?”

“He will be well,” Aragorn reassured him softly. “He is still unconscious but he will live, of that I am sure.” Elladan turned carefully to look, letting out a shaking breath.

He had nearly lost his twin, and even now the horrors of that near tragedy plagued his heart. It was all too familiar — he didn‘t think he could bear losing someone so close again.

“Come,” Aragorn broke into his thoughts gently, redirecting Elladan’s attention. “Drink some, it will do you good.”

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The man sat apart from the camp, apparently not going anywhere near the other men, and yet he did not seem to be in any hurry to leave either. He sat with his back against a tree, staring off into the distance. The fires glinted off his silver eyes and though their comforting warmth beckoned him he remained where he was and tried not to draw any attention to himself.

This, however, was not to be — though Eression was far too preoccupied with his own thoughts to note the Dúnadan’s approach until the man was right beside him.

“Has anyone seen to your wounds?” Malvegil inquired, dropping beside the Black Numenorean.

Eression jumped slightly in surprise and turned to face the man. “I have none so grievous,” he answered after a moment, thinking that the ranger would likely return to the camp and his companions. It seemed that Malvegil would not be turned away so easily.

“Perhaps, but you sound just like Lord Aragorn, Halbarad and Bartho when you say it, meaning that your wounds are much more severe than you are letting on.”

Eression wasn’t certain how to respond to that but Malvegil did not allow him much chance.

“Come away from that tree and let me have a look,” the man ordered shortly, leaving absolutely no room for argument, though Eression felt it worth a try anyway.

“I am well,” he protested quietly, not moving from his position as Malvegil began to remove things from his own pack for dressing wounds.

“From what little I know: you escaped a fair number of orcs in the bowels of that tower and you fought alongside us to finish the orcs outside. I know you sustained at least two cuts across your back in that fight because I was standing right beside to you, so don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Now move away from that tree, sit over here, and let me see to those before they become infected.”

Eression had opened his mouth several times during this lecture but he realized now that there was nothing he could say and after a brief moment he moved obediently away from the tree and seated himself in front of Malvegil.

The ranger saw first to the two gashes which were indeed lying across his back and also tended the many other cuts and bruises Eression had sustained from the orcs and from Legolas in the tower.

When Malvegil was finally satisfied Eression turned a rare smile on the man and nodded his thanks. Malvegil waved it away easily and began to repack his satchel. He had rebraided his hair since the fight and in this dim light he struck Eression very much as an elf, though he was really too strong in stature to fool anyone even from a distance.

After a surprisingly comfortable silence Eression posed a question that had been turning in his mind for quite some time.

“Malvegil?”

The ranger looked up as though he could read in the former captain’s tone that he had something important to ask. “Aye?”

“Am I… a prisoner here?” Malvegil looked slightly confused by the question and Eression clarified himself quickly, “I have the impression that your leader does not wish me executed, but I have had no guard, I am not even bound — I wonder if that means that I am… that I am free to go?”

Malvegil’s face became very hard to read. Something that seemed like an unexpected sympathy passed behind his eyes and he took a moment, letting the whispers of night and the sigh of the forest rest between them before speaking.

“If Lord Aragorn has not restrained you in any way, then I should say you are free to go…” Malvegil left his answer noticeably unfinished and Eression waited for him to conclude. “Eression,” Malvegil said at last, “you are a man of Numenorean descent. I know not where you would go now, but I think that Lord Aragorn would accept you willingly under his command if you were to ask.”

Eression’s face seemed to change then to an almost visible grimace. Fear could be read there, uncertainty, and a river of guilt as well.

“Nay, I do not think that would be wise for me, Malvegil, though I thank you for considering it possible.”

Malvegil nodded. Then, catching the sense that Eression wished to be alone, he gave a slight bow and returned to the camp murmuring an elven melody beneath his breath.

Eression watched him go and immediately felt the press of his surroundings. Wishing at once to be gone and knowing that he was not to be held here he rose immediately and turned toward the forest at his back.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Aragorn smiled softly as his brother drifted back to sleep; a peaceful and dreamless sleep that the ranger knew was well needed.

Letting out a long breath, Aragorn turned his smile on Legolas. The elf was crouched beside him rifling through the ranger’s belongings seeking out bandages and Valar knew what else.

“Legolas, what are you doing?” the ranger asked lightly, watching the elf with an ever broadening grin.

The prince turned his gaze up to meet his friend’s and gave a slight shake of the head. “Amusing Strider, but if you think I missed the injuries you endured you are gravely mistaken.”

Aragorn rolled his eyes heavenward; he had assumed as much. “Ah yes, we mortal humans were the only ones to sustain injury, is that what you are saying my friend?”

Legolas chose not to reply but the idle glance he cast upon his right arm proved to the ranger that Legolas was well aware of his own injuries. Aragorn laughed, a truly musical sound on such a worn and plagued night.

“Strider,” the elf broke into the sound smoothly, “I have not the patience required for explaining — yet again, I will add — the very great difference between the healing capacities of elves and those of humans.”

Aragorn gave a wry smile at that; Legolas could see a retort hanging on the man’s lips, and raised a forestalling hand.

“Do not even begin, Strider, I have closed my ears to your protests and will be satisfied that your wounds have been properly seen too before I allow you to move anywhere. I believe your time with the Dúnedain has made you more resistant than usual.”

“I am in good company here,” Aragorn rejoined teasingly, but he complied to his friend’s insistence and came to sit before the elf. “Not to say that you weren't quite bad enough.”

Legolas smiled; he couldn’t really help it. His friend’s lighthearted banter had been greatly hindered by the anxiety and fear he had suffered of late, and the elf had missed it sorely.

It was not long before both the ranger and elf’s wounds were cleaned and bandaged. Aragorn sat staring into the camp. He felt as though he should be weary but he also knew he could never sleep. Instead he rose to move around the camp and check on his men, a duty which he realized he had rather neglected for fear over his brothers‘ injuries.

Legolas offered to stay by the twins, but Aragorn had moved only a little closer to the softly burning fires when a sight caught out of the corner of his eye stayed his feet. It was a man and even in the dark at this distance Aragorn could easily tell who it was. He glanced into the camp once and noted that no one seemed at immediate unrest. Moving swiftly he caught up to the man as he walked quietly into the forest that surrounded them.

“Eression!”

Aragorn’s voice brought the man to a sudden halt and the Black Numenorean turned slowly to face him.

Recognizing the other immediately Eression bowed slightly. “Lord Aragorn," he greeted humbly.

“Were you leaving Eression?” Aragorn asked, even though it was clear enough that this had been his intent.

“I was.” The other man seemed uneasy. “I had been told that you do not wish to detain me; I felt it would be best if I left.”

Aragorn frowned, his eyes searching those across from him.

Seeing the expression, Eression mistook the meaning and spoke quickly, “I assure you I meant not to escape your justice, Lord Aragorn. I only felt it would be best if I did not remain…” Eression trailed off as Aragorn held up a hand.

“Peace Eression. I mean you no harm, and there is no justice of mine that you would have need to escape. Not anymore. There is little praise to be found in many of your actions, but you have returned to me my brothers and for that I would not count you my enemy.” Aragorn paused and moved a step closer to Eression, meeting his gaze fully. “Are you certain that you wish to leave? If you ask it, I would be glad to have you join us here.”

Again Eression became troubled and seemed as though he wished to run, but he remained where he stood and shook his head slowly. “I do not think it would be wise, my lord. Too many here would feel ill at ease if I remained in your company, but if…” the man trailed off and seemed to be seeking something in Aragorn’s eyes. “If it is because of what I know of your heritage, Lord Aragorn, I can only assure you that not for the sake of personal gain nor through torture or death would I reveal what I know."

Aragorn nodded and a smile touched his lips as he dropped his gaze for a moment. He felt in his heart that asking Eression to stay was right. He could not fully understand why, but something in the man’s face spoke of truth. When Aragorn’s eyes came up to meet Eression’s once more, his heart was sure and his voice firm.

“I trust your words Eression, and that is not why I wish you to remain. You are a man of strong character. I would say you have a good deal to unlearn, and even greater is that which you must come to know, but I am certain that if you could be as loyal to a better cause you would find your life fulfilled to the utmost.”

Eression’s hesitancy was obvious even though his eyes betrayed the deep longing Aragorn’s words inspired, but still he felt he could not and shook his head again dropping his gaze suddenly.

“I have brought you pain, my lord. I have brought the house of the elves pain in my own folly, and I have in part succumbed to a darkness I willingly followed. Yet you granted me mercy, you saved my life when it should have been taken. I could not begin to repay what you have given me—"

“And I would not ask it of you.” Aragorn took a step nearer and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder bringing Eression’s eyes back up to his. “Mercy does not demand recompense; that is not its way. It is something I freely give you. Your heart is not dark and I fear that if you were to leave now, all you would find awaiting your soul is a wilderness. Where truly would you go?” Aragorn’s tone softened and he smiled slightly. “Here I can offer you no power; our victories are as small as they are concealed. We are not glorified for our might, for that we have little, and suspicion — not respect — is what we are bound to receive. Our task is to protect those who have no power and could not defend themselves from death if it came. This is all I could give to you, but I offer it unreservedly if you would accept it.”

Eression slowly looked around him, his eyes tracing the camp of rangers over Aragorn’s shoulder, the forest that surrounded him, and at last coming to rest on Aragorn. For a long time he simply stared into the Dúnadan's eyes, seeing the truth and hope that led the ranger’s life. Held there was all the Black Numenorean knew he had longed for. He could not understand it, but that was something he felt certain time would change, and the former captain knew beyond all shadows of doubt that he wanted that change.

“I will stay,” he whispered at last. “I would be honored to serve under you, Lord Aragorn.”

Aragorn squeezed Eression shoulder and gave a nod. “I would be privileged to accept you services, Eression.” The ranger paused before smiling slightly, “And you have no need to call me Lord Aragorn. Malvegil does and I have no idea how to make him stop; Aragorn will easily suffice.”

Eression smiled back and it was as though he couldn’t help himself, he could not truly know what this road could hold for him, but he felt in his heart that it would be as Aragorn said: and it would fulfill his life to the utmost.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Moranuen sat for a moment or two amongst the bags, his search for extra bandages momentarily laid aside. Silent as only an elf could be, his presence had gone unnoticed by Estel or Eression, and as they moved back towards the center of the small camp, Mora could not keep a smile from his graceful lips.

"Oh, Estel," he murmured, years of experience filling the two words and giving them a weight beyond anything else he could have said. From anyone else that offer might have seemed foolhardy, but Aragorn son of Arathorn had many years of experience reading the intentions and merits of others and the elf had yet to see him proved wrong.

Recollecting his errand Mora completed his search, grimacing as his cut and bruised fingers rubbed against the rough leather of the packs. Ordinarily he would not have left Elladan and Elrohir's sides — both because he was their friend and because he was their subject — but even before, when their condition had been much more critical, he had known that his presence would do little except interrupt Aragorn and Legolas' rhythm as they worked. Besides which: very few of the Dúnedain were capable of retrieving bandages on their own, let alone securing them.

Gathering as large an assortment of materials as he could safely carry, he hurried lightly back towards one of the fires and laid them out, sorting them according to which ones he would need. Fortunately, perhaps due to Aragorn's experienced advice, all the Dúnedain had packed well for this journey.

"What is amusing you?" Halbarad asked, looking up from his work at Erynbenn's side.

"It would be best, I think, for Estel to tell you himself whenever he deems the time right," the elf answered cryptically, his eyes twinkling afresh. "You know his ways."

"Aye," Halbarad nodded ruefully. He tensed as Erynbenn inhaled sharply and seemed about to roll onto his side. "Lie still; we don't want you breaking any of those a second time."

The ranger coughed hollowly, his body shuddering with pain. "I feel as though I've been sat upon by Bartho's troll."

"Do all humans jest like this after escaping death?" Moranuen mused, placing a hand on the young man's forehead to check for fever.

"Only Dúnedain," Erynbenn corrected, feeling some of the pounding ebb inexplicably from his head. "The theory is that one must either learn to laugh or else spend one's existence in misery."

"You are quoting Estel," Moranuen said. It wasn't a question.

"It is better than quoting Bartho," Erynbenn retorted, finding talking to be his only distraction from the burning sensation in his chest as he breathed. "'Expect death and injury becomes unimportant by comparison', or 'The surest route to trouble is to delegate the tasks of one's mind to something or someone else'."

Halbarad suppressed a snort of laughter, "I do not believe I've heard that one."

"We were on a scouting trip in April," Erynbenn explained.

"Ah."

"What happened in April?" Mora asked, adding some herbal powders to a large pot of fresh salve he was making.

Erynbenn answered automatically, "Lindamar's betrayal; or rather its annivers—" He broke off mid-sentence, his face turning from white to an odd gray color.

Moranuen's first instinct was to get him a new dose of pain reliever, and then he sensed the presence of someone standing just over his shoulder — and directly in front of Erynbenn. Casting a glance over his shoulder he found himself looking up into Bartho's face. A face whose expression was a mixture of too many emotions for the elf to easily read.

"I—" Erynbenn started, moving to a half sitting position and flinching as white-hot barbs ricocheted along his nerves.

Shaking his head, Bartho knelt and gently pressed him back down again, "There is no purpose in hurting yourself over it."

"I should not have—" the young man began afresh, but was again cut off.

"*I* should not be so easily bothered," Bartho countered. "Years cover over a mountain of foolishness, and many years there have been. Do not distress yourself; it is of no consequence."

Erynbenn nodded slightly, "Thank you."

At his side Halbarad smiled, "Proof that those men who survive can get away with much. Keep that in mind, will you?"

"I will."

"Good," Bartho nodded. He eyed the younger man's chest critically. "That needs work."

Tearing a bandage neatly lengthwise, Moranuen nodded, "It does. And now that you are here to help Halbarad support him, we can hopefully do it properly."

"Can we not wait for Aragorn?" Erynbenn suggested, humorous resignation in his voice as he tried to at least stall them.

"Nay, we cannot," Mora chuckled. "If my own past experience does not lead me wrong Legolas will soon be ordering your leader to bed, and once asleep little but disaster or his brothers' waking will be able to rouse him."

The black clouds in the west had disappeared with the swiftness of ice in Harad. No longer was there a single sign of the long darkness that had blighted the sunsets. The horrific stories of dark things stalking the northern woods had dwindled to little more than a constant topic for storytelling amongst those few Bree-landers who claimed to have seen one at a distance. And what was more, one of the rangers had presented himself at the gates with the miraculous news that his captain had succeeded in rescuing the Lord Elrond's sons.

That last event had occurred nearly a month ago, and by now Elladan and Elrohir ought to have been well enough to travel home.

Deciding a higher vantage point might be useful, the elven warrior took a light step up to balance on the lower branches of a lofty pine. The needles hid him well and the view between the spoke-like levels of branches was good. Settling in to wait in silent stillness, Glorfindel grew still.

"Will you never walk into Rivendell on your own two feet?"

Glorfindel smiled. The voice was distant, but it was familiar. As was the lecture.

A second voice continued the sentiment with unconcealed worry, "As your brother, you know, I have a responsibility for you. What do you think Father will say if I bring you in bloody, coated in mud, and half dead… again? I've nearly run out of excuses."

"Father? For the love of the Valar—" a third party began, his tone affronted. Obviously he was one of the ones being scolded.

"No, he's right!" the first voice cut in again. "This is serious; do you have any idea how much he worries about you? Worries for us pale in comparison! At least we avoid mischief *some* of the time."

"Whereas you, well — can you never not touch?" the second voice demanded.

"It was all that rain that did the mischief!" a new fourth voice interrupted. The other one being scolded. "You know perfectly well it was no fault of ours. And I didn't touch anything; you are weaving a fantasy."

"Well," the second voice muttered, "we shall simply have to wait and see what Father says when he has to patch you both up. One thing is certain: he won't let you out of bed for at least a week. And in the meanwhile the both of us shall make absolutely certain that pillows are forever being launched at your heads, that arguments shall follow you wherever you attempt to sleep, and that when you are finally proved *incapable* of rest in such an environment, you are forced to swallow something noxious that completely deprives you of all consciousness for a month."

This tirade proved too much for the first voice, which broke down into peals of merry laughter. Laughter that almost drowned out the simultaneous indignant cries of, "Estel!"

A party of five riders came through the trees. The first voice was revealed to be a still laughing wood elf; the second voice a disheveled, but otherwise fit looking ranger; and the third and fourth to be elven twins, alike in face, in voice, and in the amount of thick mud that appeared to cover them from heads to toes. The fifth party, also an elf, had not spoken, but he was laughing now along with the wood elf.

Glofindel waited until they were passing almost directly beneath him, then spoke softly, recalling his words to the Dúnadan at their last meeting, "It seems much darkness has now fled the earth; perhaps pleasant speech has returned to fill its place?"

"Glorfindel!" Aragorn cried in delight.

Legolas attempted a similar greeting, though he and Moranuen were still laughing when they began speaking and thus their formal salutations were marred beyond repair. Elladan and Elrohir were still glaring at their brother and his friend, though it was difficult to tell under all the mud.

The elven warrior found himself laughing as well, the steel in his eyes softening to something far friendlier as he returned Aragorn's embrace. Humans had a certain impetuosity he sorely missed in his own kind.

Legolas did not dismount, for he was sitting behind Elladan. Moranuen had similarly taken a position behind Elrohir, and the twins' riderless horses — also mud-covered — trailed behind Aragorn at the end of their tethers.

"I was considered too heavy to share my saddle," Aragorn explained ruefully, gesturing back at them. "We wished to be home before nightfall and we couldn't afford to slow the horses."

"Dare I ask what happened? I understood that you were intending to delay your return until Elladan and Elrohir were well enough to travel." Glorfindel noticed with concern that the twins were in fact clean in a few places — but all of those places were bandaged.

Elladan snorted, "The rain happened."

"It had been raining for nigh on a month, though," said Glorfindel in puzzlement.

"Exactly," said Elrohir. "The constant rain had eroded most of the mountain paths on the way here. But it had begun to dry out, and we made good time anyway."

"Until that little cloud burst this morning," Aragorn supplied. "The extra damp was just too much for the trail we were taking and the moment Elladan and Elrohir reached the spot, the whole path sloughed right out from under them."

"They were only *mostly* healed, sir," said Moranuen. "The fall didn't kill the horses, but it did manage to break Elladan's leg afresh, and Elrohir received a broken foot he hadn't had to begin with. Not to mention all the damage from the rocks that went down with them."

"It took so long to get them out that we didn’t have time to stop in the Bruinen and wash ourselves." Legolas tilted his head thoughtfully towards Elladan in front of him. "Do you think Celboril will mind?"

Both twins snorted.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Though Aragorn had begun to feel home the moment Rivendell had appeared on the horizon, he had to admit that there was a good deal of distance between the elven country's borders and the Last Homely House itself. At the slow pace they had adopted, and with the valley's own pathways being none-too firm after the recent rain, once they left Glorfindel behind they had still another two hours of riding to do.

Aragorn took the lead and from time to time he looked back over his shoulder, as if to reassure himself that the twins were still there. For all the laughter and all the jesting, he still could catch glimpses of old scars behind his brothers' eyes. He wished now only to return them home as soon as might be. And besides that, he knew all too well from experience what this ride must be doing to the battered elves.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

After catching Aragorn's backward glance nearly ten times in as many minutes, Legolas gave a short sigh. The human needed a chance to leave his worrying behind, and there was little opportunity of doing so at their current pace.

"Aragorn," the wood elf called, "what if you were to ride on ahead and alert your father that we are coming? You will be able to help him lay out whatever materials he needs to piece your brothers back together again."

Elladan snorted again and Aragorn gave a small smile before a frown creased his forehead. "I don't know, Legolas, I wouldn't like to leave you all here with two elves to a horse. If you were set upon—"

"By whom?" Legolas demanded. "You are suggesting there are creatures in Middle Earth who do not immediately drop weapons and run at the sight of Glorfindel's glare?"

"Well…" the ranger began dubiously.

"Well nothing, Strider, off with you. The horses need seeing to anyway and we'll be there ourselves within an hour, if I'm not much mistaken."

"As you command, Prince Legolas," Aragorn bowed theatrically in his saddle. "Keep my brothers out of the mud, will you?"

Ignoring all sounds of protest from Elrohir, the Dúnadan started his horse down the trail at a quick pace, disappearing within moments.

Legolas exhaled with satisfaction, "Good."

"Why did you want to get rid of Estel?" Elladan asked curiously.

The blond haired elf glanced at the elder twin, unsure of whether or not to pass on his reasons. "He was getting fidgety," he said, trying a half truth.

"Legolas," Elladan said warningly, "you may not be my brother, but I haven't known you all these years without discovering what a bad liar you are."

"I was not lying!" Legolas protested, readjusting his seat as his horse stumbled slightly in a loose patch of sand. In front of him Elladan stiffened with the jolt, his face paling beneath the dirt. "And you're not well."

"*You* are changing the subject."

"Actually, I am doing just the opposite."

Elladan exhaled slowly. "I see." He cocked his head over his shoulder, "So that's it then? I should have known he would blame himself for this… And we thousands of years his senior too."

"You're not the only one who feels responsible for others, you know," Legolas pointed out.

The other elf shook his dark head sadly, "The foolish boy."

Legolas sighed and shook his own head, "No, Elladan, not foolish, and not even a boy, no matter how confusing it may be for us to see it. By joining the Dúnedain, even on a temporary basis, you placed yourselves in with his men, and his men are his responsibility. Furthermore, you are his brothers. There is a bond between you that stretches both ways. Just as you have always come for him, so he will always come for you, and to do less would be to undo his love for you. Perhaps you would not think ill of him for giving up when it seemed there was nothing left to hope for, but he would think ill of himself and it would destroy him ultimately."

Elladan was silent. "You speak with much knowledge, Legolas," he said after a while.

"I've had much time to think about it."

"And you are right," Elladan shook his head slowly, knowing a faster motion would be painful.

"Do not worry over it — I have no intention of causing a relapse of that fever you had." Legolas sighed. "Your father will be upset enough as it is."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Carefully, Aragorn closed the stable doors behind him. He had whittled away at the lead on his brothers while tending to the horses and no longer could he put off a meeting with his father if they were to make any preparations for the twins' injuries.

The human was uncertain as to the cause of his nervousness. Nindalf, upon delivering the message of Elladan and Elrohir's rescue, had brought back word of Elrond's joy and his gratitude towards the Dúnedain. But all the same, his father had not seen the twins. Greatly recovered they might be, but underneath the mud they were still but shadows of their former selves. Aragorn could only hope that time would restore them, for if Elrond had to wait upon the docks of the Gray Havens and bid farewell to yet more of those dearest to him… The ranger did not even wish to finish the thought. Would his father be so grateful when he saw what his adopted son had been too slow to prevent?

Immersed in his tangled thoughts, Aragorn did not realize where his feet had taken him until a soft question met his ears.

"What news, Ranger?"

Aragorn's head came up, a sense of déjà vu tugging at him. That question… But Elrond was not on the balcony this time; he was standing in the doorway in front of him, and there was a gentle smile on his face.

Feeling warmth pour through him, Aragorn gave his familiar answer, "News of the Dúnedain, Lord Elrond, and of your sons."

Taking two swift steps forward, Elrond embraced his youngest son tightly.

Slowly the last of Aragorn's tension melted away, leaving him feeling weary but safe. His father's familiar smell and the feel of his strong arms within sleeves of brown velvet wakened countless memories in the ranger's heart and reassured him. Here and now he finally saw that whatever happened, he knew he had done his utmost… and that it was enough.

"They are with Legolas and Moranuen, not far behind me," Aragorn said into Elrond's shoulder, feeling the arms tighten around him again with relief.

When Elrond finally released the ranger, there were tears standing in his eyes. "Well did I name you, Estel. You did not give way even when I despaired."

"Father, do not speak so," Aragorn shook his head. "You were intentionally trapped in a cruel decision you could not have hoped to make without loss. And it was only through a miracle that I was provided with the means of finding them."

"Miracles seem to follow you," Elrond said with a smile.

"You may not say so when you see Elladan and Elrohir."

The lord of Rivendell caught the human's chin gently in one hand, "I speak so now, regardless. Against all resistance you brought your brothers out of that northern hell, and this while your own life was already in jeopardy." Elrond's voice grew firm, "Whatever the cost — and I have already prepared myself that it was heavy — they are yet alive. Where there is life, there is hope, Estel."

Aragorn nodded. Slowly he frowned, "What about where there is mud?"

Elrond's eyebrows rose. "Dare I ask?"

"You probably will not have to. With all the time it took to get here and stable the horses, they shall likely be here within the next fifteen minutes or so. I had hoped to help you prepare for their arrival."

The elf nodded in agreement, "What all do they require?"

Aragorn ran over the mental list he had compiled, "Bandages, most of your herbal stores, fresh clothing, food, and soap and warm water of course." His voice changed subtly, "Above all, I think they need you, Father."

Elrond glanced at the ranger keenly. "Why do you think so?"

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably, "It is more instinct than anything very solid. I was not even born — I do not have any idea what the three of you suffered — but I think they have been having nightmares about… well, about their… I mean, about your—"

"Celebrian?" Elrond suggested, the name a mere breath.

The human sighed, "Yes. These may well have been the same orcs. In a moment of vulnerability Elladan once tried to describe how he and Elrohir found — her — and if it was anything akin to when I found them…" He shuddered, his right hand rubbing his left arm absently as if he were cold. "I shall not soon forget it." There was a pause while the ranger's blue eyes grew hooded. "It does not matter. That aside, I do not know precisely what transpired during their captivity. I am unsure if they will ever tell anyone fully, but they will not even tell me a portion of it. I am their younger brother. The instinct to keep me safe is too deeply ingrained." His shoulders slumped tiredly as he moved past his father to enter the house. "They need you. That is all."

"And you, Estel?"

Aragorn paused mid-step.

Elrond remained standing the doorway, now silhouetted against the clean light outside. "What do you need?"

A tired smile graced the ranger's lips. "To be home, Father. Only to be home."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

Elrond smelled the evening air appreciatively, feeling grateful that, though cool, there was no hint of rain on the wind. It had been a few weeks since he had first had his sons returned to him. He reflected for a while on that moment of reunion; but joy — like pain — has a blurring effect on past events. He recalled only the feeling of their thin shoulders within the circle of his arms and the sound of laughter through tears at their mud-spattered state. It had been a relief to laugh again. There had been murmured words of affection, a few attempts at an explanation. Moranuen had held the horses, a participant even through his smiling silence. Legolas had stood by Aragorn, his hand lightly on his friend's shoulder, and a glitter of tears in his gray eyes even as he pointed out to Elrond the fact that neither twin had managed to enter Rivendell on his own two feet.

The memory wavered in and out again, like a reflection seen in water, and Elrond closed his eyes briefly. A silent thanks he sent Ilúvatar for all three of his sons, and for their friends — both elves and Dúnedain.

On soundless feet he approached the other lone figure at the balcony railing.

"What are you doing awake?" the elf lord asked softly. "Your leg may be healed, but you're really not well enough to go walking about so early like this."

"Aragorn and Legolas have too much time on their hands," came the cryptic response. "They claim justification on the basis that Elrohir and I never let them sleep in peace. But nailing my house slippers to the floor is rather more serious than anything *we* could have concocted."

Elrond stifled a chuckle, trying a sympathetic glance on his eldest, "That does sound ill-behaved of them. I do wonder, though, how they managed to do any hammering without waking you up…"

Elladan's eyebrows lifted, "You made our tea this morning, Ada. You above all should know."

Another chuckle threatened to reveal itself. "I did no such thing. Aragorn offered to make your tea this morning."

"The little liar."

"I did not lie!" Aragorn protested, stepping at that moment from behind a decorative pillar behind them. "I told you it was Father's tea — I never said that he had made it. You assumed."

"Very well, I assumed," Elladan sighed. "Will you at least do me the courtesy of unpinning my property from the floor?"

"Already done," Aragorn replied, producing the prized slippers from behind his back with a flourish. "It may interest you to know that the idea was Elrohir's and the plot Legolas'; I only carried it out. And we really did not expect you to fall on your face like that."

"You are not too far gone to reform, I see," Elrond remarked dryly.

Aragorn inclined his head with a smile, "Thank you, Father. Do not worry, the prank was in honor of Legolas' departure tomorrow. I shall be better behaved from here on. Besides, Elrohir accidentally drank the dregs of Elladan's tea and shall not be with us until tomorrow morning, at the earliest."

"He is jesting," Elrohir snorted, entering from the direction of the gardens with Legolas just behind him. "But I will cut him short now. Aragorn, Bartho and Erynbenn are outside."

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

The dour-faced ranger looked up and almost smiled at the sight of the twins walking briskly across the courtyard. "It is good to see you both on your feet."

"It is good to be here," Elladan smiled.

Aragorn greeted the ranger with a serious expression, "What news?"

"Wolves," Bartho stated briefly. "A large pack heading south. Halbarad thinks they need a wider feeding range, now that winter is coming on. With some of the men still recovering…"

Aragorn nodded, a small sigh escaping him. He had hoped to be able to stay in Rivendell a week longer, but it seemed duty — as ever — had other plans. "Yes, it would be best if I returned." His head came up and he slowly took in the small group of elves standing about him. Not a one of them protested his decision, understanding where his responsibility lay.

"Is the need too urgent for you to delay your departure until tomorrow morning?" Elrond asked.

Erynbenn thought a moment. "I do not believe so; we made better time than we had expected. Still, we would not wish to impose upon your hospitality, Lord Elrond."

The elf shook his dark head, smiling slightly, "You would have to ask for a great deal before you could be considered an imposition, and even that would be but a very small portion of the debt that stands between us."

Bartho shook his head, "Speak not of debts and we shall accept your offer."

The day was a quiet one, partly for Elladan and Elrohir's benefit — though both twins protested that if their father had not threatened them so sternly, they would assuredly have been making their preparations to return with the three Dúnedain.

"We've seen those hobbits of yours," Bartho mentioned casually from where he sat at the edge of the Bruinen. "Malvegil and Eression stumbled into their garden by accident not five days after you left us."

"What happened?" Aragorn asked.

"Appledore ran them off his land with a pitchfork for trampling his mushroom patch," Bartho said. "It left Malvegil rather disconcerted because, of course, he was supposed to be showing Eression the lay of the land. Not a very good example of his skills."

"No," Aragorn admitted. Then asked tentatively, still unsure how Eression's welcome amongst the Dúnedain had been taken by his brothers, "How is Eression?"

Bartho shrugged, "As well as can be expected."

"He has some good qualities," Erynbenn agreed thoughtfully, twisting a strand of grass absently between his fingers, "but his moral compass is not full north. Though he has not the love of violence that marks an orc, still he has the calculating mind that deals more in numbers than in people. If he can learn to value those whom he is helping to protect then he will be a welcome asset."

"The Valar know there are too few of us as it is," said Bartho.

"He is recovering from his father's death then?" Legolas queried.

"Aye. He'd already left most of his sorrow in that tower. It is a pity we could not raze it before we left."

"Yes," Elladan concurred, his voice withdrawn.

Aragorn glanced sidelong at the elder twin, the single word sending a jolt down his spine. There was pain behind Elladan's eyes — endless pain as dark as the night sky and as unfathomable as the stars. For a moment, sitting on the banks of the Bruinen in the sunlight, the elf had been drawn away back to the caves which he now visited only in his nightmares. Across from him, Elrohir was staring off across the water, not wishing to meet the eyes of his companions.

In such times as these Aragorn almost wondered if men had not been granted the better bargain in life: to accumulate only a few hundred years worth of happiness and suffering before being taken away to their halls of rest. Elves had been granted instead the entire length and breadth of time, unbroken by any natural end. On they lived, and on, and on, while the trees grew and faded and renewed themselves. And sitting beside his brother, seeing ever so briefly in the dark eyes the compilation of all the elf's worst memories, spanning the endless years… Aragorn wished with all his heart that he could take his place.

But that choice at least was not given him. Gently he touched Elladan's forearm, noticing peripherally that the others were no longer speaking. "El?" The slight tilting of the elf's head was the only indication that he was listening.

"You are here," Aragorn said, not truly understanding why he said it; why it was so important that Elladan understand him.

Elladan blinked slowly, drawing in a breath and letting it out again. His attention seemed to focus briefly on Elrohir, and then he turned his head back to his human brother. "You are right, Estel," he said.

As he had blinked his eyes had cleared and now Aragorn could see nothing in them but a faint weariness to mar the usual strength which glowed there. Endless years the elf had behind him, but the memories of those years had only the power which he chose to give them.

"I hear Celboril," Elrohir murmured, his own gaze finally leaving the river and turning back towards the house. "And I do not believe that is his 'honey wafers and milk' voice."

"It sounds more like his 'who has been raiding the larder' voice," Elladan agreed.

Legolas chuckled softly, "Should we flee or face his wroth?"

"Flight has never been terribly effective," Elladan sighed. "Besides, if Elrohir and I so much as consider the idea of swimming the Bruinen, Father will swoop down upon us and show us how ineffective avoiding punishment can truly be."

"It has been quiet for too long anyway," Elrohir shrugged, rising to his feet. "Besides, if he's wondering who made off with the last of his raspberry dressing, I happen to know that Father had it on his oven cakes this morning."

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Legolas patted the neck of his horse gently. On the other side of the animal, Aragorn was quiet, lost in his thoughts as the morning mist dampened his boots.

"Mellon nin?" Legolas asked softly. "What is it?"

Aragorn shook himself. "I have not thanked you really…"

"Oh, Aragorn," the wood elf smiled, shaking his head. His hand reached out to rest on the human's shoulder, his gray eyes finding Aragorn's blue ones. "I shall miss you, my friend."

"And I you."

"Is there any hope of your becoming lost in between Rivendell and Mirkwood again? I should be happy to rescue you."

"Your jests are becoming impoverished, Legolas. Do you really see me finding time to become so lost as you suggest?"

"But someday?"

"Yes, someday." Aragorn's hand came up to grip his friend's forearm. "Someday. I promise."

"Namárië for now, then," Legolas smiled, mounting his horse and directing it out of the stable with a gentle command. "I shall travel happily knowing you are all well behind me."

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Only a few hours later, with renewed promises from the twins that they would join him soon, Aragorn and the other Dúnedain also made their way beyond Rivendell's borders.

"It will be good to have you back," Erynbenn said.

Aragorn inhaled deeply, "I shall be glad to return."

"You say that," Bartho warned, "but you have not yet seen this new wolf pack. They've traveled in from the colder regions and stand a good deal taller than the ones we normally face. If we do not have several months without sleep ahead of us, I shall turn in my sword and become a Breeland innkeeper."

"Great Valar, do not even whisper such thoughts!" Erynbenn exclaimed in mock horror. "You send the hobbits scattering as it is. And for all your pessimism you must have noticed that the sun is shining."

Bartho cast a practiced eye skyward, "I wouldn't trust it. There are clouds in the east and a westerly wind — I would predict more rain by tomorrow evening."

"I shall take your word because I have never seen you proved wrong," Erynbenn said, "but I should like to know: is there anything in Middle Earth that you *do* trust?"

Bartho eyed the younger man for a moment, his heavily furrowed brow contracting. "Aragorn. Halbarad. You," he grunted frankly. Then he urged his horse on ahead of his companions until he was out of earshot.

Erynbenn stared for a moment, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

Even though Aragorn had not turned his eyes from the trail ahead of him, he smiled at his companion's bewilderment. "Come, we have a long way to go before dark. There is work to be done."

The other ranger sighed, shaking his head as if attempting to clear it. "Does it never end?" he asked dryly.

Aragorn's eyes swept the surrounding horizon, from the east where Legolas would be wending his way home, to the west where the residents of Hobbiton would now be waking.

"Never."

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Halbarad | Just for the record: HE'S NOT OURS! Which unfortunately reveals that we do not know what his name means. *sigh* If you want more info on Halbarad as he is portrayed in the books, check 'The Passing of the Grey Company' in ROTK.

Erynbenn (woodman) | Yeah, we know, all the rangers were woodmen, but Erynbenn sounded particularly young!

Idhrin (pondering, wise) | Well, he is... (here we go again!)

Bartho (doom) | A joke: because that's what he predicts. ;)

Nindalf (wet palm of hand) | Whereas Bartho was the pessimist, Nindalf was just the nervous, fidgety one. We thought this meaning was rather clever!

Malvegil (historical) | The sixth king of Arthedain. After his death, Malvegil's son claimed kingship over all Arnor. Just in case you were curious. ;)

Eldacar (historical) | The fourth king of Gondor. And we know that Gondor is all the way across the map from here, but both Arnor and Gondor favored the same sorts of names and we figured we could lift one or two without being noticed. ;)

Lindamar (fair dream) | We were rather proud of this one as well! It seemed to bring to mind a vapid, golden haired vision with everlasting charm and no reality. Besides, it just *sounded* right. :P (or rather it did until she spent most of the fic being mistaken for a guy… ;)

Eression (only son) | A clue! A clue! Eression IS Kallomore's only son, and we got a kick out of giving away our secret from the beginning. Well, giving it away to all the elvish-speaking readers out there... :P

Kallomore (dark nobleman) | Unoriginal, but practical.

Burgess (town dweller) | In case some of you missed the memo and the re-post: when we edited chapter 9 (replacing Nob with a young Barliman Butterbur, and replacing Barliman with his own father) this is the name we gave Barliman's dad. It's not an elvish name — just a regular name — but it sounded just right, so we used it anyway. ;)

Raane (straying, wandering) | The elvish language doesn't have a good word for 'insane', so we chose the next best thing. Come to think on it, this is probably more poetic anyway.

Qualin (dead) | Well, he is.

Helin (violet) | This was too cute a name to pass up, and it sort of symbolized for us that Helin had once been a sweet, innocent girl without a care in the world. *sniffle*

Kemen (soil, earth) | A pleasant, uncomplicated name for a pleasant, uncomplicated man! Besides, how can a violet live without soil? ;)

Narandune (fire sunset) | If you recall, this is Hannah's elvish alter-ego! She partly chose it because it looked nice, partly because the meaning sounded like her personality, and partly because she has a brilliantly red velvet cloak. :)

Jon, Domo, Pansy and Bella Appledore | These are (rather obviously) not elvish names. We decided on these after looking through the other sorts of names hobbits tended to favor.

Rogkhar, Sharzak, Grebul, Dregrak | These are not elvish either (no kidding). In fact I could tell you that for these we put a bunch of boggle cubes in a hat and wrote down whatever tumbled out first, but that (while correct in theory) wouldn't be strictly accurate. Basically we muddled around, using previous orc names as models, and finally came up with four decently nasty sounding titles — attempting in the process to make ones like 'Sharzak' sound as close to their character type as possible. For the record (and Chloe will back us up): orc names are no fun!

Oronta Ridge (steep ridge) | Where the heck is Oronta Ridge, you ask? It's mentioned once in passing by Idhrin during the story about Lindamar. We here include the meaning so that we may impress you with our attention to pointless details! :D

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Opens on scene with BIG BLACK TOWER and NASTY STORM - THUNDER and LIGHTENING a specialty

Kallomore: I am the villain for this story! Watch me release the Evil Beasts of Shadow on the land. Scary, hm?

Cue more THUNDER

Eression: I am looking for a Book, which, logically, I should not know exists! I'm also his son, but you're not supposed to know that yet.

Nwelmai: LET US OUT!

Scene opens in a DECEPTIVELY CALM fashion

Aragorn: To start this out on the right foot the authoresses have decided to begin by pummeling the life out of me!

BIG SHADOWY THING tackles ARAGORN to the ground

BIG FIGHT ensues, constructed simply to CONFUSE READERS

Aragorn: HELP ME!

Elladan and Elrohir: We'll save you!

Elladan: And, even though you've nearly died...

Elrohir: We must of course fulfill our role as 'irritating yet comical' brothers by making fun of you!

Aragorn: Of course.

Halbarad: We're here! Watch while we introduce all the rangers at once so you can confuse our names later!

Erynbenn: I'm really cheerful and everyone loves me but that DOESN'T mean I'm going to die!

Idhrin: I'm going to die but no one will care anyway.

Bartho: I'm a grouch.

RANGERS complain about BIG SHADOWY THINGS and come to VERY IMPORTANT CONCLUSIONS

Aragorn: Now I shall head off to ask my father a whole bunch of questions, provide Glorfindel with a cameo and drag Legolas into this story!

Halbarad: Have fun!

Opens on scene of RIVENDELL, looking, as usual, like an original JOHN HOWE

Celboril: I shall begin the age-old jokes about dirty humans. You're filthy!

Aragorn: Am not! Hi dad.

Elrond: Greetings son! You've probably come about that Nasty Storm, and I'm afraid I know next to nothing, except that an identical storm happened during the evil sounding 'Moon of Nwalme' when you were two. This same moon reappears every twenty-five years in complete defiance of whatever cycles the moon and stars usually go through. You'll have to go see Glorfindel for more information because, strangely, he never thought to tell me - his lord and leader - about the evil creatures that might someday be unleashed upon us all. By the way, here's Legolas.

Legolas: That's me, glorified Messenger Prince and Orc Slayer Extraordinaire.

Narandune: I am Glorfindel's daughter and I shall take you to him. But before you start pointing fingers and screaming 'MARY SUE!!' you should know that I'm actually Hannah in disguise and that I have no intention of staying beyond this one chapter.

Glorfindel: Hello! My job (apart from being an amazing elven warrior) is to prove that Sarah and Hannah read the Appendices! Oh yeah, and I'd better tell you that there are Evil Beasts of Shadow roaming the woods and trying to eat all the Dúnedain.

Aragorn: Yikes! I'd better get back there.

Legolas: I'm coming too.

Aragorn: Why?

Legolas: Because I always go where you do, because you'll need me to save you repeatedly in this story, because the readers will rebel if I stay behind, and because I want to prove that all rangers really are smelly.

Aragorn: Oh, okay.

Opens in front of a WOODS

Aragorn: Ah! Home sweet home...where is it?

Elladan: Aragorn! You're finally back! And even though we are elves the couple of days you have been gone managed to seem like an eternity!

Aragorn: Now I shall make jokes about floundering Dúnedain in floods and amuse the readers.

Legolas: And I shall pretend I can't stand being around you and amuse the readers.

Idhrin: I'll be sensible, but you probably won't notice anyway.

RANGERS sit down to listen to ARAGORN'S SCARY STORY about the NWALMAI while he conveniently leave out all the details about them being AFTER HIM

Legolas: Here I will take several paragraphs to make interesting, fascinating and foreshadowing observations about Aragorn.

MORE RANGERS are introduced

Nindalf: I'm pointless and fidgety.

Malvegil: I'm going to wait until you all forget about me and then I will refuse to go away!

ERYNBENN comes in hopping UP AND DOWN

Erynbenn: Nwalmai! Nwalmai! Nwalmai!

Aragorn: We are rangers but there is always a limit.

Everyone HIDES

Nwalmai: I'm going to confuse you by inserting my twisted two-cents before jumping on Legolas' head!

NWALMAI attack

Aragorn: Run away! Run away!

Nwalmai: Ha ha ha! Good guys always split up at the most convenient times!

Legolas: Yeah we're kinda stupid that way.

Aragorn: Legolas! Tree!

LEGOLAS slams into a TREE causing readers to WINCE

Nwalmai: (sniffs) What's that smell?

ARAGORN is BLEEDING

Aragorn: Eep.

CLIFFIE ensues

Opens where the last CLIFFIE left off: with UGLY NWELMAI about to eat ARAGORN

Aragorn: I'm dead.

Legolas: Not today! Watch me use wizard-like skills to send the Nwelmai packing.

Aragorn: You're glowing!

Legolas: Cool, isn't it? Now then, I shall decide that the Dúnedain are too far away to safely reach before you die, so we must instead risk hostile hobbits for a night in their drafty barn.

Aragorn: Uh, Legolas…

They reach HOBBIT FARM

Jon Appledore: AAH! Ranger!

Door SLAMS

Legolas: Is there any darling child who might be willing to cajole this stubborn hobbit into letting us borrow the barn?

Pansy: I am sweet and darling! I'll do it! Daddy? (Bambi eyes) PLEASE?

Jon Appledore: Fine, but like every other farmer has told you before me: don't touch my chickens.

Aragorn: I'm dying.

Smelly Poultice: Not today.

Legolas: Why do you put up with all this insensitive, unjust garbage from the short people anyway?

Pansy: Did I mention the other reason I look sweet and darling is to provide credence for the Dúnedain way of life?

Aragorn: I'm feeling magically better now.

Legolas: I've never understood how you do that…

Aragorn: I'm Numenorean. And who are you to gripe? You do the same thing yourself.

Scene opens on ERESSION and a bunch of DUMB ORCS

Sharzak: I'm a big mean orc but I don't like getting burned. OWIE!

NO ONE pities him

Eression: I hate orcs.

GREBUL is STUPID, then HEADLESS

Sharzak: (gasps and chokes)

Eression: I may hate orcs but I am really good at understanding them! Good work Sharzak! Though this DOESN'T mean I don't like orcs!

ERESSION leaves

Eression: Time to spend some quality time with my dad...except that is a closely guarded secret.

Kallomore: Shut up and listen while I make confusing and mysterious comments about the later plot without giving away my devious scheme.

Eression: Right so you want me to go kidnap Elladan and Elrohir?

Kallomore: (sighs)

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LEGOLAS and ARAGORN beating a hasty retreat from the HOBBIT HOME Appledore toting a SCYTHE all the while

Aragorn: Whew, got out of that one. Just in time to make fun of Legolas' glare and make more chicken jokes!

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After A LOT of TRACKING

Aragorn: Man! These guys have a real problem with hiding themselves too well!

Legolas: YOU should talk!

They FIND the OTHER RANGERS

Bartho: We fought more Nwalmai blah blah blah, got injured blah blah blah, Elladan and Elrohir are gone blah blah blah, haven't come back blah blah blah, it's gonna rain.

Aragorn: Thanks Bartho.

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Back at CAMP

Halbarad: Even though Bartho is likely right behind me, I will now give you the run down on how much of a grouch he is and drop the name Lindamar conspicuously afterwards.

Bartho: My hearing must not be what it used to be.

Aragorn: (looks at tower) I will now give this broken down structure a complete history so Sarah can prove that not EVERYTHING like that has to be out of the books!

Legolas: Cool!

Aragorn: And since I won't get another chance for a long while I'm gonna make ANOTHER joke about Elladan and Elrohir!

They LAUGH at the twins' EXPENSE

Aragorn: Great! Let's go find them!

Opens with scene of WOODS and MORE WOODS and RAIN

Elladan and Elrohir: We are amusing and likable, not to mention astonishingly unsuspicious.

Elrohir: Remember that 'likable' bit, or the later angst won't be any good.

Elladan: That smell *could* be orcs, but I'm betting it's just rotten eggs.

Orcs: BOO!

Elladan: It was orcs.

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WOODS and MORE WOODS and RAIN

Aragorn: I smell something…

Legolas: Probably just rotten eggs.

Elrohir: (in the distance) OW!

Aragorn: No, it's orcs attacking my brothers!

FIGHT ensues in the WOODS and MUD

Aragorn: My brothers are being hauled away in a fish net!

Elladan and Elrohir: (are unconscious)

Eression: I am standing here to look dark and sinister and to lead Aragorn off on an inexplicably successful search in Bree. I'm also Kallomore's son, but you're not supposed to know that yet.

Orcs: (run away)

Aragorn: Even though by Two Towers I am able to simply stick my ear to the ground and tell you how far away our quarry is, what speed they are traveling at, and what color socks they have on, I am currently completely at a loss. I don't even know which direction to start running!

Legolas: This feels really weird - not getting captured for a change.

Aragorn: I feel depressed. I'm going to sit in the mud for a while.

Opens in ELROND'S LIBRARY

Elrond: And here you thought I was just a cameo appearance!

MORANUEN enters

Elrond: Where did you come from?

Moranuen: Mellon Chronicles of course! Message for you.

Elrond: Ew gross! What's with the orc-scented envelope?

Moranuen: I don't know, but, even though I shouldn't be reading your mail I know it concerns your sons!

Elrond: (spills ink)

ELROND reads LETTER gets UPSET

Elrond: I'm going to get all emotional now and for some reason begin to remember Celebrian in the flower bed. However after agonizing for a whole paragraph I guess I've decided I like Estel better. TROOPS!

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LEGOLAS and ARAGORN moving through the WOODS

Aragorn: I'm depressed and distraught and I don't want to talk to anyone.

They ARRIVE at CAMP

Aragorn: Idhrin! Take a letter!

Idhrin: Figures.

Erynbenn: To lighten the mood I'm going to make jokes at Aragorn's expense.

Aragorn: (resists the urge to smack the young OC upside the head)

Legolas: Well we'll go out on a pointless venture while we wait for Elrond's message to arrive.

Halbarad: Have fun!

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They RETURN

Halbarad: Nothing?

Legolas: Nope, is the message here yet?

Halbarad: Funny you should mention that.

ARAGORN reads LETTER

Aragorn: Aw man!

Legolas: Nice angst though.

Aragorn: Man! Now I'm under pressure!

Bartho: In order to break up the angst I'm going to suggest logical ideas about the stupid tower.

Aragorn: Ah yes, the stupid tower...and even in my totally devastated state I remember there was a human! Come Legolas! I have a crazy plan!

Readers: SO WHAT ELSE IS NEW?

Opens with interior scene of DARK TOWER

Kallomore: I shall muse for a while on my history, both to prove that I have one and to explain which of Tolkien's rules have been broken to get me here. In this case: 'none of the Black Numenoreans survived' is such a vague concept…

Eression: Hey, Dad! Oops, the readers aren't supposed to know that yet.

Kallomore: I am going to make a subtle and weak attempt to explain how it happens that you are a bad guy! And while I do that, go put the prisoners in the basement.

Eression: But—

Kallomore: NOW.

Basement of DARK TOWER

Orcs: We are sick creatures.

Elladan: It has been decided by the powers that be (namely Sarah and Hannah) that our lives have been too easy thus far. They are going to attempt to remedy the situation in a single scene.

Elrohir: Actually, this is all Hannah's fault.

Elladan: SHH! Nobody's supposed to know that! If Hannah gets locked in a padded room, who will write torture scenes for these stories? Sarah?

Elrohir: Perish the thought.

Elladan: Exactly, now shut up and act pitiful so I can become upset and try to save you.

Orcs: We are still sick creatures.

They arrive in BREE and its RAINING naturally

Aragorn: Even though it's very illogical I have decided that the human must have showed up here at some point, after all everyone goes to Bree. (pauses dramatically) Lindamar.

Legolas: (fails to notice strange, out-of-place word) The authoresses clearly thought I hadn't seen nearly enough human towns!

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They enter PRANCING PONY

Aragorn: Butterbur?!

Barliman Butterbur: Yeah? (Butterbur suddenly morphs into his own father)

Aragorn: How'd you do that?

Burgess Butterbur: Ha! Wouldn't YOU like to know!

Aragorn: All right fine, even though I clearly know how much help YOU usually are I'm going to ask you a bunch of vague questions anyway.

Burgess: Sure!

Aragorn: Have you seen this guy?

Burgess: What guy?

Aragorn: The guy I described.

Burgess: You mean the horse?

Aragorn: No, the guy!

Burgess: You know you don't make a lot of sense.

LEGOLAS goes to sit down

Legolas: I notice a suspicious guy watching my friend, but that's normal enough and I'll pretend to look the other way.

Suspicious Hobbit: (hands Legolas a Rangers-Be-Bad pamphlet) Be careful! Rangers are dangerous people!

Legolas: NOW he tells me.

Aragorn: I'm going to make a pointless gesture so that my ring catches the firelight.

Raane: AIEE! (jumps Aragorn and tries to remove his finger)

Frodo: Hey I won't be the only one!

Aragorn: (glares) Anyone ELSE wanna say it?!

Legolas: My, my aren't we in a touchy mood.

Helin: (falls apart)

Aragorn: We'll help you!

Helin: Even though I am highly emotional I am also very trusting of strangers!

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In HELIN'S HOUSE

Helin: For the sake of the plot I will now pour out my entire story for two complete strangers and mention a storm and the Nwalmai for absolutely no reason at all!

Raane: (convulses) NWALMAI!! (giggles) I am crazy and unpredictable, but that won't keep me from becoming nearly lucid for a whole five minutes while I tell you everything about my adventure! ...well almost everything.

Chapter 10

Still in HELIN'S HOUSE

Aragorn: Thanks a lot Raane! You've been a big help.

Helin: (sniffs)

ARAGORN and LEGOLAS leave.

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Out on the STREETS of BREE

Pickpocket: I am an adorable little kid who can garner sympathy from anyone and everyone...oh yeah and I'm also a juvenile criminal.

Readers: Isn't he cute?!

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FOG drifting over the BARROW DOWNS

Aragorn: I am a smart Dúnadan! I have deduced that the book we seek is to be found out on the Barrow Downs.

Legolas: But you are now going to haul us out onto the aforementioned downs in the FOG when you KNOW that Evil Wights live there.

Aragorn: You're right, I'm a stupid Dúnadan. Let's go.

Legolas: This is like hunting for a needle in a haystack…

Aragorn: Oh look!

Legolas: What is it, a needle?

Aragorn: No, that big archway thing that the Insane Man back there mentioned! I'm just *sure* the book is still sitting up there.

Barrow Wights: Gotcha!

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Inside the BARROW; everything is bleached green-white, like in MATRIX

Aragorn: Ow, my head. What a stupid nightgown I'm wearing.

Wight: (mutters creepy incantation and hopes not to get sued for plagiarism by Tolkien's estate)

FIGHT ensues, ending when WIGHT holds sword across ARAGORN'S THROAT

Aragorn: I'm dead.

Legolas: Not today! I shall wake up suddenly in the nick of time and save you!

Legolas' BLADE slices of the Wight's HAND and SHATTERS

Aragorn: Cool shattering effect!

Legolas: You like it? We get to use that one a lot in this fic. Now grab that Numenorean sword and let's escape.

The ESCAPE is NOT EASY

Legolas: Come on, we're nearly out!

Aragorn: Will you look at that!

Legolas: What is it?

Aragorn: (sarcastically) Oh, only the thing we've been surreptitiously mentioning since the beginning of this fic.

Legolas: Lindamar?

Aragorn: NO! The Book, you elven nitwit!

Legolas: You know, it actually looks more like a moderate cliffie to me...

Scene opens with BARTHO getting WET

Bartho: I never sleep, I just predict doom and act grouchy, and yet everyone loves me.

Halbarad: Yeah it doesn't make much sense to me. So...where's Erynbenn?

Bartho: Ran off, and even though I supposedly figure he can take care of himself that won't keep me from getting uncharacteristically emotional over him later on in the story.

Halbarad: HE WHAT?!

They set off to FIND HIM

Halbarad: I will now get all mad and then actually apologize for disparaging you, while we talk about glass, granite and Erynbenn. Oh, and you will refer to us as 'hens' of all the undignified comparisons.

Bartho: Right, so you go that way and get lost while I go find Erynbenn.

Halbarad: Okay!

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ARAGORN and LEGOLAS make their ESCAPE

Aragorn: Fortunately, our horses are a pleasant blend of sensible and stupid. They were sensible enough to take off last night, but too stupid to leave the downs altogether. I mean, honestly, who hangs around on the downs like that with who-knows-what prowling around?

Legolas: (finds his knives and makes no comment)

Aragorn: Nice of Sarah and Hannah to find a way for me to keep my musty old overcoat in spite of the whole nightgown incident. Now let's look at that little book…

Tom Bombadil: I shall now sing a bit of nonsense in order amuse the readers without Sarah and Hannah having to actually include me as a character! After all, they pity me for being cut from the film, but they don't pity me *that* much.

Aragorn: (opens book) Well, whaddya know! A map!

Legolas: How nice that the creepy man who wrote the book seems to have had problems with getting lost in his own home! Or else he felt the best way to keep others from trying to control the Nwelmai would be to show them what horrible interior design they'd have to withstand in order to move in.

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BASEMENT of DARK TOWER

Elladan: (gets his leg broken) On second thought, I want Sarah to write the torture scenes.

Orcs: Sick, aren't we?

Eression: Yes, as a matter of fact. I have now decided that I am finally fed up with your nastiness. No more fun for you.

Orcs: Aw, man!

Erynbenn, Bartho, and Halbarad: Here we are again!

The three ORIGINAL CHARACTERS fight off the attack of TWO NWELMAI, so as to prove that they are perfectly capable of doing so WITHOUT ARAGORN

Halbarad: I am knocked out!

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Erynbenn: Wakey wakey!

Halbarad: Where's Bartho?

Erynbenn: I don't know, but it seems to me we haven't mentioned Lindamar's name for a while. I shall now do so and, to sweeten the deal, I shall attempt to do it in a fashion that indicates Lindamar is a troll!

Halbarad: Clever.

Evil Highwayman: (to Kemen the Farmer-type) We are here to threaten and promptly die, in that order.

Kemen: (uses pleasantly mangled English to thank the two - no, the three Dúnedain for saving him)

Halbarad: Even though we have only just now found Bartho, I am going to pretend I knew he was there all along.

Erynbenn: Why are we going to Bree?

Halbarad: Don't ask silly questions! Stick to dropping hints about Lindamar; you're good at that, even though you weren't a ranger when it happened.

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Opens with WOODS

Aragorn: I have been too downhearted for most of this fic! I shall attempt to fix the situation by making several jokes about dressing Legolas up as an orc, which will be sure to cause Tolkien to roll over in his grave.

Legolas: Now what?

Aragorn: Now I tell you that our best bet is to sneak through the Nwelmai tunnels, which may or may not be open to human traffic, and from there into a tower, in which Elladan and Elrohir are trapped… somewhere.

Legolas: And I shall not trouble to point out that, if you don't know where in the tower Elladan and Elrohir are, you might well be killed before you can find them.

Aragorn: Thank you.

Legolas: No problem.

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Opens with RIVENDELL, interior shot of ELROND'S LIBRARY

Elrond: I will now make a brief appearance to show that I am still waiting here, and to prove that Sarah and Hannah aren't avoiding me.

Celboril: I'll play opposite him for a last gasp of humor before the really nasty stuff starts to happen.

Opens in BREE

Kemen: I am a happy, jolly sort of fellow and since you've saved my life I don't mind admitting to your rugged, dangerous looking faces that I think you're lunatics!

Erynbenn: How brave!

Kemen: Further more I'm going to dismiss you as only being pretty good shots and commenting on you being trounced good by something that could have been nothing more than a really big cow for all I know.

Bartho: How nice.

RANGERS visit KEMEN'S HOUSE

KEMEN conveniently LEAVES, and RANGERS do what they all do best: bandage INJURIES

Erynbenn: I'm going to be all sweet and charming and self-sacrificing and suggest that you go on without me.

Bartho: Not a chance without you who will we use for live bait?

Halbarad: Point. I shall now realize that Erynbenn has suddenly grown up and we won't leave him.

Bartho: Magnanimous of you.

Helin. Hello...uh...you're not my boyfrie—Mr. Furdock.

Halbarad: Riight.

KEMEN returns.

Kemen: Oh! Helin! Dear, dear Helin! I shall now flirt in a very obvious fashion and make everyone wonder why I haven't just proposed!

Helin: I'll help!

Rangers: (collective sigh)

Raane: I'm going to prove that I confuse people just as badly as I confuse rings!

Halbarad: Whatever THAT means.

Raane: Hey didgya know I left out a very important detail just for the heck of it?! (starts to doodle in the dirt) Yes yes, even though I'm totally crazed I am going to draw a picture I can remember perfectly and I'll ramble on conveniently about all that stuff I left out last time!

Halbarad: Oh no! Aragorn is in danger!

Bartho: How do you figure?

Erynbenn: Seems like a safe guess to me.

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ARAGORN and LEGOLAS at CAMP

Idhrin: The nice authoresses are gonna let you see in my head for a while, while I ponder captains. Hey Aragorn, you look depressed... I think I'll say LINDAMAR and see what that does!

Legolas: WHAT IS A LINDAMAR?!

RANGERS all LAUGH

Malvegil: WHO! Lindamar...was a WOMAN!

Readers: WHAT?!

Malvegil: Prepare to feel sorry for Bartho, whether you like it or not.

Aragorn: To put it shortly Lindamar was a empty headed town beauty who was saved from trolls by Bartho who apparently had a besotted side we didn't know about, he fell in love the girl the girl didn't turn him off, he wouldn't listen to reason when it came to the girl he loved--

Malvegil: Sound like someone ELSE we know?

Aragorn: (glares) She turned him in, he nearly got hung, I busted him out cleverly inserting a Betrayal spoiler, and VOILA! Lindamar is solved and has NOTHING to do with the PLOT!

Readers: OH! Poor Bartho!

Malvegil: Told ya.

Aragorn: Bed time!

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BACK in BREE

Halbarad: See ya Kemen!

Kemen: I shall now, by way of parting, compliment you on your manners because I can't find anything else likeable about you!

Halbarad: ...See ya Kemen!

Erynbenn: I am now going to make fun of Bartho's manners.

Bartho: Kid, you are SO lucky I am nicer than I look.

Halbarad: While you two chat I'm going to worry about a big Nwalmai.

Bartho and Erynbenn: 'K.

Opens with WOODS (a favorite setting in this fic)

Moranuen: I shall go with the Halbarad and Erynbenn and Bartho!

Halbarad: Why?

Moranuen: Because Hannah thinks I'm a character that should get out more. Besides all the gals love me!

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Fill in JOURNEY TO DARK TOWER montage, complete with DEAD TREES and EVIL DOORS

Aragorn: So, we have reached our destination!

Legolas: Well, I wouldn't want to build a summer home here, but—

Aragorn: And I'm going to now take Legolas into a cave.

Legolas: WHAT?!

Aragorn: (innocently) You haven't been in one for this fic yet!

Legolas: Doesn't the barrow count?

Aragorn: No.

Idhrin: Pardon me while I make a Stirring Comment and then head off to lead my men to a doom that *just might* finally kill one or two of them! Or me. Hm. Do you think the foreshadowing is a little heavy-handed?

Aragorn: Not at all! Believe me, I know subtle foreshadowing when I see it. Come on Legolas, let's go do our Really Easy part of the job where we will meet ABSOLUTELY NOTHING that is either evil or dark or sloppy or otherwise unpleasant.

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Interior of NWELMAI TUNNELS

ARAGORN and LEGOLAS are being chased by the MOTHER OF ALL NWELMAI

Legolas: *You* said we'd meet absolutely nothing that was evil or dark or sloppy or other-

Aragorn: I know, I know. Do you know any way to kill this thing before it succeeds in beating us to a pulp?

Legolas: We can't kill it.

Aragorn: Why?

Legolas: These creatures are currently immortal, pending the destruction of their evil ring. If we kill it then Sarah and Hannah will be breaking their own rules. They may not be Tolkien, but they aren't *that* stupid.

Aragorn: Phooey. Easy for *them* to decide things that way. Fine.

Interior of NWELMAI TUNNELS… STILL

MORE FIGHTING occurs, during which a STUPID MISCOMMUNICATION leads to the NWELMAI being stabbed in the throat.

Aragorn: Handy of you to suddenly abandon your Elven Precision Under Pressure like that.

Legolas: Anytime. Why is the cavern shaking?

A CAVE-IN has been sparked

Aragorn: There, we have successfully immobilized the MOTHER OF ALL NWELMAI in spite of Sarah's and Hannah's ridiculous rules!

Legolas: Clever.

Aragorn: Thank you. Now comes the hard part. (throws open doors to reveal beyond them A CLIFFIE!)

Opens inside DARK TOWER (for more creepy details see: PROLOGUE)

Aragorn: (looking at sinister Lord Kallomore, ruler of all evil decorating) That's one ugly cliffie.

Kallomore: Ha ha. No more jokes! *I* am in charge here - even if you *are*… (pauses ominously) the heir of Isildur!

Aragorn: (gasps) How did you know?

Kallomore: How? Gee, I… uh… (can't think of a logical reason) Well… (looks about for a change of subject) Well my hand is rotting off!

Legolas: We noticed. Yuk. I am *seriously* worried about Hannah's imagination.

Kallomore: You should be more worried about the Dúnedain! I am going to sic the Nwelmai on them!

Aragorn: So what else is new? Nice ring by the way.

Kallomore: Thank you, and this time the horrible blood-thirsty Nwelmai will (ominous voice) ACTUALLY KILL SOMEONE.

Legolas: Can they do that?

Kallomore: Believe it or not, they can. Now Eression make sure these two lay off the wisecracks while I do my crazy ranting at the ceiling.

Eression: (stepping up and aiming a punch at Legolas first because, of course, Legolas is the farthest one away from Kallomore at the moment) I'm actually his son, but you're not supposed to know that yet.

Legolas and Aragorn: Gotcha.

Kallomore: (whistles at the ceiling) Here boys! Come to Daddy!

Outside DARK TOWER

The NWELMAI appear in LARGE NUMBERS

Idhrin: Uh-oh.

The NWELMAI and the DUNEDAIN fight

Malvegil: Help!

Moranuen: I'll save you!

INSIDE DARK TOWER

LEGOLAS and ERESSION fight

Aragorn: Guess that leaves you for me, eh?

Kallomore: Even though I am inexplicably strong, I shall resort to psyching you out! (sticks out his tongue) You're gonna looose, you're gonna looose!

Aragorn: Are not! Now stand still so I can stab you.

Kallomore: Hm. This mental thing doesn't seem to be working. (traps Aragorn in a headlock instead)

OUTSIDE DARK TOWER

The NWELMAI and the DUNDAIN are STILL fighting

Erynbenn: Help!

Bartho: I'll save you! Or I'll try, anyway…

Erynbenn: (dies)

Or DOES HE…?

Opens inside DARK TOWER

Legolas: Hold!

Kallomore: Hold what?!

Legolas: Ha ha! I have your captain and for some reason I think that makes a difference to a big crazy guy like you!

Kallomore: Actually it does because somewhere in my demented mind I somehow retained an affection for Eression who's my son but your not supposed to know that.

Aragorn: (chokes and rasps) How convenient.

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Scene changes to OUTSIDE DARK TOWER where there is a BIG FIGHT still going on