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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.”