Hey, thanks for checking out this story! Since Elladan and Elrohir were such popular characters in my other Lord of the Rings fanfic, I decided to give them their own story. Now, I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to keep this, so we'll just see how it goes.

Prologue

The wind howled in the cold, restless night. Shivering beneath layers of fur, ten men sat huddled around the fire, singing songs and swapping stories of travels past. Their bones were cold, but their hearts were warm. On the High Pass, elves, men, and dwarves alike would come together as brothers to share a drink and a warm meal with their fellow travelers. The cold had a special way of bringing people together.

"She's really singing tonight, isn't she?" said one man as he took a swig from his leather flask. Sitting back, he gazed at the shadowy mountain peaks with a deep respect. "Hard and unforgiving she is, but there's no other like her."

"You speak as though she is your lover, Raunion." The men's laughter echoed through the air like thunder.

"The best I ever had," replied Raunion with a grin. "For twenty years, I have fought with her and loved her all the same. At times she is my greatest enemy, pushing me to the point of death, but then she rewards me with some of the most beautiful sights I've seen. She is old, and she is wise, and she demands respect, by elves and men alike."

The men were silent, reflecting deeply on Raunion's words.

"You need a wife," interrupted one man, and then they started laughing again. "Pass the meat! Bring the wine! Let us honor this mountain so fair and fine!"

Honor her they did. Beneath the pale moonlight, the men feasted for hours, filling their stomachs and lifting their spirits. As luck would have it, one of the travelers was a very talented flutist, and upon request he hopped to his feet and played a delightful tune that made everyone sing and clap along to the music.

It was a very merry celebration, one that they would talk about for many years to come, but one man—a young boy by the look of him, with a face as smooth as a newborn babe's—was in no celebrating mood. While everyone around him laughed and sang, he sat in silence.

"You, boy," said Raunion to the young man from across the fire. "What is your name?"

"Edric," he answered quietly, "after my father."

"A very good name, strong as you I'm sure. What brings you, Edric, to this perilous mountain pass that so few dare to cross? Fetching milk for your mother?" He received a fierce glare for that remark, forcing Raunion to mend his words immediately. "No, certainly not. What brings you, Edric?"

"I'd rather not say."

"A personal quest, eh? And where will this quest bring you?"

The boy opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again and shook his head. "It's foolish."

"If it matters to you, then it is not foolish. Go on, Eddy, tell me of the place your heart longs to see."

"I ... I want to see ... Rivendell." As soon as the words left his mouth and entered the open air, the boy buried his blushing face into the fur of his hood. "It is foolish to dream of such a place, I know. Common men are not welcome among the elves. I am a farmer and the son of a farmer. I have performed no great deeds nor has any man in my family. But still I wish with all my heart to see the Last Homely House East of the Sea."

Raunion went and sat beside the young boy, who was still too embarrassed to show his face. "And meet Lord Elrond, I suppose. 'As noble and fair as an elf-lord,' they say he is, 'as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer.' Now, does that sound like someone who would turn you away?"

Slowly, the boy's face inched out his hood like a turtle emerging from its shell. "No, it doesn't."

"The Last Homely House opens its gates to all men: kings, knights, fisherman, and even farmers. When you reach Rivendell, Lord Elrond will welcome you with open arms." Raunion broke off and chuckled to himself. "Of course, the hard part is getting there. The High Pass is very unforgiving, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"I can handle the cold," Edric confidently replied, "and the wind and the snow, too. No storm is too fierce! No night is too cold! I will brave whatever challenge this mountain delivers!"

"Don't tempt the mountain, boy." Raunion spoke calmly but firmly. "You don't want to face her wrath. I believe you are strong. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. But you listen, and you listen well. The cold isn't your only enemy. There are worse things lurking about, hiding in the shadows, waiting, always waiting. They will wait you out, and they will attack when you least expect, so you must always be on your guard."

"What's out there?" Edric asked. "What's lurking in the shadows?"

Again, Raunion cast his eyes to the mountaintops. "Orcs," he said, spitting out the name as if the word itself carried a putrid taste. "This mountain is theirs, and they are fiercely protective of it."

"Orcs," Edric whispered to himself. "My mother used to tell me stories about orcs. Awful creatures, she said, grotesque perversions of nature that are capable of only destruction."

"The stories don't do them justice, I'm afraid. Pray you never cross their path, young Edric. And if you do, run, run as fast as you can and hope it is fast enough." Raunion climbed to his feet. "You should get some sleep, boy. You'll need your strength for the morning's journey."

"Will you come with me?" the boy asked, catching the older man by surprise. "Will you help me reach Rivendell?"

Raunion gave a deep, booming laugh. "Oh, the fair elves of Rivendell would not enjoy the company of a rugged mountain man like me." He combed his fingers through his bushy brown beard, but still it seemed tangled and dirty. "Little better than orcs to them."

Edric frowned. "I guess you're right."

"But I'll see you across the mountain," Raunion went on, making the boy's eyes light up. "You have my word."

Raunion returned to his seat, where he would sit watch for the night while his companions slept. The nine of them were scattered about the snow, bellies full of wine and satisfied smiles on their sleeping faces.

Struggling to fall asleep himself, Edric lay between two snoring men who were twice his size. Sometime in the night, one of them rolled over, and every time he exhaled, he blew his foul breath right in the poor boy's face. Gagging, Edric sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Well, thank you very much," he muttered; then he shook himself awake.

Across the crackling fire, Raunion sat perfectly still with his arms folded over his chest. His eyes were closed and quiet snores were drifting from his open mouth.

Edric shivered in the cold. "Raunion," he whispered. "Raunion, wake up!" but the wind stole his voice.

I'll keep watch then, he decided, and so he scooted closer to the fire to keep warm. The High Pass was quiet at this time of night, peaceful, and Edric thought himself a true mountaineer.

I could get used to this, he thought as he stared into the starry sky. It seemed so close, like he could reach up with his hand and pluck out one of the stars.

The wind howled again, but with it came a strange noise, like whispers in the dark, speaking in a language he couldn't understand. Edric looked about the campsite with wide, panicked eyes. Around him, the fir trees seemed to bend and reel. Was the wind to blame? Or was it ... something else?

Edric suddenly recalled Raunion's words:

There are worse things lurking about, hiding in the shadows, waiting, always waiting. They will wait you out, and they will attack when you least expect.

Edric reached for a torch and dipped the tip into the red-orange flames. "They will attack when you least expect."

But they would not catch Edric off guard.

Armed with only a torch to light his way, Edric strode off toward the trees. With careful eyes, he checked each tree and concluded that it was, in fact, just the wind. At this, he started to relax.

"Look at yourself, Edric, searching for monsters in the dark. Are you a man or a child?"

A lone owl answered his question with a mocking hoot. The fat brown and grey bird stared down at him with its large yellow eyes. "Hoot, hoot," it said again.

"Who asked you?" Edric jokingly replied. "I am not afraid of orcs. Did you hear me? I'll say it again. I am not afraid of orcs or trolls or even dragons. I am a man, and men are not afraid of anything."

Something moved across the borders of his vision, but when Edric turned around, he saw nothing, only trees. By then, the owl had flown off, taking the last of Edric's confidence with it.

"It's just the wind," he said. "The mountain is playing tricks on you. There is nothing in the shadows, nothing at all."

But there was something there. Edric could see it moving behind the tree, peeking its head out every so often. A black figure, as tall as he was, with the broad shoulders of a dwarf. It was watching him, he knew, watching and waiting.

As he stared at this figure, he felt a great presence coming toward him, though he dared not look. It stopped beside him, this presence, casting a great shadow that seemed to consume his own.

With quivering hands, Edric raised the torch high above his head, and the flame went out with a single puff of breath.

Gasping, Edric dropped the torch in the snow and then stumbled backwards. "Orcs!" he cried, turning on his heels and running back to camp. "Orcs! Orcs! We're being attacked!"

Back at camp, the men awoke with a start and immediately reached for the weapons, but it was too late. A pack of orcs, armed with axes, bows, and spears, had descended upon the camp. They brought down man after man with their iron blades and poison arrows.

Soon, only Raunion was left, and he fought with the strength of a hundred men. Wielding his axe, he slayed dozens of orcs, and when he saw young Edric cowering in fear, he shouted, "Run, boy, run! Do as I told you! Run as fast as you can and never look back!" He kept on yelling until a spear through the chest silenced him, and then he sank to the ground.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, painting the sky a deep crimson. Whimpering and panting with exhaustion, Edric ran through the snow. Three times he lost his footing, and on the third, he went tumbling down the slick snowy slope. Upon reaching the bottom, Edric dug himself out of the snow, and then he crawled on his hands and knees to the edge of the mountain cliff.

Far below, he could see a speck of green that was the lush valley of Rivendell, its blue waters sparkling in even the dimmest of light. If he squinted his eyes, he could almost see the Last Homely House. Almost.

A peaceful smile overtook his face. "Rivendell," he whispered, "I've seen you at last."

The boy was still smiling even when he felt the blade on his throat, and then he fell face-first into the snow, as if succumbing to a long, restful slumber.

The orc called Gujarek wiped his dagger clean while peering into the narrow gorge. "Rivendell," he said with a grunt, "home of the elf-scum."

A thought entered his mind then, one that he would never act upon, not without careful preparation.

"Soon," he concluded, and then he sheathed his blade and disappeared from the cliff before the morning light could touch him.