The Angel of Vengeance

Author: Mirfaen

Rating: T for violence

Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to J.R.R.Tolkien. I am not making any money off of them.

Summary: Elladan is injured and knocked unconscious during an ambush. Alone now against eleven enemies, Elrohir adopts his twin's spirit in order to survive the battle.

He stood tall under the night sky, two long curved blades held out to each side, gleaming silver in the moonlight. Black blood dripped down the length of the blades to splatter on the hard rock beneath. His chest heaved in and out like one who had been strenuously laboring but there was no trace of weariness in his stance or his expression. Black hair hung in long straggles down his back and clung to his damp face, contrasting sharply with the paleness of his skin.

Eleven Orcs faced him from a stone's throw away, confidant in their greater numbers and the fact that their prey stood with his back facing the sheer wall of a cliff. They baited the Elf, taunting him and jeering at him. Six Orcs already lay dead, their bodies sliced open and strewn about the uneven rock surface, but the remaining Orcs paid the bodies no mind and continued to ridicule their cornered victim.

But they could not see his eyes.

Sleek black brows were lowered over gray eyes that glinted lethally in the moonlight. In their depths there was no reason to be found. Only vengeance. They were the eyes of a guardian Angel whose subject had just been mistreated. And so it was. For behind him was the prone figure of another Elf, one identical to him in all appearances, who was sprawled near the base of the cliff. Blood streamed from a gash to his left leg and also from his right temple as he lay lifeless in the moonlight, his head tossed to one side and his ebony hair splayed across the ground.

The standing Elf did not need to look back at his counterpart to know and feel his presence. His muscles quivered from fatigue but he would not allow anything less than perfection, so he reflected for a brief moment, delving into memories that he knew he needed if he was going to survive. The noise of the jeering Orcs faded from his consciousness.

Always in the past, he had been the one to logically analyze a situation before acting upon it. He had always been the one to lay a cautious hand on his twin's arm to keep him from rushing into conflict impulsively. He was the even-tempered one, the cool-headed one. He never allowed his emotions to overpower his reason. But now there was no one for him to stop, no one for him to think logically for. For Elladan was not standing next to him, yelling curses at the foul race that barred their way, but laying lifeless on the unforgiving rock. Elrohir felt his twin's spark draining away behind him and his own soul was crying out in sorrow. A part of him was dying along with his counterpart.

But that is where it stopped. Elrohir knew his role in their relationship. He was the voice of calm logic, Elladan was the voice of passionate action. But it was not so anymore. In the absence of Elladan's zeal, Elrohir had adopted it and fed on his own rage at the same time, melding his spirit with his brother's in a way that he had never before experienced. He now possessed the combined power of Elladan's raging inner fire and his own boiling fury at Elladan's condition.

Elrohir forced himself to replay the image of the barbed pike driving into his twin's leg, and the pained cry that immediately erupted from Elladan's lips. He focused in on Elladan's face, watching him grimace and felt a new wave of passionate loathing course through him. But he did not stop there. He watched as a sneering Orc came up behind Elladan and swung his club. Elladan turned, the fire not lost from his eyes, but was too late and the hardened wood slammed into the side of his head, knocking him instantly unconscious, and he fell to the ground.

Fathomless hatred burned through Elrohir with overwhelming intensity. His muscles still quivered and trembled but fatigue was no longer the cause. He almost felt as though his desire for vengeance could not be contained in his body and would soon burst forth from him like a swift heat wave in the summer.

And then he was back in the present. The harsh sounds of Orc voices traveled through the night air toward him and his already lethal eyes darkened as they beheld the eleven remaining beasts. Only mere seconds had passed but already two Orcs were on the move, rushing him together with wicked-looking scimitars.

Elrohir smiled slightly. Raising his two swords like an Angel unfurling great silver wings, he crossed them above his head and waited. When the snarling Orcs were yards away, he leaped toward them with lightning speed, his sharp eyes picking apart every movement of the Orcs' bodies, every muscle twitch, almost before it even happened. His hips tilted slightly and one of the Orc blades passed harmlessly by. Then his arms were descending simultaneously, his silver blades cutting through the air with a zing. He slowed his rush to a walk, the swords again held by his sides, and did not look back. Behind him, two headless bodies tipped over and hit the ground.

Nine to go.

He continued walking forward as the remaining Orcs screamed in raucous anger. One over-eager Orc came forward to challenge him. The Elf spun the blade in his right hand, beckoning the Orc to come closer. The Orc glared at him, speaking words in the Black language that Elrohir could not understand. But he hardly noticed the pain that the guttural words caused in his ears. He spun the blade again, then again, faster and faster until it was a whirling disk at his side. The Orc eyed it warily but his hatred overcame his fear and he charged, aiming for Elrohir's other side.

And Elrohir found himself laughing. He moved the spinning blade before him, purposely avoiding the Orc's neck, and it whacked into the beast's arm, instantly removing it from the rest of his body. The dead arm dropped to the ground as the Orc howled in pain. Elrohir took his left blade and, with a savage gleam in his eye, drove it deep into the Orc's leg. Pulling it roughly free, he stabbed next into the creature's belly, and finally into his neck. Gurgling sounds rose from the creature's throat and it staggered briefly before falling to die on the rocky ground.

The eight Orcs still standing had quieted some, though their eyes burned with anger. Words were passed between them, again in the Black Speech, and Elrohir simply watched them as they discussed how to best attack him. Feeling Orc blood trickle onto his hands, he tipped his swords toward the ground so that the black liquid ran down the length of the blades to pool on the ground. His spirit and soul pulsed as one with the power that came from his furor and he could feel Elladan's presence within him, feeding him strength. It was as though, even in his unconscious and grievously wounded state, the older twin was freely giving his spirit to the younger one and encouraging him to use it as his own.

Three Orcs were advancing and spreading apart so as to come at him from three separate angles. Elrohir stared at each of them in turn, not so much as moving except to turn his head. The two to either side fanned out so that they formed a straight line with Elrohir in the middle as the third Orc remained directly in front of him. He let them advance together. Perhaps on another day he would have been working out his own battle strategy and might have attacked one of the Orcs alone before they had a chance to reach him as a unit. But tonight was different. Tonight he was thinking Elladan's thoughts just as surely as he was thinking his own and so he waited for them, smelling the toxic scent of bloodshed on the air.

Elrohir fixed his eyes on the center Orc and it sneered back at him as the three beasts broke into a run. They were upon him in seconds, each sending a weapon swinging toward a different section of his body. Elrohir saw it all as though it were in slow motion - a mace rocketing for his face from the center Orc, a spiked club careening for his calves from the Orc to his right, and a razor sharp spear head aiming for his ribs from the Orc on his left.

And then he was moving. His knees bent briefly before he sprung up. He bent backwards in the air as his feet left the ground. The club swung in just below him where his calves used to be and the mace passed in front of his face before whizzing out of view again. His torso turned once in midair and the spear jabbed the empty air next to the skin of his abdomen. His hands touched the ground and his legs and feet followed him through the twisting flip. With a powerful push from his arms and a snap of his body he was upright again, facing away from the Orcs. Sensing more movement from behind, he dropped into a crouch and spun with one leg extended. The spiked club again passed harmlessly above him as his extended foot connected with the ankles of the spear-Orc with such force that the beast's legs flipped out from under him and he landed flat on his back.

Elrohir lurched toward that particular Orc, jamming his sword into it's chest before it had a chance to rise. Pulling the blade back out and turning around as he did so, he found the mace to be less than a foot from his face and closing fast. His head snapped to one side to avoid the blow and then he brought his right sword around. The blade landed at the Orc's wrist, cleaving a line that separated the hand and its weapon from the rest of the beast. Hoarse shrieks erupted from the Orc and Elrohir felt his own body flinch slightly at the loudness of the noise so close to his ears.

The handless Orc staggered out of his view as the Orc with the spiked club came at him again, screaming harshly. Elrohir rose to his feet and cocked his head to one side as he watched the beast, causing it to hesitate ever so slightly in its rush. There was a whir of motion from Elrohir and the Orc looked down to find the handle of the Elf's sword protruding from its chest. It fell to the ground, dead.

The Elf's eyes moved next to the handless Orc, who was running doggedly back to the rest of its comrades, trailing black blood behind him. Elrohir started for the beast, taking his time as his mind calculated how much time he had before the Orc reached the relative safety of its group. Passing by the Orc he had just killed, with his sword still sticking up from its chest, he grasped the handle of the weapon and yanked it free, his eyes never leaving the back of the retreating Orc.

This Orc had also taken part in harming his brother, his twin, himself. His eyes narrowed dangerously. Taking both swords in one hand, his other hand moved to his belt where he removed two small, barbed daggers. He reared back his arm, again taking his time, then let the daggers fly. The daggers sailed through the air, a foot apart from each other. They hit the Orc simultaneously, one in each leg in the tender area just behind its knees, instantly severing the nerves in the beast's legs and sending him crashing to the ground just yards from its comrades. The Orc's screaming increased tenfold and it reached out for the others of its group, but they backed away from the pitiful beast as it tried dragging itself toward them. Elrohir came up behind it and pinned it to the ground with a sword through its neck. The screaming ended abruptly.

The Elf breathed in deeply as he pulled his sword from the beast's neck. There was movement among the remaining five Orcs but he paid it no mind, instead crouching down to retrieve his barbed daggers. His mind reached behind him to Elladan as he tucked the daggers back into his belt. He felt his twin's spark stirring, beginning to grow stronger, but he knew that his wounded brother would not awaken for some time yet. Elladan's spirit pulsed within his own chest, urging him on passionately, and so he stood, his eyes finally rising to meet the last five Orcs.

He was looking down the site of a loaded crossbow. There was a twang as Elrohir began to move and he felt something hard slam into the right side of his chest, forcing him back a step. Concern blossomed within him but he could not tell whether it was his own or his brother's. He immediately forced into his mind's eye the image of an Orc slamming the club into Elladan's head and once again a new wave of overwhelming anger filled up inside of him, pushing out any thoughts of fear or pain. The arrow was forgotten.

He moved toward the last five Orcs and two of the beasts backed slightly away from him. One Orc stepped forward confidently, bringing to bear a simple but sturdy looking sword. Elrohir crossed his swords before him and leaped forward. The Orc went on the offensive, lunging at the Elf with a jab from his sword. Elrohir caught the blade in the cross section of his own two, then shoved it to one side, stepping in and jabbing his sword in much the same fashion as the Orc. His sword slid neatly in between the beast's ribs. The Orc stood staring at Elrohir angrily for a moment or two before falling over.

Four to go.

Elrohir found his mind to be strangely sluggish all of a sudden and he realized that his torso was aching fiercely. He slowly looked down, even as a voice inside him screamed at him not to, and he saw what he already knew to be there; an arrow lodged securely in his chest. Bright red blood trailed down his front, mingling with the black blood of his enemies. Then his eyes moved lazily past the arrow to another strange sight. The fabric of his right pant leg had been torn completely open at his thigh, revealing a deep slash in his skin. He thought he could see a flash of white bone deep within the wound. More blood gushed down, covering his right leg.

When did that happen? He thought distantly, forcing his eyes back up to see two of the remaining four Orcs advancing. He did not move, but stood and watched them come, contemplating the chances of his survival. He knew they were dim.

No. Another voice rose inside of him. You must continue.

Suddenly he was on his knees, leaning heavily on one of his swords. His limbs felt dreadfully heavy and the ground began to tilt oddly. He knew then that he would not make it.

Continue.

He tried to breathe deeply but stopped when pain lanced through his chest, causing the breath to hitch within his lungs. He struggled desperately to keep a hold on his rapidly fading consciousness. The advancing Orcs began to blur in front of him.

Get up. Finish them.

"I cannot," he finally said back within his mind. "I am dying."

You have the strength. Rise now and finish what you started.

"My strength fails me. It will not be enough."

Yes but my strength will not fail you.

A single moment passed before a wave of amazing power rushed through his limbs like the water of a great river when the dam has burst. His vision snapped almost violently into focus and all pain fled from his chest and his leg. Confidence and passion filled his mind. Seeing the two attacking Orcs with a new clarity, he rose to his feet, his movements once again easy and agile. He did not even notice what weapons the Orcs were using against him. His own swords moved in a rapid series of maneuvers, slashing, blocking, and whirling. Within seconds the two Orcs were dead upon the rocky ground.

Elrohir did not pause this time but rode on the new wave of power and moved quickly for the last two Orcs. The broke away from each other to come at him from different sides but that did not matter. He fought both of them at the same time, landing a blow to each Orc with every passing second. Eventually he noticed that one of the Orcs was no longer fighting back so he turned his full concentration on the last beast.

The Orc brought down an enormous ax from on high and Elrohir jumped to one side. The ax drove into the rocky ground with a loud crack, sending shards of the rock spraying over them, cutting lines into Elrohir's face. He did not look away but instead leaped toward the beast, aiming a blow to the Orc's legs. The Orc tried to move away but was left with deep slices across its shins. Both warriors were covered with blood from themselves and each other as they continued to fight. Wanting to put an end to the battle, Elrohir felt within his mind for that powerhouse of strength that he knew was still there and tapped into it, letting it flow over him unchecked. With a burst of speed, he crossed his blades before him one last time and jumped forward. He pressed the swords to the beast's neck, the point where the blades crossed resting on the Orc's throat, then whipped the blades outward in opposite directions. Both blades ran clean through the beast's neck. The Orc's head rolled off its shoulders and hit the ground with a thump, followed closely by the rest of its body.

Silence fell over the land. Elrohir stared straight ahead of him at the moonlit forest in the distance, breathing rapidly. He slowly lowered the two blood-soaked swords to his sides, feeling Elladan's spirit pulsing within him as well as without. The had the strong feeling then to turn around and slowly, carefully, he did so.

He saw the great cliff face rising into the night and there, at its base, he saw Elladan standing and looking back at him. His twin looked haggard, half of his face covered in red blood and standing with his weight on one leg. Elrohir noticed his twin's eyes, then, and they were full of amazement, pride, and deep understanding. But there was also great concern in his gaze and Elrohir wondered why Elladan would be concerned for him. His wounds could not be very bad since he felt no pain.

Let me show you. That voice within him said.

Suddenly his perspective changed and he was not looking at the cliff face but instead out into the open land, with the moonlit forest in the distance. He saw a dark figure standing there, staring back with bright yet weary eyes. There was an arrow in the right side of the figure's chest and even as Elrohir studied the wound, pain began to bloom once more in his torso. Blood covered the figure's clothes so completely that he could neither tell what color his tunic had once been. Thin lines of blood ran diagonally across his face and one of his hands was red and swollen. There was a deep gash that bled profusely on his right thigh. Worry rose within him then and he took a step toward the wounded figure.

Then his perspective snapped around once more and he found himself falling forward. With a rush the feeling of strength that had pulsed within him moments before disappeared and he felt Elladan's spirit being sapped away from him. His mind became sluggish again, even more so perhaps than before and his limbs grew heavy once again. Despite his mind's slowed state he had enough wits as he fell to remember the arrow in his chest and so he caught himself at the last moment with his arms so as to save himself from falling on the arrow and pushing it further inside of him. On his hands and knees, his strength now completely gone, he let himself fall to one side and laid there unmoving as his vision blurred and began to dim. Elladan's bloodied face appeared over him and though his mouth was moving, Elrohir could hear nothing. He felt his twin's hand touch the side of his face and then his vision darkened completely, leaving him blind for several moments before his mind drifted away and he knew no more.

White petals fluttered diagonally downward through the air to land in scattered bunches on the lush green grasses of Rivendell. The wind whispered gently amongst the cherry blossom trees, coaxing the petals to join it in the air as a lone figure stood silently in the orchard. The figure's flowing black hair and airy robes rippled in the breeze as he watched the falling white petals with a contemplative expression.

"What are your thoughts?"

Elrohir turned, pulling out from his musings to see Elladan standing behind him in crimson robes.

"I think upon that night."

Elladan came forward quietly until they stood side by side. He moved with a very slight limp and there was a small mark on his temple left over from the injury that he had sustained five nights ago.

"We have not had the chance to speak of it yet." Elladan commented, his eyes following the cherry blossom petals that spun and played in the afternoon wind.

Elrohir glanced downward to his chest, where a bandage was hidden beneath the blue fabric of his tunic. His right thigh was bandaged tightly as well, covering the many stitches that had been necessary to close the wound. A bone in one of his hands had been broken and was now in a light brace. Multiple other injuries were scattered over his body, injuries that he had no memory of acquiring.

"I wish to thank you properly, brother," Elladan said then, turning to look at him. "You endured much for my sake."

Elrohir gazed back at him. "It is I who wish to thank you, Elladan. I would not have survived had you not lent me your help."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"It was like nothing I've ever felt before," Elrohir said finally. "I was two people at the same time. I was you. And yet I was myself. I know no other way to explain it."

Elladan simply nodded. "I felt the same. I was thinking your thoughts even as you thought them. I was moving in your limbs as surely as you were."

"Elladan, I would have died if you had not given me your strength and your spirit."

"And I would have died if you had not fought for me and had not continued on even when you thought you could not."

"I truly could not have gone on, Elladan. My strength had left me. It was you who fought on through me. Not I."

"Do not doubt yourself, Elrohir. It was still you. I can only lend my spirit, not control your body through my mind. I only regret that I had to withdraw from you so soon after. Had I not, I might have fallen unconscious along with you."

Elrohir let the wind pick up his hair and whisk it over his face. "I comforts me to know that when I fail, you will be there to help me."

Elladan smiled faintly. "And you must know that goes both ways." He turned away, staring out at the cherry blossom trees. "I will never fail you. That I promise."

They quieted then, resting in the comfort of each other's presence and allowing those words to suffice. Everything that had remained unspoken was understood within them. Elrohir knew the lengths that Elladan would go to for his sake. And now Elladan knew the lengths that Elrohir would go to. They were two halves of one whole and together they rested in the knowledge that when one fell, there were no lengths that the other was not willing to go to in order to ensure his safety.

Elrohir had returned to his cautious, logical role. But even so, there was a new flame within his spirit. It was small yet but he had no doubt in his mind that if he were to ever again witness his twin falling to an enemy the flame would burst into a raging inferno like it had five nights ago.

The guardian Angel within him would rise again to seek vengeance.