A/N: Ever evil Julia signing in with the first part of the sequel to "Of Blackest Hate." This is the manifestation of all the evil I can muster. Each chapter will start with a first person chunk from one of the twins, and switch to third. Each chapter will be in one location. Yes. When I leave Elladan cliffies, which I will, you will have to wait two updates. Just because I am trying to stave off confusion, I hope you enjoy this, and review this–even if all you do is tell me how bad it is. A thanks to my dear beta Michelle, who I probably had to bug unceaslessly before she got around to well, beta'ing. We still love her. I had fun with this chapter...I hope you like it. It was originally named "Red", but I added 'The' so it could be named after the Chevelle song. This was crazy fun to write! Please review if you read this.... Please.

Daeomae: Forgotten? Never! Life just tends to get in the way of writing...I am glad you liked it.... My Angst/Evil/Violence/Darkfic/Other Random Creepy Stuff muse had fun with that one. We like cliff hangers...Yes, we do...a little too much.

Empath89:Here is more!!!I hope you continue liking it.

Hyperactive Forever: Yes, it is Elrohir's turn to be in the spotlight next chapter, and won't you love to see his mood? Would you believe I have had the ending of the last part planned since the beginning of the story? That was random wasn't it? Oh god I'm rambling....


Chapter 1 - The Red:

The journey to the mountain took us three weeks. Three weeks of trekking utterly untraceable ground. Three weeks of being shunned by everyone and everything besides "The Lady" as she was referred to in politely asked questions–most of which were about me–as no one seemed to know about the lovely gift of Elvish hearing. I am sick of being treated like a most delicate sculpture by "Her" followers. Sculptures have no room for escape.

None of them dared as much as touch me. I was given a horse which seemed to be as trained as everything else the woman touches, even my skills with animals were not of use in making the creature bolt.

All her warriors have an utter emptiness in their green eyes that only disappears when she gives them an order. Melime is little different. She looks fearful and timid until told to act otherwise. I saw "The Lady" give her a potion. Elves must be harder to brainwash than men.

I am certain that "She" is insane. She sweetly refers to me as her new pet, "Twice descendant of Finwe" or another alias in a seemingly endless torrent of other equally bizarre names, and often wonders aloud what shade of green my eyes will turn. I simply tell her I prefer them gray. If Legolas does not get me out of this rather difficult situation soon, I will make sure he is the first I kill when she sends me home emerald-eyed and murderous to bring her more elves or to take it over for her.

The journey was horrid. As much as I do not know what to expect now.... It must be better than the apprehensive glances, hushed whispers, and purely terrifying hollow-eyed staring...all eyes green. This insanity is a bit too much for me to comprehend. I do not like not understanding.


The look in Elladan's eyes spelled out the complete confusion he'd been wrapped in since the beginning of this little escapade as the horse stopped by the gates of what was evidently an incredibly well disguised fortress. Despite further urging, the animal refused to move an inch until he rather hopelessly dismounted.

The poisonously lovely voice that had been plaguing the elder twin for a godly chunk of the journey sounded once again, "My sweet boy...we have arrived at my humble abode. Make yourself as at home as you can be, for it is to be yours as well now," the "Emerald Lady," as he for a while now had called her in his mind spoke again, this time to her brutish herd, "Retire to the warriors' quarters. I will call you when work need be done."

Elrond's eldest watched as at least fifty pairs of green eyes filled with the same eerie light that always filled them whenever an order was given. She scared him, more than just a little. The raven-haired elf feared the mindless obedience she could bring about like he had feared very few things over the course of his life. He would not be forced to admit it, but he feared her.

The regal female turned to him, a smile that mocked good intent plastered on her too-pale face, "You, sweet boy, must see your lovely new abode." Her emerald eyes flickered, "It is no Last Homely House..." the smile turned ruthless and cruel as can be, "but it is all you get."

The next several hours were filled up neatly with a tour of a castle that must have been wrought from the nightmares of children. Hithwen had dragged a, much to his annoyance, bound Elladan through dozens upon dozens of rooms that were either fully equipped torture chambers, or torture chambers with all the instruments replaced by pale furniture that seemed hauntingly luminous in rooms crafted entirely of dark-grey stone.

The dark and dank chambers themselves brought about a paranoia, but the shimmering, far too perfectly cleaned instruments that filled too many of them for any kind of security solidified the effect. A torturer's playground. No two specimens were alike. Each perfectly shining knife could hold claim to a unique combination of handle style, steel (or alloy), and blade type. The all too finely made whips were crafted from different leathers and decorated with different intricate knot patterns, metal studs, and glass shards. The variety of restraints, pain-causing substances, and rare pain-causing instruments, was terrifying.

Elladan had a feeling that he would experience the terror of objects whose names he'd yet to know first hand. For the first time he knew to full extent the insanity of the woman who held him captive. Hithwen, whose name he now knew, was mad. And Maiar.

This mad-woman, who had blurted out her origin somewhere between the description of two favorite knives, had powers he could not begin to comprehend. This insane creature held his life in her bony, ring-studded hands. The jewels that decorated her were of such beauty that they could not escape notice. Shimmering, intricate and lovely. She was bejeweled to no end. Stones of perfect hues and luster set in mirthil and gold alike. Valinor. Jewels of Valinor.

The elder twin felt lost. His captor had existed since the beginning of time, and had held some unknown grudge towards his kin for almost as long. This mess would take time to escape. Time was something he sorely lacked.

An icy, ring-bound hand cupped his face and tore him from his dreaming. The voice that Elladan was sure would soon become the narrator of all his worst nightmares rang out in childish delight,"You are so strong. Like Finwe and Finwe's. Stubborn and strong-willed and utterly impossible to control!" Hithwen paused a moment, "Much as I would love to break you as you are, sweet boy, I do not have the time! They mustn't think you under my control when you return to Imladris. If you stay with me too long, they will."

His silver eyes fell on the shimmering dagger she fiddled with carelessly. Fine mirthil decorated with blood-red rubies. "Red is your color, is it not?" the gaunt woman asked simply, "just as blue is your brother's. And the both of you favor mirthil over gold. The moon to you shines brighter than the sun." Hithwen twirled the blade in front of her pale face, admiring the way it reflected the light, "I too favor ithil. As you can quite clearly tell," a bony hand gestured to the emerald sweep of her gown, "my color is that of the grass and the trees."

"It will almost be a shame to let you wear it, so lovely your pale skin and raven hair seem against scarlet cloth, now where was I?" She remembered the dainty weapon in her hand and smiled with an air of mock sweetness, "Ah, yes, too strong to be conquered...must make him weak."

The elder twin stared at her with a furious defiance, the cool dignity of royalty remaining ever present in bound wrists and a dirty face. Words would never conquer Elladan. Neither would actions. That is why he did not flinch as the crimson sleeves were pushed from the arms that were bound in front of him, did not close his eyes as cold metal brushed his skin, and did not release the slightest whimper of pain as the shimmering blade cut each of his veins in turn. Silver eyes stared, unblinking, at the torrent of red that rushed over his ivory skin. One thought crossed his mind: blood looks so different when it is your own.

A/N: Review!!!!

Beta's Note: Elenlor Edhelen is a lot like the "Emerald Lady" – except slightly less insane and dark. Seriously!