As usual, this is translation from Polish. The whole story is about 12k long (in Polish). I posted it as a whole in original form, but I am going to post it chapter by chapter in English - it's easier to translate this way. So - no worries, the story is finished and as the chapters are short, I expect to have one ready every few days.

Chapter I

The candle was slowly dying, meaning it was getting late. Few of the chambers were still lit. In one of them, a young man sat by the table, not caring about the moon already high on the sky, which glanced through the window between the curtains. If the documents laying on the desk were any indication, he was not going to finish soon.

The man was studying one of the scrolls and simultaneously writing down some details on a piece of paper. The work was monotonous with all those columns and evidence, but he was adamant to finish some part this night before going to sleep. He realised at some point that he had taken too much, but he didn't want to put anything away, aware that the documents were not going to disappear; rather opposite.

He finished one paper and put it on the left, next to another, worryingly big pile still waiting to be studied. As he was still holding an inked quill in his right hand, he reached with his left to massage his neck, stiff from long sitting. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he would be able to move a bit. With this thought he took next paper, but before he had a chance to start reading, there was a soft knocking to the doors.

"Come in."

"Still up, Thorongil?" The door opened and a tall man went inside. He brushed strands of fair hair from his face and his big, vigilant eyes looked around the chamber.

"I'm still behind, Hermedil," replied Thorongil. He stood up and emptied a chair from the documents, then invited his guest to sit down. Unfortunately, two weeks of his absence at the court had left him with lots of reports to catch up with. He had had no strength to face them right after his return and to sit by the desk for long hours.

"Well, a lot has been going on recently," admitted the man as he sat down. "And if you insist on reading all that, you won't be leaving anytime soon," he added with a crooked smile.

He was familiar with Thorongil's habit to always know everything. More than once had he come, late like tonight, only to find him bent over some reports from the other side of the March. It was not the only peculiarity of his friend, who had only recently got at ease with the men of Rohan. Hermedil remembered when Thorongil had joined them three years earlier. The young man had tried not to show anything, but it was plain he felt like a stranger among the Rohirrim. At least at the very beginning; Thorongil was a trustworthy man and people liked him. At some level his aura of mystery helped as well; especially that he was easy going too. No one knew where he came from and where his homeland truly was. He said only that he came from west. He made a good impression on the commanders with his sword skills. The men of Rohan were unfamiliar with some of his tricks, and though Thorongil was willing to teach them, he kept it to himself where he had learned them. It also soon became known that he possessed huge knowledge in various subjects, but some of the habits and customs, obvious to everyone else, were surprising to him. Whenever such situation occurred, Thorongil explained rather sheepishly that he was raised in a different culture, but that was plain enough. Soon, though, he got familiar with the customs of the Rohirrim and when something surprised him, he would hide his feelings.

Thorongil tossed some papers and dragged his companion from his memories. He smiled and spoke, pointing at the scroll he was holding.

"This one is yours." He glanced at the sheet covered tightly with uneven letters. "You could write more legibly, you know," he remarked.

"Perhaps I could, had I had more time," replied Hermedil lightly. "I forgot you would be reading it too. I would have paid more attention, had I remembered," he laughed. Even scribbling did not discourage Thorongil.

"I trust you have good enough memory, so that I won't have to read it." The man by the desk reached for a pitcher and filled two mugs with wine.

"You won't have to," said the Rohirrim. "I'll just sum it up, it will be quicker," he offered.

"Yes, please." Thorongil put the scroll aside with relief and stretched his long legs comfortably.

"To be honest, there is only one interesting detail from the whole patrol," began Hermedil. He quickly recalled the number of the warriors and their weapons and moved to the point. "Nothing happened for the whole two weeks, imagine that. Peace and quiet, no signs of enemies, nothing. To put it short, we were bored."

"That's not fair," muttered Thorongil. "We had too much to do."

He himself returned two days earlier, dead on his feet with weariness, and he had lost three men in the fight. He wasn't about to complain if the next patrol was going to be uneventful.

"You should have gone with us, you could have." Hermedil pointed out friendly. "Though who knows how it will be next time."

"Yeah... But – you mentioned something interesting." Thorongil went back to the point.

"Like I said, it was rather boring. Only today on our way back we came across some remains of a fight," continued Hermedil. "A violent one, I would say. Had it not been for the smell of the orc corpses, we would have missed it. They must have been surprised in that den where we found them. Awful place, I was surprised someone would go there and endanger horses to break their legs."

"How did the battlefield look like? What kind of marks did you see on the orcs?" asked Thorongil, visibly interested. He wished to interrogate his companion, but he composed himself. He didn't want Hermedil to notice his excitement.

"Now that's the strangest part," replied the Rohirrim. He took a sip of wine and continued. "It looked as if some kind of storm had gone there and the orcs dropped dead. They stood no chance."

"Did you find any signs of those who had slaughtered them? Do you know how many?" Thorongil interrupted him.

"No." Hermedil disappointed him. "The ground was rocky and the orcs were laying there for over a day, judging by the smell. I asked among our people, but no one claimed the victory, though it would be something to boast about."

"We would already know if it was anyone from our men," agreed Thorongil. "How did the orcs die?" he asked.

"Hmm... Quickly and precisely, I would say," replied the Rohirrim shortly. "Terribly precisely, I have never seen such marks. Not many have such skills with swords. It seemed that not many orcs had even managed to draw their weapons. Some of them were shot, but we have not found a single arrow, even a broken one, that would tell us anything." Hermedil took a closer look at his host and noticed a strange glimmer in his eyes. "Why do I feel like you're not surprised?"

Thorongil looked up at his companion. Yes, it sounded strangely familiar for someone used to such sights from his very first scouting patrols. His suspicions got some confirmation, but he didn't want to share them with his guest.

"Why? Because I have just read something similar," he replied freely. "Look at that," he said and passed a short report to the Rohirrim. "Different place, similar tracks. And we don't know who's behind it either."

"Let me see." Hermedil glanced at the report, then at the date and counted days quickly. "Something's not right," he noticed. "It looks like these tracks were two-three days older than those I saw this morning. But you need almost four days to make such distance! It's impossible!"

You haven't seen travelling elves, thought Thorongil and a shade of nostalgic smile passed through his face.

"So, we have a mystery," he said aloud and muffled a yawn. "Seems someone's helping us."

"This is not a puzzle to solve this evening," claimed Hermedil, seeing his host's weariness. "We'll work it out tomorrow."

"I think I'll go and see those tracks," replied Thorongil. "I'll gladly examine them and I need to move a bit."

"I can go with you," offered the Rohirrim. "I have no doubts you'd find them on my sole description, but it will be quicker this way and I'm curious what you're hoping to find there."

"We'll leave in the morning," agreed Thorongil. "I'll go and have the horses ready at dawn."

"Don't trouble yourself, I'll do it on my way back." Hermedil stopped him. "Good night." He stood up and left the mug on the table. "And leave it for tonight."

"I will." The other man smiled and led his guest to the door, wishing him good night.

He left the documents on the desk and went to the second room. Though he was tired, sleep would not come. Aragorn sprawled himself comfortably on the bed, but anxious waiting would not let him rest.

It was so like the twins, he thought. Memories and longing for home threatened to overcome him. He tried to calm down, reminding himself that he could be wrong and he would just be disappointed, but still a long time passed before he drifted to sleep.

xxx

Hermedil prepared everything just like he promised and Thorongil left at dawn with twenty men. The day was cloudy, but nothing suggested it was going to rain. He hoped it would remain so. Rain would wash the tracks that interested him so much. Hermedil chose the quickest route and they reached their destination after less than three hours. The leader ordered his men to wait and went on with his friend. He feared the tracked could have been stepped over, but neither Hermedil's men from the previous day nor Thorongil's were eager to approach the stinking corpses.

Thorongil asked his companion to wait as well and he went down to the den. Trying to ignore the smell, he leaned over the nearest orc. It was shot, there was a narrow hole near his eye. Thorongil left him to examine those killed with swords. Hermedil was right; those who had done it had truly been precise. He was wrong, though, claiming that the strangers left no tracks. Rocks made it hard to see anything, but the man's keen eyes noticed a faint track of a shoe, then the other. Thorongil followed the trail, his heart racing. Those were not the kind of shoes the Rohirrim wore...

He passed the battlefield, examining closely the surroundings as he went to the nearby bushes around a small tree cluster. Another trail joined the first one. Thorongil smiled to himself and quickened his pace. Like he suspected, he found tracks of two horses, which must have been tied there for some time, as they had eaten leaves from the lower braches. But that was not what dragged his attention; it was a small thing left by the strangers. A thin leather rope was tied in a complicated manner around a young oak. Thorongil could not believe his eyes. To make sure, he knelt and searched the long grass beneath, until his fingers grasped a polished stone. A simple mountain crystal with a star carved on it dispelled all his doubts. They really were here!

The man followed the trails of two mounts for a moment to make sure to which direction they had gone. He also realised the tracks were much more fresh than the battlefield. Apparently Elladan and Elrohir had lingered longer and had left only a couple of hours earlier. Had they seen Hermedil the previous morning? How else could he explain the fact that they had left a sign for him?

Thorongil went back to his companions. He forced himself to calm down in order to mask his excitement. He would have gladly mounted his horse and ridden after his brothers, but he couldn't The men of Rohan accepted his strange habits and his secrecy, but that did not mean he could whatever he wished. The Rohirrim were suspicious when it came to elves, so they would not be likely to accept their company.

"As we are already here, we'll join Fasthelm. He mention he could use some help," said Thorongil to his men, but he was met only with silent agreement. "Are you going with us?" he asked Hermedil, who had joined them on his free will and was not obliged to accompany them. He nodded, though, and said.

"Why not. I'll see my brother."

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