Disclaimer: Sadly, I own none of the characters. Or places. Or anything else recognizable. It all belongs to the Master, Tolkein.
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Chp. 1: Home Again?
Year 561 T.A.
"Come on, slowpoke!" The dark-haired elf laughed as he cantered far ahead of his companion, who was stubbornly sticking to a steady trot. "We shall never get back to Imladris at this rate!"
The other elf rolled his eyes as the first turned back to meet him. "And with your incessant running back and forth we shall never get there either. You shall tire poor Súldae out long before we reach the borders."
The first elf patted his horse fondly. "Nay," he replied, mischief dancing in his bright grey eyes. "She is as eager to be home as I. Our time away was enjoyable, but we are ready to return to our little valley. Súldae will not wish to rest until she sees the green pastures of home… and knows that I can sneak her an apple from the kitchens." With that he once again sped into the lead, shouting back, "I'll race you!" He flashed a teasing grin over his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you are afraid that poor Laurmaethor will be unable to compensate for your sorry skills as a rider."
With a growl, the elder elf tapped his heels into the sides of his golden stallion. Instantly the powerful horse surged forward, quickly gaining on the dapple-gray mare in front of him. Soon, the two horses were neck and neck. But just as Laurmaethor began to pull ahead, Súldae's rider gave a mocking smile. "Not bad…. but I'm afraid I was right."
The older elf raised a questioning eyebrow, to which the younger smirked.
"Laurmaethor does indeed have too incompetent a rider to win." With that, he lightly touched Súldae's sides, and they were off, quickly distancing themselves from the stallion and his rider. Said rider's annoyed shout would have caused any sane person within hearing distance to run away before the owner of the voice decided to throttle the nearest being. "ELROHIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
But, Elladan decided, Elrohir was obviously not a sane being, for instead of a shriek of pure terror, he heard his twin's laughter drifting back to him.
Elladan gave another sigh and checked his horse's pace. He knew he would not be able to catch Elrohir, who was one of the best riders in Imladris, and (Elladan suspected) in all of Arda. And, of course, having Súldae did not hurt matters either. The dainty mare was built for speed, with long legs and powerful hindquarters. Laurmaethor, on the other hand, was large and strong, with a deep, broad chest and powerfully bunched muscles. However, though he was muscular, Laurmaethor was never meant to be a racer. He had incredible endurance when kept at a steady pace, but he was certainly not as fast as Súldae. There was no sense in wearing the stallion out in a futile race against Elrohir.
The elder twin could not help but smirk at this last thought. Usually, it was Elrohir who was the calm, practical, methodical one, while Elladan was far more reckless. Now, however, Elrohir was in high spirits, while Elladan himself was in a rather dark mood. He knew that his brother was only trying to cheer him up with his antics, but that knowledge didn't really help.
The Twins had been allowed to leave their protected valley in order to aid a small settlement in the foothills of the Misty Mountains that had been continually attacked by orcs. And Elladan was not ready to return. He loved the thrill of stalking the enemy, the adrenaline rush he got while in battle. Never before had his skills as a warrior and tracker been so tested, and he relished the chance to do so again. He and Elrohir had been trained as warriors of Imladris, of course, and had quickly risen in rank, but there was little difficulty or danger in protecting Imladris. Few foul creatures dared to come near its borders, and there were more than enough elves to drive back those that did. Out here, fighting with the men of the settlement, he had faced impossible odds, risked his life to save his companions, and driven evil away from those who had no other protection. This mission had opened his eyes to the outside world, and three short years in the wild was not enough. He only returned now because this particular problem had been dealt with, all the orcs routed, and because Elrohir had been ready to return to their valley for some months now. The two had shared several somewhat heated arguments on the matter until Elladan had finally given in. And so here he was, unhappily following his younger brother towards Imladris.
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Elrohir loved the rush of wind against his face and the feel of his horse's sleek muscles beneath him. He had loved being around horses since before he could walk, and had quickly become as skilled in horsemanship as his training masters. The young elf let his reins fall to loop over one arm, spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, trusting Súldae to safely carry him. At moments like this, Elrohir felt as if he were flying.
He heard Elladan's angry shout and laughed, knowing that his brother was not truly upset. And, if Elladan was paying him enough mind to yell at him, then he was obviously coming out of his sulk. Elladan's mood had cast a dark shadow over Elrohir's joy ever since they had left Titheláden and its residents behind. He knew that Elladan had not wished to leave, but Elrohir had been ready ever since they drove the original band of orcs away.
The group of orcs that had attacked the village had numbered only a hundred or so, and with the Twins' knowledge of tactics and leadership of the thirty strong men in the settlement, it had taken but a few months to completely decimate that band, with no losses and few serious wounds to the men. But then Elladan had insisted on scouring the hills around them to ensure that there were no other groups of orcs nearby to trouble to good people of the village. And, in truth, there had been some worrisome bands that were now no more, thanks to the two elves. But, Elrohir thought, Elladan had been overly zealous when it came to dealing with these orcs…. Either that or he was simply looking for trouble. The elder twin had traveled far into the mountains, far enough that Elrohir was certain no orcs in that area would bother coming so far to attack the village. Elladan had only grudgingly accepted the fact that they could leave when there had been no signs of fell creatures for two months. Sometimes, Elrohir thought, his brother was too much of a warrior for his own good.
Elladan was an incredible fighter, partly because he tended to obsess over his skills and spend every free moment on the training fields. He had a gift with weaponry of all sorts, much like Elrohir's gift with horses. Elrohir, while more than adequate with nearly every form of weaponry, had never been able to defeat his brother in a fight. And it was just as well, Elrohir finally decided. Elladan loves it enough; the talent might as well go to the one who would use it.
Unlike his twin, Elrohir was not truly a warrior. Yes, he was a deadly adversary on the battlefield, he had a gift for brilliant strategy, and he had risen to the rank of captain shortly after his brother. But Elrohir was more comfortable sitting under the stars and playing his flute or swimming in the clear pools of Imladris than he was fighting for his life. Even now, Elrohir shuddered with revulsion at the memories of the many skirmishes he had fought over the last few years. Times when everything was stench and blood and the sickening feeling of his blade sinking into flesh. During a battle he never allowed such things to distract him, but he could not understand why his brother seemed to take such joy from being in deadly peril. Now, however, they were headed back to Imladris, not into any more danger. Any fighting that was done would be in play and fun. And Elrohir was perfectly content with that fact.
Having traveled for about three weeks down the Misty Mountains, the two elves were now just past the foothills, on the wide, flat grounds that stretched for a short while before the valleys began. If they kept up a steady pace, they could be home in six days. Elrohir wanted to see if they could cut the journey to five days, thus arriving home in time for the midsummer celebration. He glanced over his shoulder at Elladan, and rolled his eyes. Elladan was now over twenty horse-lengths behind, a distance that was rapidly increasing.
The younger twin sat deeper into Súldae's back, asking her to slow her pace. The horse whinnied regretfully but obediently slowed. She turned her neck to gaze at him reproachfully, as if asking why he was wasting such a perfectly good flat field on simply trotting when they could be moving at a gallop. Elrohir laughed and patted her neck affectionately. "Don't worry, my friend. We will have plenty of time to fly. But now we must wait for my dear brother. I know he is slow, but we must be patient with his limitations. Not all beings are as perfect as you."
Seeming slightly mollified, Súldae huffed and stopped fidgeting, though she did shoot an annoyed glare back at Elladan. Elrohir laughed, then turned his attention to the rather irritated elf behind him.
"By the Valar, are you certain you are not part dwarf?" he shouted to his brother. "Obviously your poor bones are too heavy if they become jarred at even the mildest of paces!"
"Impertinent Elfling!" Elladan's voice, filled with mock indignation, floated across the distance to Elrohir. " 'Tis not my affair if you were born with so light and empty a head that you might float away at any moment!"
Elrohir's eyes glittered with laughter, and he quickly readied a reply, when something distracted him from loosing more insults upon his brother. At first he was not sure what had alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. Quickly, Elrohir checked Súldae's pace to a walk and glanced around for the source of his unease. The Twins were now crossing a fairly open, grassy plateau. To one side the terrain grew rockier and dropped sharply into a forested valley. To the other side was a dense grove of pine trees. All was still and silent. And there was the answer, Elrohir realized. The incessant chattering of birds that had been their companion ever since they had neared the forest had ceased. It had, in fact, been absent for some time now, Elrohir realized, but he had been too lost in his musings to notice. Keen gray eyes swept the woods for any sign of trouble, pointed ears straining for any hint of sound. And then it happened.
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Elladan immediately noticed when his brother's posture stiffened to alertness. Something was wrong. Taking a cursory glance at his surroundings, Elladan immediately realized what had caught his brother's attention. Cursing himself for allowing Elrohir to get so far ahead of him, Elladan spurred Laurmaethor on to catch up to the now walking Súldae, praying that he would reach his brother's side before the inevitable ambush occurred.
Of course, his prayers were not heeded. The golden stallion had taken no more than three strides before arrows began whining through the air, all aimed at the solitary elf on the gray horse. Elladan could do no more than watch in frustration as Elrohir ducked the arrows, skillfully manipulating Súldae so that, though the arrows rained around the two, neither was hit. But Elladan could see that it would not last. Súldae was nervous, prancing, the whites of her eyes showing. Though she trusted her rider, she had not been trained as a warhorse and could not help but shy away from some of the buzzing missiles that passed centimeters from her nose. Elladan knew that it was only a matter of time before the tiniest amount of concentration slipped from either the horse or the arrows, and Elrohir would be hit.
Apparently the younger twin reached the same conclusion, for he abruptly rolled, coming off Súldae's back to land lightly on the balls of his feet. Elladan redoubled his efforts to reach his brother as, in response, a band of men, bandits most likely, poured out from beneath the trees. Cursing himself again for allowing his twin to get so far ahead of him, Elladan crouched forward over his horse's neck, finally reaching the flank of the ruffians that were now cutting him off from Elrohir. With a snarl, Elladan unsheathed his sword and swung it at the nearest man. Seeing the swarthy-skinned bandit fall brought a grim smile to Elladan's lips, satisfaction at the fact that there was one less evil being alive to trouble the world. As if sensing his master's mood, Laurmaethor joined in, lashing out with his hooves. As an unkempt man fell, his skull crushed, the horse whinnied triumphantly and kicked at another, snorting gleefully at the man's terrified expression as he scrambled backwards to avoid the flailing hooves.
There were perhaps ten men still separating him from Elrohir when Elladan was distracted by a flash of gray. Súldae plowed through the line of orcs, minor cuts raking her legs and sides, whinnying in fear. She raced away from the battle, and Elladan could not help a surge of fear. Surely she would not have abandoned Elrohir, no matter how afraid she was? Elladan frantically searched the center of the battlefield for his brother's pale blue cloak. He was rewarded with a glimpse of a furiously fighting elf, armed with both sword and dagger, but his distraction cost him. No longer paying close attention to the men immediately around him, Elladan did not see the small, weaseley man reaching up to grab the trailing hem of his cloak. The thin man's fingers closed around the material just as Laurmaethor leapt the other direction in order to avoid a flashing blade. Unprepared for the sudden sharp tug as he leaned into his horse's jump, Elladan was pulled off balance. With a cry of surprise, he was yanked off his stallion and into the surrounding fray.
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Arrows. Why did it have to be arrows? Elrohir thought in disgust as he dismounted from his frightened horse. The buzzing missiles were far more difficult to dodge than a slower sword blade, and they panicked his animal far more. Now he had to dismount, which would almost certainly give the ambushers enough confidence to swarm him. And, Elrohir had to admit, they had chosen their spot well. Not only was there no cover for the elves, but the sun was directly above the forest, almost blinding Elrohir as he looked towards the trees. Wonderful. Just wonderful. When he needed it to be a cloudy day, the sky simply wouldn't oblige.
By the time Elrohir's feet touched the ground, his blade already in his hand, the large group of beings boiling out from under the trees had already begun to surround him. Thirty of them, Elrohir noted, squinting against the sun's glare. Not exactly good odds, but he had survived larger groups. Of course, those groups had been orcs, not men. And orcs were not exactly known for their strategy or quick thinking. Still, Súldae was temporarily keeping the attackers at bay. Though, Elrohir grimaced as he leapt back to avoid being trampled by the rearing, plunging animal, that fact would be of more help if she wasn't just as much a danger to him. So, he was trapped with a crazed mount between a group of men who apparently wanted nothing more than to run him through (not a pleasant way to spend the rest of his life), and a cliff that he did not care to see if an elven body could survive falling from. Now all he needed to make this situation absolutely perfect was for Elladan to simply charge in with his sword instead of using his bow like any sensible elf….
As if on cue, he heard the roar of rage and screaming whinny that announced Laurmaethor and Elladan's arrival. Wonderful. Now Elladan was in as much danger as he was, because Elrohir had stupidly allowed himself relax once they had left the mountains and had not been alert for an attack. True, Elladan's presence was distracting many of the bandits, but if he had used his bow it would have achieved the same purpose. Or maybe not… Elrohir thought, as more and more of the men began to turn towards what now seemed to be the greater threat.
And, that was probably true, Elrohir conceded. Elladan was not only the better fighter, but he would be able to remain mounted. The archers were apparently no longer a threat because they had foolishly emerged with the rest of the troops, having exchanged their bows for swords and clubs. And Laurmaethor, unlike Súldae, was used to battle.
Speaking of Súldae…. Ducking under a flailing hoof, Elrohir knew he could no longer hide behind his horse, trusting that his attackers would be too wary of her hooves to risk coming near him. She was blindly lashing out at anything that moved, terrified of the noise and flashing pieces of metal, not even recognizing her rider. "Súldae! Calm yourself my friend," Elrohir murmured. If he could get her to listen, Elrohir could remount and plow through the ranks to join his brother. Once clear of the main fighting, he would be able to control Súldae and use his bow to keep anyone from venturing close enough to spook her again. Slowly, keeping one ear trained on his surroundings in case any men decided to brave her flashing hooves, Elrohir stepped into Súldae's line of vision. "Hush, my wind," he whispered as the horse shied away, and Súldae's ears, which had been flat against her skull, flicked towards him. "That's right, pretty one," Elrohir reached for her bridle. All he needed was a few seconds….
A soft whistling alerted Elrohir to danger, and instinct kicked in. He ducked and pivoted, noting the path of a dagger as it passed over his head. The timing could not have been worse. The combination of Elrohir's sudden movement and the pain of the dagger as it grazed her hindquarters negated the effect of all Elrohir's soft words. Súldae reared and kicked, catching Elrohir's shoulder with the edge of her hoof, spinning him around and throwing him into the semicircle of men surrounding him.
Even as he fell, Elrohir managed to bring his sword up so that he slashed open the chest of the man directly in front of him. Using his momentum to roll to his feet, the elf drew his boot dagger as he rose. Now carrying two blades, Elrohir did not wait for the others to recover from the shock of having him appear suddenly in their midst. He slashed the throat of a startled bandit and swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing two others to jump back.
In the split second lull, Elrohir glanced at his horse, She was screaming now, rearing and bucking, starting to run, but then glancing back at him. Elrohir felt a rush of gratitude. His loyal horse would not leave him, no matter her fear. But Súldae could not help him here. There were six men with broadswords surrounding her now, trying to eliminate the threat she posed. The panicked animal would not long be able to hold them all back. There was only one thing to do.
"Súldae! Run! Ride hard to Imladris!" Elrohir shouted, his voice barely heard over the din of battle. The sound of the fair tongue contrasted with the din of battle, the soothing gentleness of the words penetrating the haze of his horse's brain. Obedience and instinct warred with loyalty and love in the gray mare's eyes, but Elrohir would not allow her to stay. If she reached Imladris, without a rider, his father would know something had gone wrong. He would send out a party of warriors and healers, who, while not in time to help with this battle, would be able to seek out any other evils in these woods and—he winced as his bruised shoulder protested against the strain of fighting—could help if he or Elladan was wounded. A situation that, if he was entirely honest with himself, was quite probable. "Go!" he shouted again, and this time Súldae obeyed, crashing through the enemies' ranks and heading towards Imladris.
Sighing with relief, Elrohir now turned his full attention to the battle, turning aside a blade with his dagger while slicing through the snarling man's belly with his sword. Súldae would be fine. Elladan would soon reach him, and then the two brothers would get clear of this mess. Focused on the fight, Elrohir did not hear his twin's cry, but he felt Elladan's sudden shock surge through their bond, and turned just in time to see his twin fall backwards into the melee.
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I fell off my horse. I can't believe I fell off my horse! Elrohir will never let me live this down. Shock and embarrassment were the only two emotions to run through Elladan's head as he slipped off Laurmaethor's saddle, automatically twisting in the air to land on the balls of his feet. The slap of the ground against his feet and the triumphant cry of the small, thin man who held the hem of his cloak were enough to bring Elladan back to reality just in time to lift his blade and deflect a blow aimed at his head.
His adversary looked shocked that his killing stroke had been thwarted, but still had enough presence of mind to jump back with surprising dexterity from Elladan's return blow. However, fast as he may have been, the wiry bandit was still no match for an elf. Elladan simply moved forward with the man, swinging hard and catching the side of the bandit's head with the hilt of his sword while simultaneously avoiding the clumsy swing of another man's club. The small man fell with a cry, and the greasy-haired club bearer joined him a moment later, Elladan's belt-knife embedded between his ribs.
The satisfaction this brought, however, was short-lived, as Elladan heard the unmistakable scream of a horse in pain. He whirled around to look for Laurmaethor, and saw the stallion lying on the ground, his leg obviously broken, surrounded by three men, one of which had a sword raised, ready to plunge into the still struggling animal's throat.
"NO!" Elladan cried, lunging forward, but already knowing he would be too late.
The blade descended, a fountain of blood sprayed into the air, and Elladan descended upon the smug individual like an avenging demon. The smirking bandit scarcely even knew he was in danger before an elvish blade pierced his heart.
Yanking his blade free with a grimace, Elladan proceeded to immediately dispatch the remaining two men, who never stood a chance against his fierce onslaught, before daring to look at what he already knew to be true.
The golden stallion that had been his friend through many years lay splayed out on the ground, his once brilliant coat dulled with dirt and blood. Around him lay the carcasses of twelve men, not including the three Elladan had just felled, all in various states of bloodiness. You did well, my friend, Elladan thought sadly, laying his hand on the animal's neck before turning his attention back to the living.
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Just a few quick notes.
In this story, the Twins are 431 years old; they are considered full adults but are still very young.
I have made Elrohir such a great rider because of his name, which translates to elven horse-lord. Elladan's name translates to elf-man.
Súldae means wind shadow in Sindarian, and Laurmaethor means golden warrior.
PLEASE review! If you have something positive to say, great! If you have criticism, I will welcome it as help for improving in the future. If you don't really have anything to say but just want to leave a few lines of craziness, GO FOR IT!!!!! Reviews will be very likely to help me update sooner!