Edraith Gwador, To Save a Brother

Chapter One: "Meetings"

The sharp eyes of a guard could make out a figure on horseback. Silently, he motioned to another elf, and they readied their bows. As the figure drew nearer, one of the guards called out something. "Daro, Dúnadan! Am man theled le sí?"

The man easily replied, "Tolon tirol an aran lîn."

The guards exchanged looks, and one of them nodded. "We will take you to see our king."

/---------------\

Thranduil looked up when a servant knocked on the door of his study. "What is it?"

"A man by the name of Strider is asking for you."

"Strider?" Thranduil thought for a moment. "What does he look like?"

"He is one of the Dúnedain, my lord."

"Dúnedain?" He suddenly remembered. "Sent him in."

The servant nodded. A few moments later, Aragorn appeared. He bowed respectfully. "My lord," He began slowly. "I come to seek your son. For six months now I have not heard from him, and wish to speak with him."

The Mirkwood king looked surprised. "I assumed he was in Rivendell," he replied. "Was he not with you?"

Aragorn looked away. "Nay, he left after two months."

"Only two?" The elf looked at Aragorn. "Tell me, why did he leave so soon?"

"It was over a petty matter." The man softly said. "We…argued, and I said some things that I should not have said."

"About what?" Thranduil pressed.

Aragorn shook his head. "I beg of you not to ask me, my lord." His fingers nervously fined the edge of his worn cloak. "I only wish to apologize to him for what I've said." He sighed heavily.

Thranduil sat in silence. As much as he would like to have known what had transpired between his son and Aragorn, the look of sorrow and remorse on the man's face made him decide to not press the matter. "But Aragorn, he is not here."

"Where is he then?"

A look of worry crossed the king's face. "I do not know, Aragorn. I thought he was with you." He stood up. "I do not know what has befallen him."

"Have you any idea where he might've gone?" The man asked.

"Nay," Thranduil said. "I do not." He walked over to a bookshelf.

For a moment hey were both silent. At last, Aragorn finally said, "My lord, this was my fault. Had we not argued, things would have been different." He looked at Thranduil. "By your leave, I will go and find Legolas."

"You have my leave, Elrondion." He gave the Dúnadan a sad smile. "And when you find him, tell him to come home. Six months is too long, even for an elf."

"I will." Aragorn turned to leave. "My lord, if Legolas does return, let him—" He paused, visibly swallowing. "Let him know that I'm sorry for what I said to him." He quickly walked out the room and closed the door behind him.

Thranduil frowned. Had he seen tears in Aragorn's eyes? Or was it the light playing tricks on him? He sighed. "Legolas, where have you gone?"

/---------------\

After spending a night in the Elvenking's halls, Aragorn decided to leave his horse at the palace and find Legolas on foot. As he watched the gates being shut, he wondered where he would even begin. "If I were an elf, trying to hide, where would I go?" he mused to himself. "Perhaps I should begin my search in the north, and go down." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed softly. "Ai, if I had only guarded my tongue more wisely!"

--------------------

Daefuin sat in a small room, simply staring out a small window. When another entered his room, he merely nodded and continued to idly tap his thin, long fingers against the side of the desk, lost in his thoughts.

He was not a patient elf. Nor was he impatient. It was simply because those who worked for him knew exactly what he wanted and were always able to surmise his needs. And this was the way he liked it—for everything to run smoothly under his jurisdiction and under no one else's. He began to think about his past, reminiscing on what had happened to him during the last millenniums.

It had not been easy achieving such a level of absolutism. What was the reason for all this? What was he even working for? The elf ceased to tap his fingers, and his eyes had a faraway look in them.

He had never liked Men. Perhaps it was because the first one he had encountered was an old one, one who had already given his spirit to Mandos. He had seen the grey hair, the flaccid skin, and the worn-out body of that man. Daefuin had felt fear first, then horror, and finally, disgust. Is this how all Men were, old and decrepit, without memory by the time they had died? He grimaced at the memory.

He first began harboring his hate when the Númenoreans became more powerful and had fallen to the level of using tyranny to gain more glory. They had begun to be proud and arrogant, and it was during one of their many raids that Daefuin had lost his wife and only son. He had held his son in his arms when the younger elf been mortally wounded. He had seen his son take his last breath most agonizingly, and had felt how his son's fëa had dissipated. His wife had been instantly killed; he had not realized she was dead until after he had buried his son. Lost in his grief, he had retreated into his home and barely spoke to anyone.

What could he have done? Nothing. No one understood his pain, his suffering. There was no one at that time who could comprehend his infinite sorrow or his hate for the Edain.

But when the Last Alliance had been formed and broken, he saw his chance. He had seen how Isildur had taken the One Ring as his wergild. Daefuin could remember his contempt, his revulsion at Men's weakness. Usurpers they had been called, and rightfully so. When Isildur had died, he swore an oath: he would kill the future heir of Isildur when he deemed the time was right. Daefuin smiled as he recalled that particular day.

He had waited for many years, ever watching the splendor of Elros' line slowly dwindle. He set his eyes on the Dúnedain, waiting for an opportunity. His spies were everywhere, even dwelling in Rivendell for a time. Words of the last Heir had come to his ears, and Daefuin bode his time well. For many years, he had quietly observed the life of Aragorn, making no move to harm him. He wanted to wait until the man was of age.

Legolas had not gone unnoticed. Daefuin despised him because he associated with Elrond—who in Daefuin's eyes was also inferior because he was half-elven—and had wanted to included the Prince of Mirkwood in his plans.

When he had witnessed Aragorn's and Legolas' argument, he had secretly rejoiced. For he had heard the harsh words exchanged between them, the angry accusations, and the bitter conversation that later followed.

When Legolas left the Last Homely house, Daefuin had followed him until they had reached the entrance into Mirkwood. There, he had the prince surrounded, forcing him to surrender. They took him north into the Ered Mithrin, where the elf and his followers had made their home.

Though it was commonly said that elves disliked mountains and caves, Daefuin enjoyed the darkness and the roughness of the stone. It reflected him—he was dark and rough in every way, save only in appearance and speech. He was a Noldo, tall and pleasant to look at, with his dark hair, grey eyes, and a face that spoke of nobility. But when he smiled there was a sort of sadistic gleam in his eyes, a light that gave indication to his cruel and heartless nature.

He enjoyed seeing any being in pain; whether it was physical or emotional, he relished in it. He had been trying to concoct something that could take a person's recollections away—or at least block a particular memory if he wished to do so. And he did succeed—a nameless liquid that was colorless and tasteless that forced a person to fall unconscious. Daefuin was then able to sort through any thoughts, hide any of them, and implant some of his own thoughts. He did not have the power to take them away permanently—should something trigger the memory, Daefuin was powerless to prevent it from happening. Through careful experimenting, the elf had managed to reduce this to a slim possibility. Only a very strong action could initiate a flashback of any sort.

Naturally, he was quite pleased with himself for creating such a dangerous weapon. And it had worked very well. He had shrouded all of Legolas' memories of Aragorn and placed in their stead a memory of an intense hate for the Númenoreans and an indifference for the other races of Men. The Silvan elf was now in his service, a formidable foe against any Dúnedain with his uncanny skill in archery. He was becoming a deadly assassin. But his plan included far more than just a prince; he also planned to make Isildur's Heir suffer—

"Hîr nîn?"

He glanced at Halwath, somewhat annoyed. "What now?" he asked impatiently.

"The adan has been sighted." The elf answered. "He is only six hours away from this place."

"Ah." Daefuin slowly smiled. "So he has finally come." He said more to himself.

"Shall I bring him here?"

"Nay. I have a better idea." The elf straightened in his seat. "Send Legolas to me, Halwath."

/---------------\

"You called for me?" Legolas quietly stepped into the room.

Daefuin nearly leaped out of his chair. Nearly cursing at the silent movements of the other elf, he quickly composed himself. "Legolas, my friend."

"I am not your friend, Daefuin, even though I work for you," He answered with a vexed tone. Just because the two were for the same "cause" did not mean that they were friendly with each other. "What do you want now?"

"Do not talk to me in such a matter," The dark-haired elf replied stiffly. "I want to ask of you a request." Leaning forward as if sharing a secret, he said, "The human we have been after has been sighted."

The room became silent. Legolas' eyes bored into Daefuin's. "How near?" he questioned.

"Six hours before he reaches these mountains," The Noldo answered.

"And I suppose you want me to kill him?" Legolas interjected darkly.

"Not yet. I want him."

"Whatever for?"

Daefuin shook his head. "There is more to taking a life than just a quick death." He glanced at a moth that was flitting at the corner of his desk. "Some beings deserved to die quickly. And others—" With a quick motion he lightly pressed a nail against the body of the insect. "—deserve a more painful demise." He finished as they watched the moth writhe.

Though Legolas was disgusted, he hid his emotions. "I fail to see why that moth had to be killed in such a manner," he slowly said. "It was innocent, just like some men are—"

The other elf brought his hand down hard on his desk, efficiently crushing the moth underneath his fingers. "When will you listen to me?" He asked in frustration. "Mortals are simply like moths and other insects—they are born, they eat, and become adult, they mate, they have children of their own, they grow old, and then they die. Pure and simple. What more is to their life? Nothing, Legolas. They are foolish, weak, and sickly beings that should have never been created." Here, he curled his other hand into a tight fist. "Especially the Peredhil." His mouth twisted. "The lot of them all merits an excruciating end. None of them are innocent, not a single one of them!"

During this tirade, Legolas had not moved; he was used Daefuin's frequent bursts of outrages. He merely nodded when the elf was finished speaking. "And the heir of Isildur?" he asked in a low voice. "What are your plans for him?"

Immediately, the other relaxed. "This heir believes that he knows you." He spoke in a soft and mesmerizing voice, carefully monitoring Legolas' demeanor. "He believes that you are a close friend of his. He supposedly has been searching for you these past months in regard to a conversation you had."

Disbelief shone in the depths of Legolas' eyes. "A friend?" he repeated. "Then he is deluded."

"Mostly likely." Daefuin shrugged; it was the least of his worries if he was able to keep the heir unaware of Legolas' condition. "And I want you to play along with him."

"Play along?"

"Pretend that you are his friend, that you know him well. Make him think everything is all right. But once he is within our grasp, there will be no escape for him." He saw the reluctance in the wood-elf's facial expressions. "And I will give to you anything that you ask of me."

Legolas' eyes glittered. "Do you seek to bribe me, Daefuin son of Abhenolor?" He asked. "For though you may be Forgiveness's son, you have not inherited any of your father's nature."

Daefuin sprang from his chair. "And am I proud of that fact. For my father was a fool."

"No more a fool than you. I think you are mad." Legolas did not move when the other drew nearer to him. "Meldion was indeed your treasure, but he was also rightfully named Mistestel."

Daefuin glowered at Legolas, knowing he was right. How he despised the prince of Mirkwood at times! At last, he replied. "Very well. You may do this of your own accord."

The Silvan elf placed a hand on the doorframe. "What is this man's name?"

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn." The Noldor elf replied. "And when he is here, I have some things I want you to do…"

---------------

Three hours later, a man wearily trekked on in the dark forest. A mist covered most this land, making it difficult to see anything. As Aragorn paused to take a drink of water, a cold wind ruffled his hair and clothes. He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself, and turned…and nearly crashed into someone he least expected. "Legolas?" He said incredulously.

The elf stepped back. "So we meet again…Aragorn." He said carefully.

Aragorn took no notice of the odd way that Legolas said his name. "Where have you been, my friend?" He asked. "Your father was worried for you when he heard how you had left Imladris in such an abrupt manner."

"Is he now?" There was a touch of annoyance in Legolas' voice. "I am an adult; he needs not to look after me."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "But why are you here?" He asked. "There is nothing here in the north." He looked about his surrounding. "And it is a place I would rather avoid." In the man's opinion, it was far too close to Angmar. Though the place had long been abandoned, it still was not a safe place.

Legolas looked away. "I came here to think, to be away from my home for the time being." He answered. "It is none of your business, Aragorn."

Ah, so he is still angry with me, the man thought. But I am not surprised. Brushing away his thoughts, he quickly replied. "I did not plan to intrude upon you." He tried to place his hand on Legolas' shoulder, but the elf jerked away, an indescribable look upon his face. Concerned, the man held his hands up. "I mean no harm, mellon nîn. Is something wrong?"

"Nay," The elf straightened and forced a smile on his face. "I was merely surprised. Nothing more."

---------------

During the next three hours, they simply walked. Legolas did not say a word, and neither did Aragorn. But the man often glanced at his friend, who seemed oddly silent. Finally, he ventured to ask. "About our argument that took place a few months ago—"

"—it has been forgotten." The elf quickly interrupted. Much too quickly.

"I can see how forgotten it is." Aragorn commented. "But I swear, Legolas, I am sorry, I—"

"Please, Aragorn, if you were truly a friend, you would not be bringing this up." He sounded strained. His eyes glimmered in the darkness of the night.

Somewhat taken aback by this, the man nodded. "If you wish."

As he took another step forward, out the mist came three other elves, all carrying bows pointed at them. Tensing, Aragorn looked sideways and was shocked to see that Legolas did not seem concerned. "What—?" he began, but a point of a cold knife suddenly dug into his neck.

"If you value your life, then do not speak." The elf hissed. "Remove your weapons now and drop them on the ground."

Slowly the man did as he was told. He removed the sheathed sword from his belt, along with the rest of his weapons. As one of the

elves began binding his hands he gave a look of disbelief to Legolas, who simply shrugged. "You will find out later, adan." The last word was spat out forcefully. Aragorn flinched at the ropes dug tightly into his skin. As Legolas gave him a light shove, he began walking with his head down, all the while wondering what on Arda was happening.

TBC…

Translations:

Daro, Dúnedain! Am man theled le sí? – Hold, Dúnadan! For what reason are you here?

Tolon tirol an aran lîn – I come seeking your king

Elrondion – son of Elrond

Edain – Men

Hîr nîn – My lord

Adan – human

Peredhil – Halfelves

Abhenolor – Means "forgiving." Taken from "Merin Essi ar Quenteli!"

Meldion – Beloved son. This was his father-name.

Mistestel – Lost hope. This was his mother-name. Taken from Merin Essi ar Quenteli!

Mellon nîn – my friend