A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed, and especially to Celridel for beta-reading this chapter. You're the best!

Chapter Two

Elladan stirred sleepily, kicking at the blanket covering him until it slipped off his legs. He groped for his pillow, confused when, instead of soft down, his hand met firm ground. Puzzled, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, then let out a yelp of surprise. The sun was rising straight in his eyes, the crimson sky streaked with translucent clouds lingering from the night's storm. At the moment, however, the Peredhil could not have been less interested in the beauties of dawn – in fact, he could barely see.

A snort of laughter distracted Elladan, and he stopped rubbing at his eyes in favour of glaring balefully at Elcúron.

"What is so amusing?" he demanded testily.

Elcúron raised his hands swiftly in surrender, but he was unable to resist a teasing jab as Elladan went back to carefully tending his face. "Nothing but your look of anguish, mellon-nín," he grinned. "That is all."

Elladan glared again, having regained his sight, and turned back to his blankets, falling upon his back with a sigh.

"Elcúron?"

"Mm." His friend was busy refolding his own blankets and stuffing them haphazardly into his pack.

"I am cold."

Now Elcúron turned to face the Peredhil, cocking an eyebrow. "You might make use of your blankets, then."

Elladan sighed, returning his gaze to the dawning sky. The sun was rising steadily; the others would be up soon, and the wonderful peace of early morning would be shattered. He determined to treasure the silence while it lasted.

It was strange, he thought silently, waking up somewhere besides his bed back home. He had been on short trips with Glorfindel and Elrohir before, of course, but they had never lasted any longer than a day at most. Now he was on a patrol – free, away from the watchful eye of his father for the first time in his life!

He heaved a sigh and shifted to his side, gazing back through the woods. The Elven stallions wandered unhindered through the trees, never straying too far from the camp, and a ways off, he heard a shrill whinny, swiftly followed by another.

Elrohir would have loved this, he realised. Travelling outside the borders of Imladris, beyond the protection of their father's Ring – he would have revelled in the freedom. Even now Elladan's heart lifted at the prospect of galloping through the trees, over flower-strewn swards with the wind in his hair and his home at his back.

"It is not all freedom."

Elladan started, caught by surprise at the interruption. Eldrast stood nearby, gazing out over the expanse of woodland about them, ringing them in on all sides.

"Excuse me?" he questioned, uncertain if Eldrast had been addressing him or not. The other Elves were rising now as well, digging in their packs for food, and it could have been to any of them that their captain spoke.

Eldrast turned and flashed him a brief smile. "I said, it is not all you think it is."

Elladan sat up, his eyes never leaving Eldrast's face. "I do not think I understand, my captain."

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Eldrast came to sit nearby, plucking idly at a stem of grass.

"It is peaceful now," he said finally. "The sky is blue and the sun is rising, and there is nothing to worry about. But..." He paused, nailing Elladan with a single glance. "Would you think the same, young one, if the sky were darkened with impenetrable clouds – if the stillness was torn with cries of pain and horror, and if the sweet scent of flowers were drowned beneath the stench of blood and death? Would you then wish to be beyond Imladris's protection? Would you not long for the gentle harmony of song, of living waters crashing from cliffs to mossy streams? You would not stay." His voice softened, and his eyes glazed as he relived some ancient memory, of times long gone; and Elladan sat, entranced, heedless of the Elves as they prepared their steeds for another day of hard riding.

"Nay," Eldrast repeated, "you would flee... and many would follow you, I deem. You would flee from the carnage, from death and hatred and bloodshed, and you would seek refuge in the safety of your home until the Shadow itself came to your doorstep and you could ignore it no longer."

His voice faded, and he rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help the younger Elf stand. He turned to leave, but even as he swung himself upon his horse, he bent close to Elladan and gazed deeply into his eyes.

"That is not freedom, Peredhil," he said in a low voice. "That is fear, and I would do all in my power to rid you of it."

And Elladan stared after him, his naïveté forgotten – or perhaps it was lost, stolen away into some dark recess of his being; and he no longer regretted that his brother had not been chosen.

The first thing Elrohir noticed when he awoke was that he was wet to the very skin.

The second was that he was crying.

Alone in the darkness, the tears trickled slowly down his rain-slicked cheeks as he gazed numbly into the greyness of early dawn. A chill breeze blew through the garden and he shivered, wrapping his arms about himself as he slowly sat up. Beyond the hedges and paths rose the House, but as soon as his eyes fell upon it, the memories came flooding back. Flushed with humiliation and shame, Elrohir dragged himself out of sight and huddled under the shelter of an overhanging bush.

He had shouted at Glorfindel, and the other ellon, and he had hurt his father with words that were not even true... they must be furious at him.

The wind whistled through the branches – a cold, lonely sound, and Elrohir shivered again. He threw another glance towards the silent House. It was still very early – perhaps no one was up yet, and he could find his own room without being noticed.

He struggled to his feet, wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve, and made his way cautiously towards the House. So many times he had wandered these gardens before, in full sight of the Elves within, but now he crept towards the door like a thief, with none of the old assurances of love and respect. He slipped through like a shadow, stopping to assess his surroundings before continuing. The hall was utterly abandoned, lit only by a few sconces burning in niches along the wall, and his uneasy breathing was the only sound that broke the silence.

With a sigh, he fell against the wall and rubbed his temples tiredly. He could feel a headache growing behind his eyes, and the hall swirled dizzily about him. He let out a soft groan and buried his head in his hands.

Pushing himself off the wall with an effort, Elrohir made his way slowly down the hall towards his room. Outside, the sun was rising steadily, and he could hear muffled movements behind the doors as the Elves began to stir. Elrohir quickened his pace, shivering uncontrollably as the dampness of his clothes seeped into his skin. A cough forced its way from his mouth though he tried to stifle it with his hand, and he winced as his throat stung.

With one hand, he pushed his door open and stepped inside. The room was ensconced in darkness, but someone stood by the window, and as he turned, Elrohir retreated in confusion. He was not thinking clearly – he must have entered the wrong room by mistake...

Then, "Elrohir?" came his father's soft voice, breaking the heavily silence. Elrohir flushed miserably, grateful for the darkness that concealed his bedraggled state.

"A-Adar?" His voice came out cracked and trembling, and any hopes he had entertained of escaping quickly vanished.

"I have been waiting for you," Elrond said quietly, coming a step nearer, and then another. His sharp eyes took in Elrohir's sagging shoulders, exhaustion written in every line of his son's figure.

Elrohir's head jerked up, and he met his father's eyes for a brief second. "I – " He paused, massaging his temples with his fingertips. "I must have come to the wrong room... I am sorry."

He turned swiftly to leave, but a firm hand on his shoulder pulled him back. "Elrohir," Elrond said evenly. "You are soaking wet."

Elrohir cringed at the coldness in his father's tone, but he did not dare to try to escape. "I slipped," he offered feebly. "I think... it rained... last night... and I fell..."

Elrond raised an eyebrow, stepping in closer as his son wavered unsteadily.

"I will go clean up, Adar," Elrohir said tiredly. "I am dripping all over the floor."

He stepped back as Elrond let his hand slip from his shoulder, but his head was now throbbing mercilessly, and he fell heavily against the door jamb. He did not even try to get up again, sliding to the floor and curling into a miserable ball, squeezing his eyes shut as he shivered helplessly. He barely comprehended the feeling of being lifted, or of nimble hands unfastening his tunic and wrapping warm blankets about his trembling body, or of a voice urgently calling his name. He did not feel strong arms lifting him against a warm chest, rocking him as loving eyes torn with worry gazed into his, before his own slipped shut once more.

There was only blackness.