A/N: I know that Elves don't get sick with such trivial things as colds (#envious), but for the sake of this chapter I changed that a bit. Call it artistic license or AU, whichever you prefer. ;) Again, thank you Celridel for helping me with this!

Also, thanks to all who favourited: Thaishi, Rose61393, and Dark-Zeblock; and those who followed: Rose61393 and Dark-Zeblock. I'm so glad you've enjoyed my story so far!

Chapter Three

The fiery embers glowed among the black ashes of the fireplace, the one light illuminating the room. Outside, the wind moaned and pressed against the window, struggling to force it's way in and crush the last of the fire in an icy caress. A few sparks leapt from the depths of the fire and fell to ashes upon the woven rug.

A cough, smothered but rattling, broke the silence, and the flames crackled to life once more, as if on cue. Someone stirred and moaned. There was another fit of coughing, less muffled this time, and then a gentle voice spoke softly, soothing the other.

Elrohir fell back into Elrond's comforting arms, shivering despite the warmth of the blankets. His hand groped about on the coverlet, as though he sought something just out of his reach. Gentle fingers closed about his and tightened, while the other hand moved to his forehead to check for fever.

"Elladan..." came the weak murmur, half-drowned by the crackling of the fire.

"Hush, Elrohir," Elrond soothed again, rubbing Elrohir's back as the harsh coughing convulsed his son's body once more.

It was a foolish idea for Elladan to leave, the Peredhel thought regretfully. Their bond is too strong and Elrohir is too weak. He sighed, passing his hand over Elrohir's forehead and wiping the sweat from the cold brow. He knew the pain far too well himself.

Elrohir stirred, his fingers tightening about Elrond's wrist as he fought to hide the coughing that rose, cruel and sharp, in his throat. Elrond sat in the silence, struggling to comfort his son.

Bring Elladan's footsteps home, Lord Ilúvatar, and soon and safely, I pray. Elrohir needs him.

The chilling wind blew on, it's mournful wail echoing throughout the empty, darkened hallways. The fire flickered one last time and died, and the only light now bloomed from the small candle beside the bed. Elrond gazed into the night, striving to pierce the blackness with his eyes, but it withheld itself from him, and the darkness wore on.

When morning came at last, clear and bright in the embrace of the sun, the shadows beneath the lord's eyes showed he had not slept at all.

The air was chilly, biting at Elladan's unprotected face as he galloped against the wind, but the light-hearted spirits of the Elves had dimmed. Now they rode in haste through the trees, faces tense as they bent low over their horses. Beside him and a little ahead, Elcúron reached swiftly into his quiver and stroked the fletching of an arrow, ensuring it was well within his reach.

It had been a few moments – or more? Elladan could not tell – since the air had changed. The forest air had become mustier, danker, and finally it had been overrun entirely with a foul stench. Eldrast had only quickened their pace, veering to the left and urging their horses on even faster.

Elladan glanced apprehensively about himself. Even though he had never really come face to face with it before, he sensed danger near at hand, and the claustrophobic atmosphere only increased as he was ordered into the center of the group, protected on all sides. His stomach lurched as he realised what the Elves were doing. Orcs loved tormenting young captives in particular... and if it came to a fight, he would be the one they sought above all others.

Sensing his discomfort, Elcúron sent his younger friend an encouraging smile; one which, for the first time, Elladan was unable to return. Darkness encroached upon his consciousness, nearly a tangible sensation – if fear could be seen, then it was rolling off him in palpable waves. He shivered again, urging Celos deeper amongst the Elves.

"Captain!"

Eldrast turned his head for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough. Dark figures lurked conspicuously in the underbrush, passing to and fro in full view, and a little beyond, Elladan could easily hear heavy footsteps crunching over the leafy forest floor. In his periphery he saw Elcúron reach for his bow and unfasten it from his quiver in one fluid motion, never slowing his horse's pace.

"Elcúron!" Eldrast's voice was sharp. "Do not bother shooting. Head for the plains; we have the chance to outpace them there, if necessary."

If they had not had a young recruit in their midst, there would have been no question about fighting. But although Glorfindel had recommended Elladan himself, Eldrast was not overly sure of the young Elf's fighting capabilities, and there was no mistaking the blatant fear in Elladan's eyes at the sighting of the Orcs. He had seen the same look in the eyes of many Elves before on the eve of their first battle.

The wind's current shifted, blowing from behind now, flying the rough Orcish voices like taunting echo to their ears. Turning his head briefly, Elladan shivered. The air swirled chilly, flecked with mist in the early afternoon. The sun faded, trapped behind oppressive storm clouds, and with renewed urgency the Elves urged their steeds onwards. The trees flew by in a haze, and ahead of them Elladan could see the forest thinning out to give way to wide, grassy plains. They were almost safe!

Then a shout broke through the air, and Celos reared, nearly throwing his rider. Elladan's cry echoed seconds after as he struggled to regain his seating, scrapes flecking his cheeks where the branches had slashed against his face. Ahead Eldrast whirled, firing a brisk order.

"Daro!"

An Elf lay on the ground, struggling against the Orc that stood over him, grasping frantically at the hilt of the dagger that had been thrown with him. A fearsome light gleamed in the creature's yellowed eyes, and it kicked the knife away, out of the Elf's reach.

Elladan barely saw the next few seconds. There was a cry, desperate and urgent, but it did not come from the Elf on the ground. A golden blur flashed by, blades gleaming in the dim rays of light – there was one last guttural shriek, and then...

"Move!" Eldrast panted as he dragged the trembling Elf towards his horse. "Make for the plains!"

But it was too late. The dying Orc's cry had drawn the others, and the bushes crackled. The horses shifted restlessly, and the Elves looked to Eldrast.

"Elladan!" The captain's voice was sharp. "To my side."

As the dark-haired Elf moved uncertainly forwards, the other Elves swiftly formed a circle about the two, hemming them in on all sides.

"Your brother should not envy you," Eldrast murmured to Elladan, his words soft in the tense silence.

The snarls filled the air, surrounding them, but Elladan did not hear them.

Elrohir...

It was the first time he had sought to open their bond since his departure, but had it not always been thus – that one twin leaned on the other, that one encouraged the other... that they were always there? He sensed an undercurrent of loneliness that his brother sought to conceal, but he could not miss what preyed on his own mind as he struggled to sleep – the thought that he woke to, that he slept to. He knew Elrohir had not willingly accepted their separation, that he fought against it even now. He himself had accepted it at last as a part of life, and he knew that someday his twin would realise the same. Elrohir's thoughts echoed now through his head as though they stood side-by-side.

Be safe, Elladan.

He would not show Elrohir his fear. He would be strong.

You promised you would return.

Elladan smiled then, and the glint in his eyes hardened to icy steel. There was a metallic scrape as Eldrast drew his sword from its sheath.

Take a deep breath. Relax.

Elladan drew his sword, gazing at the sleek blade yet unstained by blood and death. He could see the first of the Orcs springing through the trees, and he turned so his back faced the open plains, the last of the sun's rays flaring over them as the afternoon faded to dusk.

He willed the tension from his body and sat up straight, a proud figure amongst the Elves about him. The Orcs came to steal his life, his friends, his family... to crush them, to slay them.

They would not stand.

I promise, brother. I will return.