Chapter 7

Elladan felt the attack before actually seeing the attackers.

Instinct reigned.

Drawing his bow, he fired into the trees, Elrohir's arrow soaring right next to his own. Their actions provoked a painful grunt and a fiendish cry that echod back from the treetops—they'd struck their target.

Something fell from the trees. They could see from where it lay that it was indeed an orc. Elladan let his gaze linger on the fallen creature, attempting to determine any perceivable difference between this tree-climbing orc and those he knew from past experience. There was nothing readily unique about it, he concluded. It was, perhaps, slimmer than most. Its eyes were darker, skin lighter, perhaps—but the gathering dark made it difficult to conclude anything for certain, even with elven eyes.

"Elladan."

Elrohir's sharp whisper brought Elladan back to attention. He tore his gaze from the felled orc. With a deep breath he once again allowed his instincts to rule even as the air's deadness folded in on them. His keen eyes pushed through it, searching the trees for more danger. Twice during his search his gaze met Elrohir's, their expressions communicating more than ever could have been said aloud.

They would not leave these woods without confronting battle, and they both knew it.

"Estel."

Aragorn looked up to see Elrond approaching, Gandalf not two steps behind. A third figure lingered in the doorway, but Aragorn was more concerned about the unconscious wood-elf dragging him to the ground than the identity of the stranger. "Ada!" he gasped in relief, whipping his head back around to look out the window when a large rumble of thunder covered his attempt at speech.

The lightning that followed was electric—simultaneously bright and dark—and much too close to be discounted. As it struck ground, Aragorn felt an ache pass through him. The same ache he'd felt while standing on the balcony, the shaky hand of a wood-elf pressing into his shoulder, foolishly or confidently looking into the gathering dark just moments before the same dark lightning had split the two tallest trees outside the balcony in half.

Even with Legolas's mysterious ability to ease his breath from whatever sought to crush it out, Aragorn had gasped and shuttered with the lightning. Though standing stoically, he'd felt the dark air swirl towards him, seizing him. It was as if some challenge had been delivered, taunting him. The air seemed to mock only him—seemed to be seeking only him—seemed to be urging him to hide from whatever evil hung there. It has come for me, he'd thought—fleetingly echoing Legolas's word upon waking.

It has come for me!

"Estel!"

Aragorn jerked his gaze from the sky to Elrond's searching and alarmingly concerned gaze, then stared back around the oppressive room. There was no foe he could visibly battle. Nevertheless, his hand found the hilt of his sword and grasped it tightly. "What is happening?" he shouted, his other hand gripping the unconscious Legolas, holding him in place where he had fallen, pressed haphazardly across his knees.

Elrond knelt opposite, scanning the elf between them and settling a hand on the pale forehead. "We must move him," Elrond told him.

To where? Aragorn wondered but said nothing. If Elrond had answers, he would tell him. In the meantime the return of Elrond's precise and calm demeanor pushed Aragorn to focus on action. "Panic is the weakness of man," Elrond had once told him, "Your strength lies in choosing to not give into it." With one last glace at the sky's continued rumblings he prepared to help move the elf, shifting his knees. As he did, the mysterious figure in the doorway stepped forward while Gandalf stepped back.

Haldir.

Aragorn was able to recognize him though they'd only met once. He was of the Lórien guard—Captain of the Lórien guard. Aragorn nodded briefly, but had no time to contemplate Haldir's presence further. Elrond had slipped one arm underneath Legolas's legs, the other underneath his shoulders. Aragorn did the same from the opposite side. As they lifted, Haldir reached forward to support Legolas's head.

The reaction was instantaneous. Legolas screamed.

The orcs remained invisible but their presence hummed vibrantly through air now crackling with darkness, beneath a sky rumbling loud and angry though Elrohir and Elladan could not see it through the trees.

They moved their mounts closer together, facing opposite directions, covering each others' backs as they moved in deliberate and precise circles.

The hum of the enemy slowed for a moment.

The tips of Elladan's ears itched and stiffened.

Abruptly something swung down at them, swift and shadow-like. They released their arrows then reared back on their horses just in time to dodge the the return volley. An orc following in the wake went straight for Elrohir. Elladan looked back to see him draw his sword, batting the creature from his shoulders successfully, sending it under the feet of his horse already dead.

The deflected attack was followed by another from the opposite direction… and then another… and soon Elladan found himself too preoccupied with his own attackers to see how many it would take to bring Elrohir to the ground.

The scream. The scream was an unnatural sound coming from an elf. Aragorn had not ever heard an elf scream like that. The strangeness of it consumed his mind until a riveting pain ripped through him, returning him to his knees, bringing Legolas back down with him—his lungs heaving for air that was once again being stolen away. Whatever breath he'd been able to hold in his lungs before vanished and the new air he attempted to draw was painful—too heavy to enter his lungs.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the sensation to pass.

It didn't.

In panic he opened his eyes. Lord Elrond was looking frantically between him and Legolas. Haldir had stepped back against the wall and was looking at his hand with shock on his face. Strangely, it was Gandalf who appeared most calm. Aragorn fixed his gaze upon the old wizard with a strange and desperate hope.

"Lord Elrond, the Imladris borders are breached a second time. There can be no other reason for this madness," said Gandalf.

To Aragorn, the wizard's voice seemed halfway swallowed by the dark. He focused more tightly on Gandalf's lips in order to pull significance from the hollow words and caught the meaningful look as it passed to his father.

What was happening? The beat of his heart rushed painfully through his ears and he felt, rather than saw, the next bolt of lighting strike down. A phantom stab of pain pushing him further to the ground.

The hem of Gandalf's cloak brushed by him just as the hazy ring around his vision closed violently inward, turning everything to black.

Elrohir's hand tightened on his sword at the same moment that his knees tightened on his horse. Even then he was barely able to maintain his grip on either one. In the chaos, an orc mounted securely behind him and was wrapping itself around his neck. Holding his breath, Elrohir turned his sword backwards and thrust it under his own arm, impaling his attacker through the chest. Another twist of the sword sent the creature to the ground next to its weapon.

A brief moment of reprieve followed. Elrohir swept his eyes out but could see Elladan nowhere. The shrieks of their foes continued to fill the skies between the tall trees. Battle cries, all of them. The attackers would rejoin their efforts against him soon and he wouldn't last much longer. Not from his current position.

Not liking the only option presented to him, he took it anyway, retreating from the small clearing while ducking low to his horse's neck, trusting the beast to find the right rout to lead them from the battle.

"Elrohir!" The breathless voice belonged to his brother. As the horse slid behind the convenient thicket he released a breath of air in their temporary reprieve. Having achieved exit from the initial point of attack they gained precious moments to plan as the enemy was forced to regroup.

"They attack from a circle," stated Elrohir meeting his brother's smoky eyes.

Elladan nodded in agreement, "We will have to split again, stick to the outside of their focus."

"Draw them inwards, towards each other," Elrohir voiced while dropping half of his remaining arrows into Elladan's empty quiver. "We could easily fall into our own trap with that strategy."

"We had better pay attention then," Elladan answered seriously. Then with a twinkled gleam in his eyes, he added, "But if it works against us remember which one of us gets to be broken and which one of us mangled."

"I am beginning to understand why Gandalf does not appreciate your wit," Elrohir smiled back.

"Down!" Elladan pulled him forward with a hasty grab at his tunic. The arrow intended for his side buried itself instead in the thick leather of his own quiver. The hand gripping him shifted to tightly clutch his shoulder—a steady grip of reassurance—then just as quickly released him.

No more words were said. Elrohir gave a nod and then, as though lanced from a bow, he shot into the outskirts of the impending fray, tracking Elladan's minute sounds as he circled around the other way.

tbc