Elrohir ran through the thick, swirling mists surrounding him, frantically glancing this way and that, trying to get away. Something was after him. Something was trying to get him, and he knew that if he didn't keep running it would have him. What is it, he wondered fearfully. Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I so alone?!
"Hello?!"
No answer.
He strained his memory, forcing himself to recall some details of what had led him here. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember anything of his past. All he knew at the moment was mist, fear, and loneliness.
And so he pushed himself on. Keep running, his mind told him. Something's after you. Something's trying to get you. Don't let it.
The mist shrouded down around him, becoming denser with every step he took. He couldn't see anything else; just the white, empty mist surrounding him, and the hard, cold ground beneath him.
It's getting closer, run harder!
His muddled mind continued trying to make sense of the situation while he pushed himself on.
Something's missing, he realized suddenly. There's a reason behind this desperate loneliness I'm feeling, but I can't remember what it is. Part of me is missing.
As if in answer to that thought, a figure suddenly began to materialize from out of the mist ahead of him. Elrohir slowed to a stop, watching curiously as the figure approached him.
It was an elf. Tall and dark, yet not fully-grown; he still had a playful, boyish look about him that was both intriguing and instantly likeable. He looked so familiar and yet Elrohir wasn't sure why. He continued to study and wonder about the elf until the elf suddenly brought his gaze up and made eye contact with him.
Elrohir felt an instant, unexplainable connection strike between them, and he suddenly understood who it was that stood in front of him. He couldn't believe he hadn't recognized him at first.
"Elladan," he whispered, feeling immeasurable relief and comfort spread instantly throughout his body, as memory of his twin came flooding back to him. How could I have forgotten? Elrohir asked himself. Elladan's my other half, my twin, the part of me that was missing. How did I forget?
Elrohir's mind was so mixed up and he couldn't seem to sort things out. Elladan's my brother, he reminded himself. My very best friend. I'm not alone anymore. I don't need to be afraid.
But as he watched his twin brother, part of the relief and comfort he was feeling began to fade. Elladan was looking at him with an odd expression—an amused smirk. It looked like the kind of smirk the twins reserved for each other when one had told on the other and was anticipating the moment of their punishment, which was usually a scornful lecture from their father. It seemed out of place for Elladan to be wearing that look in a situation like this, and it put Elrohir at unease and only caused him more confusion.
Elladan continued to smirk at Elrohir, not saying anything, just silently staring at him. It was as if he knew something Elrohir didn't, and he had no intention of sharing his secret with his twin.
"Elladan?" Elrohir said desperately, "What is it?"
"You left me, 'Ro," Elladan whispered, the absurd smile still pasted to his face. "You broke our promise. You're lost."
Elrohir had a vague remembrance of what Elladan was talking about, but still, he could not connect any of the events that were swimming around in his memory with what was actually happening at the moment. He didn't quite know why, but he strongly felt that he owed his twin an apology.
"I'm sorry, Elladan," he pleaded. "I…I had to." Had to what? he wondered. Again, he felt his thoughts slipping away into meaningless confusion. Why can't I think clearly? he asked himself. Why is everything so mixed up?
"It's too late for apologies, Elrohir," Elladan said. "You're lost. You left me. You're dying," he stopped and raised his hand to point at something behind Elrohir. "Look at what's in store for you now," he said, and with those words Elladan abruptly faded away, back into the mist from whence he had come.
"Elladan, don't leave me!" Elrohir pleaded desperately. "Please…don't go…" his fear and confusion was starting to take a toll on him and he felt hot tears sting his eyes.
"Elladan…"
Elrohir stood still, staring at the ground through bleary vision. Elladan, he thought, I need you here with me. I'm so afraid. I'm so alone. Why did you leave? Where did you go?
Suddenly, Elrohir felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Something was approaching him. He suddenly remembered how he was being pursued by something unknown and that he had stopped running in order to talk to his twin. He also remembered Elladan pointing to something behind him just before he had disappeared. 'Look at what's in store for you now…' The words echoed in Elrohir's mind.
Fearfully Elrohir turned around, dreading what he would see. His breath caught in his chest.
A tall figure, cloaked and hooded in the deepest black Elrohir had ever seen was towering over him, looking down at him from a dark empty void within the hood. Elrohir wasn't sure if there was a face in there or not, but if there was, he certainly did not to see what it looked like.
Elrohir couldn't move for fear. He stood there, gaping at the figure, wondering what it was and what it wanted. Am I going to die, he wondered vaguely. Is it going to kill me?
The black figure began to move. Slowly, it stretched its arm out, reaching for Elrohir.
Don't touch me! Elrohir thought, panicking. He wanted to shout the words but he couldn't; they were stuck in his throat. Do something! his brain screamed at him. Don't just stand there! Get away! Run!
But Elrohir couldn't run. He couldn't even move.
And so he just stood there, his eyes wide and watching as the dark arm continued to reach out towards him. He squinted his eyes shut, not wanting to see what it was going to do to him.
He suddenly felt instant coldness make contact with his chest and his eyes snapped open, glancing anxiously down at his body. What he saw made him gasp.
The dark arm had reached into him, actually passing through his skin as if it were a ghost. Elrohir's breath quickened and he felt a single tear slip down his cheek. What is it doing to me, he wondered vaguely, his mind numb with fear.
He gasped as he felt icy cold fingers slowly wrap around his heart.
No, Elrohir thought. No, please stop. Please don't do it. He glanced up quickly at the dark figure, his face a pleading mixture of dread and fear.
The dark figure, however, showed no signs of possessing any mercy. It's dark arm, still cruelly gripping Elrohir's heart, suddenly yanked back.
Elrohir's scream was a silent thought that melted into blackness…
* * *
"I got it," Traven said, triumphantly holding up a blood-soaked arrow tip, still connected to about four inches of broken shaft.
Damus eyed it wearily, grateful the operation was finally over. He was sitting next to the elf's head, firmly pinning his arms and shoulders down, while another man pinned the elf's legs, for the elf wouldn't stop thrashing around, lost in his feverish dreams as he was.
"Do you think he felt it?" Damus asked, recalling how the elf had screamed when Traven had pulled the arrow out.
"Nah, I doubt it," Traven replied, glancing down at the unconscious elf.
"That must be one horrible nightmare he's having, then. He seems miserable," Damus said, referring to the elf's continuous thrashing and moans of distress, "I wish we could wake him up." Damus knew that any attempts to rouse the elf would be useless, for the elf was poisoned and would most likely be unconscious for a while, until his system could fight the poison and feverish delusions off.
"No, it's better that he stays unconscious," Traven replied, "We're not done yet." He pressed a wad of cloth against the elf's wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. "Damus, hand me some king's foil from out of that pouch there," he said pointing to the pouch at Damus' side.
Damus complied and handed one of the freshly picked weeds to Traven. King's foil, or athelas, was probably the most useful herb when it came to healing poisoned wounds. Damus had learned this from Traven a while back, when a fellow outlaw of theirs had also suffered from an orc-inflicted wound.
Damus watched, still firmly pinning the elf down, as Traven mashed the plant between his fingers and inserted it into the wound on the elf's shoulder. The elf cried out again, trying harder to free himself from the grips of the men that held him. Damus glanced at the man pinning the elf's feet. He looked tired, and quite bored of holding the thrashing elf still. He should be tired, Damus thought. It's probably well after midnight and we've been working on the elf for over a half-hour now. Damus looked around at the rest of the camp. Most of the men were already fast asleep, rolled up in their cloaks and blankets, their chests rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Two fires were still merrily crackling away; one, just a few feet away, was providing sufficient lighting for Traven to work on the elf, and the other, several yards away, was providing warmth for several men that had not yet gone to bed. Damus noticed that Barelus, the leader of their band of outlaws, was among the men surrounding the fire, talking in a low voice and occasionally sending furtive glances their way. They hadn't yet discussed what was to be done with the elf, and Damus knew that the reason Barelus was still up was so that they could have that discussion after Traven was done healing the elf. Damus was a little apprehensive about the discussion that was to come. After all, it was his idea to bring the elf back to camp, and if Barelus was angry about that, his anger would most likely be directed towards Damus. But Damus didn't really care. All he cared about was getting the elf safely back to his family in Rivendell, and if it was going to be all up to him to do so, well then, so be it. He couldn't bear the thought of the elf's family members suffering as he had suffered when his family was killed. And it must be worse for the elf's family, he thought, because they don't know where he is. They know nothing of his current situation. Not knowing must be the worst.
Damus brought his thoughts back to the present situation and glanced down to see what Traven was doing. He watched as Traven finished binding the wound with a relatively clean cloth and then sat back and wiped his forehead.
"Alright," Traven said, examining his work, "I've done what I can for him."
"Will he be alright, then?" Damus asked, glancing at the colorless face of the elf. He loosened his hold on the elf's arms and shoulders and noticed the man at his feet do the same. Even after Traven was done, the elf continued to thrash around in his sleep, occasionally mumbling and calling out incoherent words. However, through all his feverish babbling there was one word the elf kept repeating that was quite easy to understand: 'Elladan.' Damus wondered what it meant, or who it was. It must be someone very dear to him, he thought, or the elf wouldn't keep repeating it.
"I don't know," Traven replied, bringing Damus' attention back to him, "The poison is still in his system. The athelas should help, but ultimately it's going to be up to him to fight it off," he glanced down uncertainly at the unconscious elf.
"Then you mean there's still a chance that he might die?" Damus asked worriedly.
Traven gave him an annoyed look. "Of course there's still a chance he might die. He was shot with a poisoned arrow, Damus. I'm not a performer of miracles, you know. If the elf dies, he dies." He shrugged. "So what?"
Damus stared at him. "You don't really mean that," he said. "If you really didn't care so much whether the elf lived or died you wouldn't have worked so hard on patching him up."
Traven looked at him angrily.
"I mean, look at him Traven. How can you honestly say that you do not pity him?" Damus asked.
They both glanced down at the distressed elf, examining his fair ashen face, and listening to his desperate moans of feverish agony.
As Traven watched the unconscious elf he couldn't help feeling a sharp pang of pity touch his heart. He suddenly realized that it really would be quite a shame if such a pure and innocent creature were to die.
"Tomorrow I'm going to take him back to Rivendell," Damus announced suddenly, still watching the elf.
"What?" Traven asked, fixing his gaze on the younger man.
"His family must be worried sick, Traven," Damus said looking at his friend, "He needs to go back."
"Your motives may be noble, boy," Traven replied, "but they are not the only ones to take into account,"
"What?" Damus asked, "What are you talking about?" He studied his friend's face closely, reading his expression, and slowly came to a realization.
"Oh, I see," Damus said slowly, his eyes slightly narrowing. "You had your own motives for bringing the elf back to camp, didn't you," his voice sounded accusing, "Tell me, what are they, Traven? What benefit do you hope to gain at the expense of this helpless elf?"
Traven's eyes sparked with guilt, but he was spared having to answer the accusing young man, for at that moment Barelus appeared their side, looking down at the unconscious figure on the ground.
"So, you took care of him?" he asked brusquely, gesturing at the elf.
Traven nodded, "I did what I could for him. He might be alright, but it's still too early to tell."
Barelus nodded his understanding. "So explain," he demanded.
Damus and Traven briefly glanced at each other.
"Explain what?" Damus asked.
"Explain why you brought him to camp. Explain what you want us to do with him." Barelus said impatiently.
"We brought him to camp to save his life," Damus said boldly. "He would have died out there without receiving any medical care."
"So, you brought him back to our camp, to use up our resources, just to save his worthless life?" Barelus asked angrily. "What's the meaning of this, Damus? In case you've forgotten, we're outlaws. We can't afford to help other people. Especially not dying elves. What's gotten into your head, boy?"
"Barelus," Traven interrupted, placing his hand on his companion's back and walking him several feet away from a distraught-looking Damus, "I tried to tell the boy the same thing," he explained, "but he refused to leave the elf to die. He said it wouldn't be fair for the elf's family, and you know how Damus is about family," he added in a low voice.
Barelus gave a slight nod, waiting for Traven to get to his point.
"Anyway," Traven continued, "when Damus mentioned the elf's family, I got to thinkin'. And I came to the conclusion that this here elf could end up bein' very useful to us."
"How?" Barelus asked, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"Ransom," Traven replied, as if the answer should have been obvious. "We offer the elf's family a price to get their precious boy back safely. If they pay up, we give him to them. If not, then we kill him and lose nothing."
Barelus thought the situation through, the wheels in his head turning slowly. After a few moments a grin appeared on his face and he clapped his companion on the back heartily.
"I like the way you think, Traven," he said laughing. "We could fetch a fair price for the boy, couldn't we?"
"I should say so," Traven replied, "Elves only have eternity to accumulate their wealth."
Barelus laughed harder. "Eternity indeed! Ransom it is then." He clapped Traven once more on the back, and then, still lightly chuckling, he went off to bed.
Traven turned back to Damus to find him staring incredulously at him.
"Ransom?" Damus asked. "You want us to sell the elf back to his family?"
Traven shrugged, "Why not?"
"Why not?! Because that's ridiculous!" Damus answered heatedly, "It's wrong and cruel, Traven, and you know it!"
Traven narrowed his eyes impatiently at the younger man. "It's a good way to get some gold, that's what it is. Who do you think you are, Damus? You're just a foolish boy. Goodness knows how you're going to survive in this world. You won't even consent to ransom, which is practically harmless."
Damus shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you, Traven. And I actually thought that you wanted to bring the elf back to camp out of the goodness of your heart. I see now that I should have known better." He turned away angrily and knelt next to the elf.
Traven opened his mouth, wanting to tell Damus that he really didn't see that ransom would cause any harm, but he shut it again, frustrated that the boy was actually making him feel guilty. I shouldn't apologize to him, he thought. He's just a foolish boy. But still, why does he have to be so irritatingly righteous? It hardly makes any sense. He glanced down at the young man laying a comforting hand on the elf's forehead. He shook his head in exasperation and stalked off to bed.
Damus sat with his hand gently pressed against the elf's forehead. He was concerned about the elf's high fever that was showing no signs of receding. His skin seemed to have grown even hotter in the last hour or so, and Damus wasn't sure what to do about it. The elf was still tossing around and Damus was quite sure the fever was the cause of this. He tried to calm the elf down, tried to get him to hold still for a moment so he could dab his forehead with a wet cloth, but his efforts were to no avail. The elf was delusional, and Damus had no clue how to treat that. Even Traven, who was a considerably good healer, didn't know what to do about the fever. Just let it run its course, he had said.
The elf was still mumbling nonsense as well, and Damus noticed that his voice sounded frightened and confused. Poor kid, Damus thought. He's as clueless of his whereabouts as his family is.
Yawning, Damus decided he had best go to bed since he would most likely have to be prepared for a long journey to Rivendell in the morning. Even if it was by means of ransom, at least the elf would make it back to his family, and that thought comforted Damus. He didn't want the elf to die, and he didn't want his family to suffer the grief of having him missing. He didn't really know why he cared so much, he just did. He couldn't help it. After experiencing the pain of losing his own family, he vowed he would do all he could to help others not have to go through what he did. It just wasn't right that people should have to suffer so.
He stood up and, leaning down, he adjusted the wadded cloak beneath the elf's head, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. He noticed the elf's chest was still bare and realized he might freeze during the remainder of the night. Rather than struggle with trying to dress the unconscious elf, however, he decided it would just be easier to throw a thick blanket over him and tuck the edges in underneath him. That also might prevent him from thrashing around as well, he thought. So Damus did just that, and when he was done, he decided it was definitely time for him to get some sleep.
He trudged over to the edge of the camp and, after tiredly pulling off his boots, rolled up in his cloak and was asleep in moments.
* * *
He awoke about an hour later. Gradually opening his eyes, he immediately noticed it was still dark. At first he didn't know what had caused him to wake, but after only a moment or two, the reason became clear to him. It was the elf. He was calling out louder than ever and thrashing around uncontrollably. Damus got up as fast as his tired body would allow him and rushed over to where the distressed elf lay, clearly suffering from another fit of delusional nightmares.
He stood staring at the elf, not knowing what to do.
"Shut him up, will you?" a groggy voice called through the darkness.
"Yeah, what's goin' on?" another tired voice asked, "I'm tryin' to sleep!"
Damus continued to stand there, staring at the distressed elf, not knowing what to do to calm or quiet him down.
A nearby man grunted and got to his feet. "I'll take care of this," he said angrily.
Damus watched as he man hastily approached the elf, clearly having lost his temper by having his sleep disrupted. He kicked the elf roughly, cursing at him and telling him to shut up.
"Stop!" Damus shouted at him, "Can't you see he's sick?"
The man pushed Damus away. "So what if he's sick? He's keeping the whole camp up! How are we supposed to get any sleep around here with this racket he's making?" He reached down and snatched up the rag that Damus had tried to wipe the elf's brow with earlier. Convinced it would serve a better purpose as a gag, the man roughly shoved it into the elf's mouth and tied it tightly behind his head. The elf's moans were sufficiently muffled through the thick cloth, and satisfied, the man turned back to Damus.
"You take that out and I'll beat you, understand?" he asked.
Damus looked at him with hard, dark eyes, not saying anything.
"Understand?!" the man repeated angrily. He lashed out suddenly and slugged Damus across the jaw.
Damus' head snapped to the side, and faint stars flitted across his vision. Anger erupted in him almost as fast as pain did. He couldn't believe that idiot had just hit him. He drew back, preparing to return a vicious blow to the man, when suddenly he felt someone grasp his arm and roughly twist it behind his back, holding him tight and preventing him from continuing the fight.
"What's going on?" It was Traven.
Damus struggled, trying to break free from Traven's grasp, wanting more than anything to get even with the man that had slugged him.
"Calm down, Damus," Traven said, holding him firmly. He glanced at the man that had hit Damus. "I've got him. Go back to bed."
The man obeyed and silently stalked away.
"What's going on?" Traven repeated, finally releasing Damus and whirling him around to face him.
"You got in a fight?" he asked.
"I didn't do anything, Traven! It was Aamussen, that idiot. He hit me!" Damus was clearly upset.
"What did you do to make him so mad?" Traven asked patiently.
"Nothing! All I did was protest gagging the elf and he completely lost it on me." Damus said in his defense.
"Well, maybe it's better the gag stays in." Traven said.
"What?" Damus asked. "He won't be able to breathe!"
Traven snorted slightly. "He'll be fine, Damus. He won't even notice; he's unconscious. Besides, it's an awful lot quieter with it in. Shades, why are so protective over him anyway? It's not like you owe him anything, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Damus replied, "but I'm the only one here who'll look after him. And that's not a responsibility I can take lightly. I mean, if it were me in his position, I'd want someone to be looking out for me. So I guess I'm just treating him how I would want to be treated. It's a simple rule I try to live my life by, and things seem to work out for the better when I do."
"Yeah, except for when you end up in a fight at three in the morning with a man twice your size," Traven replied jokingly.
"Hey, I didn't start that fight," Damus said, "and Aamussen is not twice my size. I could have handled him easily."
Traven smiled. "Yeah, well, you better watch yourself, boy. You're not like the rest of us, you know? And the men are starting to see that. They're starting to notice that you're soft. If you're not careful, they're gonna throw you out."
"I'm not soft, Traven," Damus said firmly, "and I really don't think it would be such a shame if I were to get kicked out of the group. I'm starting to see myself that I don't belong with these men," he paused for a moment, "and I don't think you do either."
"What are you talking about, boy?" Traven replied irritably. "You don't know anything about me, so don't pretend to!" He turned quickly and stamped off to bed.
Damus stood staring after him, wondering why his comment had made him so upset. However, he was too tired to think it through at the moment, and decided it was time to return to bed. He gave the now gagged elf one last sympathetic look before turning around and silently making his way back to his bedding. He flopped down and rolled himself up in his cloak and quickly drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Another hour passed swiftly by, and Damus found himself once again being abruptly awoken from his peaceful slumber.
He sat up quickly, staring into the darkness. He knew it was once again a noise that had awoken him. He listened intently, wondering what it was. It sounded like a faint gagging noise; like someone was choking. It must be the elf, he thought frantically.
Damus quickly got up and rushed over to where the elf lay to see what was wrong with him. The elf was doubled over, coughing and choking through the gag, his chest heaving in a desperate effort to fill with air. Damus also noticed that his eyes were open. They looked stunned and bloodshot and didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. Damus could tell the elf wasn't conscious, despite his open eyes.
What's wrong with him? Damus wondered frantically. Why is he choking? Is the gag really blocking his airway?
Damus quickly knelt next to the elf and hurriedly untied the gag. As he pulled it out the elf continued to gasp and cough, struggling to breathe. Damus noticed it appeared as if the elf were trying to cough something up. He looked down at the rag in his hands. It was covered with blood. The elf was choking on his own blood.
He was about to call out for Traven when he realized that wouldn't be necessary; Traven was already at his side, examining the elf.
"What's wrong?" Traven asked, kneeling next to Damus.
"He's coughing up blood, Traven!" Damus replied anxiously. "What does that mean? Is he going to die?"
"Sit him up," Traven said, ignoring the younger man's questions. Together they pulled the elf into a sitting position and Traven leaned the elf's head down so he could cough the rest of the blood up, instead of having it block his airway. Traven lightly slapped the elf's back a few times, hoping that would encourage him to keep coughing.
"Is he dying?" Damus repeated, worry shining in his eyes.
"I don't know," Traven said uncertainly, slowly shaking his head "But coughing up blood is never a good sign. This elf needs a skilled healer to work on him. If he's going to live he needs to get back to Rivendell. He needs elvish medicine."
"That's why I've got to take him there first thing in the morning," Damus insisted. "We don't have time to deal with ransom, Traven!"
"We'll have time, boy. Don't worry, we'll have time," But the uncertainty he was feeling clearly registered in his voice as he turned his attention back to the delirious elf, still coughing and spitting up blood…
TBC
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A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. Life's been a bit hectic lately with the ending of the third term at school. Argh, I hate term-endings. They're soo stressful. But at least it means we're only one more term away from summer! Anyway, when it's not the end of the term at school, I still want to stick to my plan of at least one chapter a week, and I'd just like to say sorry ahead of time if a couple of weeks slip by without an update. I hope you liked this chapter. I had fun writing it. The more I write, the more I like Damus. He's a great guy, don't you think? I don't know what Elrohir would do without him. Maybe I should kill Damus off and then the story would get really angsty for Elrohir 'cause he would have no one to look after him. But, I don't know. I think I like Damus too much to let him die. Besides, who would want to kill him? He's too sweet ^_^ Anyway, sorry for rambling. Leave a review! Thanks!
Oh, and if you fans of the twins want to check out a pretty sweet picture I made of the twins, you can find a link to it on my bio page!
Review Responses:
Felice: Thanks so much for your review! I'm glad to hear you're liking the story so far! Just thought I'd leave you a note to let you know how happy your review made me! ^_^ Hope you liked chapter 7!
ien: Thanks so much for your suggestion! I'll take it into consideration. ;-)
Iawen Londea: Thanks for reviewing. It's nice to hear from a fellow writer of twin fiction. I came across your story "A Shot in the Dark" a while back, before I was a member of ff.net, and I absolutely love that story! You're a great writer!
dstrbd child: I'm glad to hear you're hooked to my story. That means you'll keep reading and reviewing, right? ;-)
lynn: I'm sorry chapter 7 took almost two weeks to post! I've just been really busy lately. Thanks for your comment, though. It's nice to know that someone out there is actually checking to see if I've updated or not ^_^
"Hello?!"
No answer.
He strained his memory, forcing himself to recall some details of what had led him here. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember anything of his past. All he knew at the moment was mist, fear, and loneliness.
And so he pushed himself on. Keep running, his mind told him. Something's after you. Something's trying to get you. Don't let it.
The mist shrouded down around him, becoming denser with every step he took. He couldn't see anything else; just the white, empty mist surrounding him, and the hard, cold ground beneath him.
It's getting closer, run harder!
His muddled mind continued trying to make sense of the situation while he pushed himself on.
Something's missing, he realized suddenly. There's a reason behind this desperate loneliness I'm feeling, but I can't remember what it is. Part of me is missing.
As if in answer to that thought, a figure suddenly began to materialize from out of the mist ahead of him. Elrohir slowed to a stop, watching curiously as the figure approached him.
It was an elf. Tall and dark, yet not fully-grown; he still had a playful, boyish look about him that was both intriguing and instantly likeable. He looked so familiar and yet Elrohir wasn't sure why. He continued to study and wonder about the elf until the elf suddenly brought his gaze up and made eye contact with him.
Elrohir felt an instant, unexplainable connection strike between them, and he suddenly understood who it was that stood in front of him. He couldn't believe he hadn't recognized him at first.
"Elladan," he whispered, feeling immeasurable relief and comfort spread instantly throughout his body, as memory of his twin came flooding back to him. How could I have forgotten? Elrohir asked himself. Elladan's my other half, my twin, the part of me that was missing. How did I forget?
Elrohir's mind was so mixed up and he couldn't seem to sort things out. Elladan's my brother, he reminded himself. My very best friend. I'm not alone anymore. I don't need to be afraid.
But as he watched his twin brother, part of the relief and comfort he was feeling began to fade. Elladan was looking at him with an odd expression—an amused smirk. It looked like the kind of smirk the twins reserved for each other when one had told on the other and was anticipating the moment of their punishment, which was usually a scornful lecture from their father. It seemed out of place for Elladan to be wearing that look in a situation like this, and it put Elrohir at unease and only caused him more confusion.
Elladan continued to smirk at Elrohir, not saying anything, just silently staring at him. It was as if he knew something Elrohir didn't, and he had no intention of sharing his secret with his twin.
"Elladan?" Elrohir said desperately, "What is it?"
"You left me, 'Ro," Elladan whispered, the absurd smile still pasted to his face. "You broke our promise. You're lost."
Elrohir had a vague remembrance of what Elladan was talking about, but still, he could not connect any of the events that were swimming around in his memory with what was actually happening at the moment. He didn't quite know why, but he strongly felt that he owed his twin an apology.
"I'm sorry, Elladan," he pleaded. "I…I had to." Had to what? he wondered. Again, he felt his thoughts slipping away into meaningless confusion. Why can't I think clearly? he asked himself. Why is everything so mixed up?
"It's too late for apologies, Elrohir," Elladan said. "You're lost. You left me. You're dying," he stopped and raised his hand to point at something behind Elrohir. "Look at what's in store for you now," he said, and with those words Elladan abruptly faded away, back into the mist from whence he had come.
"Elladan, don't leave me!" Elrohir pleaded desperately. "Please…don't go…" his fear and confusion was starting to take a toll on him and he felt hot tears sting his eyes.
"Elladan…"
Elrohir stood still, staring at the ground through bleary vision. Elladan, he thought, I need you here with me. I'm so afraid. I'm so alone. Why did you leave? Where did you go?
Suddenly, Elrohir felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Something was approaching him. He suddenly remembered how he was being pursued by something unknown and that he had stopped running in order to talk to his twin. He also remembered Elladan pointing to something behind him just before he had disappeared. 'Look at what's in store for you now…' The words echoed in Elrohir's mind.
Fearfully Elrohir turned around, dreading what he would see. His breath caught in his chest.
A tall figure, cloaked and hooded in the deepest black Elrohir had ever seen was towering over him, looking down at him from a dark empty void within the hood. Elrohir wasn't sure if there was a face in there or not, but if there was, he certainly did not to see what it looked like.
Elrohir couldn't move for fear. He stood there, gaping at the figure, wondering what it was and what it wanted. Am I going to die, he wondered vaguely. Is it going to kill me?
The black figure began to move. Slowly, it stretched its arm out, reaching for Elrohir.
Don't touch me! Elrohir thought, panicking. He wanted to shout the words but he couldn't; they were stuck in his throat. Do something! his brain screamed at him. Don't just stand there! Get away! Run!
But Elrohir couldn't run. He couldn't even move.
And so he just stood there, his eyes wide and watching as the dark arm continued to reach out towards him. He squinted his eyes shut, not wanting to see what it was going to do to him.
He suddenly felt instant coldness make contact with his chest and his eyes snapped open, glancing anxiously down at his body. What he saw made him gasp.
The dark arm had reached into him, actually passing through his skin as if it were a ghost. Elrohir's breath quickened and he felt a single tear slip down his cheek. What is it doing to me, he wondered vaguely, his mind numb with fear.
He gasped as he felt icy cold fingers slowly wrap around his heart.
No, Elrohir thought. No, please stop. Please don't do it. He glanced up quickly at the dark figure, his face a pleading mixture of dread and fear.
The dark figure, however, showed no signs of possessing any mercy. It's dark arm, still cruelly gripping Elrohir's heart, suddenly yanked back.
Elrohir's scream was a silent thought that melted into blackness…
* * *
"I got it," Traven said, triumphantly holding up a blood-soaked arrow tip, still connected to about four inches of broken shaft.
Damus eyed it wearily, grateful the operation was finally over. He was sitting next to the elf's head, firmly pinning his arms and shoulders down, while another man pinned the elf's legs, for the elf wouldn't stop thrashing around, lost in his feverish dreams as he was.
"Do you think he felt it?" Damus asked, recalling how the elf had screamed when Traven had pulled the arrow out.
"Nah, I doubt it," Traven replied, glancing down at the unconscious elf.
"That must be one horrible nightmare he's having, then. He seems miserable," Damus said, referring to the elf's continuous thrashing and moans of distress, "I wish we could wake him up." Damus knew that any attempts to rouse the elf would be useless, for the elf was poisoned and would most likely be unconscious for a while, until his system could fight the poison and feverish delusions off.
"No, it's better that he stays unconscious," Traven replied, "We're not done yet." He pressed a wad of cloth against the elf's wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. "Damus, hand me some king's foil from out of that pouch there," he said pointing to the pouch at Damus' side.
Damus complied and handed one of the freshly picked weeds to Traven. King's foil, or athelas, was probably the most useful herb when it came to healing poisoned wounds. Damus had learned this from Traven a while back, when a fellow outlaw of theirs had also suffered from an orc-inflicted wound.
Damus watched, still firmly pinning the elf down, as Traven mashed the plant between his fingers and inserted it into the wound on the elf's shoulder. The elf cried out again, trying harder to free himself from the grips of the men that held him. Damus glanced at the man pinning the elf's feet. He looked tired, and quite bored of holding the thrashing elf still. He should be tired, Damus thought. It's probably well after midnight and we've been working on the elf for over a half-hour now. Damus looked around at the rest of the camp. Most of the men were already fast asleep, rolled up in their cloaks and blankets, their chests rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Two fires were still merrily crackling away; one, just a few feet away, was providing sufficient lighting for Traven to work on the elf, and the other, several yards away, was providing warmth for several men that had not yet gone to bed. Damus noticed that Barelus, the leader of their band of outlaws, was among the men surrounding the fire, talking in a low voice and occasionally sending furtive glances their way. They hadn't yet discussed what was to be done with the elf, and Damus knew that the reason Barelus was still up was so that they could have that discussion after Traven was done healing the elf. Damus was a little apprehensive about the discussion that was to come. After all, it was his idea to bring the elf back to camp, and if Barelus was angry about that, his anger would most likely be directed towards Damus. But Damus didn't really care. All he cared about was getting the elf safely back to his family in Rivendell, and if it was going to be all up to him to do so, well then, so be it. He couldn't bear the thought of the elf's family members suffering as he had suffered when his family was killed. And it must be worse for the elf's family, he thought, because they don't know where he is. They know nothing of his current situation. Not knowing must be the worst.
Damus brought his thoughts back to the present situation and glanced down to see what Traven was doing. He watched as Traven finished binding the wound with a relatively clean cloth and then sat back and wiped his forehead.
"Alright," Traven said, examining his work, "I've done what I can for him."
"Will he be alright, then?" Damus asked, glancing at the colorless face of the elf. He loosened his hold on the elf's arms and shoulders and noticed the man at his feet do the same. Even after Traven was done, the elf continued to thrash around in his sleep, occasionally mumbling and calling out incoherent words. However, through all his feverish babbling there was one word the elf kept repeating that was quite easy to understand: 'Elladan.' Damus wondered what it meant, or who it was. It must be someone very dear to him, he thought, or the elf wouldn't keep repeating it.
"I don't know," Traven replied, bringing Damus' attention back to him, "The poison is still in his system. The athelas should help, but ultimately it's going to be up to him to fight it off," he glanced down uncertainly at the unconscious elf.
"Then you mean there's still a chance that he might die?" Damus asked worriedly.
Traven gave him an annoyed look. "Of course there's still a chance he might die. He was shot with a poisoned arrow, Damus. I'm not a performer of miracles, you know. If the elf dies, he dies." He shrugged. "So what?"
Damus stared at him. "You don't really mean that," he said. "If you really didn't care so much whether the elf lived or died you wouldn't have worked so hard on patching him up."
Traven looked at him angrily.
"I mean, look at him Traven. How can you honestly say that you do not pity him?" Damus asked.
They both glanced down at the distressed elf, examining his fair ashen face, and listening to his desperate moans of feverish agony.
As Traven watched the unconscious elf he couldn't help feeling a sharp pang of pity touch his heart. He suddenly realized that it really would be quite a shame if such a pure and innocent creature were to die.
"Tomorrow I'm going to take him back to Rivendell," Damus announced suddenly, still watching the elf.
"What?" Traven asked, fixing his gaze on the younger man.
"His family must be worried sick, Traven," Damus said looking at his friend, "He needs to go back."
"Your motives may be noble, boy," Traven replied, "but they are not the only ones to take into account,"
"What?" Damus asked, "What are you talking about?" He studied his friend's face closely, reading his expression, and slowly came to a realization.
"Oh, I see," Damus said slowly, his eyes slightly narrowing. "You had your own motives for bringing the elf back to camp, didn't you," his voice sounded accusing, "Tell me, what are they, Traven? What benefit do you hope to gain at the expense of this helpless elf?"
Traven's eyes sparked with guilt, but he was spared having to answer the accusing young man, for at that moment Barelus appeared their side, looking down at the unconscious figure on the ground.
"So, you took care of him?" he asked brusquely, gesturing at the elf.
Traven nodded, "I did what I could for him. He might be alright, but it's still too early to tell."
Barelus nodded his understanding. "So explain," he demanded.
Damus and Traven briefly glanced at each other.
"Explain what?" Damus asked.
"Explain why you brought him to camp. Explain what you want us to do with him." Barelus said impatiently.
"We brought him to camp to save his life," Damus said boldly. "He would have died out there without receiving any medical care."
"So, you brought him back to our camp, to use up our resources, just to save his worthless life?" Barelus asked angrily. "What's the meaning of this, Damus? In case you've forgotten, we're outlaws. We can't afford to help other people. Especially not dying elves. What's gotten into your head, boy?"
"Barelus," Traven interrupted, placing his hand on his companion's back and walking him several feet away from a distraught-looking Damus, "I tried to tell the boy the same thing," he explained, "but he refused to leave the elf to die. He said it wouldn't be fair for the elf's family, and you know how Damus is about family," he added in a low voice.
Barelus gave a slight nod, waiting for Traven to get to his point.
"Anyway," Traven continued, "when Damus mentioned the elf's family, I got to thinkin'. And I came to the conclusion that this here elf could end up bein' very useful to us."
"How?" Barelus asked, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"Ransom," Traven replied, as if the answer should have been obvious. "We offer the elf's family a price to get their precious boy back safely. If they pay up, we give him to them. If not, then we kill him and lose nothing."
Barelus thought the situation through, the wheels in his head turning slowly. After a few moments a grin appeared on his face and he clapped his companion on the back heartily.
"I like the way you think, Traven," he said laughing. "We could fetch a fair price for the boy, couldn't we?"
"I should say so," Traven replied, "Elves only have eternity to accumulate their wealth."
Barelus laughed harder. "Eternity indeed! Ransom it is then." He clapped Traven once more on the back, and then, still lightly chuckling, he went off to bed.
Traven turned back to Damus to find him staring incredulously at him.
"Ransom?" Damus asked. "You want us to sell the elf back to his family?"
Traven shrugged, "Why not?"
"Why not?! Because that's ridiculous!" Damus answered heatedly, "It's wrong and cruel, Traven, and you know it!"
Traven narrowed his eyes impatiently at the younger man. "It's a good way to get some gold, that's what it is. Who do you think you are, Damus? You're just a foolish boy. Goodness knows how you're going to survive in this world. You won't even consent to ransom, which is practically harmless."
Damus shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you, Traven. And I actually thought that you wanted to bring the elf back to camp out of the goodness of your heart. I see now that I should have known better." He turned away angrily and knelt next to the elf.
Traven opened his mouth, wanting to tell Damus that he really didn't see that ransom would cause any harm, but he shut it again, frustrated that the boy was actually making him feel guilty. I shouldn't apologize to him, he thought. He's just a foolish boy. But still, why does he have to be so irritatingly righteous? It hardly makes any sense. He glanced down at the young man laying a comforting hand on the elf's forehead. He shook his head in exasperation and stalked off to bed.
Damus sat with his hand gently pressed against the elf's forehead. He was concerned about the elf's high fever that was showing no signs of receding. His skin seemed to have grown even hotter in the last hour or so, and Damus wasn't sure what to do about it. The elf was still tossing around and Damus was quite sure the fever was the cause of this. He tried to calm the elf down, tried to get him to hold still for a moment so he could dab his forehead with a wet cloth, but his efforts were to no avail. The elf was delusional, and Damus had no clue how to treat that. Even Traven, who was a considerably good healer, didn't know what to do about the fever. Just let it run its course, he had said.
The elf was still mumbling nonsense as well, and Damus noticed that his voice sounded frightened and confused. Poor kid, Damus thought. He's as clueless of his whereabouts as his family is.
Yawning, Damus decided he had best go to bed since he would most likely have to be prepared for a long journey to Rivendell in the morning. Even if it was by means of ransom, at least the elf would make it back to his family, and that thought comforted Damus. He didn't want the elf to die, and he didn't want his family to suffer the grief of having him missing. He didn't really know why he cared so much, he just did. He couldn't help it. After experiencing the pain of losing his own family, he vowed he would do all he could to help others not have to go through what he did. It just wasn't right that people should have to suffer so.
He stood up and, leaning down, he adjusted the wadded cloak beneath the elf's head, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. He noticed the elf's chest was still bare and realized he might freeze during the remainder of the night. Rather than struggle with trying to dress the unconscious elf, however, he decided it would just be easier to throw a thick blanket over him and tuck the edges in underneath him. That also might prevent him from thrashing around as well, he thought. So Damus did just that, and when he was done, he decided it was definitely time for him to get some sleep.
He trudged over to the edge of the camp and, after tiredly pulling off his boots, rolled up in his cloak and was asleep in moments.
* * *
He awoke about an hour later. Gradually opening his eyes, he immediately noticed it was still dark. At first he didn't know what had caused him to wake, but after only a moment or two, the reason became clear to him. It was the elf. He was calling out louder than ever and thrashing around uncontrollably. Damus got up as fast as his tired body would allow him and rushed over to where the distressed elf lay, clearly suffering from another fit of delusional nightmares.
He stood staring at the elf, not knowing what to do.
"Shut him up, will you?" a groggy voice called through the darkness.
"Yeah, what's goin' on?" another tired voice asked, "I'm tryin' to sleep!"
Damus continued to stand there, staring at the distressed elf, not knowing what to do to calm or quiet him down.
A nearby man grunted and got to his feet. "I'll take care of this," he said angrily.
Damus watched as he man hastily approached the elf, clearly having lost his temper by having his sleep disrupted. He kicked the elf roughly, cursing at him and telling him to shut up.
"Stop!" Damus shouted at him, "Can't you see he's sick?"
The man pushed Damus away. "So what if he's sick? He's keeping the whole camp up! How are we supposed to get any sleep around here with this racket he's making?" He reached down and snatched up the rag that Damus had tried to wipe the elf's brow with earlier. Convinced it would serve a better purpose as a gag, the man roughly shoved it into the elf's mouth and tied it tightly behind his head. The elf's moans were sufficiently muffled through the thick cloth, and satisfied, the man turned back to Damus.
"You take that out and I'll beat you, understand?" he asked.
Damus looked at him with hard, dark eyes, not saying anything.
"Understand?!" the man repeated angrily. He lashed out suddenly and slugged Damus across the jaw.
Damus' head snapped to the side, and faint stars flitted across his vision. Anger erupted in him almost as fast as pain did. He couldn't believe that idiot had just hit him. He drew back, preparing to return a vicious blow to the man, when suddenly he felt someone grasp his arm and roughly twist it behind his back, holding him tight and preventing him from continuing the fight.
"What's going on?" It was Traven.
Damus struggled, trying to break free from Traven's grasp, wanting more than anything to get even with the man that had slugged him.
"Calm down, Damus," Traven said, holding him firmly. He glanced at the man that had hit Damus. "I've got him. Go back to bed."
The man obeyed and silently stalked away.
"What's going on?" Traven repeated, finally releasing Damus and whirling him around to face him.
"You got in a fight?" he asked.
"I didn't do anything, Traven! It was Aamussen, that idiot. He hit me!" Damus was clearly upset.
"What did you do to make him so mad?" Traven asked patiently.
"Nothing! All I did was protest gagging the elf and he completely lost it on me." Damus said in his defense.
"Well, maybe it's better the gag stays in." Traven said.
"What?" Damus asked. "He won't be able to breathe!"
Traven snorted slightly. "He'll be fine, Damus. He won't even notice; he's unconscious. Besides, it's an awful lot quieter with it in. Shades, why are so protective over him anyway? It's not like you owe him anything, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Damus replied, "but I'm the only one here who'll look after him. And that's not a responsibility I can take lightly. I mean, if it were me in his position, I'd want someone to be looking out for me. So I guess I'm just treating him how I would want to be treated. It's a simple rule I try to live my life by, and things seem to work out for the better when I do."
"Yeah, except for when you end up in a fight at three in the morning with a man twice your size," Traven replied jokingly.
"Hey, I didn't start that fight," Damus said, "and Aamussen is not twice my size. I could have handled him easily."
Traven smiled. "Yeah, well, you better watch yourself, boy. You're not like the rest of us, you know? And the men are starting to see that. They're starting to notice that you're soft. If you're not careful, they're gonna throw you out."
"I'm not soft, Traven," Damus said firmly, "and I really don't think it would be such a shame if I were to get kicked out of the group. I'm starting to see myself that I don't belong with these men," he paused for a moment, "and I don't think you do either."
"What are you talking about, boy?" Traven replied irritably. "You don't know anything about me, so don't pretend to!" He turned quickly and stamped off to bed.
Damus stood staring after him, wondering why his comment had made him so upset. However, he was too tired to think it through at the moment, and decided it was time to return to bed. He gave the now gagged elf one last sympathetic look before turning around and silently making his way back to his bedding. He flopped down and rolled himself up in his cloak and quickly drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Another hour passed swiftly by, and Damus found himself once again being abruptly awoken from his peaceful slumber.
He sat up quickly, staring into the darkness. He knew it was once again a noise that had awoken him. He listened intently, wondering what it was. It sounded like a faint gagging noise; like someone was choking. It must be the elf, he thought frantically.
Damus quickly got up and rushed over to where the elf lay to see what was wrong with him. The elf was doubled over, coughing and choking through the gag, his chest heaving in a desperate effort to fill with air. Damus also noticed that his eyes were open. They looked stunned and bloodshot and didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. Damus could tell the elf wasn't conscious, despite his open eyes.
What's wrong with him? Damus wondered frantically. Why is he choking? Is the gag really blocking his airway?
Damus quickly knelt next to the elf and hurriedly untied the gag. As he pulled it out the elf continued to gasp and cough, struggling to breathe. Damus noticed it appeared as if the elf were trying to cough something up. He looked down at the rag in his hands. It was covered with blood. The elf was choking on his own blood.
He was about to call out for Traven when he realized that wouldn't be necessary; Traven was already at his side, examining the elf.
"What's wrong?" Traven asked, kneeling next to Damus.
"He's coughing up blood, Traven!" Damus replied anxiously. "What does that mean? Is he going to die?"
"Sit him up," Traven said, ignoring the younger man's questions. Together they pulled the elf into a sitting position and Traven leaned the elf's head down so he could cough the rest of the blood up, instead of having it block his airway. Traven lightly slapped the elf's back a few times, hoping that would encourage him to keep coughing.
"Is he dying?" Damus repeated, worry shining in his eyes.
"I don't know," Traven said uncertainly, slowly shaking his head "But coughing up blood is never a good sign. This elf needs a skilled healer to work on him. If he's going to live he needs to get back to Rivendell. He needs elvish medicine."
"That's why I've got to take him there first thing in the morning," Damus insisted. "We don't have time to deal with ransom, Traven!"
"We'll have time, boy. Don't worry, we'll have time," But the uncertainty he was feeling clearly registered in his voice as he turned his attention back to the delirious elf, still coughing and spitting up blood…
TBC
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A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. Life's been a bit hectic lately with the ending of the third term at school. Argh, I hate term-endings. They're soo stressful. But at least it means we're only one more term away from summer! Anyway, when it's not the end of the term at school, I still want to stick to my plan of at least one chapter a week, and I'd just like to say sorry ahead of time if a couple of weeks slip by without an update. I hope you liked this chapter. I had fun writing it. The more I write, the more I like Damus. He's a great guy, don't you think? I don't know what Elrohir would do without him. Maybe I should kill Damus off and then the story would get really angsty for Elrohir 'cause he would have no one to look after him. But, I don't know. I think I like Damus too much to let him die. Besides, who would want to kill him? He's too sweet ^_^ Anyway, sorry for rambling. Leave a review! Thanks!
Oh, and if you fans of the twins want to check out a pretty sweet picture I made of the twins, you can find a link to it on my bio page!
Review Responses:
Felice: Thanks so much for your review! I'm glad to hear you're liking the story so far! Just thought I'd leave you a note to let you know how happy your review made me! ^_^ Hope you liked chapter 7!
ien: Thanks so much for your suggestion! I'll take it into consideration. ;-)
Iawen Londea: Thanks for reviewing. It's nice to hear from a fellow writer of twin fiction. I came across your story "A Shot in the Dark" a while back, before I was a member of ff.net, and I absolutely love that story! You're a great writer!
dstrbd child: I'm glad to hear you're hooked to my story. That means you'll keep reading and reviewing, right? ;-)
lynn: I'm sorry chapter 7 took almost two weeks to post! I've just been really busy lately. Thanks for your comment, though. It's nice to know that someone out there is actually checking to see if I've updated or not ^_^
