Okay, firstly, allow me to express my extreme remorse for not having posted in such a horribly long time! Secondly, I am actually very deeply touched. Several people sent messages asking if I was alright, and I really appreciate it.:) I did go through a rough period in the past couple months, involving a serious breakup and for a while I just couldn't write anything. I know that it is not a good excuse, but I really am sorry for the long delay and I hope that everyone enjoys the next chapter.:) I should be able to resume my normal posting schedule now, (please no cracks about expecting the next chapter next year.:)) and I am looking forward to finishing up this story! Woohoo!

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Aragorn watched with a mixture of relief and frustration as Halith leapt forward to stab the warg. The ranger knew he had seconds to find an escape. His options were very limited, to say the least. Silver eyes darted to the edge of the cliff. About fifteen feet down, there was a ledge large enough for a man. Did he dare it?

Halith's single eye was concentrated on the warg at his feet. The villain was busy pulling his sword free. The ranger grasped the trunk of the tree nearest to him and started to haul himself upright. His crutch was useless; it was almost in two pieces from the blow he had laid upon the larger warg. A hiss of combined pain and frustration escaped his lips as his broken leg let him know in no uncertain terms that it did not enjoy being jostled.

Halith looked up at the slight sound and his dark, cruel eye met Aragorn's silver ones. The old man was breathing hard, his chest heaving. Blood dripped gently from the blade in his gnarled hands. The villain's fingers clenched tightly around the hilt and Aragorn knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he could, Halith would have loved to plunge the blade through Aragorn's heart.

The ranger glared back at him fiercely, teeth bared as he ground them together to stop from screaming. Halith's feeling of hatred was entirely mutual. Aragorn remembered what this man had done. Years had passed and he had not been able to forget the sight of Legolas crumpled on the forest floor, left for dead by the men that had beaten him.

He had not forgotten his brothers and the wounds they had received when they had disregarded their own well being and tracked him.

He had not forgotten his own pain and the scars he bore to this day.

Now, Halith would do even worse than he had already done. He would bring the Hope of Men to stand before the dark throne of Mordor.

"I warned you, ranger." Halith sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. The old man's face was twisted with rage, but he was in control of himself. "I promised you that I would make you regret trying to escape." He took a step forward, intent upon his supposed prey. "I intend to keep that promise."

Aragorn swiftly calculated his chances of survival if he allowed himself to be recaptured.

None.

The booted heel of his left foot edged backwards slightly.

The chances if he took the other option? Not very high…but they existed.

Aragorn forced a smile to spread across his face. It was not a pleasant smile. "I do not think so." He said quietly.

A blank look crossed Halith's face for only the fraction of a second before the villain realized what Aragorn intended. He lunged, but the former corsair was too late. Aragorn's left leg had already swung backwards over the edge of the cliff.

For one eternal moment, the ranger saw Halith's gnarled hands grasping for him. It was like everything had dropped into slow motion. Aragorn could see with perfect clarity every line, crease, and scar that had etched itself upon Halith's hands as they drew closer…

Closer…

Then time snapped back into the normal speed and Aragorn felt his stomach leap up into his throat as Halith's hands were replaced with sky, then upside down landscape, then cliff face…

He was tumbling in a backwards flip. And if he had one moment to spare, he would use it to be very, very sick. However, he did not have that moment. He had to pay attention or else he would miss the ledge he knew should be THERE!

One hand seized the edge of the rock face bringing him to an abrupt halt and slamming his body into the cliff. If Aragorn thought that he had been in pain before, it was nothing to what he was now. Blackness and stars floated around the edges of his vision and he realized with a start that he was horribly close to passing out. He couldn't do that! The hand that was holding him in place was already slipping free as his consciousness decided that reality was far far too painful at the moment and things would be much better in an hour or two.

Only, if he lost his senses now there would never be another hour. Aragorn tried to reason with himself, but the crippling waves of pain raging from his leg and nearly dislocated arm were presenting a much more formidable argument.

To his horror, the ranger felt his fingers slowly slide free even as blackness swallowed his vision and prevented him from seeing it with his own eyes.

0-0-0-0

Halith lunged, but was too late. His hands were left grasping air as Strider dropped over the edge. Landing on his knees, the former corsair swiftly crawled forward and looked down…

He saw the ranger seize hold of a ledge, halting his abrupt fall. The slender body crashed against the rock face and hung there for a moment. Halith felt his mouth drop open. It was amazing that the man had held on through that. His pain tolerance had to be phenomenal…

Just as the thought was crossing Halith's mind, Strider's fingers slipped. The man fell once more, and crashed into another, smaller ledge. His limp form left the villain no doubt that he had lost consciousness. That might make things easier; it might make them more difficult. Was he even alive? He had better be.

The old man pounded his fist against the ground. Why did everything have to be so difficult? The wargs had been bad enough, but now this! This would cost them hours, if not the entire day. First, he would have to find his men, and various deities only knew how long that would take. Someone would have to rappel down to the ranger and then the prisoner would have to be hoisted up the cliff face.

Halith eyed Strider warily. He was fairly certain that the man was trapped upon the ledge. He had no rope, nor any other climbing gear, and his leg had to be even more damaged from the fall. It was probably safe for Halith to leave him there and be certain of his presence when the former corsair returned.

Probably.

Halith groaned softly to himself as he stood. 'Probably' was not his preferred odds, but it seemed he had no choice. He certainly could not retrieve the ranger by himself. At the very least he would have to return to the campsite and fetch some rope from one of the packs.

With a deep sigh, the villain strode back the way he had come, wiping his sword as he went. The only thing he could do now was make sure that he traveled at double speed. His dark brows drew together in a fierce scowl, the single eye gleaming with cruel intent. Strider was going to pay for the loss of time.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn was afloat in a cloud of darkness. He knew this place very well. He had been here many, many times before. This was the place of unconsciousness where he became aware that he was not awake, and knew that he was about to rejoin the land of the living. Usually, this realization was followed by a great deal of pain.

Ah, yes, there it was.

Silver eyes flew wide as the ranger woke with a gasp. Some instinct kept him lying still instead of trying to rise immediately, and it was a very fortunate thing. The few seconds he remained lying on his back allowed him to get his bearings. He was positioned on a small ledge, from which he could easily roll off of at any moment. How had he gotten here? He remembered falling, and catching hold of a ledge, but he did not remember pulling himself up on one.

The ranger tried to sit up, but no matter how slowly he moved his leg, it still screamed that it was not at all ready to be shifted. Fine. He wasn't in a hurry to move anyway. Aragorn allowed himself to sink back with a sigh. Silver eyes stared upwards, and he was slightly shocked to see that the sun was already past its zenith and moving towards the West.

Just how long had he been here?

One thing was certain, however long he had remained unconscious, he could no longer stay where he was.

The dark-haired man peered over the edge and sighed dismally. This was not the path he would have chosen. However, beggars could not be choosers. With painstaking slowness, the ranger forced his aching body into a sitting position, his back against the cliff face, legs dangling over the ledge.

Oh, he didn't know if he was going to be able to do this. Sweat had already broken out across his forehead and his teeth were literally grinding against each other as he fought to keep from screaming. Aragorn leaned his head back against the rocks and took a deep breath. One hand swiped halfheartedly at the dark strands falling over his silver eyes, but he was in too much pain to care overly much about the state of his hair.

He knew that if he sat for too much longer his body would be well on the way to convincing his mind that it was much better to just stay here. He couldn't do that. Not if he wanted to have any real chance of escaping.

Sword-callused hands grasped the rock face tightly as Aragorn ever so slowly shifted his weight off of the ledge and allowed himself to dangle, supported only by the muscle in his arms.

As he had expected, it was very uncomfortable, and it would not get any better. This was not the path he would have chosen. His escape rested entirely in the strength of his arms. Now, he knew that he could climb the rock face using only his arms and resting occasionally. He had done so before.

Of course, that had been a long time ago when he was still young and stupid and thought that he would never die…

The barest hint of a smile flitted over Aragorn's bearded face. His brothers had been opposed to the scheme naturally. Of course, then he had only been Estel, and his boyish pride was hurt when they even suggested that he was not strong enough for such an endeavor. He had proved them wrong at great risk to his life. The twins had been so furious! The smile widened slightly. He could still remember Elladan bellowing at him. Stupid, half-witted, reckless, and moronic were some of the tamer names the elder twin had hurled at him. Of course, he had most likely missed a few of the titles aimed at his person despite the fact that Elladan had been yelling them loudly enough for all of middle earth to hear. The reason being that at the same time Elladan had been bawling his youngest brother out he had also been shaking the young human quite hard. Aragorn actually grinned. Yes, he believed that he had missed the entire second half of the eldest twin's diatribe due to the ringing in his ears.

The grin turned to a grimace. This was not good. Not only were his arms burning already, but also there was a sharp ache piercing his right shoulder. Aragorn's mouth tightened ever so slightly. He must have jolted his shoulder when he caught himself. That would not help things.

The ranger dug the toe of his right foot into a crevice and rested his weight on it as he searched for a new handhold.

Now, if he was going to climb a cliff without rope and limited use of his legs, this was definitely the one he would choose. Unfortunately, being the most suitable for such actions did not make the actions in and of themselves 'suitable'. Especially with his left leg. Every tiny motion seemed to send jolts of agony traveling up from his calf all the way through his thigh and then just for good measure they decided to continue the journey, ascending into his spinal cord.

Not pleasant. Not one bit.

Aragorn growled softly. Blast Halith! The old villain had certainly done his best to insure that the ranger would not be able to escape. Silver eyes darted to the top of the cliff. Halith was not there, but that did not ease the dark-haired man's fears. Where was he? Where had he gone? To fetch the rest of his men? Seeing Strider unconscious might have lulled him into a false sense of security. He might have assumed that the ranger would not be able to go any further after a fall like that.

He had underestimated his opponent if that was the case.

But by how much?

Dark strands of hair kept falling across his eyes, distracting him. This was not a time when he could afford to be distracted. A small shelf below had already drawn his attention. If he could make it there he could rest for a moment. A moment was all he could afford.

By the time he had lowered himself onto the narrow strip, his biceps were screaming in protest. It had been a long time since he had asked this much of his body. Silver eyes squeezed themselves shut as Aragorn forced himself to think of something else…anything else…

His mind turned to the last occasion when he had clung to a cliff face. How old had he been then? Sixteen? Seventeen? The dark-haired man stretched his arms over his head slowly, keeping them from seizing up as he rested.

It was a tradition for the young elves of Imladris. The elder elves did their best to discourage the feat (despite the great number that had completed the task themselves). An elf soon to reach his majority of years would travel to the cliffs, usually in the company of an elder brother, or if no brother existed, a friend that had already completed the task.

Usually, the elf in question would use ropes for a safety, but not for leverage. They would climb down from the top, using only their arms.

Aragorn swiped his forehead. Sweat was trickling down his face and back. Already, his shirt clung to him like a second skin. The ranger grasped a rocky outcrop firmly as he resumed his descent.

Once he had heard of the tradition, the young human had insisted upon trying it. Aragorn could see Elladan in his mind's eye, dark eyebrows drawn together in a ferocious scowl. The elder elf had expressed his…strong belief…that Estel would not be capable of the task and that to try was an unnecessary risk. Actually, (a short chuckle escaped the ranger's lips as he remembered) Elladan had loudly questioned Estel's sanity using several words the young man had logged away to add to his own growing supply of obscenities. Aragorn dug the fingers of his right hand into a narrow crack. He had only known that they were uncouth words because Elrond had coldly reprimanded his eldest child for using such language. Though Estel had been heartened for a moment by his father's cold tone towards Elladan his hope swiftly faded. While Elrond might not agree with his firstborn's means of communication, the message was no different coming from the lord of Imladris. Estel was not to be allowed to attempt the climb.

Aragorn hung for a moment, searching for his next handhold and gritting his teeth as his shoulders began to scream in protest.

He had briefly sought for sympathy from Elrohir, and sympathy he had received. Unfortunately for him, sympathy did not convert to assistance. Elrohir was as firmly convinced as his twin that Estel should not be allowed to climb the cliffs.

Aragorn shook his head as he remembered his past actions. He had been so hurt in his perception that they thought him weak. He had believed that they were convinced of his ineptitude, and had set out to prove them wrong. Foolish. Little had he known that every parent in Imladris had refused their child the tradition. Elrond's unwillingness to let him try had not stemmed from Estel's being human, but from a natural wish to protect his child by forbidding him to take an unnecessary and foolish risk. The ranger wondered briefly if he had known then that Elrond had also forbidden the twins to attempt the climb when they were younger if it would have made a difference…

His palms were sweating, making his grip unsteady. Aragorn swallowed hard. If he slipped now, he had no doubt it would mean his death.

The first time he had tried to descend his palms had been sweating too. Of course, he had come without the traditional escort. And without the ropes.

Eager to prove himself, the young man had snuck out in the dead of night and traveled on his own to the cliffs. Looking back on his actions, Aragorn wondered how on earth he had survived. Perhaps it was not so unusual. After all, the twins had taught him to hunt, so he had not starved, and it had only been six years after the battle of the five armies so the goblins of the Misty Mountains had been very subdued. Also, and he winced as he remembered, he had chosen a time when the twins had been absent and had left a note for his father telling Elrond that he was intending to go hunting and would not be back home for several days.

His left leg bumped against the rocks and Aragorn hissed as pain flared. He did not know exactly what had happened, but somehow, the twins had discovered his plan. They arrived in time to find him halfway down the cliff.

Aragorn braced his right leg for a moment, allowing it to take his weight off exhausted arms. He leaned his face into the cliff, breathing heavily. Dark hair clung to his forehead, wet with sweat. He could feel the fabric of his shirt clinging to his back with the perspiration of his exertions. His arms were trembling from the strain and the ranger gritted his teeth together. A wry look lit his silver eyes with amusement for a fleeting moment. He did not remember the climb being this difficult. Of course, he had been many years younger at the time and uninjured.

Upon catching up to him, his brothers had known better than to distract the young man by calling to him. Instead, they had waited until he had completed his task. He winced now, knowing how they must have held their breaths every time he paused, trying to find a hold. Every time he almost lost his grip. But he had made it. Oh how proud he had been. Stuffed up with it until he was likely to burst. He had finished the climb. Even though he wasn't an elf, he had managed. Wouldn't that show Elladan and Elrohir. Now they would know that he was just as strong as they were…

The elves had descended the cliff themselves, knowing that it would be faster than taking the path through the foothills. A good two days faster. Estel had decided to camp at the base, then take the path back through the Misty Mountains the next morning. His brothers had appeared out of the darkness, stepping into the light of his fire.

Aragorn shuddered slightly even now as he remembered. He had risen from his seat, happy to see them. Happy that he would have a chance to brag about his accomplishment so soon. The happiness had lasted until the moment he had truly looked into their faces.

The gleam of elf lords hung about them. Wrath was kindled in their gray eyes and their faces were fair and terrible to look upon.

The young human had stepped back quickly, but he had not been fast enough to avoid the clutches of his eldest brother. With a single graceful leap, Elladan had cleared the fire and caught hold Estel.

Aragorn felt his fingers sliding and tightened his grip. He knew now that he had richly deserved the scolding Elladan had given him, but at the time it had seemed blown far out of proportion. Now, he knew that his being human had very little to do with the twins' worry.

They had been worried because they loved him like a brother, and the climb was dangerous.

They had been worried because they had no desire to see him hurt.

The ranger winced as a sharp edge of rock dug into his palm. Silver eyes flashed with annoyance. One would think that with the overwhelming agony flaring from his broken leg and the pulsing ache coming from his shoulder he would be immune to such small discomforts as a rough handhold. That's how things should be in his opinion. However, as he well knew, the world was not fair. If the world was fair, given the extraordinary amount of bad luck he had run into, for the next few years everything should run smoothly. For example, he would have no trouble reaching the bottom of the cliffs, his leg would miraculously heal overnight, Halith would succumb to some sort of heart seizure and the twins would be completely fine with the man they had long looked upon as their younger brother courting their sister.

Aragorn giggled softly. Perhaps the pain was making him a little lightheaded. He knew his luck better than most. If there was a difficult situation to be found, he would find it. Legolas had long blamed the ranger for every mishap that had ever befallen the two friends when they traveled together. The ranger sighed as he slid one hand into a crevice. Unfortunately, Legolas was usually right. Not always, but usually. Aragorn was simply a draw for misfortune.

Perhaps the Valar had not forgotten Isildur's misdeeds and sought to take their vengeance on the last king of Gondor's only descendant.

Given his luck, not only would he probably not make it to the bottom of the cliffs, but at about this moment…

"OI!"

Startled, the ranger's head jerked up. He could see the top of the cliff, and more importantly, he could see the eight men looking down at him.

Aragorn could have cracked his forehead against the rocks if he thought it would do him any good at all. As he had just been thinking, it was about time for Halith to show up again.

And so he had.

0-0-0-0

Halith's fingers clenched around the length of rope he had flung over his shoulder so hard his knuckles were turning white. He had experienced a moment of panic on returning to the cliff, looking down and not seeing the ranger where he had expected him to be. Had the man somehow rolled from his position? Had Strider decided that death was preferable to the fate in store for him?

Personally, Halith would have agreed with him, but it would make things very awkward for the former corsair if that were indeed the case.

"Look!" One of his men pointed urgently. The aged villain had been relatively fortunate; if one could call losing what would most likely amount to a full day's travel fortunate. On returning to the campsite to fetch rope from the packs, he had encountered his men. They had decided that they had reached a point where Strider simply could not have gotten that far on a broken leg, and returned to the campsite intending to try the opposite direction. Halith was quite pleased to see them, as he was not sure if he would be able to retrieve Strider's unconscious form by himself.

It would seem, however, that it would not be a problem after all.

Strider was not unconscious.

The former corsair could not really comprehend what he was seeing. It was too fantastic.

"He's climbing the rocks," one of the men said softly, as though he too could not believe that it was actually happening.

"He's got very good arms," another mentioned in admiration. The man in question shut his mouth with a snap, wishing that he had not spoken as Halith turned an evil glare on him.

Halith opened his mouth to berate his minion for being stupid enough to say something that had no point. Before he could utter a word, however, another of the men had cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted down the cliff side.

"OI!"

The former corsair could have murdered the man. He contented himself with a sharp punch to the thug's jaw. If he had caused Strider to fall…

But no. The dark-haired ranger looked up sharply, but he did not lose his hold. Halith breathed a sigh of relief. Swiftly, he pulled the coil of rope from his shoulder and looped one end around a tree. He ran the other end through his belt loops, but did not tie it. A flick of his wrist and the free end of the rope sailed out over the cliff. One of his men handed him a pair of leather gloves and the old villain pulled them on. Halith took the rope in one hand and turned his back on the edge of the cliff. The old man shook his white hair out of his face, the lines around his mouth grim and tight. He did not want to do this. His right hand tightened about the rope as he leaned backwards, resting his entire weight upon the hemp strands and using his heels to balance against the cliff edge. A quick glance downwards let him see his prey. Strider was almost directly below him, nearly a hundred feet down by now.

Halith took a deep breath, and pushed hard with his legs against the cliff, thrusting himself into a free fall. The rope whizzed through his fingers and he could feel the heat of the friction, even through his gloves. He was swinging back towards the rock face now, descending from the point of his parabola. The old man bent his knees and squeezed the rope tightly. His collision with the cliff face was not terribly painful, but it was not the most comfortable either. He glanced downwards again. Strider was still a good eighty feet below.

With a grimace, Halith pushed away from the cliff again.

0-0-0-0

Aragorn saw him coming. With a grunt, the ranger shifted his focus. He knew that he would never beat Halith in a race to the cliff bottom. Not unless he wanted to let go of the cliff face entirely and let gravity do the rest. The dark-haired man glanced down, but shook his head. That was not an option.

Or rather, it was an option, but one that he would not take unless all others were closed to him. Perhaps if he could not climb down…

0-0-0-0

Halith glared at the ranger. His dark eyebrows were so knotted together that Aragorn wondered if the man would ever be able to untangle them. The single eye was doing its level best to convey its owner's feelings of hatred and maliciousness, and was doing rather well.

The older man's eye was level with Aragorn's silver gaze. It was also nearly twenty feet too far away for Halith to reach out and seize his intended victim. Instead of heading downwards, Aragorn had climbed sideways. It was a very temporary solution, he knew. However, the expression on Halith's face was well worth the effort.

The ranger grinned. He was hanging from a cliff with only his arms. The muscles of his body had decided all at one moment to protest the demands he made of them. His shoulder was beginning to throb in real earnest, and he could not even think of his broken leg at the moment or he would be overwhelmed. Despite his sever discomfort and real agony, he could not help the grin that forced itself across is bearded cheeks. The grin mocked his pursuer, infuriating the former corsair even further.

Halith really looked quite wild. He hung from the rope, legs braced against the cliff, both hands gripping his lifeline tightly. A fierce expression was contorting his already weathered features as his thick white hair clung to his face and neck. "You," his voice shook with malice as the dark eye narrowed. "You are making this harder than it has to be!"

Aragorn snorted softly. "Cooperation still ends with me being dead," he replied shortly, more from lack of breath than anything else. He would have loved to taunt his enemy. It was a pastime of his to see just how far he could enrage his foes.

A fairly dangerous pastime, but a pastime nonetheless. Besides, there was always the chance that he would infuriate his enemy enough so that the foe would make a mistake. It was unlikely to happen in Halith's case, but there was always the slim chance.

Aragorn glanced at the corsair out of the corner of his eye and the grin swiftly vanished. Halith was doing what the ranger had known he would. The old man had braced his legs against the cliff face and tied off the rope at his waist so that he would not descend any further. Now he was leaning his full weight against the rope and bouncing to the right. He intended to swing to Aragorn's position.

There wasn't much the bearded man could do to stop him either. Aragorn ground his teeth together in frustration, but he could not move fast enough to avoid his enemy and he knew it. If he tried, he would undoubtedly fall.

The ranger heard the creak of the rope, a swishing sound, and had barely a moment to prepare himself for the inevitable impact…

Halith swung into him, immediately catching hold of Aragorn's torn shirt in one hand while wrapping a thick arm about the younger man's throat. Even though he had been expecting it, Halith's impact caused more pain than Aragorn could really cope with at the moment. A sharp cry exploded from his lips, but was swiftly choked off by a bicep being flexed around his air pipe.

The aged corsair's strength had not waned with his years. He clung to Aragorn like a limpet.

Stars were starting to burst around the edges of his vision. Pain and lack of air were not helping him to maintain his grip on the cliff, nor even on his consciousness. The rocks he was clinging to were digging into his hands even more fiercely with Halith's added weight. The corsair was too intelligent, Aragorn knew. Halith was allowing his enemy to support both of them; the villain's body weighing cruelly upon Aragorn's already taxed arms. With the old man's arm tightening about his neck, the ranger knew that his time awake was very limited. There was nothing he could do to stop it. If he let go of the cliff with even one hand to try and fight, he would lose his grip with the other. Halith would have both of them hauled to the top of the cliff. If he did not let go and try to fight, Halith would choke him to unconsciousness, then have them both hauled to the top of the cliff.

Life, he reflected, somewhat sourly, was not very fair.

The white-haired man decided his foe was not passing out quickly enough. With brutal strength, Halith kicked out. His booted foot connected very solidly with Aragorn's dangling left leg.

Little air or no, the dark-haired ranger could not restrain the scream of agony that ripped from his throat. His only blessing was that while the pain was intense and overpowering, it only lasted a few seconds before he slipped away into darkness.

0-0-0-0

Halith grunted in satisfaction as Strider's body went limp in his arms. As Strider passed out, his hands released their hold and the pair dangled from the rope tied about Halith's waist. Exceedingly uncomfortable.

"Pull!" he roared upwards, winding his left arm around the ranger's rib cage tightly. His right moved from Strider's neck to join his left. His men up top began to haul the pair upwards and Halith ground his teeth together. The rope was cutting painfully into his middle with his prisoner's added weight. By the time he had reached the top of the cliff, the villain was bruised and scraped from the journey, he felt as though he had been cut in two, and his arms ached horribly.

"Take him," the old man ground through clenched teeth as soon as he was close enough for his men to reach. They swiftly complied; two men reaching down and hauling the limp figure none too gently over the edge. Another two caught hold of Halith's arms and pulled him up as well.

The old man sank to the ground the moment he was safe. The creases on his weather beaten face deepened considerably as he winced in pain. It was true that he had not lost the strength of his arms, but the stamina of youth was more and more quickly deserting him. Someone was cutting the rope away from his waist, and Halith could see that Strider was being bound securely.

But how secure was he? Obviously, he had already escaped once before.

Halith shook his head in amazement. Tie him hand and foot…break a leg…what would it take to keep the ranger in captivity? Granted, if the wargs had not attacked, then there would not have been the chance for him to cut his bonds, but still. The former corsair dragged one hand through his thick white hair in frustration. What was he to do? What could he do?

Buried in his thoughts, Halith did not notice one of his men was talking to him until the man placed a hand upon his leader's shoulder. Halith jumped slightly, startled out of his musings. "What?" he snapped, annoyed at being taken off guard.

"Should we continue on sir?"

Halith considered. His men had been awake nearly all night fighting the wargs. They were tired and he certainly wasn't looking at traveling with a friendly eye at the moment. Besides, they had already lost half the day. If they started now, they would have no more than five hours at the most before they would have to stop anyway.

"No," he grunted, slowly pushing himself to his feet. The former corsair winced and massaged his middle with one hand as he straightened. He was going to be very sore, very shortly. "We stay here. For tonight." The two abbreviated sentences were all Halith felt up to at the moment. Fortunately, his men did not need detail instructions. After a brief discussion it was decided that they would make do with their scanty provisions for the night, and hunt on the morrow. A guard was posted and most of the company was asleep within half an hour.

Halith did not sleep.

The old man sat very near his captive, chin resting on his hands. The single eye was trained upon Strider's limp form with unwavering intensity.

0-0-0-0

Legolas' blue eyes drifted towards the west. He was tracking the descent of the sun as it proceeded to disappear behind the Misty Mountains. A frown furrowed the fair elf's brow. Something was not quite right.

The prince's gaze turned to the elf at his left. Elladan's step was quick and light, his long legs eating up the distance without the appearance of effort. Legolas frown deepened. Although the Noldor elf's face was calm, there was a tightness to his mouth that was unlike Elladan. Usually, the elder twin was quick to speak and laugh. His jokes and amusing stories made him a traveling companion to be prized. Today, however, despite Legolas' many attempts at conversation, the three friends traveled in silence more often than not. Over the course of the day, there had been times when the twins would seem to relax, to joke and tease and keep up friendly banter…but then their words would die away and not be replaced.

"We should probably stop soon," the prince mentioned idly.

Though he did not comment on it, Legolas saw the swift look the shot between Elladan and Elrohir.

"I think we can continue on a little longer," Elrohir said lightly.

Legolas shrugged. "Of course. It will be a sorry day indeed when I cannot keep pace with Noldor elves for however long they wish to travel." Though he waited for a rebuttal, a heavy silence descended. The prince of Mirkwood bit his lip. Usually, any statement that could possibly be taken as a slur on either Silvan or Noldor elves was leapt upon. A battle of wits between the three elves would ensue.

The twins remained mute, their fair faces grave.

Legolas' frown deepened. "Is something wrong?" he hadn't even meant to ask, but the question burst from his lips. Had Aragorn told them something that he had not shared with the elven prince? Something that had them worried? It would explain their hesitancy to stop. A smirk curled the corner of Legolas' lips even in his concern. More than likely, Aragorn had said nothing and the twins were behaving like mother hens.

Elrohir looked startled by the question, his gray eyes wide. "No…" the younger twin murmured.

"Aragorn did not give you any cause for alarm in his letter, did he?" Though Legolas asked the question casually, the blond elf sincerely hoped his friend had not. For Aragorn to tell someone of his trouble meant that the trouble was very serious indeed.

Another look flashed between Elladan and Elrohir. Legolas was normally very adept at reading is friends' silent method of communication, but every so often he had the distinct impression that Elrond's sons were able to read each others thoughts, and they used their talent to shut everyone else out of their conversation.

This was one of those times.

"Estel wrote nothing that would give any alarm when taken at face value," Elladan said shortly.

Something in the dark-haired warrior's flat tone told Legolas that this was not the time to tease Elladan for his 'mother-hennish' traits.

"But you are worried nonetheless," he pressed.

Elrohir shook his head in frustration, causing his dark braids to whips across pale skin. "It just is…not right." His gray eyes were fixed on the road unwinding at his feet.

Legolas opened his mouth to suggest that this was most likely because nothing surrounding his friend was ever right, but Elrohir's tone stopped him. Elrohir was genuinely upset. The prince's blue eyes glanced to the left, surveying his friend seriously.

Elrohir's dark brows were drawn together in a twisted knot, and he was chewing his bottom lip in a very distracted manner.

The blond elf recalled his earlier feeling the something was…maybe a little more than not right. Perhaps something was actually wrong.

The sun disappeared behind the Misty Mountains and darkness fell in earnest. Stars began to shine in the sky, but the twins did not seem at all inclined to stop.

Legolas felt the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. "I suppose," he said in a cheerful voice, "that it is always enjoyable to walk underneath the stars."

Elladan glanced at the prince out of the corner of his eye, and Legolas was reminded forcibly of the Lord Elrond's keen penetrating gaze. Apparently, Elladan was not fooled by his friend's cheery demeanor. The elder elf lord did not comment however, and increased his speed.

0-0-0-0

Dark, pre-dawn shadows filled the golden woods. The moon was rapidly fading into a spectral orb in a lightening sky, and the stars had long since taken to their beds. The inhabitants of the elven stronghold had also retired long ago, with the exception of a few.

One of the few was seated on the edge of a flet, his legs swinging. Haldir stretched his long body languorously. Border work could be very dull at times, and this was one of them. Early dawn cloaked the woods of Lothlorien in deep silence. Too early, Haldir knew, for men to pose a great threat, too close to daylight for orcs. The elves watched in pairs, so throughout the night there was conversation and sometimes song, but towards the bleak hours of dawn it was usual for one elf to sleep while the other remained alert. Haldir grinned as he glanced at his companion.

The elf was deep in the land of slumber and elven hearing notwithstanding, Haldir doubted that anything short of an orc troupe cutting down the tree in which rested their flet would raise his friend to wakefulness. Arthes had offered to stay awake, but Haldir had quickly turned him down. The elven commander chuckled softly to himself as he remembered his friend's expression of profound relief. Elves might need less sleep than humans, but Haldir knew that Arthes was the proud father of an extremely new elfling. Haldir also knew that Arthes felt guilty for the times when he was required to be away from his young family and so made up for it by rising with his small offspring and allowing his wife to sleep. Haldir pressed a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud. If he had taken Arthes up on his offer, the exhausted father's face would have haunted him until the day he sailed for Valinor.

A low whistle broke the silence of Lothlorien, wiping the fair elf's smile away. In one silent, graceful movement, the commander was on his feet, an arrow drawn.

The call could have been that of an early morning bird, but it wasn't. It was the warning of a post. A strange warning, he realized. The elf frowned slightly. The other post meant to let him know that there were beings approaching, but had not signaled for danger.

So those that were intruding upon the haven of elves were most likely the same race. Barely had the thought occurred to him when a glimmer caught his eye. Haldir relaxed slightly, letting the taught bowstring go slack. Only elves cast that soft glow. There were three of them, Haldir noted. Two dark-haired and very like each other in appearance, one as fair as himself and clad in the greens and browns of Mirkwood.

He did not recognize the woodelf. However, (a mischievous gleam twinkled in Haldir's eyes) he was very familiar with the dark twins.

Moving silently, the fair elf slipped from the flet into the branches of the mallorn tree. Not a leaf was stirred by his passing. Soft boots padded over the tree's limbs with no more sound than that of a very secretive spider. Haldir glanced down swiftly. Good. He was now positioned directly over the path.

The trio of elves was moving swiftly. Long legs ate up the path with surprising speed. Haldir waited until they had passed beneath him, then dropped to the soft loam, knees bent. A brief smile touched his face as the elves continued on. They had heard nothing. Not even the sons of Elrond could match him when it came to stealth.

Straightening from his crouched position, Haldir took three long strides to position himself directly behind the eldest twin. Grinning widely to himself, Haldir clapped a hand over Elladan's shoulder.

The elven commander knew he had made a mistake at almost precisely the same moment his fingers made contact with the dark elf's body. Tension was seeping through Elladan in waves. As Haldir recalled, Elladan did not usually react well to being surprised when he was under stress…

In the split second it took for Haldir to realize he had done something stupid Elladan spun on his heel and thrust the heel of his hand into the base of Haldir's nose.

The blond elf made a rather ungraceful descent to the forest floor. Stars were bursting on the edges of his vision and something warm and wet was trickling from his nose. Haldir managed to catch himself on his elbows, keeping his head from thudding into the forest floor. He shook his fair head dazedly, trying to get his eyes to focus. Someone was calling his name and they sounded very alarmed…

A face appeared in front of him. An elf. Dark hair, gray eyes. Elladan. Or was it Elrohir? He couldn't tell at the moment. Whoever it was, they looked very concerned. And remorseful. Most likely Elladan. Haldir shook his head again, and blood spattered his tunic. That, he thought with detached annoyance, is never going to come out.

Another face appeared beside the first, and Haldir shut his eyes quickly. Double vision could be very disorienting.

"Haldir?"

The commander opened his eyes slightly. There were still two faces looking at him. How hard had he been hit?

"Are you all right?" Only one of the face's lips moved. Haldir sighed in relief. He wasn't experiencing double vision after all.

"Haldir?" It was Elladan who was speaking. He sounded anxious.

Haldir swiped at the warm liquid flowing from his nose, staring blankly at the crimson stain on his fingers. This was ridiculous, a voice at the back of his head scolded. He was an elven warrior. He had been injured many times before and much more seriously! He needed to pull himself together.

"S'okay," he managed to mumble somewhat thickly. "M'alright."

Oh yes, the voice said with scathing sarcasm. THAT was the truly dignified response of an elven warrior.

Haldir scowled, but was quickly diverted from his inward conversation as he felt a strong hand tip his head back while another pressed a soft cloth beneath his nose.

The fair elf winced at the pressure but did not struggle. By the time the fountain of blood subsided, he felt reasonable clearheaded.

Gently, Haldir pushed Elrohir's hand away and straightened his neck. No more crimson flowed. Haldir felt his cheeks heat as he looked up into the faces of Elrond's sons. "Mae govvanen, mellyn nin," the commander said dryly, trying to mask his embarrassment.

A snort of laughter from behind the twins reminded Haldir that he friends had been traveling with a companion.

"It's not funny, Legolas," Elladan hissed at the other elf.

Legolas…the name was familiar to Haldir.

"Not to you," the blond elf said cheerfully.

Haldir's inward groans doubled at once.

"Nor," Legolas continued with an impish grin, "would I imagine to the poor elf you just flattened."

Hot color flooded Haldir's face all the way to the tips of his pointed ears. This was not the kind of first impression he would have liked to make on a dignitary from another elven kingdom. With as much grace as he could muster, Haldir rose to his feet. (Elrohir might have placed a steadying hand under his elbow.)

Elladan was glaring furiously at the prince of Mirkwood, grey eyes narrowed dangerously. He looked, Haldir thought with some degree of disturbance, remarkably like his grandmother at the moment. Given the resemblance, and the fierceness of the gaze directed at him, Legolas behaved in a very foolish manner in Haldir's opinion.

He continued to tease the elder of Elrond's sons.

"I, on the other hand was fairly amused," the fair elf was saying, blue eyes twinkling. "And if the twitching of his face is anything to go by, so was Elrohir."

Haldir's eyes shot to the younger twin in astonishment. It was true! Elrohir's mouth was set in the grim, straight line of one who was desperately trying not to smile. He wasn't succeeding either.

Disgusted and embarrassed beyond all belief, Haldir removed his elbow from Elrohir's helpful grasp. "I assume," he said loftily, "that you would like to visit our fair city." It took a lot to hold his head up at the moment, but he was managing by pretending that the whole incident had not occurred. "Allow me to inform my companion, and I would be most happy to accompany you." He knew very well that the twins could find their way with ease. He also knew exactly what kind of frosty glare the Lady of the wood would send in his direction if he did not provide an escort for a prince of elven blood. Relationships tended to be fragile between Lothlorien and Mirkwood and it would not do to offend one of the royal family, even unintentionally.

Relieved to remove himself from the presence of the snickering elves, Haldir sighed as he pulled himself up into the Mallorn tree. Why, he asked himself, did everything seem to happen when he was on duty?

More importantly, he pondered with furrowed brow as he glanced backwards, what on Arda was bothering Elladan so badly?

0-0-0-0

The pathway into the heart of Lothlorien was enchanting. Mallorn trees rustled their golden leaves softly. Here and there patches of Eleanor gleamed in the half-light of the early morning. The atmosphere was entirely opposite that of Legolas' home; where the branches felt stifling rather that comforting, and the small amount of light that managed to stab through the darkness was unnatural.

At any other time in his life, Legolas knew that he would have been spell bound and enthralled by the beauty around him. As it was, for perhaps the first time in his life, the elven prince paid no heed to the lovely woodlands that surrounded him.

Legolas bit down on his lip to keep from snickering. He knew that the elf currently leading them forward (Elrohir had introduced him as Haldir) was deeply embarrassed. As was Elladan. Laughing would only rub salt into their wounded egos. Blue eyes darted to the dark-haired elf striding beside him. Most unfortunately, Elrohir happened to look towards Legolas at the same time. Blue eyes met gray.

The gale of laughter that had been struggling to emerge for nearly an hour redoubled its efforts as Legolas saw in Elrohir's face the same inward battle. The corners of Elrohir's mouth trembled and he quickly covered his mouth with a slender hand, abruptly breaking Legolas gaze to fix his eyes on the treetops. It was far too late for such a measure. The look he had shared with his friend had undone him.

Titters began to squeeze themselves through the fingers Elrohir had clamped over his lips.

Legolas tried not to hear them as he felt his own shoulders begin to shake.

Elladan shot a dirty look at the pair of them over his shoulder.

Tears were starting to form in Legolas' eyes as he struggled to keep his features straight under Elladan's baleful glare. Elrohir was overtaken by a violent coughing fit.

Muttering something that sounded like "juvenile little orcs..." Elladan turned his face forward resolutely.

Had they not been interrupted, Legolas might have released the shout of mirth that was swelling within him and then suffered a grievous injury at the hands of either Haldir or Elladan, igniting a grudge between the elven kingdoms and beginning another kin slaying.

As it was, a diversion arrived in the form of a slender, lovely elf-maiden.

Legolas did not see her at first. He was preoccupied with his inner battle, and slightly less observant that he would have been under normal circumstances. It was Elladan who leapt forward suddenly, a glad cry on his lips. Elrohir was right behind him, leaving Legolas and Haldir standing upon the path. Bemused, the elf prince came alongside the commander. The twins had left the path and were sprinting towards a clearing, where there rose a small hill.

Though the hill was beautiful, as was all of Lothlorien, it was not the landscape that made Legolas catch his breath.

An elf maid was descending from the hill and running to meet the sons of Elrond. With her dark hair and pale skin, she seemed ethereal in the semi-gloom of the early morning. Even for an elf. Grace defined every movement, even as she flung herself into Elladan's arms with a gleeful shriek. Arwen Undomiel.

The Evenstar of her people.

The daughter of Lord Elrond.

Legolas' urge to laugh died a swift and brutal death. Swallowing convulsively, the elf prince took a step backwards. Haldir gave him a curious look, but the heir of Mirkwood was not paying attention. Arwen had released Elladan and turned to Elrohir. Her joy upon seeing her brothers was evident in her radiant smile.

It wasn't that Arwen was unpleasant…on the contrary; Legolas had found her to be charming on the few occasions he had come into contact with Elrond's daughter. She was lively, sweet, beautiful, and in possession of her elder brothers' sense of mischief and humor. She, however, was able to maintain a most bewildering air of innocence. No one who was not in her confidence would be able to imagine what she was truly capable of when they gazed into those starry, grey eyes.

Legolas ground his teeth together. She was also, (as his father had taken many pains to remind him of time and time again) a good match for a future mate. Even thinking of such a thing made the prince writhe. He cast a wistful glance down the path; back the way they had come, wondering if it were not too late to run away…

"Legolas!" Elrohir beckoned to his friend enthusiastically. The woodelf groaned inwardly. Too late. With careful courtesy, he stepped forward and approached the trio of elves, trying to travel at a pace that neither denoted eagerness; nor conveyed that he had a fervent desire to be elsewhere. A wry smile tipped his mouth. He had gained a lot of practice at this sort of thing. One of the blessings of being the crown prince of an elven kingdom. Haldir fell into step at his side, and Legolas swore he could see a smirk forming on the elven commander's face. Sticking his tongue out at the smug elf's expression would have been gratifying, but hardly mature. Besides, it was rather just that since he had taken the opportunity to enjoy himself at Haldir's discomfort, the other elf should return the favor.

Elrohir placed a firm hand on Legolas shoulder as soon as the fair elf was within arm's reach. "You have met Arwen, have you not?"

Though scowling inwardly, Legolas pasted a smile over his face. Curse the sons of Elrond. They knew very well that he had met Arwen before.

It was not only Thranduil who continually hinted that Arwen was a most desirable match.

"Of course," he said smoothly. The twins were paying him a great honor, he knew. And he was touched that they considered him suitable for their beloved sister. "It is a pleasure to see you again, hiril nin," he said courteously as he took her hand and bent over it.

Legolas, however, knew something the twins did not.

As his lips brushed Arwen's fingers, he winced. Aragorn was in love with Arwen. What kind of friend would he be, the prince questioned, if he were to woo his most precious friend's only love?

A soft sigh escaped his lips as Legolas released Arwen's hand and began to straighten. His eyes went to look into her face…but were caught for the fraction of an instant by a glitter at her white throat.

Blue eyes shot to her grey ones. Legolas silently thanked the Valar that he was not facing the twins at the moment; because they could hardly fail to notice something was up when they saw his jaw bumping against his chest. Arwen's lips curled into a sweet smile, her cheeks flushing as her hand flew to the jewel at her throat.

No doubt the twins were exchanging significant glances behind his back, but Legolas didn't care. His eyes were dancing in his fair face, wide smile completely heartfelt. Indeed, he barely restrained himself from throwing his arms around the slender elleth and lifting her off her small feet in an enthusiastic embrace.

He did restrain himself, however. The elf prince stepped back and allowed the twins to walk alongside their sister as the group turned and slowly made their way back towards the path. Elrohir was teasing Arwen about her seeming reaction to Legolas' courtly gesture. In return, she roundly ignored him and exclaimed over the state of Haldir's tunic. The commander mumbled something about elves that jumped when someone said 'boo'.

Talk swirled around Legolas like leaves on the wind. Caught up in their reunion with their sister, Elladan and Elrohir did not notice that their friend had fallen strangely silent. Legolas himself felt as though he were walking on air. A grin was spreading across his face that he could not conceal. Let the twins think of it what they may! He knew the truth.

And the truth was…the ring of Barahir was strung on a delicate chain around the Evenstar's neck.

The woodelf heaved a sigh of relief. For the first time, he began to appreciate the beauty of the wood of Lothlorien. If Arwen had the ring of Barahir, Aragorn was here, and he was safe. A young elleth in love would not smile so sweetly if her dear one were in danger.

Legolas straightened his shoulders and walked with a new spring in his step. His worrying had been for nothing. The dark-haired elf lords ahead of him had been worried for nothing. A mischievous gleam sparkled in the blue eyes. Oh, he would make sure that they did not forget this soon. He knew all along that they were merely being mother-hennish.

He wanted to ask Arwen about Aragorn, but decided against it. She might be somewhat uncomfortable discussing the dark-haired man with her brothers. Besides, he would soon see the ranger himself. Legolas drew in a deep breath and released it in a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Soon he would see Aragorn.

0-0-0-0

Lady Galadriel awaited them as they climbed high into her bower. Though she and Lord Celeborn greeted their grandsons heartily, she was uneasy. Still, a smile was on her face as she placed her hands on Elladan's shoulders and looked into his eyes. "It is unusual," she said in her low voice, "most unusual to enjoy your presence so early in the morning." He tone was too soft for even the other elves to hear if they bothered to listen. "Indeed, I do not think I have ever heard of your rising so early, Elrondion." Elladan blushed uncomfortably.

"Technically," he mumbled, "we didn't rise early."

A single blond brow rose in an unvoiced question.

The elder twin sighed. He had known that at some point he would have to explain his actions. Now, however, in the safe boundaries of the elven kingdom, his worries seemed even more groundless than they had before. Traveling all night to reach Lothlorien seemed, as Legolas would have said most snidely, 'mother-hennish.'

"The night air is most enjoyable for walking." Was it his imagination, or did her blue eyes really see all the way through him?

"Indeed." Galadriel released his shoulders and surveyed him curiously. The other elves were not attending to their conversation; their attention diverted. "That is the only reason?"

One long fingered hand toyed with a black braid nervously. Elladan took a deep breath. "No."

Galadriel's blue eyes narrowed. She could see that her grandson was not himself. He seemed deeply uneasy, and not only with her questioning. Something was troubling him. Her gaze darted to Haldir for a moment and she wondered if his blood stained tunic was in anyway connected to the tension that was tangible in Elrond's eldest son.

With a graceful moment, Elladan removed his pack and untied the drawstrings. "There are two reasons for our…increased speed." He rummaged within the pack briefly. His gray eyes looked up for a moment. "Elrohir and I ran into a group or orcs as we crossed the mountains," he said quietly, trying not to attract the attention of the others.

Galadriel stiffened. No elf could stand the presence of orcs. Their very existence was a perversion of nature. She, however, had a particular aversion to the despicable creatures. Without conscious thought, her slender hand caught hold of Elladan's arm, clutching him tightly. Normally pale, her face turned white. She could think of only a few reasons that would cause her grandsons to hurry so dramatically… Her sharp movement caught the attention of Elrohir, and he looked towards them with eyebrows drawn together.

"No." Elladan abruptly pulled his hand out of the pack and laid it over his grandmother's. A quick glance toward Elrohir reassured the younger twin that all was well. The young elf lord had sensed the fear that Galadriel could not voice. Callused fingers closed over soft, white ones. "No," he repeated, giving her a warm smile to dispel her worries. "Neither of us was wounded. See?" He nodded toward Elrohir. "Both of us are unhurt, daernaneth."

Galadriel had not realized she was holding her breath until the words had left his mouth. She felt limp with relief. Rosy lips quirked in a dry smile as she squeezed his strong hand. "Do not frighten me like that." She could not have stood to have another dear one snatched away by those monsters.

Elladan's teeth flashed in a brief grin as he released her hand and delved once more into the pack. "We encountered the orcs on the West side of the mountains," he continued.

Galadriel's head tilted to one side, curious. "That is odd for them to roam so far towards your father's valley…"

Elladan's gray eyes were grim. "They were not mountain orcs." He drew forth an ugly object from the pack. A helm of crude design, obviously orc-made. Galadriel's lips tightened at the sight of it.

"I apologize for bringing such a thing here, daernana," Elladan said quickly. "But the symbol they wore was not one I was familiar with." The dark-haired elf turned the helm so that Galadriel could see for herself the emblem that decorated the front. It was badly painted, and somehow seemed obscene; something that had no place in the fair realm of Lothlorien.

Galadriel had frozen at the sight of it. Her beautiful, delicate features became a stern mask. The blue eyes seemed to pierce first the helm, then Elladan himself. "I have seen this before," she said, her voice so low that Elladan had to stoop to hear it. "You said you had two reasons," she continued. "What is the other?"

Elladan could not have explained the feeling of foreboding that struck him, but he could feel it unwinding in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard. "We…that is…Elrohir and I…we were coming to escort Estel home, whenever he felt sufficiently recovered. We felt…." He paused, unsure of how to describe how they had felt. His fingers tightened around the metal edge of the helm. "Uneasy." Gray eyes met blue, and Elladan felt a fist of ice grip his heart. All the fears that he had pushed to the back of his mind…the worry he had felt throughout the trip did not seem silly to him in the least anymore. "Daernaneth," he whispered, hardly daring to breath. "Where is Estel?"

Galadriel took the helm from Elladan. One delicate finger tapped the symbol that adorned the black metal. "I have seen this before," she repeated. "In the tortured nightmares of a human man." He entered Lothlorien before the beginning of summer, and here we helped him to regain his strength and heal the wounds of his soul."

Elladan felt as though the world was slowly starting to dissolve around him. He could only stare at the elf woman before him with growing apprehension.

"He had traveled in a terrible land," she continued. "A land of living death." She held up the helm. "The inhabitants of that land all bear the device of their master. The unclosing eye that never sleeps."

Oh Valar. Elladan could have sunk to his knees at that moment, and he honestly didn't know what it was that kept him on his feet. This was what had happened to Estel. This was what his younger brother had not wanted to write of in the letter their father had received. He had traveled through Mordor. Elrond's eldest pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. Oh Valar. Eru. What had happened to his younger brother? Was this why he had been plagued by a feeling of unrest? "Estel…" he finally forced out. "Is he..?"

"Elladan," Galadriel's voice was still low, but tense. "Estel did heal. He is strong. There is a core of steel to this ranger, and he is well chosen for his fate."

Then why did he and Elrohir still feel that there was something wrong? "Can we see him?"

"Elladan," there was an intensity to her gaze that the young elf lord had not encountered before. One slender hand caught hold of his arm and held him with a strength he would not have supposed it to possess. "Estel left here almost a week ago. He was traveling to Rivendell."

Almost a week?

The sound that emerged from Elladan's lips was one that he had never made before. It was the sound of someone waking up from a nightmare only to find that everything he dreamed had come true.

0-0-0-0

Mae govvanen mellyn nin---Well met, my friends.

Daernana/daernaneth---Grandma/grandmother

0-0-0-0

There you are! I hope it was good! I hope everyone loved it! I should have the next chapter up in a week.:)