Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

A/N:

So. I'm back. •grins sheepishly• I guess most of you guys read my little note on my profile page? Well, for those who didn't, here's the short version: I wanted to reconnect my monitor during a Star Wars marathon and somehow managed to fry my computer in the process. Impossible, you say? That's what I thought. Ah well, after a bit I got parts of my brother's computer since he upgraded his, and somehow I managed to lethally damage his CPU and main board on the way from his flat to mine. I don't know how it happened. I don't know why it isn't working. It should - I checked every single possibility known to man - but it doesn't. So now I've given up, salvaged my most important data, put it on my laptop and am busy figuring out how I'll afford a new computer. Bets are on 'Not at all' at the moment. •dark grimace•

So, that's where I was. Half this chapter was stuck on my hard drive and I didn't want to re-write it - you have no idea in what foul a mood that puts me. It's better for everybody involved that I didn't. Right now I am slowly going insane because my laptop's so old (ancient would be a more accurate term, I think), but I'm coping. More or less. Sorry again for keeping you waiting; I really don't know why my computers hate me so much. •shrugs•

Anyway, here's the next chapter. It's a bit longer than usual to make up for the delay, so I guess that's something. •g• We see Aragorn, the twins and Legolas having an ... argument (Celylith is keeping out of it, smart guy that he is), see a bit more of Elrond, Erestor and Haldar as everybody finally gets to leave Rivendell (I know, FINALLY!), and there's also a bit of Baran (the ranger who disappeared) and our favourite villain, who turns out to be not a very nice guy. Nu-uh. Not nice at all.

Have fun and review, please!






Chapter 8

"You told ada that you would do what?"

Aragorn took a deep breath and forced himself to look his older brother – his very annoyed older brother – in the eye. If he was honest with himself, Elladan didn't look annoyed or angry. He looked downright furious.

"I told him that I would be leaving with Haldar. He wants to leave this afternoon."

Aragorn didn't really know how he managed to sound so casual. Elladan was their father's son, after all, and except for maybe Glorfindel there was no one in Rivendell who could match said father in displaying righteous anger. And, he decided almost absent-mindedly, if there had ever been a time when Elladan had looked more overcome by incredulous fury, he certainly couldn't remember it.

"How nice for him," the object of his deliberations commented acidly. "I'll be sure to stand on top of the stairs and wave him good-bye."

The expression on Elladan's face was so dark that Aragorn quickly came to the absent ranger's aid. He suddenly had the horrible mental image of Elladan doing something terrible and bloody, not to mention incredibly painful, to Haldar the next chance he got. Knowing his oldest brother, it wasn't all that unlikely, either.

"Don't blame Haldar for this," he told the glaring twin. "It's not his fault."

"Oh, I don't blame him," Elladan said in a way that didn't sound reassuring at all. "I blame you."

"Ah."

"No, that's not entirely correct," the older twin corrected himself. The glare that he shot at his human brother would have been visible in the dark. "Mostly, I blame you. But I also blame him."

"He put you up to this, didn't he?" Elrohir chimed in, looking almost as thunderous as his twin. "What did he tell you?"

"I told you this would happen." Legolas decided to intervene as well. If Aragorn hadn't known better, he would have thought the wood-elf only wanted to make sure that the chaos was complete. "Didn't I?"

Aragorn let his eyes wander over the three agitated elves in front of him before he turned to look at Celylith, who sat on the chair closest to the door and looked about as miserable as he felt.

"Don't look at me, Estel," the elf said and raised his hands when he became aware of the man's questioning stare, his silver hair gleaming in the bright sunlight. "I don't even want to be here."

"But you are going to stay here," Legolas said with emphasis, shooting a quick glare at his childhood friend. "If you want to or not."

Celylith gave Aragorn a look that conveyed both mild annoyance and sympathy before he inclined his head.
"Yes, my lord."

Aragorn looked at the silver-haired elf as if he was the most loathsome traitor he had ever seen. Celylith looked back mutinously. If his prince hadn't dragged him here – straight out of bed, too! –, he would be looking for Lúthien right now. He shook his head inwardly. Even though he hated to admit it, at least once Legolas had been right about the bat – she was fluttery. And a rather independent mindset.

The young ranger narrowed his eyes at the elf and returned his attention to the three others that were sitting around him in a loose semicircle and were staring at him in a way that a less experienced being would have found very disconcerting. Come to think about it, even he felt a little trapped.

"First of all," he began, spearing Elladan with a similar look, "I am twenty-three years old. I am most definitely old enough to make such decisions for myself, and should I ever have need of your help in these matters, I will surely ask you. Second, and I know that this is hard to believe for you because you are overprotective, obstinate lunatics, I can decide things for myself without being 'put up' to them by somebody else. And third, if you already knew what I was going to say, why are you making such a fuss?"

"Predicting such a thing and actually seeing it are two very different things," Elladan said coldly.

"I am sorry to shock you so," Aragorn replied in a similar tone of voice.

"I find that hard to believe," Elrohir decided to join in. "One, because I know you, and two, because if you really were, you would have told us yourself yesterday evening and wouldn't have let us find out about your … plan … through ada."

Aragorn had the good grace to look at least faintly guilty. Elrohir was at least partly right to complain. After he had left the council chambers, he had quickly walked down to the kitchens and had smiled as brightly as possible at one of the junior chefs who had in turn – with an eye-roll worthy of Erestor – given him some of the pastries that were cooling off on a plate and had promptly shooed him out of the room. After that he had done his best to disappear into thin air, because he knew his brothers. When it became clear that they and Legolas really, really wanted to find him, he had done the only thing that would postpone the inevitable argument: He had gone to bed.

Usually, that wouldn't have worked – they would have woken him up smiling cheerfully and most likely in a rather unpleasant manner –, but right now they were too afraid to upset him or interrupt his sleep. It wasn't a very nice thing to do – not to mention unfair – but, honestly, one man against three elves? What else was he supposed to do; one had to do what one had to do to even these odds.

It had worked, too – for a while, that was. After some hours of blessedly uninterrupted sleep, he had roughly been shaken back into wakefulness by his annoyed brothers. Ah well, Aragorn decided sleepily as he blinked into the bright light of the rising sun, it could have been a lot worse. They could have woken him up in the middle of the night. Then again, they could also have let him get out of bed before descending on him like carrion birds on a dead animal.

The young man released a long breath and closed his eyes. His brothers were right, at least a little, he decided guiltily, and at least a part of their anger was born of hurt.

"I am sorry, my brothers," he said. "I should have told you sooner and in person, and for that I apologise."

Elrohir, who had been about to say more, closed his mouth again with a snap. It wasn't really fair, he thought, looking at the dejected look on Estel's face. He was a fierce and fearsome warrior, an accomplished healer and well-respected at the negotiating table, but only one puppy dog-eyed look from his little brother and he was completely lost.

"Don't look at us like that, Estel," he told the man almost gruffly. "It isn't fair."

"Life's not fair," the young man retorted, his face as calm and composed as his voice.

"You're right about that, muindor," Elladan once again interjected. "It isn't, and that would be why you are not – and let me repeat that, not! – going to go with Haldar."

"Loath as I am to tell you this again, Elladan, you are not my father," Aragorn retorted, crossing his arms over his bare chest. They could at least have given him the time to dress before invading his rooms and interrogating him like this, he thought glumly. "Nor am I a child or your ward. I am an adult and more than capable of deciding such things for myself. And my decision is to go with Haldar and offer whatever help I can, and nothing any of you can say will change my mind."

Elladan looked back at him, brows drawn together in a fierce, Elrondish glower. It would have impressed even the most jaded politician or elf lord. Unfortunately for him, it did not impress Aragorn.

"We understand that, Estel," he finally said. "We do not wish to tell you how to live your life."

"Really?" Aragorn asked, raising his eyebrows mockingly. "Well, that's a new one."

"Estel." It was all that Elrohir said. He didn't have to say more. His half-hurt, half-disappointed tone of voice was enough to make the man cringe inwardly and lower his head. He hated it when his brothers were talking to him like this. "You know that we do not," Elrohir went on. "We wish only the best for you and worry about you. We are your brothers; we can't help it."

"What if this is best for me?" the young ranger demanded to know.

"The best way to commit suicide, you mean," Elladan interjected darkly.

Elrohir glared at him in a way that made Celylith heartily glad that he wasn't him and was in fact staying out of this conversation. Elladan's expression faltered a little under his twin's look of obvious displeasure, but he didn't look overly repentant. The wood-elf would almost have shaken his head. Noldor.

"It is dangerous," Legolas spoke up in the most reasonable tone of voice he possessed. "It…"

"Elbereth Gilthoniel, yes!"

It was Aragorn's shout that interrupted him, who was staring at his fair-haired friend in obvious anger and was throwing up his hands. If he hadn't been sitting in his bed, surrounded by all of them, Celylith was quite sure he would have jumped to his feet as well.

"I know!" the man went on. "I am not a moron, an imbecile or anything of the like! I know that I am not an elf – I actually noticed at one point or other over the past twenty years, you know?! So yes, I only heard about what happened to so many of my kin, I only heard about Sauron's treachery and cruelty. But I am no fool, and I have my fair share of imagination. I can vividly picture what would happen to me should Sauron ever find me, and I am also aware that even my worst fears are probably not even getting close to reality! What do you think of me, that I am a reckless fool who doesn't even know enough to contemplate the consequences of his actions, that I am a thoughtless idiot who would unwittingly commit suicide in his folly? Do you honestly think I want to die?" He paused for a second before adding quietly, "Because I don't."

"Then listen to us, Estel," Elladan told him insistently, leaning forward to stare at his human brother. "Someone, maybe even agents of the Dark One himself, is looking for you."

"You don't know that."

"No, we don't," Legolas admitted. "But it would make an awful lot of sense, wouldn't it?"

"Even if it isn't Sauron who is looking for you, or there's no one looking for you at all, it's far too risky," Elrohir joined his brother and friend. "Stay here, Estel, and let us deal with this."

Oh yes, Celylith thought sarcastically. Very clever. Now Aragorn would surely agree, wouldn't he?

Predictably enough, the dark-haired man shook his head.
"I can't. Even if I wanted to let you risk your lives for me – which I don't – I can't. Not this time."

Elladan and Elrohir bristled. Legolas looked as if his friend's words didn't really surprise him, but also as if he wasn't going to let his words stand uncontested. Before any of them could say anything, however, Celylith interjected, quite clearly intent on gaining control of this conversation before it could once again descend into a shouting match. He understood the twins' and Legolas' concern only too well, but he also understood Aragorn.

"Why not?" he simply asked.

Aragorn looked surprised for a second, as if he hadn't counted on anybody actually asking him a question like this. After a second he shot Celylith a look of such deep gratitude that the silver-haired elf felt positively guilty. It was clear that the young man wanted his brothers to understand him more than anything else, but equally clear that he wasn't expecting them to actually do anything like that.

"Because I know I can help them," Aragorn said. "Because I have seen what happened."

"Because you have seen…" Legolas repeated and trailed off, an expression of faint, almost desperate disdain on his face. "Oh, I understand."

"You have seen it?" Elrohir asked as well. "Did you have another dream, Estel?"

"No." Aragorn shook his head.

"Then you recognised something," Elladan said matter-of-factly. "What did Haldar say to you?"

"Will you please stop blaming Haldar for everything?" Aragorn asked, exasperation in his voice. "He didn't say anything to me. He told me nothing that wasn't true and didn't try to influence me in any way. I even got the very distinct impression that he would like nothing more than see me somewhere both very safe and far away, like in the middle of Lothlórien."

Elladan seemed to accept his words even though his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He clearly had nothing specific against the ranger, but it was both more satisfying and easier to blame him for this entire mess than his human brother.

"All right, then. He said nothing. Still, what did you recognise?"

Aragorn sighed inwardly. Elladan wouldn't know how to give up or back down, not even if someone drew him a map in nice, bright colours.

"The star," he finally admitted, sounding almost miserable. "The star I told you about, the one that looked too … perfect … to be a real star. I saw Haldar's brooch and recognised it instantly. I don't even know why I didn't think of it sooner." He shook his head self-depreciatingly. "I have one myself, after all."

It took the twins less than two seconds to pierce everything together.
"That is no proof at all, Estel," Elrohir eventually said in a tone of voice he would have used to calm skittish colts or small, frightened animals. "You could have … well, just…"

"Just what, Elrohir?" the man asked calmly. Elrohir winced almost visibly. He would have much preferred it if he had grown angry again. "Please, tell me what else it could be!" Aragorn went on, looking at his brother almost pleadingly. "I don't think I have to tell you again how much these dreams frighten me, so, please, if you have any other explanation for this, share it with me!"

"It could have been random," Elladan suggested. "Your abilities have only just started to manifest themselves. You do not have any control over them yet, so there is no telling what it is you see."

"Oh, yes, surely." Aragorn snorted, folding his arms across his chest. Considering that he was still in bed and not even wearing a shirt, he managed to convey sarcastic arrogance in an astonishingly successful way. Legolas winced. If Aragorn got openly sarcastic to just this degree, it was generally best not to be in the vicinity. "Let me see. I suddenly start having these … well, let's call them unpleasant, shall we? … visions, visions of a kind I've never had before. The only recognisable thing I can remember is a star; the only other things are blood, fire, death, pain, fear and all the other enjoyable things like that. At the same time Haldar appears here in Rivendell, sent by the Captains to ask for our help – which the Dúnedain are so keen on doing as well all know – and, oh yes, he also tells me that all the disappearing rangers might have been killed because they wouldn't betray me to my enemies." He nodded mockingly. "You're right, Elladan, it must be a coincidence. It can't possibly be connected."

"It is unbecoming an elf lord to mock his elders," Elladan told him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I am not!" Aragorn exclaimed. "I am not an elf lord! I never was, and I never will be! I am not one of the Eldar; I am nothing but a man!"

"You are not," Legolas said gently. "You are so much more than 'just' a man."

Aragorn turned his head to look at him, and for a second the elf was taken aback by the anger in his eyes.
"Now that you mention it, you might be right. I am the Lord of the Dúnedain. They are my people, my responsibility. And I am going to accompany Haldar and do everything in my power to ensure that the one responsible for all this is found."

"Are you now?" Elladan asked darkly. "And then what?"

"Then I am going to make sure that he or she or they never do anything to harm the Dúnedain ever again." He paused in mock thoughtfulness. "I guess that could mean chaining them up somewhere, but I think that killing them would be much more satisfying."

"You don't understand, do you?" Elrohir asked in a similar tone of voice that his twin had used earlier. "This isn't about helping the Rangers. This isn't about chasing orcs or trolls or uruks, or highwaymen or vagabonds. This is about the very real possibility of someone, perhaps even the Dark Lord himself, looking for the Heir of Isildur. And if they find him, if they find you, they will do more than invite you to a tea party."

"No, really, Elrohir?" Aragorn asked. It was clear that he hadn't only adopted his foster-father's look, but also his dry, devastating irony. "I wouldn't have thought. We are going round and round in circles. We have been over this at least two or three times already. Nothing is going to change. I am leaving this afternoon with Haldar. Ada has given me permission and will undoubtedly be loading me with bandages and healing equipment. You have expressed your dissatisfaction. And that is it."

"No, that is not it!" Elladan exclaimed. Legolas and Celylith exchanged a look. This wasn't really going the way it was supposed to. "I realise that we are sometimes overprotective. It's something we can't change, or maybe don't even want to change. That doesn't matter now. This is a very clear and present danger, Aragorn. A danger you could avoid, if you would only cease being so damned stubborn and actually listened to your elders for a second!"

"An interesting comment, especially coming from you," the man said emotionlessly. "As I said before, I am not doing this out of stubbornness or false pride or because Haldar put me up to it. I am doing this because I have to, because these people are my responsibility, and because I know I can help them. I have seen one death already; I am not going to just sit here and wait for another to occur. These visions seem like a curse, but they might very well be a gift as well. I can use them to see what is going to happen, I can use them to help my people."

"You are twenty-three, Estel," Elrohir said, his voice carefully controlled. "They were your first 'real' visions, and you still haven't recovered from them. There is no way at all you will be able to see anything clearly enough to help anybody, at least not in the next few weeks, maybe even months."

"I will have to try, for staying here and doing nothing is not an option."

"It is your only option!" Elladan told him, anger and fear clouding his voice. "You cannot expect us to let you ride to your certain doom just like that! We will not allow it!"

"I am not yours to command, and there is nothing for which I would need your permission," Aragorn told his older brother coldly. "I would like all of you to leave now. I have many things to do and little time to do them."

Elladan merely glared at him while Elrohir shook his head, but Legolas decided to try again.
"Estel, please…"

"No." The young ranger shook his head, his eyes dark and steely. "There is nothing more to say. I had hoped that you would understand, but, deep down, I think I always knew that none of you would. Leave, please."

The twins didn't hesitate. In second, Elladan was gone, dark robes swirling around his tall figure. Elrohir wasn't far behind, dividing his parting scowl between his twin's rigid back and the young human who was sitting in his bed and was resolutely staring at nothing. Legolas stood up as well, looking uncertain for a moment, but then he turned around as well, gesturing at Celylith while he left the room. The silver-haired elf followed his prince's unspoken command and got to his feet, hesitating for a second or two before he followed the other elf out of the door.

But there was really nothing he could say and nothing he could do; this was a problem between Estel and his brothers and Legolas, and only an idiot with a death wish would interfere.

"Good morning, Estel," Celylith said with the barest hint of a small, sad smile, and a second later he was gone, too, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

In the light-filled room, Aragorn sat back against the headboard, leaned his head against the carved wood and closed his eyes.




The sun was slowly making her way over the horizon, moving in the deliberate, almost lazy fashion he had seen so many times in the past. He calculated that in a minute or two, she would disappear from his line of sight – from where he was, he could only see a tiny part of the sky. And he very much doubted that his captors would oblige him and untie him to allow him to see more.

Baran would have chuckled if he hadn't known that it would hurt far more than it would be worth. He very, very much doubted that his captors would extend him this courtesy. Orcs weren't known for their civility and willingness to co-operate.

That was maybe the worst thing about all this, even worse than the pain and fear and darkness and hopelessness: The orcs. He had seen more than enough of them in his little more than thirty years, and had come to loathe everything about them from the bottom of his heart. He hated their cruelty and callousness, their unthinking hatred for everything and anything good and fair and living, the darkness that hung about them so thickly that one could almost reach out and grasp it, the enjoyment they felt when inflicting pain on something or someone weak and helpless, and even their hideous, deformed faces and gleaming yellow eyes.

Baran grimaced almost invisibly. He had experienced most of the above over the past day and a half, including a fair share of cruelty, sadism and darkness liberally interspersed with taunts, stupid remarks and vicious jokes. That in itself, terrifying and painful as it might be, was nothing strange or even overly remarkable. Orcs were the way they were and acted the way they did and always had done; it was in the nature of the thing itself. Maybe they couldn't even act differently if they wanted to, who knew.

But the thing that really, really frightened him, even more than the pain and the terror and the oh-so-certain knowledge that he would never get out of this cave alive, was the fact that these weren't behaving like "normal" orcs. They beat him, of course, and they did everything else to inflict pain and make sure he was as miserable as possible (and that meant that he was quite miserable indeed), but they … they followed orders.

This time, the young man actually snorted and would have laughed out loud if he had been in a slightly less horrible situation and in less pain. Orders! He had trouble following orders sometimes, which was at least partly why he was in this particular mess in the first time. His friends, who were all under the age of forty and a few even under the age of thirty, had sometimes trouble following orders and were now and then getting into real trouble with their commanding officers because of it, but it was to be expected. Rangers were only humans, after all, and no commanding officer worth his salt would ever expect young human males to act like mature, self-controlled beings all the time, not even young male Dúnedain. And now here he was, stuck in a cave with orcs that obeyed orders better than him.

If he got out here alive – which he wouldn't – no one was going to believe him.

Baran wasn't entirely certain if he believed it himself. But it was what his captors were saying: "Get moving, tark, or the Master will hear about it!" They still hit him whether he got moving or not, but that didn't seem to matter. And he had yet to see this master they were talking about, even though he had the very clear suspicion that that was in fact the last thing he really wanted. He had only heard his voice once, right before he had lost consciousness, and so he didn't know who he was or even of what race he was. All he knew was that he was strong, silent, and spoke perfect Common, which was precious little.

But even though said master still had to make an appearance, it was clear that his control over the horde was strong. They hit him and hurt him as they pleased, but they hadn't done any permanent damage. Considering that his captors were orcs and had had him for more than twenty-four hours already, it was a sign of remarkable, almost unheard-of restraint.

The sun finally moved out of his line of sight, and Baran closed his eyes, feeling alone and bereft and utterly hopeless. He was afraid, more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life, and not only because he knew that he would undoubtedly be dead in three days' time – if he was lucky, that was. If these had been "normal" orcs, he would have been able to deal with the situation, but they were not and he was lost and adrift in a situation he could not understand or interpret. All he had was a feeling that wouldn't leave him alone no matter how much he tried, a feeling that darkness was gathering all around him and that there was no way out.

With the black humour that had often annoyed his family, Baran smiled to himself. That feeling would have been a mite more useful if he'd had it two days ago.

His smile disappeared as quickly as it had come as the sound of heavy boots could be heard, coming up from behind him and unerringly nearing his position, and the young man couldn't suppress a shiver that raced up his spine. He wasn't so jaded yet that he didn't care what was going on around him; even though everything hurt and he was half numb with terror and fear, he wasn't quite numb enough yet. He wanted to live, far more than he wanted anything else at the moment, and he knew with chilling certainty that he wouldn't.

He was a ranger and prepared to sacrifice his life for his people, his captain or the whole of Eriador in their fight against the Dark One and his servants, but he had always imagined himself doing so in some sort of battle or skirmish, when he at least knew what was going on and why he was dying. He hadn't thought he would meet his death alone in some orc cave, and he certainly hadn't thought it would be so soon. He wasn't even thirty-six, by Elbereth's stars!

The footsteps drew nearer and nearer, and Baran did his best to sit up straighter, or rather as straight as a person chained to a stone wall could. He idly wondered if every other cave in Arda had metal rings embedded in the walls for chaining up prisoners before he returned to the present with a start. He might be scared out of his mind and certain of his impending death, but he would be damned if he showed them that.

The flickering light of torches grew brighter behind him, and with more strength of will than he knew he possessed, Baran turned away from the small hole in the cave's wall to face his captors. The opening high up the wall, less than half a square foot big, was far too small for him to escape through even if he hadn't been chained up and was the only source of light in this terrible, hopeless little cell. The young ranger was very certain that they had put him in here on purpose, just to torment him further with the unreachable, tempting sight of freedom and light and air.

It was something that this bunch of orcs would do and something that would most likely not even occur to "normal" ones, and yet another reason why he thought that he was in far more trouble than he or any of his friends had ever been in or even heard about.

The first orc stepped into the small, dark space, a flickering torch clasped in one of its clawed hands, and Baran had to close his eyes – well, eye, really, since his left one was swollen shut – in order not to be blinded by the sudden light. He didn't try to stand up since his arms were chained to the wall about three or four feet above the ground, but he did his best not to look as beaten as he really was. Considering that one of his eyes was swollen shut, his face was covered in blood and bruises and his clothes were ripped and dirty, it didn't really work.

"Look at that, boys," the orc said, turning around to its three companions that only now came into sight, "the little ranger is still here."

The others cackled dutifully, and Baran forced a grin onto his face. He might have to die, yes, but he would be damned into Morgoth's fire-pits and back if he allowed these … things … to see just how afraid he really was.

"I found our last few conversations so fascinating and intellectually challenging that I decided to stay." He wrinkled his nose at the four orcs. "It definitely wasn't for your charm."

"Ah, ain't that pretty, lads?" another orc sneered, a mixture of anger, hatred and anticipation on his hideous face. "He's still got some fight left in him. That'll make everything so much more fun, won't it, pushdug?"

"Untie me and I'll show you how much fight I have still left in me, orch," Baran retorted with far more bravado than he actually felt. Even if they untied him and armed him, he still wouldn't stand a chance against them, and they all knew that. "But you won't. Your cowardice is a shame even for the Glamhoth."

Before his still half-blinded eyes had even realised one of them was moving, a brutal blow to his already hurting face snapped his head to the side and slammed his cheek into the rough stone wall. White flashes of pain stabbed through his brain so viciously that he would almost have lost consciousness, but he wasn't that lucky. After some seconds the agony receded to more bearable levels, and reality swam back into focus to the sounds of the orcs' guffawing laughter.

Manwë's breath, but they were strong, he decided blurrily as he shook his head slightly from side to side. The metal armour helped as well, of course.

He still hadn't gathered his breath when a gloved hand grasped the front of his torn shirt and jerked him up, the spiky metal bands wrapped around it digging painfully into his throat. The first orc who had entered his cell was staring at him with malice in the gleaming yellow eyes, its face twisted into a leering grin, and Baran absent-mindedly wondered what had happened to the torch it had been holding while he was gasping for breath. A warm wetness slowly trickled down his face, and he realised somewhat dazedly that that the blow must have reopened a cut, or have caused a new one. It hardly mattered anymore.

"Let's be clear about one thing, pretty boy," the orc hissed at him, sounding pleased at having had a chance to hit him rather than truly angry. Then again, maybe he sounded like that all the time. "One more word of that filthy elf speech and you'll regret it."

"Already … regretting it," Baran gasped out. The orc grinned at him and released him, and he added, "Pen-faer vûl i Goth Fuiannen."

The Sindarin words rolled easily off his tongue, and Baran had just enough time to decide that his father would have been pleased at his accent or rather the lack thereof and that Amlaith would have been really proud of his inventive way of putting their Sindarin lessons to good use before the orc in front of him recovered. The pain that the Elvish words had caused the foul creature was still visible on its face when it drew back slightly to drive its metal-encased fist once more into the ranger's unprotected face. The second blow followed a second later and made contact with his temple, and that was the moment when Baran's consciousness decided that enough was enough and that it was off to greener pastures.

The young ranger barely felt the blows that kept connecting with his helpless body as he swam in and out of consciousness, and he only heard a snarl or crude laughter now and then over the thunderously loud beating of his heart. Even those sounds suddenly stopped after an eternity or two of abuse, and that was something that Baran's subconsciousness found interesting enough to investigate. Against the ranger's firm insistence that unconsciousness was a far more attractive choice, he once again began to become aware of his surroundings, and he opened his eyes just in time to see two of his attackers back away from him with a speed that left his beaten and bruised brain dizzy.

"Enough."

It was only one simple word, but it was more than enough. The orcs that had a second ago been doing their very best to put holes into him with their fists (and had been doing quite a nice job, too) bowed low and shuffled back even a little further in supplication. It took Baran quite a while to focus his eyes sufficiently to really see something, but even before his eyes came to rest on a tall, dark-cloaked figure standing at the entrance of the cave, he knew that the mysterious master the orcs had mentioned had arrived.

Well, he told himself, trying to cheer himself up, at least it wasn't a Nazgûl. What it (he?) was he couldn't see since the person had pulled his hood over his face, but it was no Ringwraith.

"Leave us," the cloaked figure went on, turning around to look at the orcs cowering in the corner. "We will talk about this later. Take the torches with you."

The orcs didn't say anything and soundlessly moved out of the room, creeping alongside the walls like dark, hideously distorted shadows. Baran was surprised to see something like relief on the face of one of them, and for a brief, irrational second he almost felt something like pity.

It was a very brief second.

The figure hadn't moved while his servants left the cell and only now stepped forward, the darkness that had once again descended over the small cave seemingly intensifying as he stepped closer. Baran, still trembling and nauseous from the pain, couldn't hide the shiver that crept over his back and into his heart. This might not be a Nazgûl, but whatever he or it was, it was dark and … evil.

The hooded figure seemed to study him closely for a few moments before he moved back, leaning comfortably against the opposite wall. Considering the small size of the cell, it was only about five feet away, but the darkness that lay heavily over the room and the deep hood were enough to obscure his features completely, which was surely the point of the exercise.

"So," the cloaked being finally said when Baran only stared at him with dark grey eyes. "You are awake."

There was not much to say to that, and Baran opted for keeping silent. Enraging orcs was one thing, but somehow he had the feeling that enraging this one would mean something else entirely.

"Not communicative, are we?" the other asked, amusement in his voice. "We will have to change that."

This time, it was harder to remain silent, but somehow Baran managed. It was surely also connected to the fact that the orcs had knocked out two of his teeth and his mouth was once again rapidly filling with blood.

"Now, this will not do," the hooded person said, shaking his head in a thoroughly exaggerated manner. "This will not do at all. I do not have a lot of time today, so the least you should do is do me the courtesy to open your mouth."

That finally did it. Fuelled by his outrage and the need to spit out a mouthful of blood, Baran did the latter before he once again glared at the other, vainly trying to pierce the gloom of the hood. All he knew was that the other being was male; he was speaking in a deliberately low tone of voice and could have been an elf as well as a man, a polite orc or even an overgrown dwarf or hobbit.

"Who are you?" the young ranger asked, his voice tight and angry. "What do you want from me?"

"Ah, those are two very interesting questions," the other answered, nodding his head in agreement. "Who do you think I am?"

"A coward," Baran answered promptly. "A coward who attacks people from behind and lets orcs do his dirty work."

"I don't let them do my dirty work," the cloaked one protested. "It is a mutually satisfactory agreement. They are enjoying this part of the process while I detest it slightly, so it works for everybody." He paused, and Baran could almost see how he shook his head under his heavy hood as he looked at him. "Well, almost everybody, it would appear. My … associates … tend to become the tiniest bit over-eager from time to time, but that is a small matter, I suppose. And: Is there a safer way?"

"What?!"

By now, Baran was completely flabbergasted, or as flabbergasted as someone who felt as if his brain was leaking out of his ears could be. He wasn't really sure what he had expected, but it certainly hadn't involved civilised conversation.

"To attack someone," the other went on patiently, as if talking to a small child. "To do it from behind in order to catch the victim unawares is by far the safest method, at least in my opinion."

"And you wonder why I call you a coward?" the ranger asked, fighting hard not to allow himself to be thrown off-balance. He winced slightly as his tongue found the spot where two perfectly working teeth had been not too long ago. "Who in the name of Eru Ilúvatar are you?"

"I?" the other asked, sounding mockingly surprised at the question. "I am the end of the Rangers, boy."

"It will take much more to 'end' us than a single man," Baran shot back immediately, his confusion turning into anger. Just who did this … person … think he was? "You are having delusions of grandeur!"

The blow came so suddenly and unexpectedly that the young ranger didn't have the slightest bit of time to mentally prepare himself before a fist connected with his chin, sending the back of his head crashing back against the cold stone wall. In the seconds that he fought to lose consciousness – and failed to do so yet again –, Baran decided absent-mindedly that his head would burst open like an overripe melon the next time someone confused it with a sack of grain.

"Now, let's try to remain civil, shan't we?"

The words cut through the haze that filled his brain, and Baran struggled to open eyes he hadn't even realised he'd closed. His captor was still leaning against the wall opposite of him, looking as if he hadn't moved at all in the past few minutes.

"You had your … 'associates' … ambush me," the ranger said, laboriously trying to force his brain not to give up on him right here and now. "You struck me down from behind and let them 'amuse' themselves with me as they saw fit for over a day, and you expect me to remain civil?"

"Yes," the other answered simply. "In my experience, one should try to keep things polite as long as possible." He paused and cocked his hooded head slightly to the side, and Baran found himself trembling at a look he couldn't even see. "Trust me, things will turn uncomfortable soon enough. And I did not let them amuse themselves with you as they saw fit. If I had, you wouldn't be able to think clearly right now, let alone speak."

"You're mad," Baran told him, deciding to abandon eloquence for simplicity. "Completely and utterly mad. You think you will be the 'end of the Rangers'? I think we'll rather be the end of you."

"Brave words for someone chained to a wall," his captor said in a completely unimpressed tone of voice. "And none I haven't heard before."

"You did this," Baran said, voicing something he had known ever since he had woken up to this nightmare. "You killed all the others."

"Hmm … yes, I think I did at that." The cloaked being nodded.

"My people will find you," the young ranger said, his mind reeling. "You will not get away with this."

"They haven't found me before, and I doubt that they will find me now." The tall figure shook his head again, the movement almost solemn. "But they have been trying, I give them that."

"You will pay for this, móradan," Baran said, well aware of the fact that nothing he said impressed the other in the slightest. The young ranger shivered; his body felt frozen and his tired brain refused to co-operate, stunned with surprise and pain and fear and terror. "In this world or the next, you will pay."

"'Man of Darkness'. How quaint," the other retorted and began to chuckle at the look of astonishment on Baran's face. "Oh yes, I understand the Elvish tongue, ranger. Don't insult my intelligence. You are quite wrong, of course, but no matter."

He pushed off the wall and took a step closer to his captive, and Baran needed all his strength of will to not flinch or betray his fear in any other way.

"But I guess you are right," the ranger's captor said, sounding strangely honest for a second. "I probably will pay for this, at one point or other."

He closed the small distance between them, his black cloak fluttering around him like a living, breathing thing that seemed to fill the entire cave with its darkness. And Baran, feeling how terror rose up inside of him to fill his entire being, found himself praying for a swift death, and that the Valar be just and punish this insane creature for his deeds.

It wasn't much to cling to, barely more than nothing at all, but it was all there was.




"Splints?"

"Yes."

"Athelas?"

Elrond looked slightly offended at the very question.
"I packed two large bunches. Do you think that's enough?"

"Hmm. Good question. Is this kit for Estel only or for all of them?"

"The twins are taking their own supplies with them. At least, that is the plan."

"Then it should be enough. If they don't stay too long, that is."

"I don't think that getting yourself killed in a highly idiotic manner takes that much time," the half-elf said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't say more than three or four weeks. Maybe five or six, but that's the absolute maximum. Whatever is left of them by then would surely want to attend Captain Isál's wedding, I would think."

"Oh yes, the wedding. Let me see … what about the other herbs? Harucholor, losdalas…"

"Already packed."

"Bandages?"

"Please, mellon nín. They're in the other pack."

Erestor shot the huge bag in the corner of the little store room a quick look, wisely refrained from commenting and returned his attention to the list he had affixed to a wooden clipboard.

"That new salve you made to treat burns? It's becoming quite popular, it seems."

The other elf lord snorted.
"Popular is a nice way of putting it. But yes, there are two jars somewhere in there. Anything else I should remember?"

The younger elf perused the list and finally shook his head.
"No, my lord. Except the obvious thing, of course."

"And what would that be?" Elrond asked, closing the second bag. It wasn't quite as large as the first, but looked considerably heavier. He didn't care. Aragorn was lucky he got off so easy.

"Not letting him go," Erestor answered quietly. "This is folly, my lord, and you know it well."

Elrond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He opened his eyes again and looked down on the satchel resting on the work table where he'd gathered all the healing supplies he could think of before he'd started cramming them all into two bags. His long fingers absent-mindedly stroked over the worn leather in complicated patterns.

"Yes," he finally said in a voice so low that one could hardly hear it. "Yes, I do know. But I don't have any choice in the manner and even less influence. All I can do is give in gracefully and hope for the best."

"He is your son, my lord," Erestor said with the firm, confident conviction of the childless. "He should honour you enough to respect your decisions."

The half-elven healer turned to look at him and gave him a pained smile.
"Sometime over the past few years, he grew up, Erestor. Yes, he is my son, and yes, he would never defy me or disregard my orders when they concern anything connected to our home or his life as part of all this," he made a sweeping, jerking movement to gesture at the room as a representation of Rivendell as a whole, "but he is also the Chieftain of the Dúnedain. There I cannot touch him, even if I wanted to. My authority ends at the borders of my realm, and he know it well."

"He hasn't said that, has he?" Erestor looked torn between disbelief and mild shock. He had known the young man for practically all his life, and Estel was nothing if not respectful towards his father.

"Of course not." This time, the grin was wry, even though the pain was still there, undiminished. "He doesn't have to. He knows it, and I know it. And the worst thing is … it is his right. He has been staying here in Rivendell for far too long, and it has not gone unnoticed by the Captains. Aragorn's place is with his people. He is the son of Arathorn, not mine."

"Now, that he most definitely did not say," the other elf lord said with complete conviction. "Arathorn was his sire, Elrond. You are his father."

"I am not sure it makes a difference this time," Elrond said, shaking his head, but there was a grateful glint in his eyes that Erestor did not miss. "It still leaves him with the rank and position of the Chieftain of the Dúnedain and Captain of the Rangers and all the responsibilities and duties that come with it." He shook his head again. "An overgrown sense of responsibility and the recklessness of youth are a dangerous combination."

"I doubt that his recklessness can be attributed to his youth," Erestor disagreed, sounding as calm as ever. He crossed his arms across his chest, his left hand still gripping the clipboard. "I would blame it on his role models. The twins are how old now, 2800 years? I may be biased, but I don't think that they are showing any signs of improvement in this particular area."

"2834 years."

"I beg your pardon?"

"They are 2834 years old."

"Thank you," the dark-haired councillor said wryly. "My point, if you would allow me to make it, is that you don't have to let him go. I know that you can neither control the Rangers nor their captain, no matter who that might be at the moment. Rivendell has always entertained close ties with the Dúnedain, but we have never interfered in their internal affairs."

"I know," Elrond said with a testiness that had nothing at all to do with Erestor. "It was I who established them. Besides, they are my kin."

"I am well aware of that, my lord." Erestor nodded his head. "But Estel will listen to you. He was my student for many years, and I know him well. He is a respectful boy and will acknowledge your superior knowledge and wisdom."

"I agree," the other elf lord said calmly. "Estel would listen to me. What Aragorn will do is something else entirely."

"They are one and the same, Elrond."

"Of course they are," Elrond acknowledged with a small smile. "And they are not. Estel is Aragorn, but Aragorn isn't necessarily Estel." He closed his eyes and sighed. "It doesn't matter. Right now, my errant son is confused and very, very frightened. He thinks he can help his people, and I can not in all conscience tell him that he is wrong."

"But you don't have to tell him that he is right." Erestor stood his ground. He rubbed his forehead in a rare gesture of exasperation before he looked at his friend again. "You have been talking with Glorfindel again, haven't you?"

Elrond looked at him in amusement.
"I have, actually, and he asked me the very same thing a minute into the conversation. The two of you are very predictable, which of course both of you would deny with your dying breath. Besides, why does that question always sound like 'You have been eating small children again, haven't you?'?"

"Have you?"

"Not lately, no."

"That is reassuring to hear. But still, talking with Glorfindel about this matter is hardly helpful in my opinion. Since that whole killed-by-a-balrog-and-sent-back-by-the-Valar thing, he is far too keen to accept what he believes to be 'fate'."

"Oh, I am not so sure about that," Elrond said, studying his friend thoughtfully. "I can remember one or two times in the not so very remote past that he refused to accept fate or even what looked like facts. He was rather adamant about it."

Erestor lowered his head to hide his expression, knowing perfectly well that Elrond was talking about the time when he had been a captive in Donrag and had been thought to be dead. Glorfindel had refused to accept his 'death', just as adamantly as he always refused to back down from a position he believed to be right. Erestor was very sure that, without his friend's persistence, he would be very, very dead right now.

He might still have … problems … talking to Glorfindel, at least talking to him in the way the blond elf wanted him to, but he knew that Glorfindel knew how very grateful he was for his help.

He had to know, hadn't he?

"I know," he said quietly. "And I wouldn't criticise him for it. I am sorry if it sounded as if I had."

"I know," Elrond said with a smile. "There are a few things one could criticise Glorfindel for, but this isn't one of them."

"A few?"

Elrond's smile widened.
"You will have to discuss this with him, my friend. I am far too old and wise to get involved in one of your squabbles."

"Elf lords do not squabble. I am sure it is an entry in Glorfindel's list."

"Undoubtedly. My point is that I know that this is a very bad idea. I know that it is dangerous, and reckless and most likely a dozen other unsavoury things, but I have no choice but to let Estel go. It is his right as the Captain of the Rangers and the Lord of the Dúnedain, he is not my subject, and I cannot rightly say that I think his reasoning is wrong or even faulty. He is an adult and makes his own decisions, and if I were to rob him of them, I would make things that much worse."

Erestor looked at him for a long time and finally bowed his head. He had sat at too many negotiation tables and had listened to too many dead-serious people (most of them had been connected to his lord in one way or other, now that he thought about it) to know when he should give in gracefully.

"I bow to your wisdom, my lord," he said with a small nod. "I just hope that you will not regret this decision."

"I am already regretting it," Elrond ground out between clenched teeth. "The Kindler be my witness, I already am. Yet I have no choice in this, and that is maybe what galls me most of all." He forcibly un-clenched his teeth (Erestor was sure he could hear the grinding noise that the action produced) and took up the bag he had packed a few minutes ago, hefting it over his shoulder. "Will you accompany me to see them off?"

"I wouldn't miss it." Erestor smiled at him and automatically headed over to where the other bag sat propped against the wall and was already reaching down to pick it up with his free hand when Elrond's words stopped him in his tracks.

"Ah, maybe I should take that…"

Erestor hesitated for a moment but didn't turn around, grinding his teeth in frustration. He loved Elrond dearly and would willingly die for him, but sometimes the half-elf's overprotective streak – which he had passed on to all his children, by the way – was enough to drive him to the kind of madness that usually was accompanied by running-around-in-circles, hair-pulling and unhinged cackling.

"If you even think about offering to carry the bag for me, Elrond, I might forget my oath of allegiance and might try and snap off your hand at the wrist. I am realistic enough to realise that I would probably never manage to even touch you if you don't want me to – I am but a scholar, after all –, but I would most definitely try."

He took up the bag and turned around, coming almost face to face with a rather shame-faced Elrond. The half-elf could move fast and soundlessly, he had to admit that.

"I was just worried about your hand…" Elrond began.

"My hand is fine," Erestor stressed, giving his lord and friend a sharp look before he turned away and walked out of the store room. "And so is the rest of me. We talked about this, Elrond. Please don't start it again."

There was more pleading than annoyance in his voice, and so Elrond let it be. The half-elf knew how hard it was for the other elf lord to admit to any kind of weakness – or what he perceived to be weakness – and knew perfectly well that the last method that would glean any kind of result was pressuring him. In that regard Erestor was very much like a certain golden-haired elf lord of their acquaintance: If he felt cornered or pressured, he became obstinate and stubborn.

Erestor wasn't the only one who knew when to give up. Elrond only inclined his head at his friend's retreating back and followed him out of the door and into the direction of the courtyard. They were silent for the few minutes that it took them to reach their destination, and when they stepped outside and into the bright sunlight, Elrond didn't miss how the other elf lord straightened almost imperceptibly and sighed. Erestor had gained a new appreciation of light and the breeze on his face, and he didn't have to wonder why.

The same tightly controlled chaos that always reigned in the courtyard before a departure could be seen now, with people running to and fro and carrying things from one end of the yard to the other. Two elves were carrying bags of what looked like supplies toward a group of horses in the middle of the bustling space, while a stable boy brought out Aragorn's horse. Ráca wasn't bedecked with the new saddle and tack the young man had received as a late birthday-cum-Yestarë present from his brothers and Legolas – quite sensible, of course, when travelling in the guise of a simple ranger – and she looked quite put out about it, too. Elven horses could sometimes possess a little too much personality.

In the middle of it all stood Haldar, looking as if nothing of this concerned him at all. Technically speaking, of course, it didn't. Next to him stood Commander Meneldir, who, as Elrond remembered, had become quite friendly with the ranger over the past few days. It was rather strange, considering that Haldar was tight-lipped and silent even for one of the Rangers and that Meneldir didn't truly like humans. He had nothing against the Edain, but he had his problems with the rest of the Second People, something that Elrond could even understand from time to time.

The two of them straightened when the two elf lords stepped up to them, unconsciously reacting to the serious expressions on their faces. Elrond carefully put down the bag he was carrying and waited for Erestor to do the same before he turned to the ranger, doing his best not to glare at him. He knew that all this was technically speaking not the man's fault, but he couldn't help but resent him for his role as the catalyst that had started a chain reaction whose end he couldn't see, no matter how hard he tried.

"Master Haldar," he finally said as neutrally as he could. "Commander."

It clearly hadn't been as neutral as he'd thought. Meneldir's spine, already ramrod-straight, stiffened even further as he stood to attention so perfectly that it would have made any parade ground sergeant weep with joy.

"My lords," the commander said. Erestor was secretly astonished that he could even talk, stiffened-up like that. When it became clear that Elrond was in no mood for pleasantries, he turned to Haldar, his eyes only widening the tiniest bit. "I will leave you. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Haldar."

"The pleasure has been mine, Commander." Even despite the formality of his words, the ranger smiled, something that made him look far younger. He was young, Elrond realised again, something that was far too easy to forget in face of his solemn behaviour. Forty-seven really was no age at all for a dúnadan. "If you are ever near our camp, come and see me."

Meneldir returned the smile. He hadn't spent all that much time with the ranger, but he liked what he had seen until now. Haldar was honest and direct and possessed a wry sense of humour that was quite surprising when one wasn't prepared for it. He had never before felt even the tiniest inclination to befriend a mortal, but now he wasn't quite so sure anymore.

"I think I will make sure of it," he said in just the same solemn tone of voice. "The Angle isn't all that far away, after all."

"No, it isn't," Haldar agreed. "May the Valar watch over your path, Meneldir, until we meet again."

"And over yours, son of Baranor." Meneldir inclined his head with another smile. "Namárië."

He nodded at the two other elves and smoothly turned around, clearly trying to avoid the impression of fleeing while he could. He didn't quite succeed, but everybody was too busy or distracted to pay him much attention. Even Haldar only watched him go for a second or two before he returned his attention to the two elf lords in front of him, the faint smile that was on his face freezing and disappearing a moment later. Erestor recognised the signs of impending doom as well and cleared his throat, casting looks about him that looked almost panicky and not at all elf-lordly.

"I … I think I will be looking for Glorfindel. I'm sure he has to be around here somewhere. My lord," he nodded at Elrond before he turned to Haldar. "Master Ranger. I am sorry we could not help you."

"You did help us, my lord," Haldar protested. "You helped us eliminate a possibility. It isn't quite what I had hoped for, but it is far better than nothing."

Erestor gave him a quick smile that didn't look very genuine, gave Elrond a quick bow and made his escape. Elrond hardly seemed to notice his departure, his eyes fixed firmly on the human in front of him who did his very best not to fidget.

"I know that you are not to blame for my foster-son's decision," the half-elf finally said in a low tone of voice, still looking at the dark-haired man. "He is an adult and makes his own decisions, and if I suggested otherwise, I would insult his intelligence and maturity and your integrity."

Haldar nodded wordlessly. Elrond didn't know if the man thought there was nothing he could say or if he was too intimidated to open his mouth. The malicious part of him hoped the latter was the case.

"I understand his actions," he went on, choosing his words carefully and keeping his voice steady by sheer force of will. "He is your lord and captain, and his place is with his people. But you know as well as I do what risks and dangers he might face, far better than Estel does. His education has been thorough, also and especially in the history of the Dúnedain, but some things you can only learn the hard way: Through painful experience. And Estel is young still, even for one of your people."

"I … I know," Haldar said, his voice sounding uncommonly hoarse. Elrond's displeasure was obvious even despite his polite and diplomatic words. "I counselled him against this, my lord. He would not listen."

"I hadn't expected him to." Elrond shook his head. "He takes his duties very seriously and always has. But you know what might be waiting for him, what might be waiting for just this chance to capture or kill him, just as he does not. You are no subject of mine, Haldar, and I cannot order you to do anything. But I can beg you for something."

Haldar looked at him as if he couldn't quite believe his ears.
"Whatever you wish, my lord. If it doesn't go against my captains' orders, consider it done and let us speak about it no more."

Elrond's stern face relaxed the tiniest bit, and he gave the man what, by a positive person, could have been called a smile.
"Look after Estel," he went on in a quiet tone of voice that was almost too calm. "He wishes to help you, and sometimes regards his own safety not as important as he should. Send him back to me in one piece, that is all I ask."

Haldar looked almost insulted at the request.
"He is my chieftain, my lord," he said coolly. "Of course I will. I would do so anyway, and you would never have to ask."

"Then I am content." Elrond nodded at him, trying not to let his relief show. "I thank you, Haldar. He is an adult, I am aware of that, but … well, he is also my son, no matter how old he is."

Haldar looked slightly disquieted, just as he always did when the elf lord called the boy his son, but he only nodded. He would have said more, but their attention was redirected when the object of their discussion entered the courtyard, trudging towards them with his saddle bag over one of his shoulders. The young man's other hand gripped a quiver and bow and his travelling cloak, and if the expression on his face was anything to go by, he wasn't in the least bit happy.

He looked, in fact, quite a bit like his father.

The young ranger looked up, his face brightening briefly when he saw his adopted father and Haldar, only to grow serious again when four tall figures suddenly barred his way, each of them carrying bags, saddlebags and quite a few weapons. Aragorn stopped almost in mid-step, displaying reflexes that did his training proud, seriousness turning into an unhappy scowl as he saw just who had so unexpectedly stepped into his way.

"I am already late, so I have no time for further discussions," he said to no one in particular, shooting an especially threatening look at each of the four elves in front of him. "If you would let me pass, I would be most grateful. I believe you have told me everything that was on your mind."

"Not quite," Legolas shook his head. "Tell him, Celylith."

"Why do I have to be the one to talk to him?" the silver-haired elf inquired. His tone of voice sounded dangerously like a whine and, like Erestor's, not at all elf-lordly.

"Because you're the only one who hasn't behaved like a complete idiot," Legolas answered him willingly, earning firm nods from the twins who stood left and right of the other wood-elf. "Because he," the elven prince shot a quick look at his human friend who was pretending hard not to listen to any of this, "is less likely to cut you off before you can say more than a single sentence, and because I can make your life miserable if you don't."

"Ah yes, my liege. Because of that. Sometimes I really wonder why I don't defect and offer my services to Sauron," Celylith muttered under his breath. He raised his head again and smiled at Aragorn so brightly that the man had to blink. It was a bit like staring into the sun. "Estel, we are sorry. Or rather," he went on, ignoring a jab into his ribs that one of the twins aimed at him, "they are sorry. They didn't mean it the way it sounded. We will accompany you."

The young man stared at them, eyes cold and flinty, but there was a hint of amusement on his face that he couldn't hide completely.
"They are not. If they could tie me to something in order to keep me safe, they would. And no, you will not."

"Of course we would!" Elladan exclaimed. "We are your brothers, your older brothers. It's what we do."

"But we also understand why you think you have to do this," Elrohir interjected, clearly trying to take control of this conversation before it could deteriorate once more. "And while we might not completely agree with you, we understand that it is your right to make these decisions."

"I see." There was scepticism in the young man's voice, but a bit of the coldness in his eyes disappeared.

"We are sorry, Aragorn," Legolas spoke up as well. "We really are. I do not pretend to understand anything about visions or anything like that, but I know you, and I know that you would never risk your life in such a manner unless you thought that you had no other choice and that it was truly necessary. I did not mean to suggest otherwise."

"That is gratifying to hear," Aragorn said neutrally.

"He is right, muindor," Elladan said, looking at his human brother earnestly. "You were right; we overreacted. It's only that … that we have seen what the Dark Lord's agents do to the one He hunts, and you haven't. It is … hard … to put that behind us."

"We saw your father die, Estel," Elrohir continued his twin's train of thought. "We were right there with him, and we couldn't do anything to protect or save him. We do not wish to lose you the way we lost Arathorn."

"You won't." Aragorn shook his head, touched by the twins' words. "I will be careful, I promise. I just … I have to go."

"We understand." Elrohir nodded with a small smile. "We really do. We have had centuries to deal with visions and know how to interpret them – not as well as ada, but still well enough. Someone has to help you with them if they occur again."

"And I," Legolas interjected with a flourish, "will make sure that you don't get lost." He leaned forward until his lips were close to the man's ear, looking as conspiratorial as he could. "They are Noldor, you know. You can't trust them with something like this."

"I noticed," Aragorn said, now openly amused.

"Coming from a Teler, that's not very impressive," Elladan said dismissively. "You people can get lost in your own forests."

"And frequently do, if I'm not very much mistaken." His twin nodded his agreement.

"I have to protect you from this kind of indoctrination," Legolas went on, ignoring his friends' words. "Or they will noldorise you."

"'Noldorise'?" Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "That word doesn't even exist, neither in Common nor in Sindarin or Quenya."

"Well, it should." The elven prince was unperturbed. "Celylith and I will come with you to make sure that you receive a … broader education, especially concerning the elvish tribes. Ilúvatar only knows what they have been teaching you these twenty-one years."

"How to be a Noldo and therefore be more intelligent and skilled than our Silvan brethren?" Elrohir offered.

"Very funny," the fair-haired elf said dismissively, not even turning around to look at the twins. "You forgot the Vanyar."

"Oh, I'm not that megalomaniac yet." The younger twin shook his head. "Besides, Glorfindel would kill me. He can get a bit sensitive about things like that."

"Coward."

"I have lived with him for nearly three thousand years," Elrohir said calmly. "I know better than to anger him needlessly. Actually, I know better than to anger him, period."

"That is all very nice, but could we please return to more pressing things?" Aragorn interjected. "Like you wanting to accompany me. Who says that I will let you?"

"No one," Elladan admitted. "But you are a generous person, dear brother, too generous to reject an honest apology. And besides, you know that we would follow you anyway."

"True." Aragorn inclined his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're stubborn like that."

"Excuse me, my lord," Celylith addressed Legolas, clearly intent on leading this conversation back to the truly important questions. "But as much as I like Estel – and I do," he emphasised, looking at the young man with earnest dark-blue eyes, "I can't accompany you. I have … responsibilities here."

"Lúthien." Aragorn grinned at him. "Of course, what would happen to the poor little bat?"

"She will learn how to be a real bat on her own, like any normal bat does," Legolas said uncompromisingly, shooting his childhood friend a look that didn't look all that friendly at all. "Because there is no way, absolutely no way at all, that she'll come with us."

"That is hardly fair!" Celylith looked and sounded absolutely outraged. "'Normal' bats have their families to help them adjust to … well, being bats. They can show them how to hunt and where to sleep and things like that. Lúthien has no one but me."

"Tragic." Clearly enough, Legolas was not moved by the other elf's words or the pleading look on his face. "It is not coming with us, and that is final."

"She!"

"Not now, Celylith."

"My lord…"

"No, Captain."

Celylith shut his mouth with a small snap. Things were serious when Legolas addressed him with his rank, mostly serious enough so that he knew better than to protest any further. Elladan's eyes wandered from one wood-elf to the other, his eyebrows raised incredulously.

"And you fear that we would ruin Estel's education?"

"No matter," Aragorn hurriedly interjected, clearly fearing what another bout of Noldor-vs.-Wood-elves/Teleri would do to his patience and self-control. "If I let you accompany us," he shot a sharp look at his brothers and Legolas, "will you promise me not to torture Haldar any more than you have to and not treat me as if you were mother hens and I was a chick that had fallen out of the nest?"

The three elves in front of him exchanged a quick look. Celylith didn't look at anybody and sulked instead.
"Yes," Elladan finally answered for all of them.

"Define 'torture Haldar no more than we have to'," Legolas said thoughtfully. Two elbows made contact with his ribs and the wood-elf winced. "It was a joke. Of course we promise."

Aragorn looked at the three of them for a long while before he finally nodded slowly. The unhappiness in his eyes had faded and had been replaced by something that looked suspiciously like relief.
"Very well, then. I know that you would stalk us if I didn't allow it, and I wouldn't want to frighten Haldar anymore than he already is."

"I would prefer to call it 'following at a distance'," Elrohir informed him primly.

The young ranger only smiled at them widely and gestured at them to precede him. The twins returned the smile and complied, Elrohir whispering to his twin that he had told him that everything would turn out for the best if he only kept his mouth shut, and Legolas glared at Celylith until he, too, began to move into the direction of the horses. There was a faintly mutinous expression on his face, and whatever he was muttering under his breath wasn't complimentary in the slightest.

Waiting until Celylith had passed him, Aragorn looked at his Silvan friend and raised both eyebrow, a mischievous smile on his face.
"'Noldorise'?"

The elf returned the smile and shrugged.
"It's a word."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. I am far older and wiser than you, youngling. I have to know."

Aragorn only snorted and shook his head and was about to hurry up in order to catch up with his brothers and Celylith who were talking to his father (well, the twins were talking, Celylith was still pouting), but Legolas' hand that closed around his upper arm halted him in his tracks.

"Forgive me?" the fair-haired elf asked softly.

"For what?" Aragorn gave him a faint smile. "You said what you thought was right. You are uncomfortable with the visions, just as I am, and I understand that. You were trying to protect me – something that, while it annoys me, I can appreciate."

"I do not understand the visions, Aragorn," Legolas corrected him. "I do not understand what is happening to you when you have them, I do not understand how I can help you, and that frightens me. But that is not what I wish to apologise for. I doubted you, your reasoning and your abilities, and for that I am sorry."

Aragorn opened his mouth to say that there was nothing to forgive, but closed it again with another small smile when he saw the seriousness in his friend's eyes.
"Worry not, mellon nín," he said, reaching up and briefly covering the elf's slender fingers with his own. "It is forgiven."

Legolas returned the smile and nodded, and they went to join Celylith and the twins to say their farewell to Lord Elrond. The sun was just starting to dip lower when six riders crossed the bridge of the Last Homely House and chose the path heading south.





TBC...




ada (Sindarin) - father (daddy)
muindor (S.) - brother (by birth)
tark (Black Speech) - Man of Gondor/of Númenórean heritage
pushdug (B. S.) - "dungfilth"
orch (S.) - orc, goblin
Glamhoth (S.) - 'Noisy horde', Orcs
Pen-faer vûl i Goth Fuiannen (S.) - "Soul-less slave of the Abhorred Enemy"
móradan (S.) - 'Man of Darkness', technically one of the Edain of the East who fell under the dominion of Morgoth in the First Age. Not a very friendly term for any man, especially for an adan.
harucholor (S.) - 'wound-closer', a healing herb
losdalas (S.) - 'sleep-leaf', a healing herb with anaesthetic properties
mellon nín (S.) - my friend
Yestarë (Quenya) - 'First-day', the first day of the elven year. On a modern calendar, it falls on the 28th of March
Edain (S.) - Humans, Men, especially those of the Three Houses of the Edain
dúnadan (pl.: dúnedain) (S.) - 'Man of the West', ranger
Namárië (Q.) - Farewell




Whee, that's quite a few translations this time. And trilingual, too! That's new... Ah well, I always enjoyed Black Speech, yet more proof that I'm mad as a hatter. •g• So, in the next chapter we see how Aragorn's Fabulous Idea© actually works out and how the twins and Legolas get along with Haldar. The answer to both questions is, unsurprisingly enough, 'Not very well'. Oh, and Aragorn finds out that waking up after a nightmare is sometimes more trouble than it's worth, because, sometimes, things are waiting for you to do so. What the heck I'm talking about? You'll have to wait and see... Update-wise we're back on track, so if my laptop doesn't die on me, too, the next chapter should be here in a week. Don't forget to review; see you then!




Additional A/N:

Apologies to Tatsumaki-sama, Clone Trooper (no, I won't stop!), Darkangel-Jessie, Kuramagal, Mirwen Sunrider and Amisara for not including them in the review responses to which I reply by group email. Remember to either make sure you have a working email address listed on your profile page or, if you prefer to review anonymously, to leave me an address there. Sorry for the inconvenience!

Huge, extra-special apologies to Yeade, to whose review I cannot reply because I didn't manage to copy my inbox. It's still stuck on my other hard drive with all my other emails. That idea about reviewing in review form might not be the worst idea till I get my computer back... •hugs• So, sorry!