Another Chapter! Hurrah!
-Granted-
"Hiding in plain sight. An effective strategy to use." the other, shorter than the leader but still quite tall, added.
"What would I need to hide from?" Aragorn asked them, focusing his attention on his horse but still watching them carefully. "I have committed no crime."
"You have committed plenty of crimes, assassin."
Aragorn snapped his head in their direction, incredulously staring at the leader.
Assassin?!
-Granted-
Aragorn was most certainly not an assassin. "Assassin?" He nearly scoffed. "I am no assassin."
"You say that after you have murdered four men. We have been tracking you for many months only to find you here." The leader appeared to be scowling.
"Who is your client?" the other asked, the third remaining quiet during the exchange.
"My client, I know not-"
"So you admit to being the assassin?"
"I only capture criminals who have escaped or fled their countries and return them before the King and the Court for them to decide their fate. I do not partake of any bloodshed of any kind." Aragorn told them, rubbing his horse's nose. "Unless I must. That is the only thing my client has asked of me to do."
"You lie." The second's voice hardened slightly. Aragorn suppressed a sigh. This day was just not his day. He had traveled for hours, fought a few Orc, returned to Bree hoping to retire for the night, ended up being involved in a fight, and now this. The rustle of cloth warned him that they were not alone in the stable. He frowned, sensing there was danger nearby but he was unable to see it.
"We were asked to locate an assassin who has been terrorizing nearby villages in Bree. He has also been spotted in Rohan, Trollshaws, and Gondor." The leader took a step forward, pinning Aragorn with a steely gaze from beneath his hood. "Sound familiar?"
"I do admit to having passed through those lands but the assassin you are searching for could very well be any other man." Aragorn told them, warily eyeing the three. A fight with drunk men and sober men, Orcs, Goblins, and Wargs, he could handle. But three, obviously skilled, Rangers? Being brought back to the past had its consequences, even though Aragorn never asked for it to happen.
Well, perhaps in a way he did, having wished that he could have known his Father. But now, his skills from when he was forty-eight, the skills he worked so hard to perfect, were dulled. He was supposedly twenty years of age(Almost twenty-one), his strength not as strong as before, his body weaker... He was almost exactly the way he was when he was nineteen. He had, of course, been training every night, pushing himself harder and harder every passing day, trying to build up his endurance and strength, but it would be a while before he would become half of how he was when he was forty-eight. Luckily, his mind was still sharp, his vision far more advanced than was normal, and his hearing was sensitive to nearly every sound.
Taking on these Rangers, should they attack, was something Aragorn was not keen on doing. There was another small sound emitted from nearby and Aragorn now knew they were not alone. There was someone with them. His horse nickered and nudged him, telling him that she sensed danger as well.
"And that man just so happens to be you." The second crossed his arms. "A man of Gondor origin with inhuman stealth, agile like an Elf, and is skilled with weapons. From what we have seen, you fit the description well."
"I believe you have described the four of us altogether." Aragorn countered. "In fact, all Dunedain fit that description."
For a moment, there was silence as the Rangers digested this. Now they knew the man they were cornering was of the Dunedain, and the possibility that he could be the assassin they were searching for unsettled them.
"What you say is true. All but in appearance." The leader finally spoke. "Our informer was quite detailed in his writing."
'You are trusting a man whom you have not met in person?' Aragorn wondered to himself. 'And all this from a mere missive?'
"He is said to be around twenty-five or so years of age, shoulder length brown hair, blue-grey eyes, with the beginnings of a beard. Features more Elven-like than any Dunedain."
Aragorn closed his eyes, smirking lightly. That described three of them. Well, now two since Aragorn was no longer forty-eight. Either way, he was not around twenty-five years of age. Though, he did take after the Elvish side of his family in appearance.
"Lower your hood and prove to us that you are not the man we are searching for." The leader ordered, prepared to attack if necessary. "We were given information that his next victim would be in Bree...and here we find you."
"If you are not careful, you will be next." Aragorn warned before mentally berating himself. That was the worst thing he could say in this situation. The Rangers started, perceiving this as a threat but Aragorn was too quick for them. He had grabbed his dagger and flung it in their direction, startling the three men when it narrowly missed nicking the leader's throat. They turned when the sound of the dagger embedding itself into skin resounded behind them in time to see a hooded and cloaked person fall to the ground. The Ranger turned back around to find Aragorn vanishing through the window and full-out sprinting towards the forest.
"Rhiach!" The Leader cursed in Elvish. "We must catch him!"
The three shot off after the man, believing that Aragorn had killed his 'accomplice' as a distraction he had used to escape. The truth was that Aragorn had seen a second man and was now chasing after him. He pushed himself to run faster, cursing inwardly when his nineteen year old body began to grow weary. He pressed on, not daring to slow down one bit. He glanced over his shoulders to find the three Rangers closing in and growled in irritation. They still thought he was an assassin!
'But of course they do!' A voice rumbled in his mind. 'After what you said, then killing a man right after, and then running off the way you did, of course they would believe you were an assassin!'
Aragorn chose to ignore the Rangers and kept his eye on the the hooded figure trying to escape. He didn't get any further when Aragorn was suddenly tackled and pinned to the ground.
"I would stay still if I were you." the second tallest warned, pressing a dagger against his throat.
"Rhiach! " Aragorn growled, but he didn't struggle. It would only worsen the situation. "You are letting him escape!"
"You were the one trying to escape, assassin." The Leader crouched down in front of him and Aragorn could see his grey eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Irritation flickered through Aragorn as he sighed heavily.
"I was chasing your assassin," Aragorn corrected, but they would have none of it. "Who you just allowed to get away."
"There was no other man." the second muttered when the third spoke up.
"He is not lying." They looked to see the third, and smallest of the group, knelt down on the path, his hand brushing against the trail he had found. "There was another."
"His companion, most likely. Now, up. We will bring you back to camp." The leader pulled Aragorn up, the second binding his hands. Aragorn rolled his eyes up to the night sky.
Why did this always happen to him? At least, for once, Legolas wasn't with him.
And this time, Aragorn mused somberly, no one would come to his rescue.
He was alone.
-Granted-
Aragorn walked in the middle of the three Rangers. The leader took the lead, the second gripping his arm in case he tried to escape (Which he would never dream of doing, of course), and the third trailing behind them, deep in thought. He continued glancing at Aragorn, narrowing his eyes before looking away and mumbling to himself. He appeared to be trying to figure something out, though Aragorn had no idea what he had to do with whatever the man was thinking. They had left his hood on, much to Aragorn's surprise, and were silent during the whole trip. Neither questioned him on anything. Soon, they reached the Rangers' make-shift camp and the three lead him into one of the larger tents nearby. Once inside, Aragorn was forced to his knees, the second standing behind him, hands on his shoulders. When Aragorn looked up, he was surprised to find a woman standing before him.
With a pang of sorrow, he recognized her as Aramina, Halbarad's mother. His aunt who had taken care of him when he first joined the Rangers. She had always been there for Aragorn, making sure he was well and resting enough. She was the mother hen of the Rangers, but everyone loved her dearly. When he looked up at her, Aragorn felt a wave of calmness overcome him, as it always did when he was around her. She was most of the Rangers rock. Someone who helped them through hard times and comforted them when she felt the need to. Of course, she never did it publicly, knowing the men had a reputation to live up to, but she would still subtly let them know everything would be alright.
Aramina confusedly looked up at the three Rangers, quirking an eyebrow.
"Ada, what is this?"
Aragorn nearly started when the Leader appeared beside him. That was Arador? Had he truly just been captured by his own Grandfather?
"Our assassin." Arador replied, lowering his hood. Now Aragorn knew that he had indeed been tracked and captured by his Grandfather. The man stood straight before them, a kingly aura enveloping his body, shoulder length dark brown hair, shimmering grey eyes, and the beginnings of a beard. None of the Rangers ever grew a full beard, for whatever reason. He was tall, at least six inches taller than Aragorn himself, and resembled Lord Elrond greatly. Aragorn then felt a pang of fear shoot through him. If they lowered his hood, would they see the resemblance he bore with Arador and Arathorn? If they did, what would they make of it?
Probably brush it aside, Aragorn thought to himself.
"You found him?" Aramina gazed down at Aragorn, a dangerous glint in her eyes which made him feel instantly nervous. He knew how much she disliked rebellious men, criminals, and thieves. She was pretty brutal whenever she ran into one, giving them no mercy nor pity. Not that they deserved it.
"After a long while." Arador nodded, turning to face Aragorn. "Now to see who you truly are..." He strode over and Aragorn instinctively leaned back, only to bump against the second Ranger still holding him. Arador extended his hand and flicked Aragorn's hood back. The hood jerked up then slowly slid back, Aragorn keeping his head held high, Aramina and Arador stepping back in surprise. Blue-grey eyes clashed with grey.
"Why, he's no older than Halbarad!" Aramina exclaimed. "Surely this cannot be the assassin you were searching for?" She faced her Father before glancing back at Aragorn. Arador appeared befuddled as well as he studied the young man kneeling in front of him. This man was definitely not twenty-five. Nor did he appear the least bit dangerous, but Arador would not lower his guard. Anything was possible. The young man had chocolaty brown hair that fell down his shoulders, a little stubble on his young face, and grey eyes flecked with blue. The eyes were what caught Arador's attention. This man was young, but his eyes looked to be aged with the wisdom of many years.
"Tell me," Arador began, watching him carefully, "What is your name?" Aragorn made to answer when the third Ranger shuffled closer to Arador, peering around the tall man at him.
"Thorongil!" He abruptly blurted and Aragorn whipped his head to him.
"Halbarad?"
Arador, Aramina, an the second Ranger, who Aragorn strongly suspected to be Arathorn, looked from Halbarad to Aragorn then back to Halbarad.
"Halbarad, you know this man?" Aradorn asked his grandson, who nodded.
"He is the reason I am still living today." Halbarad informed them. "Had it not been for Thorongil coming to my rescue, I would have been overwhelmed by the Wild Men and slain."
"Arathorn, release him!" Aramina immediately ordered, startling the men who had been listening raptly to Halbarad.
"Muinthel-" Arathorn started to object but Aramina gave him a look.
"Let him go, muindor. He is of no threat to us." She sternly said and Arathorn cut the bonds off Aragorn. Aramina walked over, grasping his hands and pulling him up into a standing position.
"Hannon-le, My Lady." Aragorn politely thanked her, but the woman shook her head, tears in her eyes.
"I cannot thank you enough for saving my son!" She told him before embracing him tightly. "Halbarad told us everything! Had it not been for you, my son would be dead!" A few tears slipped from her eyes as she pulled away.
"Now I must thank, Halbarad." Aragorn said, earning bewildered looks.
"Whatever for?" Halbarad asked. Aragorn looked to him, a slight smile on his lips.
"Had it not been for you, I do not know what my fate would have been. I most certainly would have been unable to convince you that I am not an assassin."
"And for that, I must apologize." Arador spoke up, clasping Aragorn's shoulder firmly. "It appears I must have made a mistake while tracking our assassin."
"Nay, I do not think you did." Aragorn shook his head and Arador tilted his head in question. "The assassin must have followed my trail. It is too much of a coincidence that we happened to have been seen in Rohan, Trollshaws, and Gondor at the same time."
"I must agree, but I still apologize for wrongly apprehending you."
"It was not solely your fault, Ada." Arathorn said. "We should have listened to what Thorongil had to say, but in our haste to capture the assassin, we were not thinking clearly."
That was when everything came crashing down on Aragorn. He was standing here, his Grandfather grasping his shoulder, his Father standing behind him, his aunt and a younger version of Halbarad...
His Grandfather...
His own Father...
His birth Father! Aragorn was actually standing beside his own Father and no one but him knew this. Something that should have been impossible was coming true for Aragorn. He was finally able to meet his Father and possibly get to know him. This made him feel overjoyed and nervous. At the same time, Aragorn was uncertain as to what he should be feeling. His emotions were swirling within him as he thought about this. So many questions he wanted to ask and have answered. So many things he wanted to know.
Then his thoughts darkened and Aragorn remembered the threat he posed on them. He was still a weapon of the enemy. Or...Since he traveled back in time, seeing he had changed back to his younger self, did that mean Aragorn was no longer tainted and himself?
"...On..gil...Tho...il!" A voice broke into his thoughts and Aragorn looked to find Arador and the others looking at him, concerned.
"My Lord?" Aragorn blinked, shaking his head and banishing all the morbid thoughts that continued nagging at him.
"Are you well, Thorongil?" Arathorn inquired, his healer instincts kicking in. Aragorn went to answer but Aramina beat him to it.
"He is clearly exhausted! And famished, I would believe." She grabbed Aragorn's arm and started pulling him out of the tent, the others following close behind, the Rangers giving one another amused looks. "How long has it been since you have had a goodnight's rest and eaten a full meal?"
Aragorn couldn't help but grin at the woman who was pulling him in the direction of the Mess Tent. "A few da..." He trailed off, thinking about the question. "A few months." He was taken aback by this. He hadn't realized how little sleep he had been getting and how little he ate. Aramina appeared horrified by this.
"Oh, Stars above!" She gasped. "That is not okay! You," She punctuated the word as she forced Aragorn to seat himself at the table they had reached. "Are going to sit here while I fetch you something to eat!" She vanished behind the curtains that separated the kitchen from the dining area. Aragorn blinked while Arador and Halbarad laughed, Arathorn cracking a smile.
"My daughter is quite...How do you say...?" Arador murmured as he searched for the correct word.
"The mother hen?" Halbarad offered and they shared another laugh, Aragorn smiling as he watched them, still not over the fact that this was truly happening. They had suddenly transformed from the serious and dutiful Rangers to kind and gentle men. Many believed Rangers were a mysterious and dangerous folk-which they were- but they were not as cruel as many rumored them to be. They were caring and once you got to know them, as Aragorn had, they were very friendly and accepting. It didn't matter who you were, whether another man, Elf, Dwarf, or some other being, the Rangers never held one higher in regard than the other.
Even though Arador did not know this Thorongil, he felt he could trust him. Anyone could see the kindness and care reflected in those eyes. He had a friendly feel about him but there was something else. Hidden in the depths of those grey orbs, was immense sorrow, pain, and fear, making Arador wonder what the young Thorongil had suffered during his life.
"Tell me, Thorongil, from where do you hail from?" Arador asked, taking a seat across the man, Halbarad and Arathorn standing behind him. Aragorn hesitated. He couldn't say Rivendell, that would raise questions and no one knew him in Rivendell...Yet.
"Gondor." he answered, deciding that was the best answer he could give. Arador nodded at this.
"What brought you here, to Bree? What of your family?"
Aragorn thought about this for a moment. "My Father was killed during an Orc ambush and my Mother faded soon afterwards. I was raised by my Father's uncle before he..." Aragorn trailed off, unsure of what to say. So far, he had spoken the truth. Taking his silence to mean that his uncle had passed, Arador regretted asking the question.
"I am sorry for your loss."
Aragorn dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "I left home because I could no longer stand to be there. It was too painful." To his relief, Aragorn did not truly have to lie. He would only have to remember that he now hails from Gondor and that his whole family is dead. What he was telling them was all true. He could never return to Rivendell because of the pain it would bring. He and Elrond never spoke during his time in Mirkwood, seeing as they never had the time. Well, mostly because Aragorn would avoid the family as much as possible. Thranduil never said anything about it, but Aragorn knew Glorfindel disagreed with what he was doing, though he understood the reason why. Aragorn and Elrond had parted with harsh words the last time he had been in Rivendell, merely two months before he 'vanished.' The twins had been off hunting, Glorfindel and Erestor taking care of some merchants, and Lindir busy preparing another composition. Aragorn could never face the Elf after what he had said. "I wandered the lands, finding work in Rohan and G-" Aragorn quickly caught himself, reminding himself that he had hailed from Gondor and never wanted to return there according to his cover-up story. "Rohan and Bree. That was where I was approached by my client. I had accepted before I even knew what I was to do."
"The client...the man you were with in the Prancing Pony?" Arador asked and Aragorn nodded.
"The very same. He would give me missions which mainly consisted of capturing criminals and returning them to their homeland to be punished for their crimes."
"You are one of the Dunedain." Arathorn suddenly spoke up. "Why did you not come to us?"
Aragorn was silent. How would he answer this?
"I never thought of it." He slowly replied. "My Mother nor my Uncle spoke much about them. I knew very little of the Rangers except from what I had learned from all of the stories I have overheard."
"Hobbits." Arador fondly shook his head. "They do love their tales." He remarked, recalling many moments he had listened to Hobbits tell tales of the Rangers. Men also shared their own stories of the dark and mysterious Rangers who travel the wilderness. The way they would tell them made it sound close to a horror story meant to frighten children at night.
"For two years I worked for him..." Aragorn finished.
"How old are you, son?" Arador asked him.
"Twenty." Aragorn answered softly. Being twenty brought back memories of those days... When he had turned twenty in his time, was the day he learned of his true heritage. He was no longer Estel Elrondion, Elrond's adopted son, but Aragorn, son of Arathorn II. Arador leaned back in his seat, deciding not to press the man in front of him. He narrowed his eyes. He could tell Aragorn was hiding something from him, but what could it be?
"You act very much like a Ranger. It was difficult tracking you and the assassin. You are light on your feet but swift."
"A perfect candidate for a Ranger!" Aramina seemed to materialize right next to Aragorn, nearly causing him to start. She placed the food she had prepared in front of him and a drink. She then gave her Father and brother a stern look. "No more questions." She pointed a finger at them. "He has been through enough."
"Very well." Arador relented, not wishing to anger his daughter, Arathorn remaining silent. "Though, I do have one more." Giving his daughter a reassuring glance when she gave him the death glare, he continued. "Would you like to become a Ranger, Thorongil? You are kin and have no home. I would be willing to take you in as one of us."
Aragorn had to take a moment for himself. This was very unexpected. He had expected their meeting to be a little more difficult and...and...well, he was not exactly sure what he had been expecting. But he was certainly not expecting for it to go as smoothly as this! He was absolutely fine with this, thought. If he were to become a Ranger, he would be able to learn more about his family and get to know his own Father! He leaned back in his seat, Aramina placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You do not have to, Thorongil. Do not feel pressured to if you do not want to."
"Nay," Aragorn shook his head and Aramina's expression fell just a slight bit. In the short time she had gotten to know him, she found she liked him.
"If that is what you wish," Arador began when Aragorn shook his head.
"I meant that I do not feel pressured into becoming a Ranger." He explained, eyes brightening. "I would very much like to become one."
Arador gave him a kind smile. "Then, Thorongil, I welcome you to the Rangers. I am most pleased you will stay." He and Aragorn clasped one another's arms, Aragorn feeling strangely overjoyed. Arathorn gave him a sharp but acknowledging nod and Halbarad clasped his hand firmly.
"How is your wound?" Aragorn found himself asking as he ate. Halbarad shrugged his shoulder.
"It no longer pains me, though it is difficult for me not to use it." Halbarad admitted and Arador smirked.
"Indeed. Halbarad can no longer use his bow until it is fully healed."
Halbarad scowled at his Grandfather, who found this amusing. Halbarad loved archery. He was very skilled with a bow, Aragorn knew. Arathorn's eyes also sparkled with laughter though his expression remained slightly guarded, raising questions in Aragorn's mind. From what he had learned from those who knew Arathorn, mostly his adoptive family, had said he was nearly the same as Aragorn. They had said Arathorn was a very friendly and accepting man who was normally cheerful but serious when he needed to be. He remembered many of the tales the twins would tell him of their adventures with his Father. Of all the fun they had and how troublesome and mischievous Arathorn could be at times. Right now, Aragorn was not seeing any of those descriptions. Arathorn appeared wary and cautious. Though his eyes freely revealed his emotions, if Aragorn looked closely at them, his expression remained mostly impassive, revealing little of what he felt.
Why was this?
-Granted-
Somewhere within Mirkwood...
"This could be a problem." A cloaked figure murmured as he watched his companion pace back and forth. His companion whirled around, clearly irritated.
"Could be a problem? No, my friend, it is a problem." He hissed. "The brat disappeared, according to the King, and the King never lies! How could he have disappeared?!" He growled, flinging his arms up in frustration as he continued with his pacing. The cloaked figure leaned back against his seat, rolling his eyes at his uptight friend. "I nearly had him! After two failed attempts, I nearly had him!"
"I told you to send me instead." the seated figure drawled, propping his feet up on the desk and swirling the wine he held in his hand.
"I should have!" The assassin grumbled. "If it hadn't been for that accursed Woodland sprite-" He bit out, referring to the Princess, Nordawyth Thranduiliell. "He would have been dead! She just had to interfere when everything was going just perfectly!"
"What of the fire in the stables?"
"What fire?" The assassin rounded on his friend, who quirked an eyebrow.
"You mean to tell me it was not you who set it?"
"I do not know what you are talking about. What fire?" The assassin demanded to know.
"There was a fire in the stables at the palace. I thought you had set it as a distraction and watched as the youngling ran off with a group of Orcs on his tail."
"Orcs!?" The assassin exclaimed. "Oh, of course there would be Orcs...No, that would not have been me...That means someone else is after him...Did you see what happened afterwards?"
"I watched as the Balrog Slayer and the King himself went after Strider. I followed them in time to see Strider get thrown over a cliff and fall."
"And then?" The assassin pressed. His friend shrugged.
"He was gone." He snapped his fingers. "Like that. The Elvenking was stunned himself and the Balrog Slayer had no idea what to do. They returned to the Palace after thoroughly searching the area. There was no sign of him."
"That is impossible! No one can disappear in thin air!"
"He did."
The assassin glared but did not reply. "I will find him," He darkly muttered, slamming his dagger into the desk. "And I will kill him." His lavender eyes glinted threateningly. Neither noticed the dark shadow just outside the doorway, listening to their conversation intently before turning away and fading into the darkness of the night.
-Granted-
Thranduil rubbed his forehead in exhaustion, slumping back against his cushioned chaise, his robe splaying beneath him and onto the floor. He had spent days searching for Estel but everyone had come up empty-handed, himself included. Legolas was beside himself with worry, as were everyone else. Elrond had yet to leave his room, and when he did, he was quiet, rarely speaking. No one knew of the harsh quarrel that Elrond and Aragorn had had years previous. Elladan and Elrohir constantly went out, hunting down Orcs and trying to gain information from them, but no one seemed to know anything. Thranduil was starting to consider inviting the insufferable wizard Gandalf, himself, to solve this mystery for them! As tempting as it was, Thranduil wanted to solve this alone. Of course, he would accept his people's and his guest's help, but no one else. It had happened in his land, his kingdom, and he was going to figure it out. So preoccupied in his thoughts was Thranduil that he did not hear the door to his office open until a quiet voice called out,
"Ada?"
Opening one eye, Thranduil looked to find his youngest, Legolas, standing in the doorway. He dared not cross into the room, looking to Thranduil.
"Come in, Ion-nin." Thranduil invited him, his voice tired but still strong. Legolas entered, plopping down in front of Thranduil, back leaning against the chaise. Thranduil made himself comfortable before placing a hand on his son's head. "What is it, little 'Las?" Legolas exhaled deeply, shaking his head.
"I worry for Estel, Ada. Where could he be? Is he hurt? Is he still..." Legolas's voice cracked before he continued. "-here." Thranduil started running his fingers through Legolas's long hair in a soothing manner.
"Estel is still alive and well. It would take more than whatever magic warped him away to beat him down." Thranduil told his son, and he believed what he said. It was impossible for Estel be dead. It was not yet his time. Though, he had most likely already run into trouble. "We will find him...We will find him..."
Months slowly passed by and there was still no sign of Estel anywhere. Thranduil was ready to rip his hair out in frustration. What had happened to Estel, how, and why? Every inch of his land had been searched, Thranduil even sending Elves to scour Laketown, Dale, and the Misty Mountains! Elrond send patrols out around the border of Rivendell and beyond, sending Elladan and Elrohir to Gondor while Glorfindel rose to Isengard and Rohan. They returned empty-handed. By this time, hope that they would find Estel was fading. The young, and once bright, mortal was nowhere to be found. Elladan and Elrohir spent many days grieving the loss of their little brother, Legolas fearing his closest friend was dead, Nordawyth dimming with every day that passed. By some miracle, Nordawyth had lived, but barely, only to wake and hear of Estel's abrupt disappearance. She had not taken the news well and for many days, Thranduil and her brothers had to coax her out of the shell she had created and open up. Nights were spent comforting one another and days spent hopelessly searching the lands once again in the hopes they had missed some crucial clue.
Nothing.
Thranduil allowed a groan to escape his lips as he dropped his head against the windowsill, eyes drifting close as the beginnings of a headache made itself known to the Elvenking. The wind caressed his tall and lithe form, offering a little comfort.
"Ada?"
Thranduil did not bother to move when his daughter entered the room, watching him with concerned eyes. She walked over to stand beside him, feeling comforted just being around him. Thranduil sighed and pulled his daughter close.
"We will find him...We must find him." Thranduil murmured mostly to himself, gazing out into the distance as Anor began sinking below the horizon. Nordawyth rested her head against his shoulder, praying that her Father was correct and they would find Estel.
"Where could he be, Ada? What if he is no longer of this world?" Nordawyth asked in merely a whisper, the thought numbing her mind as she pondered this possibility. Thranduil firmly shook his head.
"Nay, Estel is still alive. He must be." Whether he was trying to convince himself or his daughter, he knew not. But they were only just words. Whether they were true or whether they were false, he did not know. Legolas seemed to materialize beside them as he came to stand by the window.
"Glorfindel has arrived." Legolas informed Thranduil. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at this.
"Glorfindel? Was he sent by Elrond?" Thranduil asked before noting the expression his son wore. Narrowing his eyes, he asked Legolas what ailed the Balrog Slayer.
"He had left Rivendell, seeking the twins, but was waylaid by Warg Riders and..." Legolas trailed off, worrying Thranduil and Nordawyth.
"And, Legolas?" Thranduil pressed. Legolas looked up at him.
"The Witchking attacked Glorfindel as he was passing Dol Guldur."
Nothing more needed to be said as the Elvenking disappeared through the doorway, his robes fluttering behind him. He rushed down the hallways, uncaring of who saw him, heading for the Healing Ward. Bursting through the doors, Thranduil managed to hold himself with dignity despite his hurry and reached the room Glorfindel had been placed in. He entered to find the Golden Elf, pale but alive, lying on the sickbed, eyes closed as he rested. Thranduil moved closer, taking in every wound that marred Glorfindel's body. He had a few scraped on his face, a few cuts and bruises along his arms, but the worst wounds the Elvenking could see, was the Warg's bite mark on his shoulder, and the stab wound in the side. Stirring slightly, Glorfindel opened his eyes and locked gazes with the Elvenking.
"Thranduil." He managed to say, smiling despite the pain he felt.
"Glorfindel." Thranduil returned, walking closer. "Legolas informed me of what happened."
Glorfindel nodded.
"Aye, he was the one who found me just before I fell from Asfaloth..." Glorfindel nodded, albeit weakly.
"The Witchking?" Thranduil raised his eyes in question.
"He was hiding within the ruins of the fortress." Glorfindel scowled. "He caught me unawares."
"So I see." Thranduil replied, making a point of tapping Glorfindel's shoulder lightly. "With a small band of Warg Riders, if I am not mistaken." Glorfindel bitterly grinned.
"Pure luck the Warg managed to grab me. The Nazgul, on the other hand..." Glorfindel flinched, his hand covering the wound in his side. Thranduil felt concerned.
"It was not poisoned, was it?" Thinking the worst, Thranduil asked, "Did he strike you with a Morgul Shaft?"
"Nay." Glorfindel shook his head, relieving the Elvenking. "I suppose the Valar were protecting me. He only nicked me with his blade."
"Only nicked you?" Thranduil raised a disbelieving brow, pointedly looking at the wound. "Whatever would the twins be doing near Dol Guldur?" The King then asked. Glorfindel's eyes widened as he shot upright in the bed.
"Valar! The Twins! I forgot about the twins!" He made to leave the bed but Thranduil firmly pressed him back down.
"Do not move." He ordered, pointing a warning finger at the Balrog Slayer. Glorfindel gazed up at him, eyes pleading but Thranduil shook his head firmly. "You are going no where, Glorfindel, until you are healed."
"I am well enough!" Glorfindel argued, making to get up once again but Thranduil pushed him back down, a warning glint in his eyes.
"Move again, and I will bind you to this bed." He threatened and Glorfindel stilled, anguished. "Where are the twins, Glorfindel?"
"They were travelling to Dale but for some reason, chose to take the path that took them through Dol Guldur." Glorfindel answered, leaning back against his pillows. "Elrond had a vision about the twins, one that involved them being in grave danger. I came to find them before his vision could come to pass," The Balrog Slayer sulked, mentally berating himself for having failed his Lord. "But it appears that I have failed him." It was one of the worst things Glorfindel feared. He hated disappointing others, especially his Lord and Erestor. Elrond had done so much for him that Glorfindel could only repay him through whatever services were asked of him. Thranduil frowned.
"How long ago was this vision?"
"It has been four days since I left Rivendell."
Thranduil was surprised by this. Glorfindel must have ridden most of the journey without taking any breaks if he had reached Mirkwood within such a short amount of time. But then again, it was the twins who were in danger. Glorfindel loved the twins fiercely, having helped raise them since they were elflings and having trained them in the arts of battle for most of their lives. Glorfindel would do anything for those he cared greatly for, even sacrifice himself should he ever have to. It was something that worried Elrond, Erestor, and even Thranduil himself. They knew the Balrog Slayer would not think twice before throwing himself in harm's way to keep them safe. He was rather protective of the children, including Thranduil's own, but that was for a reason very few knew of. Thranduil lowered his head, grief filling his heart as he thought of his beloved wife. They had been together for nearly three centuries when she was mercilessly taken from him one dark and dreadful day. It had pierced everyone's heart the day Thranduil brokenly pronounced her death, having watched as her broken body tumbled into the freezing river and flow down the waterfall, never to be seen again. He had searched for her body in vain, but the river connected to the Ocean, which meant he would never be able to find it.
Many feared Glorfindel would fade, seeing as it had been his one and only niece, Ecthelion's daughter, who Thranduil had married and who had died such a horrific death. She had become like the daughter he never had when he returned from Valinor to Middle Earth.
How ironic it was that Ecthelion had fallen to his death in his Fountain after having felled three Balrogs and his daughter had fallen into a river after defeating yet another Balrog within the Mountains. Thranduil had never forgiven himself since then. If he hadn't fallen in battle, if he had just pressed himself to continue despite his weakness from his injuries, he would have been able to stop her from...from facing the Balrog alone. The look in her eyes...the expression that marred her beautiful face when she saw Thranduil fall. One Thranduil would never forget. The utter fear and horror etched into her expression as she gave an agonized scream and ran towards him...
Thranduil had tried to stop her, shouting and pleading with her to flee, but she would hear none of it. Valiantly, she fought the Balrog, wielding her father's own blade she had retrieved after the Fall of Gondolin, leaving everyone to watch, horror-struck. Glorfindel and Erestor had fought violently, trying in vain to reach her before it was too late, while Elrond pulled Thranduil out of harm's way. Thranduil had struggled, fought against Elrond's hold, ordering the Lord to release him. Only when the Balrog broke the bridge they were on did Elrond's grip loosen and the two had been sent sliding down to their impending doom, had it not been for Elrond grabbing hold of the robe and grasping Thranduil's wrist. They had dangled helplessly, Celebrian panicking as Galadriel held her back, Celeborn sprinting over to ensure they were safe.
That was when it had happened.
The moment that Thranduil would forever remember.
The Balrog Glorfindel, Celen, and even Erestor were fighting had cornered his wife near the broken edge of the bridge, much to his dismay. Glorfindel had lunged and buried his sword to the hilt in the back of the Balrog just as Celen had driven her blade through its heart, Erestor standing right behind his friend. She had already been severely burned, the Balrog's whip having wrapped itself around her, setting her flowing clothing afire. They had watched as the Balrog receded, falling into the chasm down below. For a split moment, Thranduil had believed everything would be well but then everything came crashing down. His beloved had wandered over to the edge, ensuring the Balrog was dead, then locked gazes with Thranduil. Her eyes told him everything.
Though his vision had been blurred by tears, seeing as he knew at once everything was lost, he had cried out to her but she had already fallen. Everything seemed to have happened in slow motion, Glorfindel bellowing with despair as he rushed to the edge, crashing to his knees, arm extended as he reached out for Celen, but she was too far gone. They had been left to watch as she tumbled lifelessly through the air and into the river far below, her body broken, and along with it, Thranduil's. So overwhelmed with grief and shock, Elrond had to bodily hault him up the broken bridge, Celeborn grabbing hold of them both and bringing them up to safety. Nothing seemed to connect with Thranduil, his body numbing from the shock he had felt. Glorfindel was freely sobbing, Erestor holding his friend close to him, tears streaming down his fair face as well. Celebrian had fallen, screaming in denial. She had just witnessed the death of her dearest friend, a woman she had long since loved as a sister. Thranduil did not know what to feel. His heart had completely shattered, his mind dulled, body numb. He couldn't feel anything. He remained kneeling there, staring into the chasm with unseeing eyes, his wife's death constantly replaying itself in his mind...
-Granted-
"Thranduil!"
Thranduil started to find Glorfindel shaking him, worriedly calling out to him.
"Glorfindel?" Thranduil confusedly looked at him.
"What happened, Thranduil?" Glorfindel asked the Elvenking, not bothering to release him. "You suddenly stopped speaking, fell onto the couch, where you remained, unresponsive! I feared something terrible had happened when you would not awaken from whatever reverie you were trapped in!"
"It was no reverie." Thranduil averted his eyes to the window, where he could see Ithil just peeking above the mountains. "It was a memory."
Glorfindel seemed to know exactly of what 'memory' Thranduil spoke of and was silent for a moment.
"She would not have wanted us to mourn." Glorfindel softly spoke. "She would have wanted us to move on but to always remember her."
"Aye, she would have." Thranduil agreed, a small smile playing at his lips. "I am sorry, mellon-nin, for having brought up such painful memories." he apologized, but Glorfindel shook his head.
"Do not apologize. They are good memories."
They sat in companionable silence before Thranduil turned to face the Balrog Slayer.
"Glorfindel, tomorrow, I am going to search for the twins." He raised his hand when Glorfindel made to object, "You are in no condition to look for them so I will go in your stead. I have but one favor to ask of you."
Curious, Glorfindel looked up at his friend. "And what would that be?"
"Please watch over my children during my absence. Especially Nordawyth. She can be rather...rash."
Glorfindel nodded. "Of course." Thranduil then stood to leave, but before he stepped through the door, he glanced over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Glorfindel?"
"Hm?" The Balrog Slayer perked up at hearing his name and looked to Thranduil, wondering what he had to say. Keeping his expression impassive but narrowing his eyes on the Elf, Thranduil drawled,
"I know."
Glorfindel paled, not needing Thranduil to elucidate his meaning behind the two words. He stuttered, much to Thranduil's amusement (But of course, he did not show it), as the King turned away from his friend, a smirk gracing his lips as he shut the door behind him, listening to Glorfindel's stuttering as he started walking down the hall.
-Granted-
Oh my word...Over 7,000 words,...Whewwie, this was a long chapter! Longer than I intended it to be! Yeah, it's pretty gloomy in the end there, but it will get happier, I promise!