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Chapter 10: Truths of the Fallen

You search for truth
But cannot find it
You search for meaning
That shall never exist
You search for the missing
And misunderstood
You search, but you know
That it's all gone for good.

Silence. They needed silence.

Surprisingly enough, Ancadur had found that when the situation demanded as much, his companions could be quite soundless. There was an occasional scraping of metal or sound of shifting dirt as they changed position slightly—but not much besides, certainly not enough to be heard at a distance, even by Legolas' keen ears. That was good. Stealth was necessary at this point. Ancadur felt his heart beating quickly in anticipation to carry out the attack, for the excitement and rush of fighting was already beginning to take a hold on him, and he wanted nothing more than to feel it, to smell the blood and know the taste of victory...of invincibility.

The area in which they were situated had not before been a clearing, but it was easy enough to make it one by destroying some of the vegetation, and it was plenty large enough for all of them to fit comfortably. There were, in Ancadur's group, a total of seven Orcs, five Goblins, two Men and two Elves—himself and another by the name of Firith, a name that meant Fading in their tongue. The number assembled, therefore, was not by any means particularly large, but it was certainly enough to take as prisoner a single Man and Elf. Their vicinity was located beneath the looming shadow of a jagged outcropping of rock which Ancadur was leaning against. It provided them with darkness in which to remain unseen...besides the fact that the Orcs and Goblins, creatures of ominous bearing as they were, preferred to shy from the light of the sun. Ancadur had found recently that he also was being drawn more to shadow. The sun seemed harsh and unwelcome. He looked around; the piercing eyes of the others shone fatally through the gloom, with slivers of light from the setting sun that wound around the boulder occasionally falling on them and illuminating their presence, which seemed to radiate with hatred.

Their plan was not to be carried out this night; a fact that caused those gathered even more frustration. But by the next day, Legolas and Aragorn would have been out of the mountains. Ancadur knew that it was better to fight on open ground than on the enclosed, vulnerable mountain roads; they could hide on the edge of the mountain, in the small groups of trees, and attack on the stable terrain. So they would have to spend another night resting.

"It could have already been done," complained Eirin, one of the Men, who was seated on the ground to Ancadur's left and running a sharpening stone over the length of a rough dagger's blade.

"We wait," Ancadur ordered routinely.

One of the Orcs, he knew not which, growled with impatience from a far corner. "We only take orders from the master, not from you, elf scum."

"Oh, but these orders do come from Lord Caleil," he replied, unperturbed as he lifted dirt in his fist and watched it sift through his fingers. "Your intolerance and hurried attitudes would have led to exactly the opposite result he desired. We have waited by my word. The failed assassination proved that the two consider themselves bonded by friendship now, and Lord Caleil's orders were to hold off on the assault until they were more than acquaintances.

"We have accomplished that without yet being discovered. By being patient only a short period longer, we have come up with a strategic plan to carry out. Now, we are foolproof, which we would not have been had we rushed in extemporaneously."

A few muttered in response, but none raised any direct objection. They simply carried on with their own thoughts.

Eirin turned his gaze to Ancadur. The elf still found himself somewhat disgusted at the sight of the man; fading light elucidated his features, which included a shaggy mat of hair that fell into his avaricious black eyes and skin layered with dirt and grime. When those cracked lips parted into a smile almost more threatening than a scowl, they revealed rows of grotesquely rotted teeth. "Foolhardy traitors, those two rangers were," he said contemptuously. "I heard all it took was a few coins to bring out their black hearts. No better than us, eh?"

Ancadur grimaced at the man, who was not one to speak of traitors or black hearts. Eirin was a person plagued by insanity, and had butchered his entire family in a moment of profound ire. It was that action, after several less serious, that had brought him to Caleil, who particularly sought out this kind of madman.

"Have you learned nothing?" Ancadur spat. "If those men were as low as you, they'd have been with us a long time ago.

"Cowardice and betrayal can be induced by temptation, fear, lunacy, or a combination therein. Those two men were far from insane. They were reasonable, more so than I expected after all those years living the lives of barbarians in the wild. The first, Táridil, was called to a private meeting by our master. He knew not who called this or why, but he attended for reasons of his own.

"One would think such men, who resorted to nomadic lifestyles, would be the kind who did not have a life worth returning to. However, with enough questioning, Lord Caleil was able to find that even men such as these have those that they have given their heart to. Oh, he offered bribery of course—wealth, land, and steady employment among other desirable things. But you would be surprised to know that he was loath to turn against a friend for things such as those. In fact, he did not so much as consider. He actually threatened our master—even after being enlightened as to the true identity of 'Strider'. He labeled Lord Caleil as an assassin and said that justice would be brought upon him. The man remained steadfast even when our master threatened to kill him.

"At that point it was obvious that this Táridil could not be won over by temptation, nor did he fear his own death. Unfortunate it would seem to most, but I believe that Lord Caleil rather enjoys resorting to fear as a means of forcing betrayal. He needed this treachery to take place, because most likely an execution such as that would cause an already insecure man to withdraw—and he much preferred to attack the heir of Isildur without having to bother himself with the other Rangers. It was an interesting psychological experiment—would the pain of having killed a man, of having one he considered close betray him, be enough to make Aragorn seek solitude and desert the group?

"It was something that our lord was intent on trying. Therefore, he threatened the ranger Táridil; threatened to destroy those he cared about, and in terrible ways too. A threat by Lord Caleil is not to be taken lightly...especially when emphasized by a single, yet painful physical act." When Ancadur tapped the tip of his pointed ear to signify what that painful physical act had been, Eirin smiled knowingly. Then the elf continued.

"So, he tried to murder this Aragorn in his sleep and it failed, naturally. But part of the threat was that Táridil, if he should fail, could not confess to being threatened—the murders would still be carried out if he mentioned anything more than the bribery. That way, Lord Caleil was assured that the man would be executed. So the very ones who killed him never knew the truth. This was an innocent man, attempting to kill one he cared for to save those he loved more from an untimely and horrific death. The other, Finhir, was even more difficult to convince. I had the privilege of carrying that act of persuasion out myself."

Ancadur laughed contemptuously as his speech ended. He enjoyed the mixed emotions that existed in Eirin's expression. Finally, after some moments of contemplation, the man responded.

"Fear. It can destroy. I suppose then, that the irony lies in that one man will die for those he loves, though does not care to have his own life threatened, whilst another would sooner kill and assert domination. We are the latter. The rangers were the former." That grin of malice returned to Eirin's face. "The former ended up dead."

This time, Ancadur returned the smile, pushing aside the brief memory that came to mind of those he had once loved. "That is why we serve Lord Caleil...we are the ones who will rise in the world, until we stand beside Sauron, reaping in rewards."

At that point, their conversation died. Ancadur could feel those penetrating gazes following him as he turned and looked up at the sky that opened up above the rock.

The sun was set. He had been waiting for this moment to come; waiting for night to fall. Many things could come with the night. It brought them closer to the attack—only one more day of the torturous sun, and then the hour when fate would be decided.

Ancadur knew that anger burned in the eyes and hearts of those watching him. They hated his stalling, hated the way he had taken control of the operation and planned everything out meticulously. If something were to go ill, the chances were slim that they would not turn against him. These were those brought to darkness by greed and temptation. They cared nothing for one another.

All the more reason for everything to go exactly as planned.

Ancadur closed his eyes. Things had to go according to plan—in this world of shadow, power was all he had left, and his allegiance to Caleil, his diligence in carrying out orders, was the only thing that gave it to him. It was the only thing he had control over anymore.

"Strange things happen on the nights when I sleep. First a hideous nightmare, now another betrayal and death. Perhaps I should simply not rest, because that is when I am susceptible to whatever dark things wish to plague me."

Legolas sighed. "Coincidence, Aragorn. Something terrible is not going to happen every time you succumb to sleep." It was dusk already, and it did not seem as though the ranger would agree to rest this night.

Aragorn did not answer, but shrugged with his gaze facing the ground as he trudged downward at a quick pace. Legolas walked a short ways behind him as the trail had grown narrower.

Though he would not admit it, Legolas had been left slightly unnerved by the prior night's incident as well, for more reasons than one. Why would Caleil send two rangers to attack Aragorn, when he obviously wished to carry out the murder himself and knew both would fail? Surely one served as enough of a warning. The "sleeping" coincidence was just Aragorn's unreasonable paranoia, obviously, so that did not bother Legolas much.

When they had buried the body, however, something else had brought worry to his mind. Finhîr's hair had fallen back from his face as they lowered him into the dirt, to reveal that he was missing his right ear. There was but a small aperture into the scull, surrounded by a circle of some dried substance that might have been blood. When Legolas had questioned Aragorn on the matter, the ranger had stated that Finhîr had never lost an ear, and both had been perfectly intact at their last encounter. Aragorn had then insisted that much could have happened between then and now and that it was no subject of great importance.

But Legolas knew Caleil and his vile ways...he liked to make people suffer, and would prefer that to simple bribery. He also recalled, though he had been watching Aragorn at the time, noting that Táridil as well seemed to be missing an ear. He had then decided that either the man had never had a right ear or that he had been mistaken in what he saw. Now Legolas was thinking twice on that occurrence as well. Could there have been more to these betrayals? Could Caleil had instilled fear and suffering in the two men besides just offering them riches?

I may never know the whole truth. Perhaps it is better that way.

"Aragorn, look; the end of the trail," said Legolas, forcing his mind to think of other things. Indeed, the mountains leveled onto even ground a little ways off. They would reach the foothills by nightfall and be able to be well out of the Misty Mountains by the next day. And on our way towards Mirkwood. The way home.

"I see it," Aragorn replied. "It will be a welcome change, to be out of the mountains. That path was forsaken indeed. I should be glad if I never have to travel through them again."

"Unfortunately, I do not think that is possible. Wherever you go...yes, I am sorry to say so, but you will have to come through here again."

"Thank you, Legolas. My spirits are quite lifted now."

"You will not, however, have to cross these mountains should you go to Gondor after your dealings in Rohan."

Aragorn sighed deeply. "I suppose that I cannot avoid the road to the White City forever. At this time, however, there is no way I can accept the responsibility of the throne. I plan to go by an alias in Rohan and then either the same one or another in Gondor."

"Would you go by one you already have? Strider, or Estel, or one of those familiar titles?"

"No. I do not know how many who know me by Strider now also know of my true identity, so that name is risky. The name Estel is not one I wish to hear regularly by those who are not my family—it makes me yearn too much for home." A smile suddenly crossed his face. "I will just have to be creative and think up a new one. Perhaps I will call myself Legolas."

Shaking his head, Legolas found himself smiling as well. "A fine name. But I am sorry to say that it does not suit you. Thorongil, perhaps?"

"That is actually a very strange name. I doubt it."

They continued walking down the trail, with the usual pattern befalling them of Aragorn hiking along noisily through the rocks and dirt with Legolas' silent footsteps and perfect balance behind him. They kept conversation light and on casual topics rather than discussing the pending night or their situation with Caleil. Sometimes, it was best to put such things out of their minds for a period of time. At one point, Aragorn felt the steep, unsteady dirt ground slip beneath him, and his right leg gave way so that he fell, beginning to stumble forward on the slope. He felt Legolas' hand grip the back of his tunic. The elf put his other hand on his companion's arm, and helped him to his feet. Aragorn looked at him gratefully.

This mountain road had, indeed, brought them much fear and pain in the end, particularly to Aragorn...but that suffering had also brought them to friendship.

The sun sunk lower in the distance, and the path began to clear, with the ground becoming steadier, rocks becoming scarcer and trees growing farther apart. When they had previously ascended on the way to Rivendell, they had gone up a different trail, one more densely wooded towards the bottom. Here there was some open land. It was a welcoming sight to see. Aragorn found himself slightly hurrying his pace, and Legolas matched it with ease.

Then, Aragorn finally stepped out onto level ground, just as sundown was complete and the moon was beginning to shine. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he stopped for a moment and savored the liberation from the trying mountain trails with his head tilted upwards to face the sky. That part of the journey, at least, was over. He turned back, looking past Legolas at the place they had descended from, knowing that it was a path he did not want to lay eyes on again for a very long time.

Legolas was looking back as well. "As one stage is over, another begins," he said quietly.

Aragorn watched, seated casually on the ground and eating some of the few rations they had left, as Legolas nimbly climbed a tree to amuse himself. They had decided to stop for the night in the foothills—and naturally, Aragorn refused to sleep, rather insisting that he could be of use and help to keep watch. Finally Legolas had yielded to his companion's stubbornness, attributing it to his race.

The ranger looked up from his small meal to look at Legolas, who was now still and quiet in the boughs while looking up through the leaves. "You must be eager to return to your homeland," he said, easing his back as he leaned against the trunk of another tree not far away.

"Not particularly," Legolas called down. The way he was seated on a branch, swinging his legs back and forth, reminded Aragorn uncannily of Elladan and Elrohir when they would take time for relaxation. "I do not wish to confront the explanations and memories. But if I am gone much longer, Ada will start to truly worry, and the last thing I wish is for him to send out others to look for me as he has done in the past. So I must return to my home."

Ada. Aragorn remembered all the time he had used the word for 'father' when speaking to Elrond. He wondered vaguely if they would ever be close enough for him to use that word again, or if they would forever be divided. "Home can be unwelcoming at times, unfortunate a fact as it is. It changes." He did not look up at Legolas as he spoke those words. "Everything changes."

"If that was ever truly your home," the elf responded as he lay down on the branch and gazed up at the sky.

Aragorn shot him a look. "What are you implying?"

"Perhaps the place you regard as home is not where you belong."

The ranger shook his head, chuckling softly. He had thought of the same thing so many times. It had caused him endless grief; perhaps he did belong in Gondor, for he could not stay in Rivendell longer than a few days without Arwen's love and Elrond's rejection driving him nearly mad with despair. He missed his brothers. He missed his beloved. He missed the father he once had. But going home, though he saw them, brought no comfort.

"We are very alike, you know," Aragorn said.

Legolas nodded while replying. "Yes, we are. I think we both want the same thing—simplicity, beauty, to be able to love openly. It is not a selfish desire, yet seems the hardest to obtain."

"Have you ever been in love, Legolas? Have you ever wanted something you cannot have?"

The elf leaned forward, looking down at his companion so that their eyes locked. His smile seemed slightly sad as he swung down and sat beside Aragorn. "Have I ever been in love like you are in love with Arwen? To that extent, no. I have thought sometimes, that I was in love, but been proved wrong most every time, and I still search for that which is true. What is it like?"

Aragorn closed his eyes gently, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "It is the most wonderful emotion in the world. I love everything about her; the way she speaks, and moves, the things she says...If there's one thing I really want more than anything else in the world, it is her. I would be content my entire life if we could have unhindered love. She is just...perfect. In every way. I do not know if she views me the same, but it matters not." By the time he was finished, his face was a mask of pure elation in just thinking about Arwen.

Legolas frowned playfully, and then laughed, shaking his head at how this grown man was acting like an infatuated youth. Soon Aragorn joined in the laughter, as he handed the elf a bit of dry fruit and a strip of venison, the latter of which Legolas politely refused as he preferred organic foods. Their combined mirth rang throughout the night.

"May the Valar grant me the privilege to feel the same thing some day," the elf said as he began to eat. "You will be taking first watch, then?"

Aragorn nodded. "I will wake you when it is your turn...but you need rest as well, Legolas, even if it is not the extent of my need."

Legolas smiled, clapping a hand onto the ranger's shoulder. "I will rest. Do not be concerned for me, mellon-nín."

They bid one another good night.The ranger watched as Legolas let his mind lose tension, easing into the state of mental and spiritual rest that was like sleep among his kind, coming at last to peace in his position on the mossy ground, leaning comfortably against a tree trunk.

On the morrow they would start for Mirkwood. After Legolas left, Aragorn would be alone again on the road to Rohan. Indeed, another stage of his life would be beginning. He ignored the way weariness weighed his eyelids and made him desire sleep. To close my eyes is to be blinded to the outside world...and vulnerable to the demons of my mind.

He looked at Legolas beside him, sleeping serenely in the way of his kin, with his eyes wide open. The human had long ago gotten accepted that Elves slept with their eyes open...but at times it could still be unnerving. Aragorn smiled to himself. Sometimes he couldn't even tell if they were asleep. A memory came of when Elladan had used his ignorance to scare the living daylights out of him, and he chuckled softly.

For this short time, until they reached Mirkwood, he would treasure the company of this elf...the companionship of one he had truly come to consider as a friend.

Aragorn almost laughed aloud as he looked up at the sky as he remembered earlier notions of fate and how his relationship with Legolas would progress. I suppose we choose our own destinies, then. Maybe now I won't feel so dreadfully alone.

However, not even an hour later, with such thoughts still in his mind, Aragorn had fallen asleep. Legolas smiled from where he had been faking his own slumber. Humans, he thought. Then the elf stood, walking around their clearing quietly as he took his early watch, praying to the Valar that they would grant his friend a dreamless night.

Elrond surveyed the two standing before him, taking in their stoic expressions and pointed avoidance in looking at one another. He could see in their eyes not lies, but hidden truths. Truths that he needed revealed.

They were in one of the larger libraries of Imladris, at a table made of only the finest oak and carved ornately. The books rose up around them in thousands of bookcases onto which the tall windows cast their warming light. It was a grand place—some of the books were accessible only through a series of beautiful winding staircases, and the way the light hit them at this time of day was enough to take one's breath away. All the information of the Elves for many millennia were encased in those age-worn pages...but the information of the past, while being an aid to the present and future, cannot tell all. Only his sons knew of everything that was happening. Elrond felt his gaze hardening as he furrowed his brows, with frustration and anger starting to seethe within him.

"He did not tell you his destination?"

"No, Ada," answered Elrohir, remaining impassive.

"Nor of the general direction in which he traveled?"

There was a slight moment of hesitation; neither would blatantly lie, for their father knew too well when this was the case. Finally Elladan spoke. "He was traveling over the mountains; in the direction of the realms that lie on the other side—Gondor, Rohan, and Mirkwood amongst others. We know not which exact realm he purposed to go to."

"And you are sure that he left with Legolas?"

Both nodded, staring boldly into Elrond's eyes, as if daring him to question their truthfulness, but in a way wishing that he would.

The lord of Rivendell sighed, dropping his forehead into his hands and rubbing his temples wearily. "At least he was armed. With Legolas at his side, he should be safe; I simply worry. With Orcs running unchecked throughout lands so close to us, and the Dark Lord reputedly regaining some of his former strength, and whispers of the One Ring...there is no doubt in my mind that Estel will be hunted more so now than ever before. At least I can be somewhat assured that he is safe."

For the first time in the meeting, the twins stole a glance at one another. This was not the father they had seen the last few days. Estel, he had said just now. Elrond had not called Aragorn by that name for a long time. This was not the overlord who wanted this man as far away from his daughter as the reaches of Middle-Earth allowed...but the caring, loving father, concerned for the safety of one he considered a son.

Elladan and Elrohir felt the weight of deception on their hearts. Neither could keep up this façade much longer...for the truths of the fallen were not easily withheld, nor could they afford to keep such things secret for long. Both silently wished that the other would take the burden.

"You are hiding something from me," Elrond said quietly, in a knowing and admonitory voice. "I know you are. Sons, can you not see that I do this for your mortal brother's safety? I need to know the truth. It could mean the difference in many things."

Elrohir fingered the edge of the table, finally turning down his gaze, somewhat in defeat. It was no use hiding anymore. "The truth is difficult to bear."

Gently, Elrond reached over, and tilted his son's chin so that they looked directly at one another in a display of tender fatherly affection. "Do not be afraid to tell me of these things, Elrohir...or you, Elladan. I need to know everything. I may be angry, or terrified, depending on its severity, but I am prepared to hear all that you have to say."

The twins looked again to one another. "Where to begin?" Elrohir asked his brother after a long pause. Knowing that Elrohir had broken the ice, Elladan was the one to begin the tale.

"Ada...you remember Caleil?"

"Of course."

"My lord, he is not dead..."