Chapter 9: The Unexpected

WARNING! This chapter is rated M for violence. It is essential to the story so if you need a T rated version, please message either me or Ranger's Scop and one of us will give you the short version.

A/N: The latter portion of this chapter only withstood one round of editing with very little revising. So please ignore and bear with any mistakes that may have been made there. I am emotionally unable to do anything further with this chapter.

3 months later…

"Dírhael, grab that beam! Erumeldir, catch that rope! Steady…there!"

The large pole slid into place and four sweaty men smiled as the first of many poles for the new fence was set. The sun broke up the dark night into pieces of shadow and remnants of breakfast were being thrown to the chickens.

The women chatted as they cleaned the kitchen then took out their sewing.

"How is your farm, Astiwen?" Cadoresa asked.

"Wonderful!" she beamed. "The stock is healthy and the crops are growing."

Outside, the men worked steadily until noon and made great progress on the fencing. Then they cleaned up a bit before heading inside for the scrumptious meal that awaited them.

"Astiwen!" Erumeldir cried as he picked up his sweet wife and spun her around. His lips brushed her ear and he whispered, "I love you, sweetheart!" Then he kissed her long and sweet, totally oblivious to those around him.

Dírhael snickered, elbowing Glycin and pretending to gag. Cadoresa knocked him over the head with her wooden spoon.
"Alright children," Galad chuckled, "to the table!"

Leading his wife to the table, Erumeldir sent a glare his twin's direction.

"Pay him no mind," Glycin grinned as he playfully punched Dírhael's shoulder as he faced him. "Just think, one day we'll both probably have wives of our own, then we can embarrass him!" He turned to explain everything to Hopeful, who gave him a funny look before grinning at Erumeldir.

"How is the work?" Astiwen asked.

Sharing a smile with his sister, Erumeldir then turned and beamed at Astiwen as he laced his fingers through hers under the table. "It's going quite well, sweetheart. I hope that we will finish today, although we shall have to wait and see."

Glycin noticed them holding hands and nudged Hopeful, glancing down and back up just enough so she could understand his silent message. He found the whole thing quite sweet but wouldn't admit that to anyone except her.

Cadoresa exchanged a knowing glance with Galad as she and the other women finished setting the food on the table before seating themselves and passing it around.

Astiwen smiled and winked secretly.

"Do you think we can finish the pen today, Father?" Dírhael asked.

"Possibly," Galad answered, "we can finish it this afternoon."

"…And if Erumeldir will actually work and not pine away for his bride," Dírhael added with a snort.

"Hey!" He punched his brother's arm as he grinned. "You just wait until you have a sweet wife like mine to come home to! You would pine away for her too. Then I will laugh at you!" To prove his point, he slipped his arm around Astiwen's shoulders as everyone except Dírhael smiled at them. Good humor and laughs were shared the rest of the meal, and all too soon it was time for the men to return to their work. Erumeldir slipped his wife another kiss before going back out, where he tried to keep his mind on the work. The sun worked its way across the sky and down into the tree line as the last post fell into place. Dusting off, the men stepped back to admire their work before cleaning up and going inside for another meal. The couples broke off and returned home, leaving only the family and Glycin.

Galad and Cadoresa waved goodbye as Erumeldir and Astiwen cantered down the long dirt road. Hopeful came from inside carrying Astiwen's sewing.

"Oh dear," Cadoresa sighed. "Dírhael, jump on Lightning and catch up with them. She will need this to finish Erumeldir's shirt."

"Yes, Mother," Dírhael shouted over his shoulder as he raced to grab his horse.

Erumeldir and Astiwen galloped down the dirt road that wound through the hills to their home. Blaze surged ahead, nearly making Erumeldir lose his balance. When he succeeded, he turned Blaze around, facing Astiwen and Diamond. A look of horror filled his face as he watched her topple from her horse, a black arrowhead sticking out from her throat. Her face filled with shock and confusion as if she didn't know what had just happened.

"No! Astiwen!" he cried hoarsely.

He jumped off Blaze's back and raced to his dear wife's side. Dropping to his knees beside her, he cradled her in his arms, tears careening down his cheeks in wet streams. She was still alive, but barely. Blood ran down from the gaping hole in her neck onto her brown dress splattered with mud.

"No," Erumeldir whispered, stroking her dark head.

"I…love….you," she choked.

"Don't leave me." He kissed her cheek and forehead, his hot tears dripping onto her face.
She smiled wanly; a shudder ran through her body as life fled her body. Her last breath rattled and drowned in the pools of blood that flooded upward. Erumeldir bowed his head, sobs racking his body. The love of his life gone taken by…He glanced at the arrow embedded in his sweetheart's neck. "Orcs," he cursed.

But the more he thought about it, the more the situation didn't fit. If it were orcs they would be swarming in, trying to cut him down. More likely an assassin. His head shot up as full realization set in and he vaulted up. Erumeldir glanced around, hastily scanning the dark shadows falling as the sun set behind the trees. Suddenly, he jerked violently as a cold, cruel blade drove into his back. Shock filled his face, as it had his wife moments before. A voice cold and dark whispered in his ear.

"Feel this, son of Galad? This is for taking the woman I loved. And for that I will take my anger out on your beloved family. Think about you beloved brother, this knife sliding into his back. Your dear parents, one at a time. That little sister of yours, she won't even hear me coming. That friend of hers, if he gets in the way."
Erumeldir choked, "They are better warriors, my brother and father; you wouldn't make it."

"Oh I won't meet them in hand to hand combat," laughed the voice. "I'll stick them in the dark when all the lights go out."
He jerked the blade out of Erumeldir suddenly. The knife stuck halfway and the killer had to tug it out. Erumeldir's face contorted in pain as the blood gushed out of the wound. A deep guttural chuckle sounded behind him as he collapsed to his knees.

"No one will know that you were murdered by anything except an orc. Your wife has an orc arrow in her throat and very soon you will have an orc blade in your back. I prefer my own knife for the dirty work; I'll just leave the evidence…"

The killer spun around as hoof-beats sounded down the lane. Erumeldir heard the hard metal scratching against a scabbard as the assassin drew his sword. He wanted to shout a warning or something, but he couldn't find his voice, choked away by the blood rising in his throat.

Dírhael galloped round the corner and surprise filled his face at the scene before him. But before it could all sink in, Lightning stumbled as the killer slashed his front legs out from under him. Dírhael had little time to leap from his horse as Lightning fell breaking his neck on the hard ground. The poor horse's back legs thrashed as well as the two stumps remaining of his front legs, which poured dark, oozing blood. Dírhael rolled and jumped up, sword drawn and faced the killer.

"Tarcil!" he gasped.

"Who else?" the man smiled.

Their swords crossed, the sharp steel ringing as the blades slid against each other. Minutes of breathless fighting and not a word was spoken, each man expertly taught in the art of swordsmanship.

"You brother told me that you were a better warrior before he died," Tarcil growled. "I think he was mistaken."

"Died…" Dírhael stammered letting his guard slip away.

He groaned as Tarcil's sword slammed into his side, slicing deep, but not fatally. Dírhael staggered a few paces, grimacing, and he raised his sword –but it was too late. Tarcil swung his sword hilt hitting Dírhael over the head, once, twice, the third time barely missing his left eye. The young man rolled in the dirt path, his vision swaying and blurring as blood trickled down his cheek. For a moment, his vision cleared and he saw his brother lying face down in the dirt, blood puddled under him. Anger welled in his heart and turning around, he charged Tarcil, yelling.

The two men rolled on the ground daggers flashing in the fading sunlight. Blind rage clouded Dírhael's thoughts and he stabbed at the blurred figure beneath him. A snarl and grunt assured him that some of his strokes had struck true. Finally, Tarcil grew limp, bathed in Erumeldir's, Dírhael's, and his own black blood.

Dírhael rolled over, struggling for breath; the world spun and tilted and yet he managed to crawl to his brother's body. His heart leapt within him when her heard Erumeldir's ragged breaths, but it sunk when he saw the wound. He struggled and rolled his brother over, grasping his freezing hand.

Erumeldir coughed and struggled for breath. "Don't…let…him…get…mother…or…father…don't let him…get Hopeful…or….Glycin." he struggled to say. The trickle of blood running out of his mouth increased and he wheezed.

Dírhael grasped his hand, trying to shut out his own pounding head in order to focus on his dying brother. "Erumeldir don't go," he whispered despairingly.
"Just keep them…..safe," Erumeldir murmured. "I…couldn't." He sighed and life fled with his last breath. His blue eyes stilled and death covered his face like a veil.

A veil that Dírhael wanted to rip off, but knew that he couldn't. "No." he sobbed.

His head throbbed and the side wound was taking its toll on him. Dírhael groaned and tried to crawl to his dead horse, but he passed out from lack of blood and grief. Darkness covered the land and his heart like a blanket of despair even Mordor couldn't rival.

A/N: And that, my dear readers, is why I simply could not edit more than once. This chapter is much too emotional; I spent 15 minutes crying when I had to edit it! So again, forgive me if it needed more; I am the one responsible for most of the editing/revising, so the blame lays on my shoulders.