Ori stared up at the steep, bleak crags surrounding them, his shoulders hunched against the sharp, icy wind that whipped through the pass around them. It was odd, really- for some reason he had expected the wind to die down as the trees of Fangorn thinned into a small strip of trunks, reaching into the rocky passage of the Gap like spindly fingers.

He should have known better, of course. The winds of Ered Luin and the Misty Mountains had been far bitterer than any chill breeze that attacked the brothers during their long trek towards the Gap of Rohan.

Nori had done most of the navigating since their crossing of the Wold to the edge of Fangorn two days ago. The thief had chosen to keep as close to the forest as possible as the two brothers hurried towards bleak, foreboding peaks that made up the southernmost edge of the Misty Mountains. The older dwarf had barely allowed them to stop for longer than an hour or two of rest, and was now huddled beneath one of the few remaining trees, his long nose buried in the weathered folds of their map.

"Ori, come here," he called quietly, his hoarse voice barely audible above the wind.

Ori went to him immediately, his eyes flickering over his shoulder for one last glimpse of the dark peaks.

"What is it?" he asked.

Nori's brow furrowed beneath his tangled, half-spiked auburn hair and he silently traced a small line from the base of the peaks to a tiny black dot nestled into what seemed to be a small valley.

"That's it, aye?" he muttered. "That's what we're aiming for."

Ori craned his neck to get a better view of the map and nodded slowly. "Yes, that's Isengard, according to the map." He frowned. "…Where are we, exactly?"

Nori shrugged and moved his finger to the base of the mountains once again, his features creased in obvious weariness.

"It's at least half a day's march if we stick to the course that we're on," he sighed. "Maybe a day. And that's only if we don't run into Orcs…"

The scribe bit his lip and looked up from the map, his tired eyes searching their surroundings for any approaching danger. Neither of the dwarves had seen any sign of life since their departure from the elves at the Anduin. And while Ori would be the first to admit that it was nice to not have to worry about fighting bloodthirsty creatures every minute of the day, the absence of danger was… unnatural, especially after Ilnir's warnings about a strong Orc presence in the area.

Nori grunted and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his eyes tightening in pain as he slowly stretched his aching muscles.

"Right," he huffed. "Shall we keep moving, then?"

Ori nodded and adjusted the pack on his shoulders. The brothers continued on in silence, their small figures further dwarfed by the towering mountains and trees that surrounded them. All was silent except for the whistling of the wind and the low, harsh breathing of the travelers.

"… Master Scribe?"

Ilnir's knife was clutched in Ori's hand before he could draw a breath. The scribe whirled around barely a second after his brother, the point of his weapon aimed with surprising-steadiness at the chest of a slightly-bemused elf.

"Ilnir," he gasped, his arm lowering automatically the moment he recognized the elf's pale features and glistening silver-gold hair.

The elf of Lothlórien smiled and offered the brothers a short, graceful bow, his motions quickly mirrored by several other elves that seemed to materialize from the trees around them.

"My apologies," the elf murmured. "We did not mean to startle you."

"Yes, well, you did," Nori grumbled, his shoulders slumping in undeniable relief as he slowly sheathed his knives. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to wait on the other side of the river or go back to your forest."

"We were," another elf replied coolly. "But the Lady Galadriel sent us a message shortly after your departure. Members of your kin were attacked by Nazgûl at the edge of Mirkwood. The Lady feared that you would face similar dangers, and sent us to assist you until you made your journey to Lórien."

"Nazgûl?" Nori repeated sharply. "Were any of them hurt?"

The elf shrugged, his features unreadable in the cool light.

"We received no word of any deaths among them," he replied. "Although, to be fair, we did not ask."

"Other members of our own kin were sent to make sure that your friends made it to Lórien safely," Ilnir broke in before Nori could say anything. "The Lady Galadriel is very concerned about the fate of your kin and the Ringbearer. She will ensure their safety."

Nori studied the elf for a long moment before he nodded jerkily, his lips still pursed in obvious displeasure.

"…I don't suppose you brought horses with you?" he sighed.

"We did not see the need," Ilnir admitted.

Nori nodded slowly and flashed Ori a martyred look, his lips twitching slightly at the scribe's own barely-hidden smile.

"Try and keep up then, elves," he huffed.

Ilnir laughed quietly and quickly fell into step beside Ori and his brother, his grey eyes calm and alert as they scanned the trees around them. The other elves silently fanned out around the trio and disappeared amongst the trees and cliffs of the Gap. Ori didn't see the elves for the remainder of their journey further into the Gap- even the brief pause that Nori and Ilnir allowed them shortly after the sunset remained free of the presence of any of Ilnir's companions. The scribe shrugged and curled up on the hard ground for a brief, precious hour of sleep, his ears unconsciously straining to pick up the hushed words of his companions.

"…And you're sure that none of them were injured?" the thief pressed.

Ilnir seemed to sigh. "As far as I know, neither the Ringbearer, nor any member of his Guard was seriously harmed-."

"Seriously harmed," Nori repeated harshly. "That doesn't rule out any other type of harm."

"Master Dwarf, I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to-."

"Our family is out there, Elf," the thief snarled. "Our elder brother, our king, Ori's beloved, my-." The dwarf paused and cleared his throat, causing Ori's eyes to fly open in shock. The younger dwarf silently wriggled around so as to have a better view of his two companions, his curious gaze meeting Ilnir's half-amused silver eyes for a brief moment before the elf focused once more on the flustered thief.

"Your…?" he prompted quietly.

Nori glared at the elf for a long moment, his hands twitching dangerously towards one of the many knives that were hidden on his person.

"Friends," he grunted. "My friends."

"Ah," Ilnir hummed. "Then, if you will accept my assurances, Master Thief, I swear that my kin and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you are reunited with your family and your friends after all of this is over. You will see them again in this life, Nori."

Nori started at the elf's use of his actual name. He studied his companion for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the pale moonlight that had managed to filter through the gathering clouds above them.

"I will hold you to that promise," he said finally. "…Ilnir."

Ori felt his lips curve into a wide smile and pulled the folds of his cloak around him once more, his eyelids closing into the deepest sleep that he had experienced in days.

He was shaken awake barely two hours later, his eyes clouded with exhaustion even as he automatically moved to secure his pack to his shoulders and scramble to his feet. Ilnir flashed him a small, patient smile and wordlessly handed him a wafer of travelling bread (what had the elf called it- lembas?) before moving on to help a grumbling, weary Nori roll up the maps.

"We're not far from the fortress now," the thief informed them quietly. "If we hurry, we should be able to reach the outer walls before noon-."

Loud, savage screams erupted ahead, their piercing cries slamming into Ori's unsuspecting eardrums like one of Dwalin's warhammers. Ilnir tensed and whipped his bow off of his shoulders, one of his arrows already notched on the string.

"Hide in the trees, quickly," he hissed. "Before they see you."

"Like hell we-," Nori began furiously.

"Listen to me," Ilnir interrupted. "Saruman the White has always been a friend to the elves, but not to dwarves. If he sees either of you, he may believe that something is amiss and attack us, whereas if he believes that I am alone…"

Nori grunted furiously but bit back another protest and allowed his younger brother to drag him back beneath the shadows of the trees. The dwarves quickly scrambled up into the branches, their minds suddenly filled with memories of howling wargs and a slumped, kingly figure half-hidden by burning fire. Ori shuddered and clutched himself closer to his branch, his ears ringing with the screams of creatures that could only be Orcs. Nori was silent and still beside him, his own eyes locked with a furious intensity on the lone figure of Ilnir as the elf strode out into the center of the Gap to meet the arrivals.

A pack of rabid, howling Orcs descended upon him within moments, their grey, hulking bodies filing into a large, sloppy ring around the pale elf. The creatures jeered and screamed at the tense, silent being before them but made no move to attack him, their actions restrained by some unknown power.

Then the voice began to speak.

"Master elf," it cried, seeming to come from the very heights of the mountains and the very depths of the earth all at once. "What brings you this close to Isengard? Surely any business with the Lady of Lórien would have been brought to my attention before she would deign to send a representative?"

Ori shifted at the sound of the voice, momentarily mesmerized by the rich, beautiful, almost gentle quality of its words, the wisdom that seemed to drip from every syllable, begging for someone to hear its meaning and follow it to greatness…

Ilnir seemed unaffected by the voice. The elf lifted his bow ever-so-slightly and slowly turned to take in the enemies around him, his pale eyes combing the hideous ranks for a sign of the voice's source.

"Hail and well met, my lord Saruman the White, wisest of all beings and leader of the Great Council," he greeted carefully. "I come to ask for your assistance in regards to an informal inquiry that has been raised on behalf of my Lady and Queen."

"And what inquiry is this?" the voice demanded, its tones hardening in a way that sent shivers down Ori's spine.

"An inquiry as to the location of Gandalf the Grey, my lord," Ilnir replied frankly. "According to all accounts, Isengard was his last known destination, and he is needed in Lothlórien."

Silence fell over the Gap, unbroken even by the Orcs that had begun to draw closer to Ilnir in an ever-tightening circle. The elf whirled around repeatedly to keep all of them in his sights, his careful façade slipping to reveal something that was almost frantic. Nori sucked in a sharp breath and reached down to grasp two of his knives but Ori didn't move, his entire being waiting breathlessly for the voice's response.

It came in a cry like thunder that rent the air around them and drew darkness down in a thick, choking curtain.

"Gandalf the Grey is dead," the voice screamed, and suddenly it wasn't a wise voice at all but a savage one, twisted and torn until it was closer to a beast than a man. "His body now lies atop Orthanc, where it shall remain until birds and beasts have feasted of its flesh."

Ilnir reeled back in shock, his bow slipping from his grasp for the briefest of moments.

It was enough.

Ori screamed in horror when an Orc leapt forth and drove its spear through the elf's neck, his wide eyes unable to move from the sight as the elf crumpled onto the ground in a pool of blood that was quickly covered by a writhing mass of black and grey. Another loud, savage cry echoed from the mountain peaks and the depths of the earth, its words sending thrills of horror down Ori's spine.

"There are others… find them."

Nori swore and started to scramble down from the branches, his rough fingers tugging roughly, painfully at Ori's arms and shoulders in an attempt to force his brother to move. Ori didn't budge, barely breathed, his eyes still locked on the place where Ilnir used to stand, silently begging the elf to stand up again, to reappear among the Orcs so that the scribe could find him and go to him and help him.

"Ori, move!" Nori screamed, his voice nearly drowned out by the furious battle cries of a dozen elves as they descended from the treetops and mountain peaks around them, their weapons flashing cruelly in the shadow like spears of lightning. The Orcs screamed in response and ran to meet them in a mob of darkness, their sheer numbers quickly blocking out the elves until only weak flashes of light and righteous fury remained in the darkness.

"Ori!" Screams, someone was screaming his name again, someone needed him but Ilnir was dead, and he couldn't help him, he was useless again, and maybe Dwalin was right, he shouldn't have come-.

An Orc found them then, its savage features twisting into a cruel sneer of triumph when it caught sight of the dwarves struggling into the branches of a tree. It lifted something, a dark, cruel bow that made a mockery of Ilnir's, its thick fingers pulling expertly at the string even as Ori watched in mute, helpless horror and Nori howled beneath him.

Suddenly there was movement, and sudden, harsh jostle that would have sent Ori tumbling from his perch if it wasn't for the iron grip that Nori had around his arm. Ori scrambled instinctively for a handhold, his body slipping onto the branch in front of his brother just as a low, nearly inaudible twang rent the air and pain erupted like fire across his shoulders. The scribe fell limply against the rough, moving wood of the branch beneath him, dimly aware of his brother's frantic shouts and the odd, deep throated grumbles of something that wasn't quite human or monstrous at all.

The eyes were human, though.

Deep, unfathomnable eyes stared up at him through the branches of the tree, and yet he got the strangest impression that they were a part of the tree as well.

How odd… Trees with eyes… I'll have to tell Dwalin about this, he won't like it one bit.

Nori was still yelling, his words garbled and unintelligible over the deep humming and the distant, furious yells of Orcs and elves. Distant… odd that they should be so distant, when Ori could have sworn that they were close, too close. This was a battle, they were close to a battle.

Battles were never this quiet.

"Please… help… you've got to help him…. He needs help, you must help him!" Nori screamed. Or, he could have been screaming that… then again, he could have been screaming other words. It was so hard to hear, and now the humming was growing dimmer as well, leaving a dark, empty nothingness in its wake.

Dwalin… Dwalin, where are you? It's too quiet here, it's too dark….

"Help… Hoomhuh, yes, help there should be, Master Dwarf, but for whom…." Such a strange voice, not really a voice, but it is, it's not human where is Dwalin, where is he, I need him.

"We've never harmed you, or your brethren- I have no ax, neither does my brother, he is a scribe!" Nori… Nori's upset… They're always upset… Dwalin's upset, Dwalin was mad and now I've gone and made things worse, haven't I?

"Please…" Was Nori crying? No, he never cried, not since Vestri died and I'm not like Vestri, I'm not dying, I can't die, I don't want to…

The silence thickened around Ori until all around him had faded. The scribe felt himself sigh and felt sleep gather around him, a deeper sleep than any he had yet to face. The dwarf almost welcomed it, his body weary and sore from years and weeks and days of worry and work and toil…

Something bright pierced the darkness, followed almost immediately by a loud, insistent, almost-familiar voice that surrounded Ori and pulled him in, pulled him away, pulled him back…

Darkness died and faded away, only to be replaced by a bright, white light that should have been painful but wasn't, really.

"Ori," a voice called, and it was familiar, somehow, a voice that the scribe had grown used to hearing long ago. It was a voice that had been absent, a voice that brought back memories of cold ground and warm fires, of battles with goblins in the deep and encounters with eagles in the air. It was a voice- it was his voice.

You…

Then exhaustion settled in and pulled him away, and Ori knew no more.

Hey guys! I'm am so, so, so sorry for the delay again but hopefully this makes up for it? Anyways, you all know the drill by now, da? Please let me know if I have totally screwed up someone's character or, you know, anything, and please let me know what you think! Review (please)!

Also, quick note on Saruman's voice: in the books, Saruman is described as having the most persuasive voice in existence, which is one of the reasons why he's so powerful since he can manipulate people into doing whatever he wants simply by talking to them. So, basically, what Ori was hearing was Saruman trying to use his power to manipulate Ilnir into telling him everything and all that. I'm not entirely sure what the effects of the voice are on dwarves and elves since Tolkien was never very clear on that (he mostly focused how Men were affected), so I improvised. :3 Anyways, hope ya'll are having a good weekend so far and thanks to all the people who have read/reviewed this so far. Thank you!