Visions of Betrayal

by Nili

In the middle of an uneventful summer a message reaches Rivendell: There is something amiss in the camps of the Rangers. Aragorn, Legolas and the twins wish to help, but soon they realise that, this time, the enemy might be much closer than they think.

13. Requesting Clarification

Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

A/N:

Ha, I am more or less on time! Better mark this day in your calendars, boys and girls, it's not happening very often by now, isn't it? •readers shake their heads• You know, this was the perfect opportunity to nod and lie through your teeth... •shrugs• Ah well, you're right. Still, this time I did manage to update when I said I would, and that even though my mother's still here. She will fly back next week, so I'm still a little busy - oh, whom am I kidding, I'm very busy. So that means that the next chapter might not be here next week, but rather the week after that - or most likely sometime in-between. To make up for it, I wrote an extra-long chapter this time. I mean it! It really is blood long! •g• I hope that pacifies you a little.

Oh, one other thing: It seems that I sent out the wrong review replies last time, namely the replies for chapter 11, not chapter 12. I don't really know how it happened. No matter, I'll send them again when I send the ones for last chapter. Forgive me for this little slip-up; I am sorry for any inconvenience it might have caused.

And now, on to the chapter! Since it is rather long, it's about a lot of things. Haldar find out that his relationship with the twins is more or less just as bad as he had suspected, Elladan and Elrohir find out some things about their brother, and Halbarad, Ciryon and the other rangers find out that Elves - and Wood-elves especially - are insane. Aragorn finds out that his Fabulous Idea© really isn't working out quite as well as he'd hoped, Legolas and the twins find out that some dreams are worse than others, and Glorfindel finds out that he isn't the only one who's been having a bad feeling lately. Oh, and the villain has a new job for Skagrosh and his friends, something about which everybody will soon find out, too. Confused yet? Yes? Good. •evil grin•

Have fun and review, please!

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Chapter 13

It had been years since he had been truly nervous. Granted, he had been a little apprehensive when he had had to tell Lord Elrond that his son – his adopted son, he stressed quickly – was in the very real danger of being found by one of Sauron's servants, but that hadn't really been nervousness.

It hadn't been too pleasant either when the twins and their friends had stared at him all the time in that particular way that left no doubt in his mind that they'd have liked to do something horrible and painful to him. Besides, in Rivendell he'd had Commander Meneldir to more or less protect him, and even during the journey it hadn't been that hard because he'd known that he was right. It was his duty to act like this, his duty to heed his chieftain's orders before all others, and if the elves had a problem with that (and it was clear that they did), then, well, it was their problem.

He had been right. He had been doing his duty.

But right now, Haldar concluded darkly, he wasn't right, and he wasn't entirely sure he was doing his duty. Oh, he wasn't not doing his duty, at least not in the strictest sense of the word because his lord's health was of the utmost importance to him, no matter what said lord seemed to think about the matter, but, well … he wasn't exactly doing what the boy wanted him to do, either.

And what that was was quite easy to see: Forget that he had ever witnessed him having that nightmare, and, if he was unable to forget it, at least to never talk about it with anybody, least of all his foster brothers or the prince and his friend. Oh, not that the boy had said anything to him; he hadn't mentioned the incident again and hadn't made any allusions to it, either. But among the things he had learned from the Elves there had obviously been "How to stare at people in a way that clearly conveys what you want and that eventually makes them do it" or possibly even "How to stare at people until the less suicidal ones start breaking down crying".

He hadn't started crying yet, which apparently shed a rather depressing light on his current state of mind.

Still, something had to be done, and he was doing it, no matter what the son of Arathorn thought about it. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do or not; for all that he knew, he could be committing some terrible mistake that would either earn him his young lord's eternal disfavour or some kind of messy death at the twins' hands. Or at Prince Legolas', which might actually be worse. He had heard quite a lot about King Thranduil during his travels, and not once the Elvenking had been described as "understanding", "merciful" or even "possessing a sense of humour".

He somehow doubted that his son and heir would be all that different.

Straightening his back, Haldar furtively cast a look over his shoulder that, under different circumstances, would have embarrassed him. Now, however, it was the only intelligent thing to do, and to his substantial relief he saw that Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. He shouldn't be – he should be with Lhanton and Ciryon, after all – but you could never be too careful, now could you?

Having made sure that he was in fact alone and unobserved, he returned his attention to the tent in front of him and took a deep breath. He was doing his duty. He was.

"My lords?" he called out softly, deciding to pretend that the tent's occupants didn't know that he was here. Of course they did, he was sure about it; even a mortal could have positively heard him think. Still, there was no reason to acknowledge that, was there? "May I speak with you for a moment or two?"

For a few seconds – uncommonly long seconds – it was silent, and Haldar waited patiently. If they wanted to disquiet him (like they usually did), they would be sorely disappointed. Today, he was nervous even before setting eyes on them.

"Enter!" a fair voice finally called, sounding faintly amused. The 'if you dare' had not been spoken, but it rang so loudly in Haldar's ears that he involuntarily shook his head.

Strong Tulkas be his witness, he respected the two elf lords, he truly did, but sometimes he was sure he would lose his patience and do something he would be made to regret. Pushing his annoyance to the side, Haldar parted the canvas and stepped inside. He needed a few moments to adjust to the semidarkness that filled the small space that, after the bright sunlight outside, seemed all the more pronounced.

When his eyes had become used to it, he saw that the two occupants of the tent had indeed been expecting him, and they also seemed to know that this wasn't a social call. They were sitting on two low wooden stools that had been placed at the far end of the tent, their bedrolls having been rolled up and put away, and a third – where in the name of all that was good and holy had they managed to find a third stool? – had been placed in front of them. Haldar had to admit with something akin to envy that this put him in the situation of a subordinate being interrogated by his commanders, or a pupil being reprimanded by his teachers. If he hadn't been so annoyed, he would have been truly impressed by their deviousness.

"My lords," he said calmly and inclined his head in polite greeting. "Good morning."

'Ha,' he thought to himself, 'now let us just see how they dealt with that!'

Unfortunately, they dealt with it without batting an eyelid, something that would have annoyed Haldar if he had allowed it to.

"Good morning, Haldar," one of the twins said, smiling that smile at him that – once again – reminded him of a predator baring its teeth at him. At least they were using his name now, he thought to himself. "I hope you had a pleasant night?"

They knew, the ranger thought almost indignantly. He went through all of this, and they already knew! Well, he admitted to himself a moment later, maybe they didn't know, but they suspected.

"Thank you for your concern, my lord," he said, masking his thoughts.

He didn't answer the question, though, something that the two dark-haired elves did not miss, either. He would address this matter on his terms and wouldn't allow them to dictate this conversation. Elbereth's stars above, he knew that they didn't like him – they weren't trying to disguise their feelings – but he wouldn't just roll over and allow them to do whatever they wished. He was doing his duty as best as he could and if they had a problem with that, well, they could just go hang.

His firm determination didn't last long, especially not under the influence of a displeased elven stare.

"Please, sit down," the other twin said, gesturing at the empty stool in front of him. Not seeing any polite way out of it, Haldar sat. "Elladan and I wondered when you would come to see us."

"Oh?" Haldar arched an eyebrow, refusing to give even an inch. It was a childish reaction, he knew that, but this was already hard enough for him. "And why is that, my lord?"

The two elves exchanged a quick look, and Haldar could almost see how they decided to change tactics. His suspicion was confirmed when Lord Elrohir opened his mouth to answer his question – if there was one thing he had learned, it was that the younger twin at least tried to sound diplomatic.

When it was necessary or the fancy took him, that was.

"You have come to tell us something, Haldar," Elrohir said, spearing the man with a credible version of his father's look. "Haven't you?"

What he had come to say was too important to be trifled with, and so Haldar reluctantly admitted defeat. In a game of wits and words, he would lose anyway, and both he and the twins knew that.

"Yes, my lord," he agreed, doing his best to return the younger twin's look steadily. He was fighting a losing battle there, but then again, he was a ranger. He would be damned if he backed down just because of a triviality such as overwhelming, adverse odds. "I am worried about … Estel."

The two elves exchanged a quick look, as if displeased about his near-slip, and Haldar couldn't help the thin sheen of sweat that suddenly appeared on his brow. He didn't even want to think about just how they would react if they knew that he had said the younger man's real name in their tent the night before last. It probably wouldn't be a nice sight, that much was certain.

"You are not the only one," the older twin told him, his voice as calm and uncompromising as ever. "Even your captain is, I would say."

Captain Daervagor – who except himself and Commander Cemendur was the only ranger who knew the boy's true identity – might be worried about Arathorn's son, that much was true, Haldar admitted to himself. He was also a lot of other things, among them annoyed, incredulous and angry (for example at him for bringing the boy with him in the first place), but it wasn't his place to say so.

Ha, he thought darkly. As if he'd ever had any choice in the matter.

"Yes, my lord," Haldar only said, deciding that remaining calmly polite was the only way he would be getting out of this alive, sane and with all his limbs attached. "I am disobeying an order by telling you this. It wasn't actually issued, but insisting on such nuances is inconsequential."

This time, the look that the twins exchanged was one of pure worry.
"Go on," Elladan said, and, for once, there was nothing but concern in his voice.

Haldar gave the twin a narrow-eyed look.
"So he hasn't told you about the dream yet, I take it."

The sudden surprise that bloomed on their faces was impossible to hide even for the Firstborn. It was quickly followed by anger, disappointment and hurt – the boy had clearly told his adopted brothers nothing. Neither of the two said anything, and finally Haldar, who was not a cruel man, took pity on them.

"He had a nightmare," he began carefully, absent-mindedly deciding that the situation had just got even more complicated. It was clear that the twins had been told nothing, and equally clear that they were not happy about it. This conversation was already skirting the borders of rudeness – as most exchanges between them did – and this might just have been the last straw. "It was … bad, just like that one time during our journey. He did not know me when he woke up."

Something, maybe the anger that had been gathering over the twins' heads like a dark storm cloud, disappeared from one moment of the next. Elrohir exhaled slowly, his formerly thunderous expressions fading away.
"When was that, Master Ranger?"

"The night before last, my lord," Haldar answered. He decided to ignore the fact that he had once again not been referred to by name. "I do not know what it was about; he would not speak of it. But it must have been a bad one."

"Why?"

"Because he didn't dare go to sleep last night," Haldar said, his voice somewhere between cool, wry and concerned. "Oh, he tried to disguise it, but I have been keeping an eye on enough recruits on guard duty to know when someone is sleeping and when he isn't. Estel did not sleep last night; I would bet what gold I possess. Even against Lhanton."

That, as the twins had learned already, meant quite a lot. Lhanton, who "enjoyed the occasional, friendly game of cards", was a card sharp who would have put even the most seasoned warriors of Mirkwood to shame. Incidentally, he got along quite well with Celylith.

"I see," one of the twins said. His voice was so emotionless that Haldar actually had to blink. "Thank you."

"I know that it is not my place to tell you this," Haldar went on heedlessly. "But I came to you to ask you to talk to him about it, to make him tell you what he will not tell me, as you can probably imagine. He is who he is and I would die for him, as I told you before, but he barely knows me. You, on the other hand, he will tell about this. If he does not wish to talk to you about it, then, in Elbereth's name, make him."

"You are quite right, son of Baranor," the older twin said, his voice as cold as his expression. "It is not your place."

"I am doing my duty, my lord." Haldar shook off the words that would have stopped him in his tracks under any other circumstances. "You have spoken with Amlaith, just as I have. His friend was no more than two days' ride away from here when he disappeared. I do not think that I have to tell you what will happen to your foster brother if he should find himself in that kind of trouble after not having rested properly for days. We Dúnedain are but human, my lords. We need sleep."

"We know very well the needs of your kind, Master Ranger." This time, Elladan's voice could only have been called arctic. "And those of our own brother."

And here they were again, back at 'Master Ranger', said in that particular tone of voice, Haldar thought tiredly. Still, he had to admit that the elf had a point. It probably hadn't been the best – or the most diplomatic – idea to insinuate any such thing.

"I apologise, my lord," Haldar said, inclining his head in what he hoped was an appropriately repentant way. "To you and your brother."

He was sorry, too. He truly hadn't meant to all but tell the twins to their faces that they didn't have any experience in dealing with humans. Firstly, that wasn't true, and secondly … well, they were the sons of Elrond. No one in their right minds liked to anger the sons of Elrond.

"And we to you, Haldar," Elrohir said before his twin could open his mouth. He didn't look overly penitent, but at least he didn't appear to be only a few steps away from wanting to kill him slowly and painfully. "The last few days have been … stressful. Our tempers are shorter than they should be."

"I understand, my lord," Haldar said, and he did. "But even if one disregards the inherit dangers of exhaustion, this might be much worse. It is possible," he added carefully, "that you will have to tell Captain Daervagor."

"The captain? Why?" the older twin asked, blinking innocently.

The elf's voice was calmer now, but he didn't sound very friendly either. Yesterday the two dark-haired elves and Captain Daervagor had acted ostensibly friendly and respectful towards each other, and if Haldar hadn't got to know the young elf lords quite well during the long, long trip here, he would have believed that neither they nor his captain had a care in the world and were indeed the best of friends. Everybody knew that the twins and Captain Daervagor knew each other quite well – and, as some of the more positive people claimed, also liked each other – but, well, suffice to say that he had seen enough diplomats to know when a smile was in reality nothing more than a grimace meant to make oneself look good and the opposition bad.

To say it bluntly, right now the twins and Captain Daervagor liked each other about as well as the twins and he did.

"Yes, the captain," Haldar said, feeling how his patience slowly began to desert him. Elves could be so incredibly vexing! "Do you take me for a fool, my lords? I do not have to be told to know what is going on. I have eyes and know how to use them."

The twins exchanged another one of their looks, and Haldar found that he didn't have the energy to feel offended by their apparent unwillingness to trust him. Either he was getting used to it or he was simply losing his will to live. Right now, he wasn't completely sure.

"What do you mean?" Elladan finally asked.

Haldar, even despite the annoyance, worry and incredulous impatience warring inside of him, had to smile.
"The boy is his parents' son, my lords. Lord Arathorn possessed the Gift, but not as strongly as Lady Gilraen's family. Her kin still live among us, as you well know, and they are not the only ones who are … gifted in such a manner."

The corners of the younger twin's mouth quivered for several seconds before his mouth twisted into a grudging smile.
"Very well. I must apologise to you again, son of Baranor. Still, you cannot blame us for wanting to protect our brother and shield his … weaknesses. It was not our place to tell."

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lord. I understand completely," Haldar said truthfully. "My sister-in-law has the ability as well, though to a far lesser degree, I think. From her I know that it usually takes some time to manifest, time to understand what is going on, what one is seeing. He is … young, is he not?"

"Aye," Elladan agreed. "Too young, really. His dreams are … chaotic, violent, and he does not yet know how to make sense of them."

Haldar thought about that for a few moments. He did not possess the gift (if it could be called that) they spoke of, at least not to a greater degree than most Dúnedain. An occasional foresight or feeling, yes, he'd experienced that as well, but nothing like a real prophetic dream or a vision. It was something for which he had thanked the One many times in the past. He was a simple man, or so he liked to believe, and he did not relish the idea of seeing and hearing things that weren't there, or weren't there yet, or hadn't been there in the first place. The entire concept was enough to give him a headache.

"Then I am doubly glad that I came to you, my lords," he finally said, looking the two elves in the eye. They might not like each other, might in fact never like each other, but this right here was where their common ground was located. "I worried for Estel, and now I can see that my concern was justified. You can offer him the help that I cannot, my lords."

"We will do our best," Elrohir assured him. "We will help him, if he wishes it or not."

"And," his brother added to Haldar's (and, truthfully, also Elrohir's) surprise, "if there is anything that needs to be shared with your captain, we will not keep it to ourselves. You have my word on that."

The smile on Haldar's face grew slightly bigger, and he stood to his feet and gave the two elves his most regal bow.

"I would never doubt your word, my lord." He straightened up and the smile grew quite a bit stonier. "I would thank you, however, if you did not doubt mine. I want to be very, very clear about this: I told you that I would die for him and would never willingly cause him harm, and to that I hold."

Nothing more was spoken after that, neither by the two dark-haired elves nor by the ranger. Haldar gave the two of them a nod, received equally polite ones in return, and took his leave.

When he reached the entrance, parted the tent squares and stepped outside, he decided that the look of grudging, almost-respectful annoyance on the two elf lords' faces was the best thing he had seen in several days.






Having been around rangers for a large part of the last few days, Aragorn found that he had to revise his opinion at least slightly. Rangers might be strange, yes – Valar, just how strange! – but Elves could be the tiniest bit unusual, too. Especially, he added, if you hadn't grown up around them, hadn't learned Quenya before you'd ever really learnt Westron and were still in awe of them.

At least the last part, he admitted to himself, was becoming less and less of a problem, even where the younger and more impressionable warriors were concerned.

Right now, Halbarad was staring, open-mouthed, at Celylith who was walking past them, apparently not even noticing them. Next to the young ranger stood Ciryon and Serothlain, who – even though older and more experienced than the captain's son – looked at least as surprised as the younger ranger.

"Is he … is he all right?" Serothlain finally asked somewhat timidly.

It was a valid question, Aragorn had to admit that. The dark-haired ranger hadn't been the first being to ask himself that particular question, and Aragorn didn't need any kind of foresight at all to know that he most likely wouldn't be the last one either. Even other wood-elves found some of Celylith's habits peculiar (not to mention members of the other tribes), and most humans they had met had either thought him too dangerous to talk to or simply insane.

The habit that had arrested the three young rangers' attention was the fact that the silver-haired wood-elf was just now walking past them, a black bag in his arms that he was addressing in a lively tone of voice. If one listened closely – and was used to the particular Silvan lilt that tinged the Sindarin words – one could even understand the words he was speaking, an entranced expression on his face that Aragorn had seen far too many times already.

"…I know that the flies here taste differently, pen-velui, but you'll just have to make do, I'm afraid. No, don't you wriggle like that; it will not persuade me to let you out longer at night! Last night you scared that guard, young lady, and I really don't think we should repeat that incident. Yes, I know that these rangers here are strange, Lúthien, but that doesn't mean that you are allowed to frighten them in such a manner and…"

The black bag wriggled again as if in protest. Celylith, deeply immersed in the somewhat one-sided conversation, lifted his head and gave Aragorn a friendly smile as he passed the four rangers.

"Good morning, Estel! Have you seen Legolas?"

"Good morning, my friend," Aragorn retorted, ignoring the astonished looks that the other rangers divided between him and the fair-haired elf. "I think he is feeding Rashwe some apples to appease him. I hear he tried to eat the commander this morning; that experience must have stressed the poor beast."

"That horse is evil." Celylith nodded wisely. "I have told Legolas numerous times, but he simply will not listen to me. I don't understand why not; do you?"

"Not at all," Aragorn lied with a smile, his expression clearly stating that he didn't want to upset a person holding a bat in a bag.

"Ah well." Celylith shrugged happily, causing the bag to move again. This time, a muffled flapping sound could be heard as well, as if something was beating its wings. "I'll see if I can find him, then. I will see you later, Estel. Good day to you, too, Dúnedain."

The other three rangers, usually quite eloquent and well-bred individuals, could only stare as the silver-haired elf turned around and headed off, alternately whistling under his breath and addressing the bag. It was Ciryon who found his voice first, after several moments of open-mouthed astonishment that was actually quite amusing to watch. To his credit, he managed not to sound as if an envoy of the only remaining elven king of Arda had just quite concisely proven that he was as mad as a hatter.

"Did he … did he just call that bag Lúthien?"

"No." Halbarad shook his head, quick to defend their guests. "We must have misunderstood. He couldn't have."

Aragorn's inborn honestly warred with his desire not to reveal to his companions just how … different … the Elves – and the Wood-elves of Mirkwood especially! – could be, and the latter quickly won out. How would he ever be able to lead these people if they were convinced that he had been raised by raving lunatics? He most certainly wouldn't volunteer any information.

Unfortunately, no one gave him a chance to do so, or rather not to do so. Serothlain, unaware of what was going through the younger ranger's mind, turned to him, puzzlement clear to see on his face.

"Why was Lord Celireth…"

"Celylith," Aragorn quickly corrected him. Elves were quite particular about their names, and not one he knew liked hearing his or her name mispronounced. "His name is Celylith, son of Celythramir."

"Lord Celylith, then," Serothlain said, unperturbed. "Why was he talking to a bag?"

Not volunteering any information was one thing, Aragorn thought despondently, but clamping your lips together and refusing to say even a single word was quite another.

"He likes to keep … pets," he finally said, his mind racing as he tried to find a way to make Celylith sound like a more or less sane person. "Unusual pets. Neither the twins nor Legolas are happy about it – not to mention Lord Elrond, of course –, and so he usually keeps them hidden."

"Hidden?" Ciryon asked, raising dark eyebrows in incredulity. "He was talking to a bag in public, in Elbereth's name!"

"Yes, well," Aragorn said, floundering, "Wood-elves are somewhat more … straightforward than the Noldor."

"And he called it, whatever 'it' is, Lúthien?" Serothlain stressed, clearly unable to wrap his mind around the concept that an elf – even a wood-elf – could be this … strange.

"Well…"

Ciryon and Serothlain exchanged a quick look that Aragorn had come to recognise by now as their "Just let him talk, poor orphan boy that he is" look. Halbarad didn't seem as perturbed by the revelation and only looked at him with bright, curious eyes.

"What is in it?"

"I beg your pardon?" Aragorn asked, busy trying to decide if he was pleased about the other rangers' look or not.

"In the bag," Halbarad elaborated. "What is in it?"

Two dark head swivelled around and two pairs of grey eyes looked at Aragorn. This was something that also seemed to interest Ciryon and Serothlain. All right, this was it, Aragorn decided, and only just resisted closing his eyes in anticipation of almost certain disaster.

"A bat."

"Ah."

Aragorn wasn't sure if it had been Ciryon or his tent mate that had said the word, but he wasn't sure if it made such a difference after all. Judging by their facial expressions, they were thinking much the same thing, namely that Elves were inherently strange, if not downright insane.

"Yes," he said, and trailed off after a singly word. They wouldn't understand. Eru, not even he did, and neither did his brothers. "Well, it's a long story. One that is far too painful to recount, let me assure you."

The three rangers exchanged a quick look and quite clearly decided that they believed him without question.

"So," Halbarad eventually said in a not-so-very-subtle attempt to change the topic, "what about the road, then?"

"Yes," a new voice agreed, and Aragorn turned just in time to see Lhanton join them, the sun lending his dark hair red highlights. "What about the road? And, more importantly, isn't there anybody who owes me enough money so that I can make him take my place?"

"I seriously doubt it, my friend." Serothlain shook his head in the mockingly mournful way that only a person could produce who knew what he would be doing today and knew that clearing any roads was in no way connected to it. "Not even you could have cheated at that many card games."

"I resent that," Lhanton said with enviable dignity. "I don't need to cheat. Rangers don't cheat, you should know that."

"Of course not," Halbarad agreed with a rather false smile. "You just win nine out of ten games just like that."

"What can I say?" The older ranger grinned. "It's a talent."

"Your 'talent' will get you into trouble with your group leader," Halbarad prophesied in the self-satisfied tone of voice of someone who had lost too many of the games in question. "And then aren't you going to wish you had listened to us?"

"And besides, I must say I am hurt," Ciryon interjected, spearing the other ranger with a quick look. "You missed all the fun yesterday; surely you wouldn't want to miss any more?"

"Hmm, let me see … yes?" Lhanton offered.

"Well, I am sorry," Ciryon said, not sounding sorry at all. "But I need you for the first shift, until mid-afternoon. I am the only officer available and have to be there at all times, but I am not as cruel as to insist that all of you do the same. We are stretched thin as it is."

"Very well." The other man shrugged, clearly having decided to accept defeat with as much grace as he could. "It's all for the greater good, after all. We wouldn't want any poor little hobbits to get lost in the forest, now would we? The captain would be heartbroken."

Serothlain gave the swiftly reddening Halbarad a quick look (it really mustn't be easy being the captain's son, Aragorn thought commiseratively) and grinned.

"No, we most definitely wouldn't want that. Anyway, clearing roads is a lot better than having to ride at breakneck speed to relieve some guards who do not know they are being relieved and almost put a pair of arrows in you for your troubles!"

"You are on patrol today, dear friend," Lhanton said darkly. "You won't be clearing any roads. Besides, it wasn't that bad."

"Not for you, maybe. You could sleep!" Serothlain protested. "You had almost two hours while I didn't sleep at all!"

"And I am eternally grateful, my friend."

"Of course you are."

"You three are like a married couple sometimes," Halbarad said earnestly. "Well – a married triple. How you two can share a tent," he looked at Ciryon and Serothlain, "and not kill each other or go insane is a miracle."

"What do you mean, 'not go insane'?" Lhanton asked under his breath. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"

"True," Halbarad agreed in mock seriousness, exchanging an amused look with Aragorn. "Even though … oh. I think I have to … deliver a message to the captain. An important message. Right now. Excuse me."

The other four rangers looked at his swiftly retreating back in bewilderment, not one of them being able to figure out what had just happened. Lhanton was apparently just about to ask something along these lines when he spotted something over Aragorn's shoulder, presumably the same something that had caused the captain's son to flee so suddenly.

"I think the lad was quite right," he told no one in particular, his eyes already darting around in search for some cover or any kind of occupation. A ranger led his horse past them, and his face lit up. "Oh dear, I think that horse is losing a shoe. I'd better tell him or the poor beast might get … hurt."

A second later he was gone, and Aragorn didn't even have to look over his shoulder to know what the others had seen that had so swiftly – and probably correctly – been categorised as "Dangerous and Potentially Fatal, Seek Cover!"

"Yes." Ciryon nodded quickly and grasped his friend's sleeve, tugging at it urgently. "If you would excuse us, Estel … there is a lot to do … people to find … tools to prepare … roads to be cleared…"

In less time than he would have thought physically possible, Aragorn was left standing alone by the white tent whose canvas flapped slightly in the brisk morning breeze. He knew who was standing behind him, waiting with that terrible, almost menacing patience that all Firstborn possessed and that, as he was firmly convinced, had already driven more than one mortal to distraction or madness. The other rangers hadn't stood a chance and had most certainly made the right choice.

Aragorn sighed inwardly. In Haldar's defence, he had never expressly told him not to tell anybody about the dream. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and turned around, a bright smile firmly attached to his features.

"Good morning!"

The three elven looks that met his words were quite telling and so heavy that Aragorn almost brought a hand to his forehead to look for the dent that they must have left upon impact. Three eyebrows, two dark ones and a fair one, were raised in unison to emphasise the unspoken point.

"Good morning, muindor nín," Elrohir finally said evenly, looking at him in a way that an inexperienced person would have called 'friendly-uninvolved'. Aragorn, who knew his brothers probably as well as any man could know an elf, knew better, though, and winced. "We have something to discuss with you. Something that should be addressed in private."

The younger twin extended his arm in invitation, his open, relaxed palm gesturing into the direction of the twins' tent. Aragorn felt how something in his chest tightened. They were letting Elrohir do the talking, who was ostentatiously friendly and looked far too relaxed and unconcerned. This was Bad, with a capital "B". Knowing when to admit defeat was a thing Aragorn had learned quite early – a necessity when growing up among elves –, and so he quietly ducked his head and allowed himself to be escorted to the twins' tent.

He knew what was coming, and so he was almost grateful when they waited until the tent flaps had settled back into place before they started berating him.

Almost.

"So."

It was all Elladan said, but it was more than enough. Not even the fact that the twin had spoken Quenya, which – at least in Aragorn's opinion – was the more beautiful of the two more commonly spoken Elvish languages, managed to cheer him up. When his oldest brother was angry, he yelled at you, but when he was disappointed, he only grew quiet – the sort of quiet that comes with a kind of dark menace that was quite hard to bear.

Legolas, who hadn't seen the twins lose their patience with him often, shot Elladan a look that was somewhere between surprised and confused. He looked as if he had expected a lot from the older twin, including him trying to rip his youngest brother's arms off and beat him over the head with them until he saw some sort of reason, but not this utter calmness. Aragorn would have sighed if he didn't know that that would make everything even worse. If he was only so lucky! He was sure that there was something worse than Elladan when he was in this kind of mood, somewhere, but he hadn't encountered it yet.

Nor had anyone else he knew, come to think about it.

"You spoke with Haldar."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, uttered in a sort of hopeless certainty that Legolas was sure he had heard before. It took the elven prince some time to remember where: In the voice of one of their captains who had just been told by his colleagues that he was the one who would have to explain to the king just how his son and heir had come to be in this particular condition, again. He frowned inwardly. He didn't usually forget things like that, but, in his own defence, he had been more or less unconscious at the time.

Elladan's eyebrows had shot up towards his hairline when he had heard his human brother's words, and even now, several seconds later, they seemed disinclined to return to their earlier position.

"You could say that," the older twin conceded, a look in his eyes that was quite impossible to describe. "Or rather, he spoke with us."

"It would have been nice," Elrohir interjected in a deceivingly mild tone of voice, "to know what in the name of all the Valar he was talking about before he hit us over the head with it."

"What…" Aragorn had to stop to swallow and clear his throat. He hadn't seen his brothers in just this kind of mood in … well, since he had told them he would accompany Haldar. What was worse was that, this time, he really did feel guilty. "What did he say?"

"Why didn't you tell us, Estel?" Elladan asked, clearly resisting the urge to take a step forward into Aragorn's personal space. "Or is a dream like that too unimportant to mention to us? What else aren't you telling us?"

Forget about Bad, Aragorn told himself and slumped back against the tent pole at his back. This was Worse.

"Then you already know."

"No, Estel," Elrohir stressed, his voice very serious and sounding a lot as if he would have liked to use his real name, something that the twins usually only did if they were disappointed in him or wanted to make a point. "We do not know. And do you know why? Because you did not tell us. Us, your own brothers!"

"What would I have told you, Elrohir?" Aragorn asked tiredly. "Something along the lines of 'Good morning, brothers, I had another nightmare and am now seriously thinking about never going to sleep again. How was your night?'?"

"It would have been a start," Legolas said, a small smile on his lips. The wood-elf had obviously decided to be the Voice of Reason again, Aragorn thought. It wasn't hard, mind you, not in this kind of company. "A rather promising one, even."

Aragorn fought a small, erratic chuckle that wanted to escape his lips. A few seconds later he tried to remember why he was doing it and gave in. The panic that had been tearing at his nerves ever since the night before last was threatening to rise to the surface again, and, this time, he might not be able to push it down again.

"I am sorry, mellon nín. I don't know what I was thinking; maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep lately."

If Aragorn hadn't been so busy studying the tips of his boots, he might have seen the first cracks appear in the twins' masks. They hadn't forgiven him yet, Legolas decided rather objectively, but, as Aragorn had said himself once, they had yet to resist one of the man's really pitiful looks.

"What was it about, then?" Elladan asked, giving in. He still sounded somewhat gruff, but it was a long way away from his icy calmness from earlier. "Haldar didn't know anything specific either, only that you had a nightmare."

Elrohir nodded next to him in silent agreement. Legolas noted that both twins looked inordinately pleased about the fact that Haldar, while he might have known about the problem before they had, still hadn't really known anything either.

Aragorn didn't answer immediately and only ran a hand over his face, methodically brushing his hair back even when there was no strand left to bother him in any way. If there had been a way to talk his way out of this that his brothers and Legolas wouldn't detect, he would have chosen it immediately and Glorfindel's list of Things-an-elf-lord-does-and-doesn't-do be damned.

Unfortunately, they knew him far too well to accept anything but the full truth, or something very close to it.

"It started like the other one," he began, not even aware that his voice was devoid of all emotion and sounded like that of a weary old man. "Like the one I had before the wargs attacked, do you remember it?"

Elrohir exchanged an astonished look with his wood-elven friend. Did they remember?!

"How could we forget, Estel?" he asked. "You almost broke Legolas' nose and…"

"He wouldn't have if you had just held on to his arm properly."

"…and a few seconds later wargs tried to tear our throats out," the younger twin continued, ignoring Legolas' words. "I don't know about you, but I thought it was rather memorable."

"Yes, well," Aragorn said and rubbed the back of his neck, apparently having decided that he had brushed back his hair long enough now. "It started like that. It was … dark, very dark. Not dark as in … as dark as night, but…"

He trailed off, unable to describe what he had seen even after so many dreams and nightmares, and the twins exchanged a look that Legolas didn't even want to try and decipher.

"A darkness that feels like some menacing, living thing that lays itself over you as if it wishes to smother you under its weight and fill your very soul with blackness?"

Aragorn looked up, startled. Legolas directed a similar look at Elladan, while his twin only looked steadily at his human brother, such deep pity and fear in his eyes that Legolas had to avoid his eyes.

"Yes," the young ranger said, his voice wavering slightly. "Exactly like that. How did you…?"

"Both of us have had dreams like that, muindor." Elladan smiled at him, a gentle smile that died as quickly as it had appeared. "Too many times, really."

Aragorn nodded wordlessly and slung his arms around himself as if he was cold, even though that could not be, Legolas thought with an inward frown. Humans felt heat and cold far more keenly than the Firstborn, and the Dúnedain were no exception. Right now even he felt the summer heat that even the white canvas walls could not keep out.

"It was like that, yes," Aragorn went on. He was very careful not to look at any of them directly. "I … I think there was a stone floor beneath my feet, but I am not certain. I could have imagined it. But then … then it changed."

"What changed, Estel?" Elrohir asked when it became clear that the man would say no more. All earlier signs of irritation had long since disappeared, leaving behind only worry and a vague sort of dread. "Did you see what you saw before? The star, and…"

"No." Aragorn shook his head quickly. "That is what I meant. I didn't see the star, or fire or blood or any of the other things that I saw at home or the last time. I have thought about it, and I can't explain it either. But … but it felt more as if it was a dream, and not a vision." The man looked up, saw the incomprehension on Legolas' face and gave him a small smile. "I am not making a lot of sense, am I? It felt more as if the things I saw were things I really saw, or could have seen, at least. It wasn't about somebody else, not about somebody else's pain and fear. It wasn't really mine either, but … well, somehow it was, too."

Legolas did his best not to betray just how confused he really was. The twins were nodding wisely to his right, as if they knew exactly what their brother was talking about. They probably did, too, he thought with no small amount of vexation. They understood Aragorn in a way that he never would be able to, no matter how much he tried or what he did. It was nothing to be jealous about, he was perfectly aware of that, but it was … vexing. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It is possible." Elrohir nodded thoughtfully. "It might be that you felt … echoes before, echoes of things that had already happened, or were happening."

Aragorn looked relieved, far too relieved for Legolas' taste, and it made the wood-elf immediately suspicious. The man could be quite devious when he put his mind to it, and he had no trouble imagining that he would put his mind to it if it meant escaping this conversation as quickly as possible.

"What did it change into then?" he asked, knowing that he had found the proverbial sore spot when Aragorn's face froze almost immediately. He hated doing this to his friend, he really did, but something told him that this was too important to let go. "You said your dream changed – into what?"

If Aragorn hadn't been convinced that it wouldn't change anything at all, he would have glared at the elf. This way, he only exhaled and decided to give up. They wanted the whole truth? Fine. They could have it.

"I was alone in the beginning, only I and the darkness. Then he appeared."

Legolas almost felt how his heart stopped. Surely Aragorn did not mean Him, did he? Elladan, however, had come to a different and more accurate conclusion, and thankfully voiced it before the panic inside of the elven prince had the chance to grow and rise to the surface.

"He?" Elrond's oldest son repeated. "You mean the figure you saw in your last dream?"

"Yes," Aragorn answered curtly. "Him. I don't know if he is a man or an elf or something else entirely, but he's male, at least that is what I think. I didn't see more of him than I saw the last time, but…"

"But?" Elladan prompted gently.

"But I think he was there." Aragorn lifted his head to look at his oldest brother. "Does that make any sense? He didn't touch me or even say anything, but I had the feeling that he was there, or at least as much there as I was."

It did make sense. Legolas wasn't quite sure in what way, but about one thing he was certain: This wasn't good. If he hadn't disliked Haldar so much for getting Aragorn involved in all this, he would have hugged the ranger on the spot. He had been right to come to the twins, that much was certain.

"Did he do anything?" Elrohir interjected, face pale and serious. It was clear that the twin hoped to gather as much information as possible, and be it only to disregard it and tell his little brother whatever he needed to hear. "You already said that he didn't speak, but did he make a gesture or something like it?"

"He appeared out of the darkness as if he belonged to it, or it to him," Aragorn said slowly. "There was … hatred, a dark, deep-seated hatred that clouds the mind and seeps into your heart until you cannot think or feel or breathe. The kind of hatred that makes you do whatever you can to silence that darkness inside of you, and be it only for a little while."

The twins and Legolas exchanged a look. They knew exactly what kind of darkness Aragorn was talking about. While they were too young to have seen the Days of the Last Alliance, and, before that, the Days of the Darkening of Beleriand, they had heard many stories, told by their fathers and many of their friends and captains. It was the kind of hatred that had driven the Noldor to slaughter their kin and the Sindar and Noldor to kill each other in long, bloody battles, the kind of hatred that had hung over Middle-earth for so many dark years.

"I think it was connected to him, the dark figure," Aragorn went on, oblivious to their thoughts. "Perhaps it was even his; I do not know. He took a step towards me, and I asked him who he was. He did not answer me, but I am sure he heard me."

The shock that went through the twins was so tangible that Legolas unconsciously took a step forward in case they faltered. They didn't move, however, and only stared with wide eyes at their adopted brother, either unwilling or unable to speak.

"What happened then?" Legolas finally asked. Aragorn didn't seem to notice his brothers' shock and was only staring at the white canvas in front of him.

"My head seemed to explode," Aragorn said bluntly. "I have never felt such pain before. It felt as if a troll had taken my skull into its hand and was slowly beginning to squeeze. It grew worse and worse, and then I just woke up."

Legolas very strongly suspected that there was no "just" involved in all this in any way. He was about to say something like that when he saw that the twins were still staring at Aragorn with that shocked look of theirs. It was beginning to wear off now, however, and was slowly making way for naked worry.

"Elladan? Elrohir?" he asked, feeling like a shipwrecked sailor standing on a raft and watching how the planks broke away one by one. "What is it?"

The two dark-haired elves exchanged another one of their looks that Legolas was almost beginning to resent, and finally Elrohir opened his mouth.
"You said that you asked him something, Estel. And that he heard you."

"I think he heard me," Aragorn corrected, cocking his head slightly to the side as he studied his brothers. "But yes, that is what I said."

"In … in 'normal' visions you don't interact with people, Estel. Usually, you barely have enough presence of mind left to take in what is going on," Elrohir said, sounding as if he was using all of his not inconsiderable self-restraint to force himself to calmness. "That is, I have never experienced it differently, nor has Elladan or ada. I have in fact never heard of it happening to anybody."

"It is rare to see something so clearly that you can actually hear what is spoken," Elladan agreed, nodding slightly. "But if you do, it still has nothing to do with you, strictly speaking. You could talk as well, I suppose, even though one rarely finds the time or opportunity, but no one will hear you or answer you."

"Estel said this figure did not answer him," Legolas said. He didn't really know where this was going, but he knew that he didn't like it one bit.

"I think he heard me, though," Aragorn said quietly. "He simply did not choose to speak to me."

"And who could blame him?" Elladan said in a tone of voice that was so cold that even Elrohir looked at him in surprise. "I would most certainly not talk to one of the people I am aiming to destroy."

For a few seconds, it was completely silent. It was Legolas who found his voice first.

"You think that that … dark, hooded figure in his dreams is the one behind all this? Why would he do it? Is such a thing even possible?"

"Oh yes," Elladan said darkly. "There are people and … creatures … who can accomplish such feats, without trouble or even much effort."

Legolas seemed to have barely listened.
"Surely he does not know who Estel is and that he is here now? How would he have found out? Elladan, if this is true, we must return to Imladris immediately. Estel is not safe here."

"Estel," Aragorn stressed his name slightly, "is standing right next to you, mellon nín. And he can speak for himself, thank you very much."

Elrohir shot his human a quelling look before he turned back to his fair-haired friend who was so wide-eyed that it was a miracle that his eyeballs were still attached.

"I don't know, Legolas. I wish we could answer that question, but we can't. We do not even know if our conclusion is correct or not."

"Let us assume that it is, then."

Legolas' voice was at least as cold as Elladan's had been a few moments earlier, and right now no one would have doubted who his father was. There was no one who could stare at you with just the same kind of iciness in his eyes as King Thranduil.

"If it is," Elladan went on, shooting Aragorn who was following the entire exchange with large eyes a quick look, "then I, for one, do not think so. If Estel can't make out his face, then it is unlikely that the other can. There has been no contact, and they haven't spoken to each other. They could, though, I think. If they wanted to."

"They don't," Aragorn said firmly. "I do not want to talk to this … person, whoever he might be. And most certainly not in a dream that might be nothing but a figment of my imagination."

"That is a very commendable attitude, Estel." Elladan smiled at him. "Do not attempt to do so. If we are correct, he might indeed be the one we are seeking. I do not know how he is doing this, but I will find out. And until then, he must not learn anything about you, do you understand me?"

"Yes, ada." Aragorn grimaced sourly. "I am not a moron, Elladan. I did not intend to walk up to him the next time I see … or dream … him and introduce myself with a bow." Elladan shrugged slightly in a kind of apology, and the man's face suddenly became still and very, very serious. "Is he seeking me out?" he asked in a small tone of voice. "Does he know or suspect that I have these … abilities … and uses them to find me? To find us?"

"No. No, Estel." Elrohir quickly shook his head. "I do not think so. It is possible, of course, but I think it is unlikely. From what you have told us, these … encounters … are fairly random and very brief. You control them to a certain degree, do you not?"

"If you want to put it like that." Aragorn's smile turned from sour to almost bitter. "I jerk awake, yes."

"Yes, but you do it," Elrohir went on. "At least this time you did. I think that if he was seeking you out with the purpose of looking for you, he would do it in a more … organised … fashion. A more purposeful fashion. He would seek to make you talk to him, to reveal something about yourself. All this, all that is happening, would serve no purpose, not for him."

"Yes," Aragorn agreed after a while, profound relief on his face. He tried to hide it, of course, but didn't even get close. "Yes, it would seem so, wouldn't it?"

The tension in the air diminished a little. Elrohir nodded slightly and took Aragorn's uninjured hand between his, looking down on his human brother with dark, serious grey eyes.

"This has gone beyond nightmares, Estel. The next time you dream about this … figure, or have any other kind of nightmare or vision, you must tell us. And then," the younger twin did his best to mask his slight distaste, "we must also tell Daervagor. This concerns him also and all his men, and he deserves to know."

Aragorn sighed and tried to argue with his brothers, but they would hear none of it. Legolas barely listened to the words they spoke as he tried to make sense of all he had heard, his mind still working hard to grasp all of it. He was sure that he, as the only person in the tent who had no first-hand experience with visions and these kinds of nightmares, only understood a part of all this, but one thing shone in his mind with the crystal clarity of a beacon: Aragorn might be dreaming about the person who was behind the disappearances, about the person who had killed so many of his people.

Someone was doing this to his friend.

To his right, the twins had convinced the young man that their course of action was the right one, but Legolas barely took note of it. Something small and cold had been born inside of him, an icy determination that was accompanied by a terrible certainty and was growing steadily.

He would find the one responsible for this, and then, by Oromë's horn, he would show him what a nightmare was really like.






Darkness was falling as the night spread its dark tendrils over the river and mountains and swept down into the valley, and Glorfindel couldn't bring himself to look away.

The golden-haired elf lord sighed. He had returned from patrolling the borders with Captain Elvynd and his men about an hour earlier and was now, after having spent a day in the heat of the strong sun, quite exhausted. He had managed to wash himself without drowning – which had looked like a definite possibility for some time, mind you – and had, after donning the lightest shirt he could find and simple breeches, come to watch the sunset in peace.

The sunset obviously included darkness, even though he couldn't for the life of him explain his sudden unease.

Before his first death, before his home had come crashing down around him in shadow and flame and the entire world had seemed to have been set alight, he had liked the darkness. It was a concept that was now quite alien to him, almost as alien as the idea of anybody liking an orc. Still, darkness had held no fear for him, nothing to be dreaded or fought against. Then Gondolin had fallen and with her his entire world and everything and everyone he had held dear. The last memory he had of his home was being pulled down into the dark abyss with the balrog as it fell, the demon's whip and wings beating madly around their intertwined bodies even as he felt his body die.

For long years after his resurrection, he had indeed feared the darkness. He had never told anybody about it, of course, not even Elrond or Gil-galad. The half-elf had found out about it eventually, something that somehow hadn't seemed to matter so terribly much to him, especially because Elrond had been so young still, young enough to clearly remember his violent childhood and fear the darkness for what he knew it could be hiding. Back then, he had still had his twin's company and silent support, though, and so he, too, had been quite proficient at hiding his fears. And Ereinion … well, the High King had always seemed to know things without anybody even telling him. He had never mentioned it to him, but Glorfindel was sure that Gil-galad had known.

Now, of course, things were different. He was older now and wiser, or so he hoped, and he knew that the darkness itself was nothing to be feared. He did not like it, but he was not afraid of it – usually, that was. Tonight, things were different. The most prominent feeling he had was one of dread-filled urgency, almost a desire to start running and not look back – to do anything in his power in order not to let the darkness catch up with him.

Glorfindel did not understand that urge. He was long past the time when darkness had frightened him in any way. He shouldn't react like this.

"You know," a soft voice behind him commented, "if I did something like this, I would be 'brooding' and would never hear the end of it. Come to think about it, it is rather unfair that you are allowed to do it."

Glorfindel smiled at the encroaching darkness that immediately seemed to lose some of its menacing character.
"Ah, but such is life, mellon nín. Hard, messy and thoroughly unfair."

"Especially when one is your friend," Erestor remarked wryly as he took another step forward, stopping when he almost touched the balustrade Glorfindel was perched on. The Bruinen was somewhere far, far below them, and even though he had nothing but complete trust in his friend's sense of balance, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen should it fail him. "You know, perching on a banister like this is actually a rather un-elf-lordly thing to do."

"I wrote the list," Glorfindel said uncompromisingly, but there was a smile on his face that belied his severe tone of voice. "I get to decide what is elf-lordly and what isn't. It is one of the advantages of authorship."

To emphasise his point, he pulled a leg up to his chest, something that should have been completely impossibly in his current position. It should have been even more impossible for someone to do it and not plummet to his doom. Erestor eyed his friend with a mixture of distaste and amusement, and Glorfindel shot him a sly look, grinning.

"Why don't you join me, my Lord Erestor? I promise you not to tell anybody about your shockingly un-elf-lordly behaviour."

Erestor raised an eyebrow as he pointedly looked at his own attire – a long robe that was much more appropriate than a shirt and breeches – and then at the thin, carved wooden balustrade.

"Is this another one of your jokes, my lord, or are you trying to get me killed? You cannot sneak up on people when wearing a robe, as I told you – and you also cannot act like an overgrown elfling."

"Why, my friend," Glorfindel said, blue eyes wide with mock innocence, "don't you like to climb?"

"This isn't climbing." Erestor shook his head decisively. "This is … perching. And no, I do not like it."

Glorfindel shrugged and twisted his body further around until he was more or less hovering above the balustrade without truly changing his position. Again, it should not have been possible, at least not without falling or breaking or dislocating multiple bones and joints, but Erestor had stopped concerning himself with trivialities such as what was possible and what wasn't. This was Glorfindel, after all, who, even for someone with Vanyarin blood, was quite strange indeed. All he did in the end was direct another look of loathing at the blond elf.

"Do you have a solid bone anywhere in your body?"

Glorfindel seemed to think about that for a few moments and finally shrugged again.
"I am not entirely certain, to be honest. I suppose there might be one or two."

"That would explain quite a lot," Erestor grumbled, but there was a teasing light in his eyes that Glorfindel had been missing for a long time now.

"I am sure about it, my friend."

Glorfindel nodded serenely, knowing that this would infuriate the other elf lord far more than a continued argument. He didn't really know when they had started teasing each other again after Donrag, and he almost didn't dare contemplate it too closely. He was still afraid that, if he looked at this improved situation, it might disappear to be replaced by the former tense silences and furtive looks or something even worse. It wasn't hard to imagine such a thing, especially for someone who knew Erestor.

"Why are you here?" he asked before he could stop himself, and wished only a second later that he could retract the hastily spoken words and erase all signs of their short existence. Their relationship was slowly returning to normal, yes, but that didn't mean that Erestor couldn't retreat back behind these walls he had thrown up and fortified over months if he saw it necessary or felt himself threatened. And he would do it, too.

Thankfully, Erestor didn't do it, at least not immediately. The dark-haired councillor grew a little stiller, his face becoming expressionless, but at least he remained where he was. Glorfindel had half-expected him to simply turn around and leave.

"Why?" Erestor asked, expressionless eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. "Are you afraid I came to throw myself off this platform? You do sound like it, you know."

"No!" Glorfindel quickly shook his head. He couldn't hide the look of incredulous horror that flashed over his face. "Eru, no, Erestor. I do not think that. No matter what, I am sure you wouldn't do that."

"Oh, I don't know," Erestor said lightly and only partly out of a dark desire to see Glorfindel squirm. "I wouldn't be so quick with my absolutes if I were you, my friend."

He had almost expected another one of Glorfindel's lectures about How Everything Will Be Just Fine or an openly worried look at the very least. Instead, the fair-haired elf only nodded his head thoughtfully, and Erestor felt how shame filled his heart. Just why would he think that Glorfindel wouldn't understand him, especially after he had told him in Donrag about his own experiences with captivity and hopelessness?

"You are right." Glorfindel nodded, his serious eyes fixed unwaveringly on his face. "My words were ill-chosen. There are times when such an action is the only way out. I know that, or should know it at least – maybe better than most. Forgive me."

"What for, Glorfindel?" Erestor asked with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I ... over-reacted, just as I have so many times in the past few weeks."

Glorfindel looked at him with large eyes, clearly trying to come up with an appropriate response. It was a well-known fact that Lord Erestor did not like to admit his shortcomings – just who did? – and lately … well, it was safe to say that said fact had become even more deeply imbedded in the minds of Rivendell's residents.

"That … is one way of putting it," the blond elf lord finally said in what he doubtlessly thought to be a diplomatic tone of voice.

Erestor, who had attended more meetings and conferences than – as he secretly thought – there were stars in the sky, snorted inwardly. He had once witnessed Lord Thranduil openly declare that he had nothing but the highest respect for the Noldorin princes in general and Lord Celeborn in particular, and even he had sounded more convincing than this.

"I am … grateful … for your patience, Glorfindel," he said, choosing his words with care and forcing himself to actually articulate them. "The last months have been … difficult."

Glorfindel, who knew in just what state of mind his friend was when he started enriching his sentences with this kind of pauses, only smiled at the other elf lord. He knew what this cost Erestor, especially considering how fragile their friendship was at the moment.

"For all of us, my friend," he said and thus graciously opened the other elf lord a way out of this. "For all of us."

Erestor narrowed his eyes at the other elf, concern immediately overriding all his other emotions. Glorfindel – contrary to his earlier statement – did choose his words with care, and rarely said something without reason.
"Why are you here, my lord? Is there something amiss?"

"No," Glorfindel said a little too quickly. "Yes. I do not know. I have the strangest feeling … a feeling I cannot seem to explain. I cannot identify it. I am trying, but it doesn't make any sense at all."

Erestor, who knew the older elf quite well, nodded thoughtfully, and, not for the first time this evening, did the exact opposite of what Glorfindel expected him to do.

"I see. Come with me and help me find Elrond."

"Find Elrond," Glorfindel repeated, torn between confusion and surprise. Unconsciously, he already began to unfold himself, preparing to leave his rather dangerous perch. "What for?"

"It is almost dinnertime," Erestor stated matter-of-factly. "He hasn't been eating enough lately. Nor has he rested."

"If Elrond knew you were spying on him, he wouldn't be very pleased," Glorfindel informed his friend quite needlessly as he dropped onto the stone floor and followed him.

"I am not spying on him," Erestor said. "I am worried about him, and so are you, by the way, so don't even try to deny it. Besides, he already knows."

He would, too, Glorfindel thought to himself. There wasn't a lot that happened in Rivendell and that her half-elven master did not know about, and even less when it concerned his friends. Apart from that, Erestor was right, of course, even though there was no need to tell him that. He was worried about Elrond, who wasn't resting or eating as he should be. The half-elf was worried about his sons and the prince and his companion – and only a fool would have said that he worried needlessly –, but that didn't mean that he was allowed to work himself into the ground, as he was apparently trying to at the moment.

"All right," he said after a few moments of silence. "If you are not spying on him, then how do you know where he will be? He is not in his office; I walked past it on my way here and it was quite empty."

Erestor gave him a look he hadn't seen in far too long a time, the one that generally suggested that someone had dropped him on his head when he had been a toddler.

"I do not know where he is, but I can guess," the councillor informed him. Glorfindel raised his eyebrows but followed him without protest, and he added, "And I am not spying on him. I do not spy."

"No," Glorfindel agreed in mock seriousness. "You have the cooks for that."

Erestor stopped, looking truly puzzled.
"I have the who for what?"

"Never mind," Glorfindel said hurriedly and ushered him onwards. There was no reason to let his friend know about the widely accepted theory that he was using (or misusing, depending on the speaker's point of view) the cooks as a means to keep his spy net at peak efficiency. "Where is he, then?"

Erestor shot him a quick look that hinted that this was not over yet, but allowed Glorfindel to lightly hold onto his arm for a full three seconds before he shrugged out of his grip as calmly as he could, ignoring the cold sweat that suddenly beaded his brow.

"He is his father's son," he said lightly, his voice sounding calm and composed. "When he is worried, it shows more than usual."

Glorfindel frowned, remembering how Elrond had told him once about Elros' and his favourite pastimes when the two of them had been elflings.
"So he'll have climbed a ship's mast, then? Erestor, if you manage to find one in Rivendell, I'll take back what I said about Nr. 16 of the young ones' list."

If he was perfectly honest, Erestor didn't even remember what Nr. 16 of the list had been – he hadn't really thought it to be quite the mortal insult everybody seemed to be convinced he must consider it. He would never admit it, of course, and least of all to Glorfindel.

"Of course not," he said. This time, his look suggested that Glorfindel hadn't only been dropped on the head, but had also apparently never listened to his elders when they had been trying to teach him anything of importance. "He'll just go as high as he can get."

Glorfindel cocked his head to the side but didn't say anything, and soon they had climbed up two sets of stairs and were walking down a long, somewhat dusty corridor. They were in the part of the house that wasn't used frequently anymore – and if it was, then only as a sort of attic – and the elf lord suddenly recognised it as the place where Elladan liked to hide out when he didn't want to be found. He smiled slightly to himself. Like father, like son, like grandson, it seemed.

Erestor was right, of course. They found Elrond on the balcony of an unused room, leaning over the balustrade and looking at the swiftly falling darkness as if averting his eyes would mean something terrible and simultaneously as if he would have liked nothing better. With a small stab of unease, Glorfindel realised that this was what he must have looked like to Erestor no more than ten minutes ago.

Elrond, however, didn't seem to be quite as deeply in thought as he had been, because they didn't manage to surprise him. The half-elf had been a warrior far longer than he had been a healer, and it was notoriously hard to sneak up on him in any way. Glorfindel knew; he had paid for that knowledge with bruises to various part of his anatomy and, occasionally, to his pride.

"Erestor." Elrond nodded his head without turning around or averting his eyes. "Glorfindel. Good evening."

"Good evening, my lord," Glorfindel said automatically. He looked at his friend a little more closely than usual, prompted by Erestor's earlier words, and found that he had been right. Elrond looked a little thinner than was his wont.

Feeling the older elf's intent eyes on him, Elrond finally wrenched his eyes away from the sight in front of him and turned around, his shoulders hunched as if against an attack. Glorfindel's own shoulders ached in sympathetic pain, and he felt how his unease intensified.

"What can I do for you?" Elrond asked with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Is there a problem with the inventory?"

Glorfindel scowled at his friend, inwardly refusing to let himself be distracted. Elrond wouldn't get rid of them so easily, oh no.
"No problem, my friend," he said in exaggerated cheerfulness. "The work is fascinating, really. And Erestor's aides are so much help that I hardly have to do anything!"

Erestor's aides were in fact a bunch of incompetent idiots, something he would never have expected he would have to say about anybody working for Erestor. Glorfindel was deeply and firmly convinced that the other elf lord had ordered his assistants to be of as little help as possible. He frowned inwardly. Erestor could get positively vicious when his precious records were involved.

Erestor blinked innocently, and Glorfindel almost felt how the hair covering the back of his neck stood on end. Oh yes, his dear friend had most definitely ordered his aides to act like bumbling morons. If he hadn't been so annoyed, he would have congratulated them on their acting ability.

"How fortunate," Erestor said mildly and in exactly the same tone of voice he would have used when being told that Sauron had narrowly avoided falling into one of the lava pools surrounding Barad-dûr. "Well, paperwork takes time."

Glorfindel, deciding that even dealing with this particular feeling he was having was better than dealing with Erestor when he was in this kind of mood, gave the dark-haired elf lord a last scorching look before he turned to Elrond.
"Will you come to dinner with us? The cooks are beginning to look insulted because you never attend them anymore."

"That is not true," Elrond protested. "I do attend them. I have simply been … busy."

"Entirely understandable." Glorfindel nodded, deciding that now was not the time to point out that standing on a balcony and staring at the dark gates was not exactly what most people would call 'busy'. "You can surely spare an hour, mellon nín. I promise you to deliver you back here safely afterwards should you wish it."

"Thank you, Glorfindel, for that kind offer. Elbereth knows that I wouldn't know what to do without you to escort me through my own house." Elrond inclined his head, a mocking glint in his eyes. "But no, thank you."

"There are blackberry pies for dessert," Glorfindel offered as a last resort. Erestor shot him a look that openly questioned his intelligence, but he shrugged. Everybody knew that Elrond loved blackberry pies – well, he knew, at least – and if that didn't entice him to eat, nothing would.

"I am not very hungry tonight." Elrond shook his head, raising a hand as if to ward off the words that he knew would be spoken as soon as he closed his mouth. "I am fine, Glorfindel. Don't fret."

"He doesn't fret, my lord." Glorfindel did his best in order not to let his surprise show as help arrived from an unlikely source. Erestor ignored him and continued, his eyes not leaving his lord's face. "You have not been eating or resting properly since they left, Elrond. You cannot help them now, least of all by starving yourself and falling face-first into a pile of documents in exhaustion."

Elrond opened his mouth, looking as if he would have liked to argue, but closed it again with a small snap. He was clearly intelligent to know that Erestor had a point – and that he would inevitably lose any argument that found him facing both Glorfindel and Erestor at once. One of them, he could handle, but if they actually agreed on something, he would challenge even his mother-in-law to change their minds.

"I know that I cannot help them," he said quietly, slumping slightly against the railing without even noticing it. "That is what drives me to distraction. I don't think that I have ever been this afraid for Estel, except maybe when Cornallar had him."

Glorfindel's face froze slightly as he tried not to scowl. He hadn't been here when Elrond's former and by then quite clearly crazed ex-advisor had kidnapped the boy, and that was something he had never really forgiven himself. He knew, rationally, that he wouldn't have been able to change anything that really mattered, but rationality usually mattered little when such feelings were concerned.

"He will be all right, Elrond," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady and convincing. He knew very well just how much trouble the twins and their human brother could get into – and the addition of Prince Legolas and young Celylith was never a good thing. Usually, it increased the probability of mayhem, chaos and blood by about 300 percent. "The twins and the son of Thranduil will look after him, you know they will."

"We don't even know if Haldar's suspicions were correct," Erestor joined in, proclaiming what he knew Elrond wanted to hear and not necessarily what he thought to be true. "They might be, yes, but there still has been no proof. Unless," he began cautiously, exchanging a quick look with Glorfindel, "unless you have seen something…?"

Elrond didn't answer immediately, and Glorfindel almost found himself wishing that his friend had seen something. Mustering the troops would be far better than this terrible, helpless waiting.

"No." The half-elf shook his head in the end, turning back to look at the dark valley spread out beneath his feet. "No, I have not seen anything. There has been no dream or vision. But I have this … feeling, a feeling that something is happening and that I cannot stop it, no matter what I do. A feeling as if there is something in the darkness, hiding in plain sight until it is time to strike."

A shiver raced across Glorfindel's back that he could not hide, and he ignored the look that Erestor gave him. Of course he would notice it, he thought almost sourly.
"Is there anything we can do, my friend? Anything at all? You know that you only have to name it, and it shall be done."

"Except for finding a Vala willing to turn back time exactly seven days and stopping me from giving Estel permission to leave?" Elrond asked wryly. "No, my friends. There is nothing you can do."

"He would have left anyway, Elrond, you know that," Erestor told him. "He would have regretted doing it, surely, but he still would have done it. You bear no responsibility in this."

"No responsibility maybe," the half-elf agreed. He didn't even seem to notice that his hands were closing so firmly around the railing that his knuckles turned white. "No fault or guilt? Now that is a different thing, isn't it."

Erestor and Glorfindel exchanged a helpless look. There were things you learned quickly when serving the half-elven lord of Imladris, and among them was when to give up. Elrond wasn't willing to talk about this and wouldn't do it until he felt he was ready, and no amount of persuasion would change that. If the twins, Arwen or Estel were here, it would have been different, but they most certainly didn't stand a chance.

"Come, my friend," Glorfindel said again, deciding that the least they could do was get their friend down from here and into the dining hall. "There is a hot meal waiting for you, and I was serious about the blackberry pies. You will have to be quick, though; I am sure that they will be as popular as always."

"They might be gone by now," Erestor agreed. "I saw some of the younger captains eyeing them with something that can only be described as 'naked greed'." He paused and frowned. "Well, to be fair I have to admit that Captain Isál probably needs the nourishment, poor lad that he is."

"Why?" Elrond asked, but turned around to look at them. "It's not Dólvorn again, is it? Isn't he on patrol?"

"Well," Glorfindel began, "yes, he is. This time, it's Captain Elvynd."

"Do not tell me that he, too, has turned against him," Elrond said incredulously. He found the wedding problem quite entertaining, if he was perfectly honest. He could still remember the last few months before his own wedding to Celebrían, and if Isál felt anything like he had felt then, he did not envy him. He had been a nervous wreck. "And here I thought they were friends!"

"Oh, they are," the other elf lord affirmed. "The only problem is that Elvynd, as the son of the master of the warehouses, was in charge of procuring some of the rarer items and such, among them the very rare silks from Mithlond that were supposed to be turned into Lady Gaerîn's wedding dress. There was apparently some sort of misunderstanding, and so they were never ordered, or at least never delivered – you would have to ask Annorathil for details. Don't ask me how he is involved; I really don't think I want to know. Be that as it may, Gaerîn now refuses to talk to Isál, who in turn blames Elvynd and refuses to talk to him."

Elrond actually winced. He had never really understood why, but a wedding dress wasn't simply a dress. It was the dress, the most important dress that an elleth would in all probability ever wear, and he shuddered to think what this … catastrophe would mean. Lady Gaerîn was a formidable she-elf, after all, who as a healer knew her way around potentially deadly herbs, needles and razor-sharp knives, and if Captain Elvynd knew what was good for him, he would leave Imladris and not return until things had calmed down a little. Probably sometime next decade.

"The poor boy," he murmured, shaking his head. "Walking up to a dragon and kicking it in its kneecap is actually a quicker and more pleasant way to commit suicide."

"True," Glorfindel admitted with a grin. "Someone should have told him."

Elrond nodded, looking at the two of them, and finally sighed and gave them a smile.
"All right," he said. "I will come to dinner. But only," he paused to give Glorfindel a threatening look, "if there really are some blackberry pies."

"There are, my lord," Glorfindel assured him. "I swear it."

"I know you, Glorfindel, and I still remember that little episode when Lord Thranduil came to visit with his father. Forgive me for failing to be suitably impressed."

"A wise attitude, my lord," Erestor agreed solemnly. "But I saw them, and will vouch for the veracity of his statement."

"That I will accept," Elrond said with a smile and a sly look in Glorfindel's direction. He pushed himself away from the railing and walked past them. "Are you coming, then? One always has to wait for you…"

Erestor looked after his lord and friend for a moment before he turned to Glorfindel, a questioning expression on his face.
"Is there any chance of getting you to revise Nr. 11 of your list?"

"'Do not hit another elf lord'?" Glorfindel asked. "No, I am afraid not. I am relying on that for self-defence."

"More's the pity." Erestor shrugged. "Come, then. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting, now would we?"

He turned and followed Elrond who had already crossed the dusty room and was opening the door leading to the corridor. After a second, Glorfindel trailed after him, quietly rejoicing in the playful teasing that was once again becoming more the norm than the exception between them. He was still smiling slightly when he joined his friends in the corridor and followed them down to the dining hall.

But the unease he had felt ever since he saw the sun sinking below the horizon did not disappear, and if he looked closely enough, he saw the same darkness reflected in Elrond's worried grey eyes.






The lads were beginning to get overly excited and impatient, and Skagrosh could even understand them. He would still beat anybody into the ground that questioned the master's authority and especially his own, but that didn't meant that he didn't understand them. He was an orc, and sympathy with anybody or anything was therefore quite far from his mind, but the concept was essentially the same.

Skagrosh shrugged his shoulder, feeling how the heavy, ill-fitting armour he had pilfered some months ago dug into a still raw cut on his upper torso. That little snake he had put in its place a few days ago had scored a lucky hit, which had caused the little brawl he had been involved in – which had started as nothing truly harmful and just a kind of evening's entertainment – to get out of control. As much as he liked participating in this kind of fun, he didn't like being cut by anybody, and least of all by a member of the Horde. The others knew this, and so no one had protested when he had grabbed the offender by his scrawny neck and had beat his head against a wall until he had stopped squirming.

No one had wanted to anger him, and no one had cared anyway. Fresh meat was fresh meat, and no orc would spoil something like that by arguing over things that weren't vitally important.

Still, it had been a long time since they'd had any form of real entertainment. Brawls were one thing, even brawls where a bit of blood was spilled, but they really weren't any replacement for more interesting things, like having a pretty little ranger beg and scream. Skagrosh grinned, displaying pointy, rotten teeth. He wasn't overly choosy, of course. He would take a normal man, too.

Skagrosh snapped back to attention as the darkness in front of him shifted like mist on a plain, and the master appeared, moving as soundlessly as one of them cursed elves. He wore the dark cloak he always donned when he came back from outside, but no one moved quite like him. The sun had set long hours ago, but they had been ordered to stay inside this accursed cave that was rightly far too small to hold all of them.

Faint starlight was the only source of light available to light the cave's gloomy interior, but the orc didn't have to see the master' face to know what kind of expression he would be wearing. He had seen it too many times since he and the others had arrived here, and it still caused the unfamiliar, hated shiver of fear to run through him.

It wasn't an unfounded fear either. The master had been appointed by Him, and even if he hadn't been and disobedience hadn't meant an immediate and vastly painful death, he wouldn't have considered disregarding his orders. The master wasn't Him, obviously, but he was frightening in his own, very calm way. The fact that he served Him as well as the rest of them didn't change that at all.

Even Skagrosh, who wasn't the most intelligent of creatures, knew that He did not choose someone who was likely to fail. He also wasn't prone to choosing someone who was in any way hesitant to use everything in his power to ensure that the mission was accomplished.

"What is this I hear about some brawl?" the master asked, his voice sounding soft and harmless.

Skagrosh knew better, of course. In the beginning he had thought the master soft and harmless, too, and so had his predecessor, despite the fact that this was the one He had said they were to obey. It had been a mistake the other orc had swiftly paid for with his life, and Skagrosh didn't intend to make the same mistake. He was the leader now, and he rather liked it.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder where the master had heard about the brawl. He hadn't been here for several days now and had only arrived less than half an hour ago. Someone must have had problems keeping their mouths shut, and Skagrosh would almost have grinned openly. Finding out just who that had been would be a lot of fun, now that it would.

"Nothing, sir," he answered, immediately lowering his head. "Just a little … entertainment. Don't know where you heard that, sir."

For a few moments, the other didn't say or do anything. He simply stood there like a stone pillar, looking as if he wasn't even breathing, before – with a completely casual movement – he reached out and grasped the shorter being by the throat. Long fingers closed around the orc's windpipe, and all air left his lungs with an audible sound as he was swung around and slammed against the nearest stone wall.

"Now let me make some things perfectly clear, orc," he said, his voice still sounding as calm as if he was discussing the weather with a friend over a nice dinner. "We all serve the Master, but you serve me. I tell you what to do and where to go, I decide who of you lives or dies – and I provide the entertainment. Now, I do not tell you how to control your men; as long as you do as I say and follow my orders, I do not care. You are free to discipline them as you see fit. But no one, not even the most useless worm, gets used as 'entertainment' without my consent. Is that clear?"

If Skagrosh could have moved his head, he would have nodded frantically.
"Y-yes, sir."

"Good." One could almost hear the large smile that had to adorn the hooded figure's face. He had almost set the unmoving orc back onto his feet when a thought seemed to strike him and he hoisted the still creature back up. "Oh, and one more thing: Do not ever assume that you are my only source of information. I have cut your predecessor's throat, and I will happily cut yours should the need arise. I am sure I will be able to find someone to take your place."

Without another word, he let the orc drop back onto the ground. For a moment, no sound could be heard except for Skagrosh's wheezing as he tried to suck air into his lungs. The tall, hooded being turned away from him for a moment, looking at the entrance of the cave that was barely visible from where they were standing, before he turned back around.

"Has anybody come close to the cave?" he asked abruptly.

"No, sir," Skagrosh rasped. "No one has been spotted. We would have noticed."

There was a rather telling pause, but the tall figure apparently decided to let this pass without comment.

"Good. Since you are so very eager for some entertainment, I have a little job for you."

The silvery moonlight that managed to find its way this far down the twisting tunnel was enough to highlight the flash of pure, greedy blood-lust that appeared in the orc's eyes. A dark tongue was briefly visible as it darted out to wet cracked, pierced lips.

"Yes, sir."

The orc's patient tone of voice stood in stark contrast to the look in his eyes, and the smile once again crept back into the master's voice.
"I thought you would be amenable to it. There is a group of rangers on the small road leading north-west; they have been there the whole day and will return tomorrow to clear the rest of it. I think we should pay them a visit tomorrow afternoon, as soon as you can travel."

Skagrosh winced. The master's idea of when they could travel and their own differed vastly, and stragglers were usually motivated by the liberal use of metal-laced whips.

"I will tell the others, sir. They will make good sport."

"Undoubtedly." The smile in the other's voice seemed to freeze. "There shouldn't be too many left in the afternoon; if we can, we will wait until there is only one or two left. You can proceed as usual once you have one of them, and don't worry about being gentle. We need results, and we need them fast. Still, I want one of them alive, if possible, the leader, and you are to keep him alive, entertainment or no entertainment. Is that understood?"

Skagrosh almost growled. Taking those tarks alive was far more difficult than it sounded. First, they almost always put up the kind of fight that made taking them alive almost impossible (they had, in fact, lost quite a few of them in that way), and second, it was damned hard to hit them just right. Give them a knock on the head that was just a bit too hard and you didn't have a prisoner, you only had dead meat. Keeping them alive was a bit easier, but not much, especially not when the others were being … enthusiastic.

"Yes, sir," he said. "It's been too long, really, sir. The lads are aching for a fight."

The master chuckled at that, a dark sound that bounced off the stone walls and was magnified and distorted by the twisting stone walls around them.

"They will get one. Oh, they will most certainly get one." He took a deep breath to calm himself and added, "Once we have what we want, you won't return here. It's too close and too easily found. I'll show you where to go."

He reached into his long cloak and produced a folded piece of parchment that Skagrosh knew was a map of this area. Skagrosh wasn't interested in geography of any kind, but even he, who usually considered such things as only good for kindling, had to admit that it was an incredibly detailed map that showed you even the tiniest bit of cover and the shallowest of caves. The only problem was that he never really could make sense of the damned scribbling.

"Yes, sir," he said again. He didn't think that the master really expected an answer, but it really couldn't hurt. The master only nodded and unfolded the map, and he added, "Will you return with us, sir?"

The hooded being didn't answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the parchment he held in his hands. His voice was nonchalant when he spoke, and if Skagrosh's mind hadn't been filled with images of blood and the pain he would soon be inflicting on some squirming little ranger, he would have noticed that he pointedly didn't look up.

"No," he said and shook his head slightly. "No, I will not. Things are beginning to get … interesting. I will be busy. Now, pay attention!"

Skagrosh shook himself out of his musings and did his best to comply. The master was in a foul mood tonight, that much obvious, but that was normal when he returned from outside and happened more and more frequently. Not paying attention now might cost him an ear – or even the whole head, depending on how foul the master's mood really was.

Besides, he didn't really care one way or the other. He would soon have another little worm to entertain himself with, one of those that bled so prettily, and that was all that mattered.

TBC...

Dúnedain (Sindarin) - 'Men of the West', Rangers
pen-velui (S.) - sweet one
muindor (nín) (S.) - (my) brother (by blood)
mellon nín (S.) - my friend
ada (S.) - father (daddy)
elleth (S.) - elf-maid
tarks (Black Speech) - Men of Gondor/of Númenórean heritage

I like Skagrosh. I know, I know, I'm sick and insane, but he's kind of ... straightforward, you know? Not nearly as complicated as the rest of this twisted little tale... All right. So, everything's getting interesting, and you know what? It really is! Because next chapter, we see just what happens when a more or less intelligent villain has access to a more or less well-trained horde of orcs. Oh, and also that the Valar really DO hate Aragorn and everybody connected with him, because he and the others stumble over a lot of unpleasant things and, of course, end up right in the middle of everything. And THAT, of course, leads to blood and chaos. Does that surprise anyone? Not really, I'd say... As always: Reviews? Yes, please! •g•

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Additional A/N:

My apologies to Mirwen Sunrider (your email address might be working, but I can't see it! It's not listed under "email:", is it? I couldn't find it!), Tatsumaki-sama (as always! •g•), Sandra and Jessica for not replying to their reviews. Remember that you must have a valid email address listed on your profile page (or somewhere on your homepage where I can easily find it), or remember to give me an email address if you wish to review anonymously, because I reply to reviews via big group emails. If you don't want to do either, that's fine as well, of course! I am sorry for any inconvenience this might cause you.