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.

21. The Coming of Dawn

Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

A/N:

I'm late. I know, I know, don't remind me. I don't think I'm really in the mood for a long A/N right now. Suffice to say that I'm sorry, that it will most likely happen again, and that I am at least now finally preparing for my finals. I'd thought it would never happen. I'll probably start taking them in April, but that's another matter entirely.

Oh, and I'll also be gone for most of March. No, let me rephrase that: I'll be gone for the whole of March. I'll be in Rome on an archaeological dig, which is great, but I also rather doubt that there will be internet access. I'll be online sporadically to check my emails, I guess, but I won't be back before April 1st. If everything goes according to plan - stop laughing back there - I should be able to update before I leave, because, hey, two months is too much, even for me.

So, here's the next (monstrously long) bit. I have stopped trying to get my characters to shut up and now simply cry myself to sleep every night •g•. There's not a lot of Legolas in it (he's kind of busy being unconscious at the moment), but he's still there, more or less. Anyway, we find out just what my alter ego did to Legolas and Celylith, Aragorn therefore does something his brothers are not happy about (see A/N II for that), Elladan and Daervagor have a little discussion, and Halbarad ... well. Let's just say that he isn't having much fun at the moment. •evil grin•

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Chapter 21

Time seemed to speed up again to what passed as normal, for the first time since Lhanton and he had walked into the cave, and Aragorn felt how a wave of dizziness washed over him that would have caused him to lose his footing if he hadn't already been kneeling. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, placed there slowly and with care and clearly in a way designed to alarm him as little as possible, and Aragorn shook his head. Utilizing the fierce force of will he had needed so often in his life – and mostly in situations like this one –, he pushed everything, every fear, every worry and even the complaints of his body to the side and concentrated on what mattered right here and now.

Raising his head seemed as good a place to start as any.

"Yes?"

The polite question sounded so completely and wholly inappropriate that he would have started laughing if he hadn't just decided that irrational displays of merriment were not conducive to this situation. Lhanton, who stood in front of him and who slowly withdrew his hand now, didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he ignored it.

"What do you need?" the other ranger asked simply.

For a moment, Aragorn could only stare at him, bright fear still pulsing inside of him. What did he need – what kind of question was that?

Without saying anything, Aragorn looked down at the still body of his best friend, horror once again rising inside of him. It was hard to say where one injury ended and the next began; there was so much blood and dirt covering him that they all seemed to blend into one another. Legolas had lost consciousness in the middle of his first frantic examination – and how he thanked the Valar for that! –, but from what he had been able to discover, there were at least two large injuries, one easily visible dislocated and twisted shoulder and a large gash in his left side. Add to that a from the looks of it rather serious head injury, a severely burnt right hand and more bruises, cuts and contusions than he could count…

Eru, the young man thought to himself, forcing himself to remain calm. Legolas needed a lot of things, among them to be in the care of a master healer who had access to as many healing herbs as he could get his hands on.

But what he needed, what he wanted, was, if he was perfectly and brutally frank with himself, his father to come and make this all better, as Elrond had done so many times when he had been a child.

"Find me a room," he finally said, his head reeling, more in order to get rid of the other ranger so that he could actually think. "I need some space, somewhere where I can take a look at them that isn't soaked with orc blood."

Even a person completely unskilled in medical matters could see that a blood-soaked environment might not exactly been conducive to anyone's health – especially if said environment was decorated with stiffening bodies –, and fuelled by the look Aragorn gave him when he hesitated for a moment, Lhanton only nodded and hurried off. For a moment, Aragorn was so relieved that he was alone that he paused. Then, however, reality reasserted itself and a by now very well-known list scrolled down in front of his eyes.

He would need water … and athelas,harucholor, too, he would think … that new salve his father had concocted a while back, the one with marigold … light, yes, that would be a good idea, too, he would have to get a few extra torches…

"Dam Morgoth!"

The two words were hissed more than spoken, and if Aragorn hadn't been so busy trying to decide where to touch the broken body of his friend without causing him any additional pain, he would have turned around or said something. This way, however, he merely spared his brother a fleeting glance, ensuring that at least he was uninjured and – relatively speaking – well, before he returned his attention to Legolas' still body.

"What in the name of Eru Ilúvatarhappened, Estel?" Elladan asked, closing the distance between them with long, purposeful strides. Even a person who didn't know him well – or at all – wouldn't have missed the fear flickering over his face. "We were only gone for half a day!"

"I have no idea,muindor," Aragorn answered without turning his head. "Orcs, obviously. I know nothing more." Elladan was about to kneel down next to him, but he shook his head, inwardly marvelling at the way he managed to keep his hands steady. "Take care of Celylith," he said. "I can deal with … this."

He paused, finding that he couldn't decide on a word that precisely – or even imprecisely – described what 'this' was. Catastrophe? Disaster? Tragedy? It was hard to settle on only one word.

"Where is Elrohir?" he finally asked, when he could bear the silence no longer.

"Not going to be climbing up here," Elladan answered, already heading over to where Tarcil was hovering over the wounded elf, clearly unsure of what he should be doing. As soon as the elf drew closer he looked up, and a look of such relief spread over his pale face that Aragorn would almost have smiled. Then he remembered just why the other ranger would be so relieved that a healer was joining him and the faint inclination died a very early death. "He twisted his ankle."

That did tear Aragorn's attention away from Legolas' clearly dislocated shoulder for half a second.
"Twisted his ankle? How? Is he all right?"

"He is fine. He just won't be climbing up any hillsides in the near future," Elladan said quickly, obviously unwilling to add to his human brother's worries. With a nod at Tarcil he knelt down next to the silver-haired elf. His naturally pale face turned positively white, and he let out a curse that made the earlier one look very, very tame in comparison. "Then again, maybe he will after all."

Aragorn, who had been peeling back the remains of Legolas' shirt to reveal the wound to his side, froze in mid-motion and cast his brother a look that was just one step away from panicked.
"How is he?"

"Not good." If Elladan's voice was anything to go by, 'Not good' was a crass understatement. "I … I will need help with this."

That certainly got the young ranger's attention. He turned his head, silver-grey eyes searching for and finding his brother's fear-darkened eyes.

"What is it?"

A single look at Aragorn's face seemed to tell the twin that lying or subterfuge were not an option – as inviting as they might have looked –, and so Elladan only shrugged and turned back to his patient.

"They … burned him, it would seem." His voice was flat and carefully emotionless, and he shifted slightly to the right, blocking Aragorn's sight of the wood-elf, in a movement that was far too nonchalant to be anything of the kind. "I will need Elrohir's help with this, Estel. Or…"

Elladan broke off, but Aragorn knew very well what his brother would have liked to say. 'Or ada's, or Gaerîn's … or yours.' Elrond wasn't here and neither was Gaerîn, and if he went to help his brother then who would look after Legolas?

"I will fetch him for you, my lord," a new voice announced. "He is waiting below?"

Aragorn looked up, and had to swipe a suddenly unsteady hand over his eyes to ensure that they weren't playing any tricks on him – given what he was forcing them to look at right now, he wouldn't have been overly surprised. He left a bloody smear on his forehead that he wouldn't notice until after the sun had risen once more, but the person standing in front of him didn't change, nor did he disappear in a small puff of smoke as he had half-expected him to.

Amlaith, he thought, wanted to help them. Amlaith wanted to help them. Valar, what kind of night this was turning out to be.

Elladan hesitated only for the briefest of seconds before he nodded at the ranger, gratitude mingling with the barely suppressed fear visible in every plane and angle of his face.
"Yes, he should be, most likely driving your guards mad. Thank you, Master Ranger. Please tell him to make haste, and to bring whatever healing equipment he can find."

Amlaith nodded.
"I will, my lord. Your brother will be here in a few minutes."

He turned around and was gone, deftly avoiding the dead orcs lying on the ground. Aragorn barely watched him go, far too busy keeping in the panic bubbling inside of him. Looking at it objectively, he rather felt like a cauldron close to brimming over. A few feet behind him, he heard Elladan mumble something under his breath, something that sounded like a cross between a curse and a prayer, and he forced his scattered thoughts back into order.

The side looked bad, he thought as calmly as he could and with his fingers hovering an inch or two from the injury. It looked as if Legolas had contracted that while he had tumbled off the path – if he had indeed tumbled off the path and it hadn't been some sort of metaphorical representation of danger, which wouldn't have surprised him a lot considering the things his mind liked to throw at him –, and ... was that a branch sticking out of the injury? If Aragorn hadn't been so worried, he would have shaken his head in disbelief. This was just so typical.

Still, the wound had stopped bleeding, and even though it was dirty, it should be not too much trouble to treat it. He would most likely spend half this night digging out pebbles, wood and dirt, but it shouldn't bother either of them unduly, especially considering their sets of standards. The same went for the bruises and cuts and even Legolas' head wound, which had apparently – in the way these things worked – bled profusely but which didn't seem to have damaged that overly hard wood-elven head of his. Then again, there was a first time for everything and...

With an unwilling shake of his head, Aragorn clamped down on the mixture of panic and fear inside of him. No, what he was worried about was the dislocated shoulder. He didn't know how long Legolas and Celylith had been in the orcs' hands – how long the orcs had been tormenting them –, but it was probably safe to assume that it had been at least eight hours, if not more. Setting the shoulder would be agony after such a long dislocation, and it might very well worsen the injury significantly. The muscles would have locked down by now, and he would most likely need help manipulating the joint.

What made him frantic, however, was the elf's hand. He had only grazed Legolas' hand, hadn't even really touched it, and the elf had lost consciousness. Worse than that, he had screamed.

Legolas never screamed. Well, actually, that wasn't entirely correct. But he still could count the occasions on which he had heard his friend actually do more than hiss in pain on the fingers of one hand alone. Valar, he could have counted the occasions on the fingers of one hand even if he'd had some sort of terrible, disfiguring accident.

There was nothing he could do right now, not until Lhanton had found them some sort of room where they could care for the two wood-elves, he finally concluded tiredly. The worst thing was that he was almost glad about it. He had seen and treated far worse wounds in his short life, but this was Legolas he was talking about. He was his friend, his best friend, and if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was treating those he loved and cared about. Treating was almost always synonymous with hurting, and he was very, very sure that Legolas had been hurt enough already tonight. And besides, even though he was relatively confident that he would be able to take care of the injuries to the elf's chest, there was still his hand to consider, the hand that was so grievously burned that he had lost consciousness when he had very fleetingly touched it.

It was his right hand, too, and Valar knew if it would heal and what if it didn't and…

"I said, a distraction!" a voice announced behind him, and Aragorn quite gladly turned towards the depths of the cave to locate the speaker. It was, unsurprisingly enough, Haldar, who looked as if he wasn't entirely sure if he ought to strangle or hug him. "A distraction, Estel! Not a suicide attempt!"

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Aragorn would have smiled. He ought to tell the other ranger that he could sound quite a lot like Elladan from time to time. The fact seemed to be lost both on the older man and on his oldest brother, who was right now far too busy bandaging what looked like a sluggishly bleeding wound on Celylith's thigh to care much for who yelled what at whom.

"It wasn't a suicide attempt," Aragorn said, making an attempt to be the Voice of Reason. That seemed to have been Legolas' job lately, and the realisation was accompanied by a pang of worry and barely-concealed panic that was so bright and acute that it actually hurt. "You said 'I will take care of the guards, you create a distraction and see if you can't lure out a few of them.' We did that."

"Of course you did!" Haldar exclaimed, waving the torch he held in a way that made Aragorn feel slightly nauseous. "You also nearly got yourselves shot! How did you know that they wouldn't just put a pair of arrows through your heads? Worse, they could have overwhelmed you as soon as you set foot inside the cave, and we would have had to deal with four hostages instead of two!"

"It worked, did it not?" Aragorn retorted absently, noticing that he could see the wooden splinters sticking out of Legolas' wound much better now that the Haldar was waving the torch around. "Lhanton and I decided that it was worth the risk."

"Lhanton," Haldar said scathingly, "is a reckless idiot, a fact I have been aware of ever since he joined us three very, very long years ago." His anger at Aragorn seemed to evaporate as soon as he laid eyes on the two unmoving elves, even though he clearly tried to hold on to it, and he sighed audibly. "How are they?"

Aragorn didn't answer immediately, both because he didn't really know how he should answer that question and because he wasn't sure how someone could even ask that kind of question when faced with a situation like this one.

"Not good," he finally said, something that was painfully obvious. "I … Legolas, he…" he trailed off and took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I think he will be … all right, but his hand … I don't know if … and Celylith…"

He fell silent, inwardly asking himself just what had happened to his ability to string coherent sentences together. Thinking about it now, he rather suspected that it had tumbled over the edge of that path at the same time Legolas had. And it had apparently had a far worse landing than his friend.

"Is there anything I can do?" Haldar asked, taking a step closer to him.

"I … no." Aragorn shook his head, absently brushing a strand of blood-crusted, dirty hair out of Legolas' closed eyes. The unfamiliar sight unsettled him, whispering of injury and death, and he had to force himself to look away. "No, there is nothing anyone can do but wait. Neither of them is stable enough to be moved right now." He looked up for a moment and smiled. "The captain will have to wait for a while longer yet to kill us."

Haldar did not smile back.
"I could try to find you some sort of room so you could…"

"Already taken care of, sir," Lhanton announced to their left, hastening down the dark tunnel that led deeper into the cave. "There is a small cave branching off from the main tunnel. I had Tarcil and Eldacar light as many torches as they could find. I don't think you will find a cleaner or better lit place anywhere close-by, Estel."

"Good," Elladan said, for the first time looking up from Celylith's far too still body. "We don't have any time to waste. More important, they do not. Amlaith just went to find my brother; he will have to be notified where we are as soon as he gets here. It is imperative that he reaches us quickly."

"I will inform them as soon as they arrive, my lord," one of the rangers standing nearby assured the elf, nodding solemnly. He hadn't been listening to them, of course, because rangers didn't do such things, but everybody knew how sounds could float through the air for many miles, didn't they? "I will take him to you immediately."

Elladan gave the man a quick, searching look that would have frightened most mortals, but which the ranger simply endured with a sense of long-suffering patience. Finally, the dark-haired elf nodded, apparently satisfied with what he had seen.

"Very well. Master Ranger," he said, turning to look at Lhanton, "lead the way."

Lhanton nodded and turned around, hurrying back the way he had come. With a single, fluid movement, Elladan had picked up Celylith and followed him, not even taking the time to spare Aragorn or the rest of the onlookers a single glance. Aragorn felt how his worry increased even more. If Elladan was this single-minded and hadn't even tried hounding him about his state of health or the fact that Legolas and he were reckless idiots that must have advertised somewhere that theywanted to be maimed, stabbed and hit over the head, he must be very, very worried indeed.

And anything that made Elladan, who was the very ideal of an unshakable older brother, worry like this, made him positively frantic.

Biting down on his lower lip, Aragorn sat back on his haunches, preparing to lift Legolas to follow his elven brother. Haldar, who had been waiting patiently next to him, gave a strange sound that was somewhere between annoyance, worry and incredulity, and knelt down next to him, gently but firmly pushing him to the side. Aragorn was sure that, if there hadn't been a handful of rangers watching them, the older man would have scoffed and told him that he was a moron. Then again, one never knew with Haldar.

"I will carry him, Estel," Haldar said in a tone of voice that any normal man – meaning anybody who hadn't grown up in Rivendell and as a witness to Erestor's and Glorfindel's 'differences of opinion' – would have found intimidating. "You are still not well, and your stitches have not yet come out. The last thing we need right now is you ripping them out."

Aragorn searched for a reason why the other's reasoning was unsound, and, having come up with nothing and feeling far too exhausted and weary, finally settled for staring evilly at the older man. He had grown up as the twins' brother, after all, who didn't really believe in things like 'losing gracefully'.

"There are two healers present," he said, still centring the look in all its glory on the back of Haldar's head. The fact that the other man couldn't see it diminished his enjoyment a little, but not much. "Three, if you count me as well. I believe that I would survive."

"Quite assuredly," Haldar agreed, standing up and waiting for a moment until he could adjust for Legolas' weight. "No doubt about it at all."

The elf hung slackly in his arms, his limbs dangling loosely and the lashes of his closed eyes dark against his white skin, and Aragorn had to close his eyes for a second against the combination of Legolas and slack and closed eyes.

"But since Lord Elrond's sons are busy at the moment, you would have to try and put stitches into your own side. One-handed," Haldar went on, before he turned and walked down the dark tunnel. "And that would be awkward."

Aragorn stared after him for a second or two, fighting the irrational urge to either hit the older man or start laughing hysterically. Somehow, he thought as he – after a menacing glower directed at the far too even-faced rangers around him – followed Haldar, he had liked the other man better when he had still looked at him open-mouthed with that slightly worrisome touch of awe in his eyes.

The cave was brightly lit and devoid of any and all orc blood, Aragorn saw as he entered it a moment later, and thankfully also devoid of elf blood. Elladan had already deposited Celylith on one of the makeshift bedrolls – really nothing more than two hurriedly laid-out cloaks each – and was right now taking one of the five burning torches and driving it into a crack close to the elf's motionless form with an almost angry movement. Elladan had moved away from his patient, and for the first time Aragorn could see Celylith's face clearly.

He hadn't thought that his heart could sink even further, but he had quite clearly been wrong. Right now, it felt as if it had come to a stop somewhere close to his shins.

"A elenath Elbereth," he whispered, unable to catch his voice.

He had seen burns before. He had been there when one of the junior chefs had poured half a pot of hot oil over his leg. He had been there when the smith had got caught in a minor fire, had thought it a good idea to try and peel his shirt away from his wound and had taken off most of his skin with it. He had most definitely been there when some madman in Lake-town had mistaken him for his next dinner and had tried to boil him like a chicken. So yes, he had always thought he had a rather good understanding of how terrible burns could look and feel, but this … this was different.

This was a hundred times worse.

He was spared from having to say anything by the (rather hobbling) arrival of Elrohir, which was heralded by a string of curses spewed forth in rapid Quenya. Aragorn frowned. Elrohir was one of the only people he knew who could make such a beautiful language as Quenya sound dark and vicious. Behind him, there walked a ranger carrying a earthenware bowl filled with hot, steaming water, who, after depositing the bowl on the floor, gave the elven twin next to him only the briefest look before turning around and making a tactical retreat.

"What happened?" Elrohir echoed his brother's earlier sentiments when he had calmed down sufficiently. "Why did someone slaughter half an orc horde in here? Not that I object in general, mind you, but…" He fell silent as he came limping into the small cave, fear- and worry-darkened eyes sweeping over his surroundings. "Oh, Valar."

He stopped in mid-motion, staring at the two still wood-elves with wide eyes. Aragorn could almost watch as his brother made the obvious connexions, and steeled himself for what he knew was to come.

Elrohir did not disappoint.
"Are you all right, Estel?" he asked, whirling around. Only the very obvious pain in his left foot stopped him from rushing to his human brother's side. "Don't tell me, you have some sort of terrible wound that just happens to be hidden by that cloak of yours."

"I am fine, Elrohir," Aragorn said with as much patience as he could muster.

"No, you are not." Elrohir shook his head firmly, but limped over to his twin's side after giving the young man a last, suspicious look. "You never are when Legolas is not. The two of you have come up with a blood pact or some other sort of contract stipulating that you only can get injured together, haven't you?"

"Yes, Elrohir," Aragorn said in the same tone of voice. "We made a blood pact at full moon and sacrificed a virgin elf maiden to the demons of the depths. However did you know?"

"I am your brother," Elrohir merely said, painfully lowering himself to kneel next to his twin. "Your older brother. I have to know these things." The teasing smile on his lips wobbled and died in the instance in which he took a closer look at the injured elf in front of him, and he cursed again. "What happened, gwanur?"

"I haven't got the slightest idea, Elrohir," Elladan said, his voice pressed. "And neither does anybody else, it appears. Please tell me that you brought some of ada's new salve."

"And some more herbs," Aragorn added, not looking up from where he was cutting the remains of his friend's clothes off him. "I don't think that we will be able to make do with what we have."

"I did," Elrohir assured them, only to shake his head in dismay. "Eru, but this is bad."

"We know that, Elrohir," Elladan said impatiently. "Concentrate, brother. I need your help." Elrohir nodded, the momentary anger that had clouded his face just as quickly disappearing, and Elladan added, "How does Legolas fare, Estel?"

"I am worried about his hand," Aragorn said, deciding that a half-truth was better than hysterical laughter by far. "The rest should heal without too much trouble … could someone shift one of the torches closer to his side, please?"

Lhanton complied almost immediately, worry easily visible on his face, but Aragorn did not notice. For long minutes he was fully occupied with digging the splinters out of Legolas side before he cleaned and bandaged the wound. After that came Legolas' head, and Aragorn once again got the chance to appreciate just how hard his friend's head really was. The wound to the side of the elf's head was long and ragged, but it didn't look too deep and didn't seem to be infected. While he bandaged the wound, Aragorn resolved to never again berate his friend about his thick skull. There was a ring of dark bruises circling Legolas' neck, looking like some sort of macabre necklace, and Aragorn once again felt that terrible fury well up inside of him. Someone had quite earnestly tried to strangle his friend. Legolas was breathing normally, however, so the abuse had not damaged his throat as he had feared at first.

After that was over and done with, he had Haldar and Lhanton hold the elf down while he set his shoulder, which slid back into position with an accompanying, dry cracking sound that sent shivers down Aragorn's spine. Even though the two rangers did their best to hold the convulsing elven prince down, biting back grimaces of guilty regret at his sudden scream of pain, he still almost bucked them off, elven strength once again coming to the fore. Aragorn forced himself not to listen to his friend's sounds of pain and closed his eyes while he ran his fingers over the inflamed joint, wincing inwardly at the hard, knotted muscles he encountered and knowing that at least some of the ligaments must have torn in the whole process. Legolas wouldn't be using that arm for quite some time, that much was certain.

Which, of course, brought him back to the thing he had been trying to avoid.

He carefully kept his mind blank of anything else while he strapped Legolas' arm to his chest. It was somewhat haphazardly done since he was fast running out of long bandages, but it would stabilise the limb until they got back to the camp. That was all he wanted, actually. Get back to the camp, get Legolas and Celylith settled and on the road to recovery, and then sleep for a week.

There was nothing for it. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn gently took Legolas' hand between his own, doing his best not to wince at the sight. Most of the skin was a dark, angry red, with patches where the skin was almost black and looked flaky, like a coat of old paint that was slowly peeling off. Boils had already formed, covering most of the burnt, reddened skin, but those were not the areas that worried Aragorn. It was the black ones where the flames had bitten deeply into the skin, destroying the muscle underneath.

In any other kind of place, this kind of injury would have been bad. But this … this was worse. There was much less muscle protecting the bones and tendons of the fingers, and if the flames had reached as deeply as it seemed then … then Legolas would never use this hand to do anything delicate ever again, elven healing abilities or not.

Aragorn sat back on his haunches, the wounded elf's hand still between his own. He suddenly felt very calm and collected, much as he usually did just before a battle, and he absently asked himself if there was such a beg difference between a battle and their current situation. Right now, however, he would have preferred a pack of rabid wargs. Them, at least, he would have been allowed to slaughter. He somehow thought that it might be frowned upon if he slaughtered one of his patients.

He turned to his brothers, hoping very much that he wouldn't see what he dreaded. He wasn't so lucky, of course. He would most likely have fainted from sheer shock if some Vala had finally decided to show them some favour.

Celylith's face looked, if anything, even worse than the other elf's hand. It seemed that he had managed to turn his head away just before it happened, so that most of the burns covered his left cheek and temple. His eye seemed to have been protected somewhat, but the lid was covered with large, angry-looking boils. And the rest … Elbereth, he sighed inwardly, the rest.

If a man had contracted this kind of injury, he might have already been dead. He would almost certainly have lost his eye, if he had survived in the first place, and the scarring would have been extensive and terrible. He would never again have smiled, or frowned, or felt it had someone touched his cheek.

That, more than anything else, was what made the decision for him. He slowly breathed out, wishing that his nervousness could leave him as easily as that, and looked at Haldar.

"Could you please make sure that the men are ready to leave in an hour?" he asked, as if Haldar hadn't already done that long ago. "We should be ready by then, I hope. It would be unwise to keep the captain waiting for longer than absolutely necessary."

"'Unwise' is a friendly term." Haldar frowned, either at the thought of having to confront his superior or at the admittedly rather grisly sight in front of him. "Are you sure, Estel?"

"Very sure," Aragorn replied with a small nod, his eyes flickering the tiniest fraction of a second to Lhanton and back again. "You have done all you could. Now it's our turn."

Haldar was an experienced enough man to read between the lines when hit over the head with a clue. He gave Aragorn a long, hard look, clearly trying to discover if the younger man was planning something reckless and coming to the decision that yes, it was most likely. He then turned to give Elrohir a similar stare which fairly screamed "Do something, he's your brother" before he gave Aragorn a quick nod.

"Very well, then. Good luck. Lhanton," he said, turning and jerking his head at the entranced of the cave, "Let us go."

Lhanton didn't seem too amenable to that idea, grey eyes darting from Legolas to Celylith to Aragorn. He, Aragorn thought almost darkly, was clearly not as good at realising when he was being thrown out.

"But..." he began. "Are you sure that…?"

"Yes, Lhanton," Haldar said firmly, took him by the arm and manoeuvred him out of the cave. "He is sure. Now be a good lad and get me a report from the guards, will you?"

A dark grumbling clearly stated just what Lhanton thought about being a 'good lad', but Aragorn was hardly listening. As soon as the two other rangers had disappeared down the tunnel, he had taken up the bag of herbs Elladan had tossed him earlier and had withdrawn what fresh athelas they still had. There were only six leaves left, cut two days ago. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

"What are you doing, Estel?" Elladan's voice was suddenly right next to him, and years-long experience in being snuck up on stopped the young man from startling visibly.

"What does it look like, Elladan?" Aragorn asked tiredly as he carefully placed the soft cloth in which the leaves were wrapped on the ground.

"Don't answer a question with a question. It's not polite," his brother admonished him and, for a brief, irrational second, Aragorn had to fight the urge to laugh.

"We're far beyond courtesy, are we not?" he asked.

"That is still no answer," Elladan said sharply, worry and fear tingeing his voice. Even Elrohir, who was still bandaging the deep wound on Celylith's thigh after finally having managed to stop the bleeding, stopped what he was doing and looked at him, and faced with a double dose of Elrondish scrutiny, Aragorn gave in.

"These burns are bad," he said, taking up Legolas' hand and gently turning it from side to side. A sudden draught made the flames of the nearby torch flicker wildly, making the injury look even more gruesome than before. "The flames destroyed the upper layers of skin, in some places completely. Even elven healing abilities may not be enough to repair the damage, no matter how we aid them."

Elladan didn't answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the sight of his friend's mutilated hand.
"I will kill them," he muttered softly, as if to himself.

"You already did, muindor," Aragorn said. "They are dead, and if we do nothing, Celylith might still join them. And Legolas … he is an archer, Elladan. What would he do with a hand like this?"

"I know what Legolas is," Elladan answered tersely. "And I know that their injuries are serious. I asked you, however, what you were doing. I ask you again."

"Your healing abilities are not sufficient to deal with this, and neither are mine," Aragorn said, brutally honest. "Ada would most likely be able to help them, but he is not here. There is only one thing we can do. There is only one thing I can do."

Elladan looked at him for a moment, clearly confused, before his eyes came to rest on Aragorn's fingers that were brushing the green leaves of the kingsfoil. One could almost watch how the thought materialised in his mind, despite the fact that it was obviously very unwelcome there. The hands of the king are the hands of a healer.

"You have never tried it, Estel," Elrohir said before his brother could fully process what he had heard, automatically switching to Quenya. "It might not work at all. It is a part of who you are, yes, but there is a lot of concentration needed, and practice, too."

"And even if it did work, it is … draining," Elladan added in the same language, looking confused as to whether he should be angry or proud. "You are not used to it. You might harm yourself."

"And sitting here doing nothing while they worsen or die is not going to harm me?" Aragorn asked disbelievingly. "Do be reasonable, Elladan."

"Reasonable!" Elladan exclaimed. This time, the expression on his face was easier to read: He would have liked to strike his human brother, preferably with some hard and spiky. "Reasonable! That is rich, coming from you, Estel! A Elentári!"

"Elladan." It was the only thing Elrohir said, and his twin closed his mouth with a snap. If the situation had been any different, Aragorn would have smiled. Elrohir was the only person in the entire world – with the possible exception of their father – who could stop Elladan in mid-rant with only one word. "He does have a point, though, Estel. You are exhausted, and your wound has not yet healed. I don't think this is such a good idea, all things considered."

"I am all right." Aragorn's response was automatic.

"Four days ago an orc drove a scimitar into your side!" Elladan couldn't have looked more scandalised if Sauron had just paid him a visit to try and convince him that he was really a nice person and that world domination was actually quite a noble goal. Apparently, Elrohir's magic had worn off.

"Yes, well, he took it out again, didn't he?" Aragorn said lightly. "Is there still enough hot water left?"

"Estel. Stop and think for a moment. With everything that has been happening, with the one behind all this somehow connected to you – I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Maybe not," Aragorn admitted. "But it is the only idea we have." He looked at both of them earnestly. "You know that I am right. If we do not do this, Legolas might be crippled, and Celylith ... I don't think he would ever show his face again, if he survives. You are elves. You know how it would be."

The twins just looked at him, lips pressed together. Physical disability was something the Firstborn did not have to think about often, and when someone was afflicted by it, they often had a hard time coping. And for Celylith ... well. To be mutilated like that, and so visibly, too – that would be hard to bear. Celylith was old and sensible enough not to place exclusive value on his looks, but he was also an elf. Not being beautiful was just something he would never have needed to think about. An occasional battle scar – from that not even the Elves were exempt – was something completely different.

"Ada is going to have our heads for this," Elrohir finally said.

For some reason, not even that thought scared Aragorn. It was most likely a sign of a mental illness in its advanced or possibly final stages.
"We don't have to tell him."

"There is no way, absolutely no way at all, that we can hide something like this from him," Elladan said.

That was true, and Aragorn was an honest enough man to admit it to himself. He was, however, also not above pushing that fact to the back of his mind and ignoring it for as long as humanly possible.

"The water?" he asked again.

"There is still enough left, I think," Elrohir replied, reluctantly pushing the bowl over. "It's not boiling anymore, but it will have to do."

"Good."

Aragorn would have said more, and be it only to calm his nerves, but he found that he could not. No matter how strongly he had opposed the twins' refusal, he was not a fool, and he knew that what he was about to do was questionable at best and dangerous at worst. He had ever only heard about the powers of the kings of old, of the deeds of his ancestors who had been able to mend a broken body or even a soul, but he was not them. What he was at the moment was young and inexperienced and frightened, and he truly doubted that it was a fitting foundation for this. He knew what to do – technically speaking, that was –, but knowing something and actually doing it were two very different things.

Before he could convince himself that the twins were right, he reached out and placed a hand on Legolas' forehead, his fingertips resting lightly on the elf's closed lids. His friend's presence was strong even after what he had gone through, pulsing brightly and almost visibly when he closed his eyes to concentrate. He would not decide to join his grandfather and his other ancestors in the Halls of Waiting, not any time soon, at least, but that was not the concern here, was it?

Opening his eyes again, he took up two of theathelas leaves, doing his best not to look as doubtful as he felt. He knew that this should be a serious, a solemn moment even that he should bear with dignity and pride, but he only felt vaguely stupid as he breathed on the leaves and crushed them between trembling hands. His doubts were assuaged, however, by the instantaneous freshness that seemed to fill the small, gloomy cave, as if it had been transformed into a garden full of living, green things. Feeling slightly calmer, he tossed the crushed athelas into the hot water with a flick of his wrist. The calming, sunny fragrance increased, and Aragorn found that he was slightly calmer when he turned back to his motionless friend.

Of what happened then, he had few clear memories. There was only velvety, soundless darkness of deep concentration that was now and again interrupted by sharp stabs of dim light and the sight of Legolas' still face. It was as if something had awoken inside of him, some sort of source of hidden strength or power that he had never known he possessed. There was a sense of … draining, just as Elladan had predicted, feeling as if his being was slowly but surely losing cohesion around the edges, and he did not fight it. A warm, numbing glow seemed to surround him, just like the rays of the midday sun, and when he opened his eyes again, he was sure that he glowed.

Feeling as if he glowed, however, didn't seem to stop him from nearly falling on his face as soon as he broke the connexion between Legolas and himself – just when had he taken a hold of Legolas' arm? Strong hands caught him before he could make intimate and quite probably painful contact with the stone floor. He was propped up against someone's shoulder, and when his eyes decided to join the rest of him and start working, he saw that one of the twins was looking at him, eyes bright with worry.

It took him several heartbeats to realise that the twin in question was Elladan, and that alone was enough to send a stab of bright, burning worry through his heart. He hadn't confused the twins with each other since he had been three years old – and that had only happened because both of them had been equally unrecognisable under a thick layer of mud –, and that he actually needed some time to decide who was who frightened him more than he was wiling to admit to himself.

"Estel?" Elladan asked, his hands cupping his face. "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

Aragorn blinked up at him, allowing himself to be steadied by Elrohir's strong arms. The elf's voice seemed to come from a long way away, as if he was standing at the end of a long, twisting tunnel and was shouting the words at him, and he didn't even have the slightest idea what he had just said. He could just as well have spoken the words in a foreign language.

"Did … work?" he finally brought out, deciding to ignore his brother's questions and the way the cave seemed to be tilting around its own axis.

"Oh, it worked," Elrohir said behind him, something in his voice that was quite unidentifiable. Aragorn didn't have the strength to try and turn around and look for himself, no matter how much he wanted to. "You need to rest, muindor nín."

"No," Aragorn said, profoundly relieved that, this time, he had understood what his brother had said. "Celylith…"

"…will not thank you for killing yourself for him," Elladan finished his sentence. "Elrohir is right. You need to rest. You…"

"No." There was so much calm conviction in the young ranger's voice that it halted even a son of Elrond in mid-sentence. "There is no time. I am all right, I really am. It is … draining, just as you said."

"Estel…" Elladan tried again.

"No," Aragorn repeated, his voice utterly unmoved. "Help me over to him, please."

It takes fatally stubborn creatures to recognise one of their own, and so the twins complied with his wishes with the minimum amount of protests and attempts to change his mind. There was a gap in Aragorn's memory, then, a short interval as dark as Moria and just as impenetrable, and he could only assume that he had repeated his earlier actions. He came back to himself with one hand cupping Celylith's face, his slightly trembling fingers carefully arranged around the burns. Celylith was there, too, Aragorn sensed, but far away, his presence only the merest hint in the distance.

Aragorn closed his eyes to concentrate – not that it seemed to make much of a difference at the moment – and there was that warm glow again that radiated power in a way that must have been almost visible. This time, the draining sensation was not as strong as earlier, at least not initially. Little by little, however, he felt how his strength ran out of him, like water trickling out of a leaky barrel.

After what felt like a small eternity, it was finally gone completely, leaving him empty and drained and utterly powerless, and he had nothing left with which to fight the darkness that rushed in to take its place.






As soon as Aragorn woke up, Elladan decided very calmly, he would have to kill him. Since the man – the idiot, he corrected himself – was his brother, he would do it quickly and relatively painlessly, but not too painlessly. Aragorn had been so reckless that even thinking about it actually hurt, and he deserved whatever pain he'd feel while he bashed his head in with something blunt and heavy.

He could hit him with one of the heavy wooden trunks which their father used to store healing supplies, he thought, which would actually be a kind of poetic justice.

Elladan took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. If Elrohir caught him like this, there would be trouble. His brother had always been the calmer, more reasonable one, and he found it hard to understand how very hard it sometimes was for him to control him temper. Elrohir lost control over his emotions as well, of course, and if there was one thing he had learned early, it was never to be present when his twin was truly angry.

It was just not worth it. Elrohir would accept a lot more things than him, smiling all the way, before he quite literally exploded. He was a lot like their father in this regard, simmering with anger until it had nowhere to go, and he was a frightening sight to behold when he finally decided to let whomever had annoyed him have a piece of his mind. He himself was more like their mother (and grandfather), he supposed. He lost his temper quite easily – for an elf, that was –, but at least he wasn't as fearsome when he did it.

That was what he liked to believe, at least.

Elladan sat back, his eyes not leaving Aragorn's white face. Right now, he was willing to imitate his twin and lose his temper in a spectacular, never-been-seen-before fashion. He would have to wait until his sad excuse for a brother regained consciousness, but that was all right. There was no way Aragorn would escape his wrath, at least not this time. Haldar had only been able to tell them what he knew about Aragorn's vision, and so they would have to wait for him to wake up until they could find out just how he had been able to find Legolas and Celylith. Elladan strongly suspected, however, that by the time Aragorn would be finished explaining he would have even more reason to yell at him.

"How is he?" a soft voice to his right asked, and he took his time to turn around to face the speaker. It could only be Haldar, after all, since there was no one else in the tent with him, and even despite the fact that they had come to some sort of agreement over the past few days, he did not really like the ranger.

It wasn't Haldar's fault in the least, he was an honest enough elf to admit that, but there was nothing to be done about it. He was a Noldo, after all, and he wholeheartedly believed in the philosophy of "Kill the messenger". Well, maybe not kill him per se, he thought after a moment, but rather "Hit him over the head and tie him up until his identity and credentials are firmly established". The differentiation between the two could be hard from time to time.

"Exhausted," he finally replied. "He tore his stitches sometime tonight. Elrohir put them back in; the wound is not infected and he didn't lose too much blood. But he overextended himself tonight. He will be asleep for a while, I think, and will be weak and tired once he wakes up."

Haldar, who was no unobservant man, noted the one aspect of the statement bound to infuriate the elven twin.
"You think?"

"Yes, I think," Elladan answered, fighting the sudden and very powerful urge to strangle the ranger. But no, that wouldn't do; Daervagor would be displeased, he reasoned, and so would Aragorn. That was not really a reason not to do it, he decided a moment later. Daervagor had done little more than infuriate him over the past few days, and Aragorn deserved whatever was coming to him. "I cannot know for certain, since I haven't witnessed anything like this before. My brother and I believe that it is, basically, nothing more than exhaustion. If we are right, he should be fine, provided he gets enough rest."

Haldar, while expecting this kind of answer, had clearly been hoping for a more positive one. He sat back with a sigh, his boots dirtying his bedding without him noticing, and scrubbed a hand over the dark bristles covering his chin. He suddenly looked older than he was – older than Daervagor – and there was a strange kind of worried hopelessness on his face when he looked at Elladan again that was easy enough to see in the flickering light that two oil lamps cast.

"He tried to heal them, didn't he?

"No, Haldar," Elladan said, strangely enough feeling affronted in his human brother's stead. It was very strange indeed, since he would have liked to strangle Aragorn for his actions. "He didn't 'try' to heal them. Essentially, he did. Both of them will need some time to recover, a lot of time, in Celylith's case – but he will not be scarred for life. And Legolas will not be crippled. For all intents and purposes, he did heal them."

It was silent for a moment, or as silent as it could get in a ranger camp where half a company had just returned from an unauthorised trip and was now in the process of being disciplined – all right, yelled at – by their captain. Daervagor had not been happy to see them return – or rather, had not been happy to see them return in such a state –, and he had no qualms at all about showing that, too.

"He shouldn't have done that," Haldar finally said tiredly. "The dangers…"

"I know," Elladan interrupted him. "Valar, I know. We tried to reason with him, I swear to you, we did, but he wouldn't listen."

"I have no trouble believing you, my lord," Haldar assured him. "He can be stubborn."

"Can?" Elladan asked. "He is stubborn, Manwë be my witness."

Haldar mumbled something under his breath that quite sounded like "And I wonder where he gets it from", but Elladan was thinking about enough things already and was willing to let it go.

"I have been meaning to speak with you, my lord," Haldar said finally, staring straight ahead and doing his very best not to meet his eyes. The man was still frightened of him, at least a little bit, and Elladan would have lied if that didn't feel at least slightly satisfying. "It seems that now is as good a time as any." The ranger frowned. "Actually, now might be a very good time. There is an above average chance that there won't be another catastrophe until at least this morning."

Elladan found that he had to agree with that.
"Slightly above average, yes."

"It is about Amlaith," Haldar went on, obviously ignoring the sarcastic undertone in Elladan's voice. "I already talked with Estel about it, but I assume that he will not be talking with the captain about it tonight."

"That is a rather fair guess, yes," Elladan agreed with a quick look at his motionless human brother. As always when he was worried about Estel, he found the sight of his little brother's closed eyes incredibly disconcerting, despite the fact that he knew that it was perfectly normal for humans even under normal circumstances. "In fact, I am not even sure he'll be talking to him this morning."

"Exactly," Haldar said, nodding. "I think you have noticed as well that Amlaith is behaving ... hostile towards Estel." He looked at the elven twin meaningfully. "Exceptionally hostile."

"Yes," Elladan said slowly and quite deliberately. "I had noticed something like that."

"It is hard not to notice." Haldar snorted. "Estel does not think that there is more to it than mistrust and grief and maybe ill-conceived guilt, but I am not so sure. I think that Amlaith might have been involved in ... all this."

Elladan looked at him with new respect. He hadn't thought that the usually so straightforward ranger could entertain this kind of suspicion against one of his own men.
"So you think he might be working for the mysterious man behind the scenes? If he is a man, of course."

"I am not sure," the man said, shrugging. "I am not sure about anything at the moment. But he is behaving suspiciously, and I will not have him endanger Estel if there is anything to be done about it."

"Nor I, for certain," Elladan agreed. "We could question him."

"Even if he is involved in what is going on, he will only deny everything and his accomplices would be warned." Haldar shook his head. "I think it would be best if we simply kept a very close eye on him or sent him back to his company. The captain will decide which solution is the best one."

"That he will," Elladan muttered. "I have no doubts about it."

Haldar only nodded quietly, and for a few minutes neither of them said a word. The silence between them was heavy and oppressive, and neither of them was willing to break it. If stares were audible, Aragorn would have woken up by the noise alone.

Long before Haldar's head came up, Elladan had heard footsteps coming closer, and he had to use no creativity at all to imagine who they might belong to. Sure enough, it was Daervagor who pulled the tent flap aside, his face very, very expressionless. Elladan, who had known the man for years, knew that this was a bad sign. Daervagor was not a man prone to expressing his feelings – or, as more than one recruit after his first weeks of training had claimed, any kind of facial expression at all –, but when he was looking this neutral, something was very, very wrong indeed.

Haldar, displaying healthy survival instincts, got to his feet in an instant and gave his superior a quick nod.
"Sir."

"Haldar," Daervagor said with a friendly nod of his own. If one looked closely, however, it didn't look all that friendly anymore. "We will have to have a discussion, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," Haldar said, lowering his head. He looked rather like a lamb going to slaughter.

"It can, however, wait, at least for a while," the captain went on. "You did manage to bring back the men in one piece – with one very notable exception."

If anything, Haldar's expression became even more shamefaced.
"I regret that very much, sir."

Daervagor's expression softened the tiniest bit.
"I know you do. We can talk about it later."

"Yes, sir," Haldar said, clearly trying not to show how relieved he was and failing. "I will leave you, then." He turned to nod at Elladan. "My lord."

"Haldar." Elladan returned the nod. "I will mention your ... theories."

"Thank you, my lord," Haldar said, ignoring his captain's questioning look, and a second later he was gone. The tent flap didn't even move after he had disappeared, and Elladan inwardly nodded approvingly. Haldar had very healthy survival instincts indeed.

For a few moments, it was silent while Daervagor settled down on the foldable chair opposite of Elladan. It creaked softly a few time while the captain shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. In the end, the ranger gave up, apparently admitting to himself that him being uncomfortable had nothing to do with the chair.

"So."

Elladan, who had known Daervagor for many years, would almost have smiled. Nonchalance was something the man didn't do very well.
"Yes?" he asked.

Daervagor gave him a look that would have curdled fresh milk.
"What happened, Elladan?"

"That is a very good question, my friend," Elladan said tiredly. "I do not know."

"Well, neither do I," Daervagor retorted. "Nor do my men. There were no trails leaving from the cave anywhere, so we do not know where the rest of those thrice-cursed beasts are hiding. And," he added somewhat sourly, "there were no survivors we could have questioned."

Elladan gave him a blank look.
"You have already spoken with my brother, I assume?"

"Yes." The captain nodded. "He is still with the prince and his companion. They are, apparently, doing as well as can be expected," he added, anticipating the elf's next question. "To be honest, I wouldn't have believed that they could survive injuries such as those."

Elladan wasn't an ineloquent elf, but for a second he found his throat closing up.

"It looks worse than it is," he finally said. "You know yourself how burns are. But when we found them…" He shook his head. "Celylith would have died, I am sure about it. Maybe not right away, maybe not even tonight, but soon. And Legolas wouldn't have been much better off."

"They still look quite bad," Daervagor repeated. "But your brother said they would heal, and that is what matters."

"Yes," Elladan agreed. "That is what matters."

Daervagor made a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat that was a cross between a grunt and a snort.

"The only question remaining – no, one of the questions remaining, actually – is just how they got better. The men hadn't got a very good look; they think the two of them got lucky and attribute it to your healing skills and elven regenerative powers. I, however, have seen you injured enough times…"

"You haven't seen us injured that many times, Daervagor."

"Yes, I have," the man disagreed. "I visited Arathorn while he was being fostered in Imladris, do you not remember? There was that one time including the pools and that birch tree and…"

"Oh yes," Elladan quickly interrupted him, fighting the sudden blush that wanted to spread over his features. "That incident. I had forgotten all about it."

"Apparently," Daervagor said wryly. "My point, if you would allow me to make it, is that I know the extent of what an elf's body can recuperate from. I also know that look in your brother's eyes – and in yours –, the one that says that you just had a bad scare and haven't got over it yet, and probably will not get over it for some time. There are not many things that frighten the Firstborn, Elladan, that frighten you, and a little confrontation with a few orcs is not one of them."

"Indeed," the twin said calmly.

"Someone healed them, or at least stopped them from worsening so you could get them here," Daervagor went on, once again proving that he could build a logical chain of events as well as the next intelligent person. "I know it wasn't Elrohir, and I don't think it was you. In fact, judging by your look and that shocked, guilty expression of Haldar's, I would say that he," he gave Aragorn a pointed look, "did."

"'He' is your cousin's son," Elladan said far more sharply than he had intended. "Your best friend's son. My brother. Do not forget that, Daervagor."

"You think I would forget it?" Daervagor asked, obviously flabbergasted. "How could I forget it, when he looks at me every day with Gilraen's eyes? When he turns his head to the side in the exact same manner that Arathorn did when he was puzzled?"

Elladan closed his eyes and shook his head, already regretting his hasty words. There were not many things he tried to avoid at all costs, but getting involved in that epic, not-happening fight between Aragorn and Daervagor was one of them.

"I do not presume to understand what is going on between the two of you," he began, once again making an attempt to rectify this situation. He didn't think that he would be having much success; Estel had blocked off each and every one of their attempts to help and Daervagor was just as stubborn. "But Estel is my brother in every way that counts. You are my friend, and have been for many years. I do not wish you to be at odds."

Daervagor didn't say anything and only looked rather fixedly at the off-white fabric in front of his eyes, and Elladan knew when he was beaten. Neither Elrohir nor he knew exactly what the fight of these two had been about – and not for lack of trying, truly –, but he knew that he would receive no help (or information) from Daervagor. But that was exactly what infuriated him so: How could he help them if neither ranger told him anything?

There was of course the possibility that they didn't want him to help them and wanted to deal with the problem themselves, but that was hardly a concern of his.

"Very well, hold your silence," Elladan said, fighting to keep his voice level despite the turmoil of his emotions. "It is nothing less than your right. But Arathorn was my friend as much as yours, and I will not let this rest. Neither will Elrohir, I would imagine. And that," he added wryly, "is our right."

"And I would never content it."

Daervagor, as Elladan knew, could be quite smooth-tongued if he wanted to be. It didn't happen often, mind you. The elf knew that he should break the silence that had descended, but he found that he did not wish to. It wasn't that he was angry per se. He was not angry at Daervagor or Aragorn, he was angry at both of them, and it wouldn't do to lose his temper with one of them now when he could lose it later when both of them were present. It would be more effective.

"Very well, then," Daervagor finally gave in, faced with this much calmness. There were not many mortals who could stand being faced with purposeful elven silence. "So he healed them. Why did you let him?"

Elladan only raised a single dark eyebrow.
"Have you ever tried dissuading him from something on which he has set his mind? It would be easier to convince a hobbit to go on a diet."

"The boy considers you his..." Daervagor began with slight hesitation.

"His brothers, yes," Elladan said, nodding. "But we are not his keepers. Estel does as he sees fit. And he quite obviously saw it fit to prevent his friends from dying." He arched his brows quizzically. "Would you have acted any differently?"

"Generally speaking, no," the man answered readily. "But I do not have prophetic dreams and vision in which cloaked miscreants look over my shoulder."

"That was actually the concern which we raised with him," Elladan said, grimacing. "He was not swayed." Daervagor looked at him disapprovingly, and he shook his head. "I know you are worried about him, mellon nín. We are, too, you know how much, but we cannot protect him from everything."

"I am not talking about protecting him from everything," Daervagor disagreed. "I am simply talking about the fact that he risked much, unnecessarily so."

"I would hardly call the risk unnecessary," Elladan replied mildly, grimacing inwardly when he realised what he was doing. He was defending his idiot brother – however did the boy do it, especially considering that he was unconscious? "He saved his best friend's hand, if not his life. To him, that made it worth the risk, and, loath as I am to admit it, I believe that I would have acted similarly had I been in his place."

"Then at least promise me you will talk to him," Daervagor pressed him. "What he did was incredibly dangerous. Should this dark figure from his dreams somehow discover who he is, he will be lost and with him the hope of my people. I know that he thought about his actions and weighed his choices, but please, impress upon him the seriousness of this situation."

Elladan looked at his friend seriously, asking himself if he should tell him how much more likely Aragorn was to listen to him than to Elrohir or him. He did not understand the relationship of the two rangers – and, if he was honest, he rather doubted that any normal beings could, be they men or elves –, but he did know that Aragorn was almost desperate for the captain's approval.

No, he finally decided. They didn't seem to want him to get involved in their business or relationship, now did they?

"I will take care of it," he promised. "I have a favour to ask of you as well, though."

For the first time since he had entered the tent, Daervagor smiled.
"You need only ask, Elladan, and it will be done."

"Do not promise things you might not be able to keep," Elladan advised him.

"What do you wish me to do?" Daervagor asked quietly.

"Amlaith."

"What about him?" the captain asked, his eyes narrowing and clearly stating that he had at least a fair idea about what Elladan was speaking of.

"I had a little conversation with Haldar," Elladan elaborated. "He thinks that Amlaith isn't quite as uninvolved in all this as it seems."

"Are you accusing one of my men of treason?"

"Yes, I think that is what I am doing," Elladan agreed evenly. "Technically speaking, he isn't one of your men. Besides, we all knew it would be coming to this. How else did you think we would be finding out who is working for the wrong side? By not accusing them of anything, asking them over for a cup of tea and smiling at them nicely until they confessed?"

"No," Daervagor bit out. He'd never possessed much of a sense of humour under pressure. "Of course not, Elladan, and you know it. It's just … his reaction when he found out about his friend's death … I am having trouble believing it."

"To be honest, so am I," Elladan said, expelling air in a long sigh. "I am resigned to the idea of a traitor in our midst – or at least close to us –, but Amlaith … it doesn't feel right." He grimaced. "That, of course, is the best reason imaginable why he will burst into this tent within the next ten seconds, start laughing maniacally and tell us about his diabolical plan."

Daervagor ostentatiously waited for several seconds, his head cocked to the side, before he turned back to him.
"Nothing yet."

"Give it time," Elladan advised him. "I don't know what to believe at the moment, my friend. I just know that I will not see Estel placed in any kind of danger that he doesn't have to be in."

"Indeed." Daervagor nodded solemnly. "The boy is in enough of it already."

"So what will you do about Amlaith?"

"What can I do?" Daervagor shrugged almost helplessly. "If we accuse him openly, he will deny everything and his accomplices will be warned."

"That is just what Haldar said," Elladan agreed. "And I believe the both of you are right."

"There is only one option, then," the dark-haired man told him. "As soon as Cemendur returns, I will have him arrange someone to keep an eye on Amlaith at all times. This way, we will know exactly what he does, and where he goes, and whom he meets. It is the best thing we can do at the moment."

Elladan noticed that he was frowning darkly and quickly smoothed expression, but not quite fast enough. Daervagor had noticed his displeasure and now looked at him questioningly.
"What is it, my lord? Do you not agree?"

"I do agree," Elladan assured him. "It is just … Cemendur has been acting rather strange himself."

Daervagor sighed and covered his eyes with his hand.
"Him, too?"

"If you would ask Celylith – which, admittedly, would be rather hard at the moment –, you would hear much stronger words than just 'strange'," the elf went on coolly. "Our presence here seems to displease him, and I am at a loss to explainwhy."

"He is not the friendliest person in this camp," Daervagor admitted. "Actually, he is not an outwardly friendly person at all. But he is my friend, Elladan, and has been for years. Take a care."

"And Estel is my brother," Elladan countered. "So you may tell him to take a care, lest Elrohirand I become suspicious of his motives."

"Duly noted," said Daervagor with the sort of quick smile that looked more like a baring of teeth. "But you may take my word for it, my lord, when I tell you that Cemendur has nothing to do with this. He has a wife and a half-grown nephew to take care of, and would never betray our people in such a way. Or," he added with a dangerous look in his eyes, "me. I would not entrust the life of my son to anyone whom I did not trust completely. Or the life of my cousin's son."

"Then we will leave it at that," Elladan said with a diplomatic nod that would have made his brother proud. "Forgive me if I have offended you, mellon nín. When I am worried, I do not always weigh my words as I ought to."

"You did not offend me, my friend." Daervagor shook his head. "All our nerves are strained and tempers are rising. It is understandable."

It was understandable for Men, indeed, but not for Elves, but Elladan kept that thought to himself. He would not call attention to his lack of control, least of all in front of Daervagor or another ranger.

"All in all," Daervagor said after several seconds of silence, "it could have been worse. Your companions are still alive, and so are all our men. We discovered them just in time. We did not find any tracks leading away from the cave, but at least we got all of the orcs."

"Yes, one would think so," Elladan said softly.

"Then why do you not think so?"

"Oh, I do," Elladan said with a quick smile and raised his head from his intense study of Aragorn's very motionless right hand. "It is just … did someone tell you about what the orc said, inthe end?"

"It said something?" Daervagor asked, both of his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, that one was quite eloquent." There was a faint sneer of disgust curling Elladan's upper lip. "I heard it while I was climbing up to the cave."

'Climbing' was actually quite a tame word, Elladan admitted to himself. He had positively flown up the path after leavinga protesting Elrohir withthe rather intimidated pair of rangers who had been standing watch at the foot of the hill. In fact, he suspected that he had covered the distance in a rather un-elf-lordly rush.

"So, what did it say, then?" Daervagor prompted him, and only now did Elladan realise that he hadremained silent for several long moments.

"Estel was trying to get it to release Legolas," he began slowly. "It didn't, of course, but it used the opportunity to taunt him."

"Orcs like to do that," the man said carefully, looking at Elladan's openly troubled face. "They also like to lie."

"I don't think this one did." Elladan shook his head. "It told Estel that he shouldn't worry about Legolas, because … because its leader wanted him. It told Estel that its leader wanted him, and that he would stop at nothing to get him."

"The leader … you mean, the one behind all this?" Daervagor said, paling rapidly.

"I do not know," Elladan said slowly. "I am … not sure. It said a name … Skagrosh, I think. It sounds orcish to me."

"Yes," Daervagor agreed, relief obvious in voice. "And to me. If we are right about that mysterious person pulling the strings, it cannot be an orc."

"No, it cannot." Elladan nodded. "I think the logical conclusion is that the orc was speaking about its direct superior – the leader of the horde –, and not the one giving them orders."

"I see." Daervagor didn't say more for a few moments, but then he added, "So it means that there is only a bloodthirsty orc out for Estel's blood, and not a mysterious, hooded creature who is possibly tied to the Dark One."

"Essentially, yes."

"Ah." The man looked thoughtful for a moment before he shrugged. "Well, as I said, it could have been worse."

The night was almost over, the first hints of the coming day visible in the almost undetectable brightening of the horizon. The wind had picked up, making the trees around him rattle ominously, and only the occasional hoot of an owl disturbed the silence of the night, causing it to appear even darker and more ominous than before.

All things considered, Halbarad was bored.

He knew he shouldn't be, and he would never – under absolutely no circumstances – have admitted his feelings to anybody, least of all his father. His father loved him and his sisters dearly, the young ranger knew that, but he would not hesitate to assign him to kitchen duty until he reached his fifth decade if he should think it justified. And that, Halbarad concluded darkly, would be the best case scenario. There might also be a prolonged scouting mission to the icy regions of Forodwaith, and if there was one thing he hated, it was the cold.

And since his father knew that, there would most definitely be a prolonged scouting mission to Forodwaith.

Even though he was bored, he was most certainly not being inattentive. He had buried three comrades a few days ago and more before that, one of them a good friend, and he needed no further motivation to be vigilant. Besides, it was not only his safety that was at stake here, it was his companions' and the entire village's, too, and therefore yet another reason to watchhis surroundings with the eyes of a hawk. Oh, and there was the possibility of incurring his father's wrath, as mentioned before, which was, if he was perfectly honest, an even worse fate than being captured by a horde of orcs.

The young ranger pulled his cloak a bit tighter around himself. The night was not a cold one, but the dark fabric would help him blend into his surroundings and deceive the casual observer into thinking that he was just another shadow. He leaned onto his spear, mentally calculating how much time he had until he had to make another round. The commander had convinced the village council that setting a watch might not be a bad idea, the settlement's fortifications notwithstanding. After the news they had just brought – the news ofCiryon's and the others' deaths – they had agreed very willingly and quickly. The latter, at least, was something very novel in connexion with this village. Halbarad didn't think he had ever met so many old men who liked to talk quite that much.

So, that was the reason why he was making round after round just inside the protective circle of the palisade instead of lying in a nice, soft haystack like the rest of his companions. Well, only half of them, of course. Limhith and Naurdholen were up as well, Naurdholen postedto the south and Limhith to the northwest, while he had taken over the east. Commander Cemendur was, while not exactly the most amiable of persons, at least a generally fair man, who would never only assign one man to a duty when several would do just as well. Thinking about it now, he didn't suppose that that was particularly fair.

A soft, crackling sound could be heard to his right, and Halbarad grew very, very still while he fixed his surroundings with a sharp glance. The village was dark and quiet at his back, not even a cock or a dog interrupting the silence of the night. A moment later he relaxed, his hand falling away from the hilt of his sword. It was only Naurdholen, who was trudging up to him, a mixture of tiredness and slight aggravation on his face that was easy enough to see even despite the scarce light that the waning moon cast.

Halbarad felt the slightest stab of guilt for a moment – he should have been meeting the other ranger half-way at least, showing him that all was well – before he squashed it quite effortlessly. Limhith and Naurdholen had got the easier sectors after all, with Limhith overlooking a sparsely wooded, rather steep decline and Naurdholen the road. He had half a bloody forest to watch, and them having to walk a bit didn't even begin to even the scores.

"What's the password?" he called softly, knowing that the other ranger would have trouble seeing him, standing motionless in the shadows as he was.

True enough, Naurdholen stopped in his tracks and looked about. There were not all that many places to hide here – the rampart (if you wanted to call it that, for Halbarad thought that it was a rather grand word for the slight, but long earthen mound that was just high enough to bring them up to the level of the embrasures) was naturally bare and there were not many large trees or thickets close-by –, and so he soon spied him leaning against a single large oak tree, motionless as a statue.

"I can see you, in Elbereth's name," Naurdholen stated a little incredulously, "and you can see me, and you want to know the password?"

"Yes," Halbarad said and flashed him a quick grin that was barely visible in the darkness. "How else could I make sure who you are?"

"Halbarad," Naurdholen began with the exaggerated patience of the young for the slightly younger, "it is another half-hour until Arien will even think about making her charge rise above the horizon. Until being woken by our charming commander, I was sleeping peacefully in a very comfortable haystack, whose softness I can still remember vividly. We are trudging through the darkness, circling the most boring palisade wall I have ever seen in my life, and, even knowing all this, you wish to tease me?"

"I wouldn't use the word 'tease'," Halbarad said slowly. "I think 'mock' is more appropriate."

"If times weren't so dire, I would most likely find a couple of trolls and feed you to them," Naurdholen said darkly as he walked over to him.

"Most likely, yes." Halbarad nodded amiably. "So, the password?"

The older ranger raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unable to believe that anyone could be this moronic, but gave in eventually. The thought that it was unwise – not to mention impolite – to hit aclearly insane manwas so easilyvisible on his face that it might as well have been painted on his forehead in three inches high letters.

"Aurë entuluva!" he finally said.

Halbarad smiled in satisfaction.
"And to think," he said, shaking his head, "that some people think that the commander doesn't have a sense of humour."

"I wouldn't call it a sense of humour," Naurdholen protested. "I would call it malice."

"Not exactly malice, no," Halbarad disagreed. "Just because we are out here and he is at home, in bed with his beautiful wife … wait, I think you are correct."

"Of course I am," the other ranger said. "So, iseverything quiet around here?"

"Everything isquiet," Halbarad said with a nod. "There was some movement in the woods a little bit earlier, but before I could even notch an arrow, it turned out to be a rather bold hare."

"Why didn't you shoot it?" Naurdholen asked, hefting up his spear. "I hate this kind of night watch. The thought of some breakfast would have sustained me, though."

Halbarad would rather eat his cloak, brooch and all, before he would ever admit that the animal had looked so peaceful and content nibbling on some morsel or other that he couldn't have shot it even if he'd wanted to.

"You are always thinking with your stomach," he said instead. "And we are not camping out in the open. I am sure we will get some sort of breakfast before we leave."

That was actually true – the Dúnedain treated their warriors with respect and generosity, after all –, and so Naurdholen let it go.

"I will be returning to my post, then. When you make your next round around the ramparts, be careful. I really don't like this corner. It's far too exposed."

"So is that stretch right next to the gates," Halbarad answered dismissively. "You should be careful."

Naurdholen looked at him with the look he had come to loathe with all his heart, the look he received quite often due to the fact that he was the youngest and most inexperienced member of their company. It was a look full of protective condescension that clearly stated that, if it was only possible, young boys such as himself shouldn't be allowed out of the house at night for their own safety. Or during daylight, for that matter; the time of day rarely seemed to matter.

"I will be," the other ranger told him.

"Of course you will be," Halbarad grumbled softly. It was late – or early, actually –, and he was in no mood to be patronised. "That is why we took up position where we did, isn't it? Why they haven't strengthened or at least replaced these sections, I don't know. It's not as if there isn't enough wood for it."

Naurdholen nodded in agreement, eyes sweeping over the offending part of the palisade. That was the main reason why the commander had urged the council to post a watch tonight – these three sections were really only too easy to scale. The saving grace was that it was not visible from the outside, since it was not possible to see just how high the rampart was on the inside. But two of the spots – this one and the one to the northwest – were even worse than the third, since the area in front of the palisade was also slightly raised. Not so much that it was easily seen, but a keen observer might notice the fact that there was a slight rise leading up to the palisade, and might decided that, if he wanted to attack the village, these were the points where he'd direct his men.

Thankfully, orcs were not exactly known to be keen observers.

Still, these sections compromised the safety of the entire village, and after they'd gone the villagers would have to mount a night watch, at least until they had done something about the problem. That there would be done something about it, and soon, Halbarad did not doubt. There weren't many motivators as effective as the very real threat of an orc attack, death and torture.

"They will," Naurdholen echoed his thoughts. "There hasn't been the need before now, but with everything that has been happening … well, I think it will be repaired in a few days' time. I even think they are considering changing locations."

"They wish to move?" Halbarad repeated. "The whole village?"

The other ranger shrugged. There were permanent Ranger settlements in Northern Eriador, most of them in the Angle, and it did not happen often that they were moved. Most of them had been erected a long time ago and by people who knew what they were doing; they were mostly located in easily defensible, well-hidden places whose identity few non-Dúnedain knew.

But things changed and so had the times, and if it would help preserve the life of even one of his people, Halbarad would personally help them pack up their things and move to the highest peak of the Misty Mountains.

Well, maybe not really the Misty Mountains – he really, really didn't like the cold –, but somewhere close-by, at least.

"I wouldn't say that they wish to move." Naurdholen shook his head. "But they are considering it, yes."

"Something must be done," Halbarad stated in a calm, uncompromising tone of voice that would have reminded most people of his father. "These thrice-damned creatures must be found!"

Naurdholen looked at him, for a moment appearing startled by the deadly timbre in his voice, but he hardly noticed. A sudden anger washed over him, making his left hand clench tightly around his spear. The Dúnedain of the North had been hunted for many years by the servants of the Dark One; they had been forced into hiding and obscurity. They were a dying race, and well did they know it, not unlike their allies, the Elves, who could do barely more than protect their own realms. They had lost so much, suffered so much, and seen so many of their loved ones die, and now they should lose what was left of their homes?

"Something will be done," the other ranger assured him. "Your father and Lord Elrond's sons are planning something. They'll inform the rest of the Captains, and then these goblins will wish they'd never crawled out of their holes!"

Halbarad, who knew his father better than anyone except his mother, his grandparents and maybe Commander Cemendur, rather doubted that, but kept his silence. He knew how his father was when he had a plan – and be it only a plan for an unannounced visit with which to surprise his wife for their anniversary –, and this was not exactly it. It was close, yes, so Naurdholen was most likely right when he said that his father and the elves were planning something. The problem was that Halbarad rather doubted that his father truly believed that whatever they were planning would work.

Whatever that was, he concluded the thought darkly. It wasn't as if anybody was telling him what this was all about.

"I daresay you are right," he said softly.

"I am," the other ranger declared with an overabundance of conviction. "It is anothertwo hours before our shift ends, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, I would think so." Halbarad nodded.

"Good," Naurdholen nodded and hefted up his spear. "Keep an eye on that section of the palisade."

"Yes, sir."

The older man smiled at him before he turned and left. A few moments later he had disappeared in the darkness, and not even Halbarad's keeneyes could discern his movements amongst the shadows. Halbarad still looked after him for a few moments before he took up his spear and dutifully followed the well-trodden path on top of the ramparts. The sun had still not risen or even begun to yet, but dawn was most certainly approaching, and with it the twilight that so many soldiers feared – and that with good reason. It was one of the most popular times of day to stage an attack; the opponent would be deeply asleep, the guards would be tired and the twilight would make it hard to get one's bearing, especially when taken by surprise…

Halbarad took a deep breath, gave the dark, still line that was the edge of the forest a quick look and forced himself to abandon that train of thought. He wasn't usually one given to panicky foreboding, and he could not truly account for his sudden nervousness. It must be their current situation, he finally reasoned, dividing his attention between the forest and the area close to the palisade that he could spot through the embrasures.

Rangers were, as a rule, not prone to gossip; it was frowned upon and thought incompatible with a warrior's pride. Then again, they were only human, and humans … well, they did like to talk from time to time. And, by the Valar, there had been a lot to talk about lately. He knew as muchas any of the men – next to nothing, really –, and he was no moron, which automatically resulted in him being worried and nervous. It was only natural, he thought, and, moreover, probably a sign of a healthy sense of self-preservation.

But he didn't only worry about these latest catastrophes that seemed to have befallen them. They were, at least to his mind, not all that complex, strange as it might have sounded. Someone was hunting his people – his comrades and his family –, someone was killing and torturing them, and someone would pay for it. Sooner or later, they would find them, and show them just what happened to those who incurred the wrath of the Dúnedain.

What bothered him almost as much was Estel, and not in the way he seemed to bother Amlaith. He didn't think that the foster brother of Lord Elrond's sons was in any way involved in all this – he was the elf lord adopted son, after all, and even though Halbarad did not know the Lord of Imladris he did not think him to be such a poor judge of character. He didn't distrust the other man in any way, really, and actually liked him quite a lot.

There was something strange about him, though, and by that he didn't only mean the fact that he'd seemed to know what would happen to Ciryon before it had happened. He was a ranger, after all, and the Gift was strong enough in his family that he would never look down onor disbelieve anyone who told himthat he had a really, really bad feeling about something and or had an idea of what just might be happening in the next hour or so.

No, there was some sort of connexion there that he couldn't even explain to himself, coupled with the vague, very annoying fact that the slightly older ranger reminded him of someone. He didn't know of whom, and that evasive, wispy knowledge was enough to drive him to distraction. He had asked his father who Estel's parents had been, but he had only told him that his father had been a good friend of his. His father had said it in the kind of voice that discouraged any further questions, and he found that he was reluctant to breach the subject with Estel, who, while friendly and gregarious enough, was rather closed-mouthed when matters touched his family.

There was simply something familiar about him, but he couldn't even place his finger on what "It" was. It was quite vexing, really, and if he didn't want to go insane he would have to find out what it was or…

The shadows in the distance moved, but it was inside of the palisade while the strip of land just beneath the embrasure was empty and silent. A second later he saw that there was indeed no cause for alarm; the movement had been Limhith, who had turned from his own contemplation of the slope in front of him when he had seen him approach. Halbarad once again felt a small stab of envy; he was walking as quietly as he could, the tip of his spear had been covered with a mixture of fat and ash to prevent it from gleaming traitorously, he was in the deep shadow that two large trees cast, and still Limhith had seen him long before he had spotted him.

"Aurë entuluva!" he said quickly, before the older ranger could feel the need to reach for his ownspear.

"I know, Halbarad, lad." There was a smile in the older man's voice. "Amusing man, our commander, isn't he?"

"Quite," Halbarad agreed, stepping closer. There was no fire or torch burning tonight, nothing to destroy their night vision, and so he had no trouble seeing the amusement dancing over Limhith's bearded face. "Naurdholen informed me earlier that it is malice, though."

"Not too far off, that theory," Limhith said amiably. "Has there been any activity on your side?"

"None." Halbarad shook his head. "Should there have been?"

Limhith raised an eyebrow at him, and Halbarad was glad that the darkness hid the hot blush spreading over his face. He hadn't meant that quite in the way ithad sounded.

"The commander is rarely wrong about such matters," the older ranger told him, his tone of voice deceptively mild. "He'll have had a reason to set up a guard."

"Yes, of course," Halbarad agreed quickly.

Limhith's eyes moved over the right for a moment before they returned to Halbarad's face, his teeth gleaming white amidst the shadows that hid his face.
"And since you were born under a lucky star, lad, you have the chance to ask the commander yourself."

'Of all the things that could happen…' Halbarad thought as he automatically came to attention. A few moments later, he, too, could spot what Limhith had already seen, namely a dark shape making its way towards them. It took several more seconds to assemble into the figure of their commander, and not for the fist time Halbarad asked himself if Limhith was part elf.

Probably not, though, not with that beard.

"Sir," the object of his deliberations said with a curt nod. Halbarad, who was half-tempted to demand the password from his superior, smothered the urge and copied the older ranger.

"Limhith. Halbarad." The commander nodded at them, grey cloak streaming after him like a banner as he walked up to them. "Report."

"Everything is quiet, sir," Limhith replied.

"In the east as well." Halbarad nodded. "I spoke to Naurdholen a few moments ago; there is no activity on the road either."

"They would be quite stupid to use the road, now wouldn't they?" Commander Cemendur couldn't convey condescending disbelief quite as well as his father, but thiswas quite close, Halbarad decided. "I hope you haven't been standing at your assigned positions all the time?" the commander went on. "It would have been a dead giveaway for anybody watching."

Halbarad very deliberately didn't look at Limhith, but the other ranger's irritation was easy to sense. Of course they hadn't been standing in front of the weak spots like a few signposts saying "Attack here, please!", how stupid did the commander think them to be? On second thought, Halbarad thought darkly, he didn't really want to know.

"No, sir," Limhith, older by a decade and a half and so much more experienced in dealing with ill-tempered superiors, replied placidly.

"Good."

It was all Commander Cemendur said. Halbarad understood that only too well. It was clear that their superior was displeased about something (even though, since he knew the commander quite well due to his friendship with his father, he thought that there was something more to it than just ill humour), but equally clear that Limhith didn't intend to give him any excuse for being displeased with them. What else could the other ranger say?

"I will check up on Naurdholen, then," the commander said. "Your shift will be over in two hours. There will be breakfast waiting for you afterwards at my house, or so my wife tells me, so don't be late."

Halbarad asked himself who would voluntarily be late for that. Commander Cemendur's wife was not only very pretty, she was also a very good cook.

"Yes, sir," he said for the both of them. Even in the short time that he had spent with the company he had learned that simple, monosyllabic answers were always the best option when dealing with an irritated commander.

For a second, it looked as if the commander was going to say "Good" in that particular tone of voice again that clearly stated that nothing was indeed anywhere near good. Before he could, however, all of them stopped almost in mid-motion, looking quite a lot like puppets whose strings had just been cut. It took Halbarad a moment to realise what had caught his attention: A sound that had floated towards them on the wind, a soft, almost inaudible sound that was roughly comparative to someone dragging a shovel over a hard, stony surface.

As one man, the three of them turned around and covered the distancebetween them and the ramparts at a run. Halbarad manoeuvred himself as close to the nearest embrasure as he could, carefully peering through the narrow opening between the two wooden stakes without exposing himself to possible enemy fire. There was … nothing to see.

Halbarad blinked. He hadn't really expected to see an orc army camped on their doorstep – right at this moment, he had been torn between a particularly brave woodland creature and a dwarf dragging his pick-axe who had got lost on his way to his mine –, but nothing … well, that simply wasn't right. He may have been young, and he may have been inexperienced, but he was no moron, and only a moron ignored his instincts when they screamed at him like this.

"What…?" he began.

"Quiet," the commander hissed at him. "Limhith!"

The other ranger moved without a word, hurrying down the palisade eastwards, towards Halbarad's original position. Halbarad, confused and with his heart pounding in his chest, looked after the older man for a moment, not quite knowing what to do. He turned around to his superior, already opening his mouth to ask for orders, when he felt himself go slack with pure, unadulterated shock, eyes wide.

"Elbereth's stars above."

The three words were spoken very calmly, and Halbarad couldn't for the life of him say if he had said them or if it had been Commander Cemendur. In the end it didn't matter, really, since those were the only appropriate words for finding yourself face to face with a group of orcs.

Halbarad didn't understand what was going on. He didn't understand how the orcs could have circumvented all the spots they had been watching – all the weak spots, for Manwë's sake –, how they could have circumvented Naurdholen, and, most importantly, how they could have managed to make their way into the village without alerting anyone to their presence. It didn't matter, after all, not really. Inexperienced as he might have been, he knew very well what he should do when quite literally coming face to face with orcs.

'Yell, lad. Yell as loudly as you can.'

He didn't really know who had told him that, couldn't remember, but he was more than willing to put the advice into practice, warrior's pride be damned. Before he could open his mouth to yell, though, a crudely carved arrow made him throw himself to the ground. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see that the commander had done the same. More arrows whistled over their heads, and Halbarad pressed himself against the wooden palisade wall as he drew his sword, giving the weapon an almost disdainful look. Much good would it do him, pinned down as he was.

Someone did yell, then, but it wasn't a scream of alarm and rather a cry of pain. Without turning around – something that he was really planning to avoid since it would only end in him getting himself stuck full of arrows – Halbarad knew that it had been Limhith, who must have turned back once he had realised what was going on. Halbarad ducked as another projectile almost took one of his eyes out and gave the technically impossible scene in front of him an assessing look, trying very hard not to panic.

There were at least half a dozen orcs nearing their position. More seemed to emerge from the darkness by the second, curiously uninterested in the village where the first lights were now being lit in face of all this ruckus and very definitely and worryingly interested in them. They seemed to have found a way in somewhere between Naurdholen's and Limhith's posts, which was actually good. This way, Naurdholen might still be alive.

To his right, Commander Cemendur was pinned down. Under any other circumstances it would have looked at least strange seeing a tall man like him huddled behind a ridiculously small boulder. Now, however, Halbarad had other things to worry about. They were pinned down. There were orcs within the walls; Valar, he thought as the image of a smiling, dark-haired boy he had played with yesterday flashed before his eyes, there were dozens of women and children in the village! Limhith was either wounded or dead, Eru knew what had happened to Naurdholen, and they … they were, basically, doomed.

The commander seemed to come to the same conclusion. With a quick look at the advancing orcs – not one of them was heading towards the village, Halbarad noted with profound surprise –, the older man turned to him, one hand closed around his sword and the other around the shaft of Halbarad's abandoned spear.

"Halbarad!"

"Sir!"

"On my signal, run as fast as you can! Warn the others!"

"Unless they're deaf, they know what is going on!" Halbarad shouted back, cringing back against the palisade as a knife – not a lot of orcs used throwing knives, he noted absently – came far too close for comfort.

"That is an order, boy!" The other ranger shouted back. "I will not return to Daervagor with your body, so you'd better do what I say!"

Halbarad didn't get the chance to answer, since he was suddenly pulled up and to his feet from behind by the back of his cloak. The sudden deprivation of oxygen coupled with the fact that there was nothing but the solid wall of the palisade at his back resulted in him being profoundly confused for several moments, before he realised that he wasn't being strangled from behind – he was being strangled from above. While the two of them had been distracted by the orcs inching closer, another part of the horde had snuck up on them from behind and scaled the palisade.

Orcs could climb quite well, Eru damn their black hearts.

The young ranger tried to twist around, tried to reach the one choking the life out of him, but the creature simply intensified its grip, sharp nails digging into the soft skin of his neck. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes that grew bigger by the second, and Halbarad felt how his right hand opened on its own account and his sword dropped to the ground. The rest of the orcs was upon them now, most of them quite literally throwing themselves at the commander who disappeared under a mass of orc bodies.

Halbarad was still struggling weakly despite the fact that he could no longer hear anything but the pounding of his own heart, which finally seemed to annoy his captors. Pointed claws raking through his hair, a hand took hold of his head and slammed it backwards, into the hardened wood of the palisade.

The impact achieved what the lack of air had not. Halbarad's eyes briefly slid over the far-off horizon that shimmered pink with the first light of the new day before they rolled up into his head.

As the darkness reared up to swallow him, he decided that, as last sights went, this one hadn't been too bad.

TBC...

athelas (Sindarin) - also called Kingsfoil. A healing herb
harucholor (S.) - 'wound-closer', a healing herb
Dam Morgoth! (S.) - Morgoth's hammer!
muindor (nín) (S.) - (my) brother (by birth, not association)
ada (S.) - father (daddy)
A elenath Elbereth! (S.) - By Elbereth's stars!
gwanur (S.) - (twin) brother
mellon nín (S.) - my friend
Aurë entuluva! (Quenya) - "Day shall come again!" It is what Húrin reportedly cried when it became clear that the Fifth Battle was lost. (The Silmarillion, Ch. 20) So ... yes, Cemendur DOES have a sense of humour. Let's see how long that lasts.

A/N II:

There seems to be no record of how a "normal" miraculous healing went. Go figure. •g• Don't get me wrong; we do have descriptions of Aragorn healing people (most of them in RotK, Ch. 8: The Houses of Healing). But what is described there is how he heals them from the Black Breath, which is a special kind of Nazgûl-induced coma (Gods, any real purist must be sharpening their knives at that kind of simplified description •winces•). It is expressly stated that he not only healed those afflicted by the Black Breath, but also "normal injuries": "At the doors of the Houses many were already gathered to see Aragorn (...) men came and prayed that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow." I therefore adapted the described healing process (which Aragorn used to heal Faramir, Éowyn and Merry) for my purposes, and hope that you (and Tolkien) will forgive me for making certain assumptions and changes. I left out the whole "calling back" part - it would make little sense if the patient wasn't "lost" like he/she would be when afflicted by the Black Breath. The essentials, however (including the draining effects, which are quite nicely described in Ch. 8 and which I just assumed were something you had to get used to over time), are the same.

So, the whole issue of the healing left aside, Halbarad is in a wee bit of trouble. Dear oh dear, it HAS to be genetic, doesn't it? •evil smile• So, let's just assume that, in the next chapter, Daervagor and Company are not going to be overly happy. Some more suspicions are cast in all directions (Gosh, there's really a lot of that, isn't there?), and our favourite half-Rehír ("Rohirrim" is, strictly speaking, the collective plural (meaning the people of Rohan as ... well, a people) and not the normal one, isn't it? Then it really is "Rehír". Yes, I am feeling geeky today. •g•) make another appearance, about which Hírgaer in particular is quite unhappy. Oh, and there's doom, gloom, death and a little more of the bad guy who's, for once, happy with what Skagrosh did. Who'd have thought. •g• As always, reviews are loved, appreciated and petted extensively. No, I'm not kidding. •g• So, review? Yes, please!

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Additional A/N:

My apologies to Wulfgarfang, KyLaa, Tatsumaki-sama and Rainy for not including them in the big group mail-review response thingy. Since I usually reply to reviews via one big email, I need a valid email address. So, if you would like to be included, remember to either have an address on your profile page or to leave it in the anonymous review. And no, typing it in the main body DOES NOT work. You have to put it into the designated space. Don't blame me, blame FF-net. They're being unreasonable. •grimaces•