Chapter 14

The courtyard was abuzz with activity. Torches had been lit and the entire fountain square was bathed in flickering light despite the lateness of the hour. It spilled down the stairs that led to the soldiers' barracks and further down through the guard gate and the stables on the sixth level.

Throrongil's men were running to and fro' like busy ants, a bustling, brainless hive. They were doing as they were told without question, without seeing the bigger picture. And without understanding the plans of their queen – or in this case their steward. Denethor allowed himself a smile as he took another sip of his wine.

Those men were loyal to Thorongil, loyal to a fault. He knew, for he had tried to persuade some of them to give him information on their captain's thoughts and plans. Every single, infuriating one of them had refused.

But it would not matter any longer. For Thorongil, whatever his real name was, heir of Isildur, wannabe upstart, would leave Minas Tirith - once and for all. It was better that way.

Gondor had no king. Gondor needed no king.

What Gondor needed instead was a strong steward. A man who could withstand the perils of this age and the growing power in the East. A man who would do what was necessary to see the people of Gondor safe.

He glanced at his desk, where the palantir still rested on a silken pillow, hidden under a heavy layer of velvet. It was his. His to command, his to use however he would.

And yet …

He did not admit, even to himself, that using the palantir to reveal the elf's secrets had unnerved him. True, it had worked better than he had anticipated, had revealed images and thoughts straight from his captive's mind, had cut through his mental defenses like butter and left the son of Elrond utterly powerless to stop it. The palantir had shown him things he had not even thought to ask.

And that, Denethor knew, was where the problem lay. Did the stone have a will of its own after all? How could it have known where to probe, what to uncover?

And what of the flaming eye?

The wine glass in his hand shook as he recalled the ring of flames, the questing gaze, the sheer power. 'It matters not!', he thought, angrily clutching the glass tighter to prevent his hand from shaking, infuriated with his own doubts.

He had won!

He would not dwell on the palantir's vision now - now that his victory was at hand. Whatever the way in which the ancient powers of the palantir might work, they had given him what he had needed: Power over Thorongil and a way to be rid of him.

And even now Balsarion was seeing to it that he would be rid of the son of Elrond as well. He would no longer have to wonder at the visions of death and orcs that the elf's mind had revealed. Would no longer have to question if he was helping the forces of evil by striking against Rivendell. It would be done. One elf less to linger in the Middle Earth they had chosen to forsake.

He left the palantir carefully covered and stepped towards the window once more, watching as Thorongil and his men made ready to leave Minas Tirith for good. A few more hours and all loose threads would be carefully tied up. Nothing else would matter. Thorongil would not matter. Rivendell and its elves would not matter.

He alone was going to lead Gondor to victory.

-o0o-

His men hurried back and forth over the courtyard, getting supplies, saddling horses, and making ready for a hasty departure. He was proud of them all. They had jumped to action without question or complaint, eager instead to prove themselves in battle against the corsairs, to do their sworn duty in defending Gondor.

Yet the pride and the activity could not sooth his own anxious mind. Over all his thoughts hung a heavy shroud of disquiet, of fear for his brothers' safety. Hours must have passed since Elladan's arrival in Minas Tirith and still he had had no word from the older twin, had seen no sign of him, had nothing to indicate whether Denethor's words had been false - whether Elrohir still lived.

His heart refused to accept that it might not be so.

And yet... his mind whispered treacherous possibilities. It whispered that Elladan's absence meant he himself had been killed by the citadel guards in a failed attempt to rescue his twin. Or that he had been too late and succumbed to his grief.

He might have lost both his brothers to Denethor's scheming, to Ecthelion's heir's misguided attempt to rid himself of a rival for his father's affections that never existed. Could he ever face his own father again if something had happened to Elladan and Elrohir? Could he face Arwen?

For once the letter in his pocket felt like a burden, a burning accusation. What would she think of him if her brothers had been killed while he had done nothing to prevent it? The question brought a rush of anger. Anger at Denethor, anger at not knowing what had happened to his brothers, anger at his own impotence to act.

How he wished he could draw his sword and storm the Tower of Ecthelion itself, to demand his brothers' release or, if necessary, to avenge their deaths.

He let the anger evaporate together with the idea of attacking the heart of Gondor's governance and accepted the cold truth. He could do nothing. For now he had a duty to Gondor, a duty to his men. And he had to trust in his oldest brother to save Elrohir.

If only Elladan would hurry.

-o0o-

"Stay with me." Elladan repeated the litany under his breath, over and over. "Stay with me, little brother."

Not even the hated nickname brought a reaction from Elrohir and Elladan held his twin tighter, hastening their steps. Finally, blessedly, they reached the ground level and the one door set into the outer wall of this Valar-forsaken staircase. He opened it, breathing deeply of the fresh air outside.

Night had fallen, but so close to the lights of the citadel, he could not make out the stars. At his side Elrohir took a deep breath as well, the first that went beyond the shallow, wheezing huffs he had managed so far, cleansing his lungs from the stale air of the tower's dungeons. He stood a bit straighter and shook off Elladan's arm, though the older twin was not sure if that was because he truly felt better or if it was merely Elrohir's normal, infuriating obstinacy asserting itself.

Voices approached and they both tensed. Dragging his twin with him, Elladan ducked behind a shadowy outcropping of the tower. He held his breath.

The voices grew louder as footsteps approached, and Elladan relaxed minutely as he recognized the voice. Signaling his twin to stay behind he peeled himself from the shadows and greeted the approaching men. "Anwion, I need to find Thorongil," he stated without preamble.

If the soldier was surprised he hid it well. Without hesitation, he directed Elladan to the stables on the level beneath the citadel. Elladan thanked him, then waited until the man and his companion disappeared around a bend in their path, busy to be on their way.

There was a surprising amount of activity. Soldiers were moving about the fountain square and up and down the staircases leading to the lower levels, many of them carrying supplies, weapons or horses' tack. It was clear that the activity was not in response to Elrohir's escape, no alarm had been raised yet, but something was clearly going on.

And even though the soldiers were not actively looking for them, evading them still proved difficult. They had to dodge from one shadowed nook to the next and Elladan found himself desperately wishing for their Lothlorien coats. Eventually and at long last, however, they somehow made it down the stairs unseen.

They reached the stables and pressed their backs against the outside wall, trying to listen for any sounds from within, for any indication of whether Aragorn was inside or not. Elladan looked over at Elrohir. His twin was still silent, and though he had continued to refuse Elladan's support, his strength was visibly waning. Sweat beaded his brow and he held his injured side gingerly.

"Come, little brother. We are almost there."

They entered the stables at the back, where a thin path led between the stalls of the horses to the outer door. The air was musky and too warm and still, Elrohir seemed to breathe it even deeper than the fresh air outside. Elladan almost smiled; his twin had always been fond of horses. And he always, unerringly found his way to the stables of Imladris if he was troubled or in need of a moment of peace.

To Elladan's dismay, the stables were empty and there was no sign of their brother, but - a sudden thought sparked to life - perhaps somebody else could help him now. "This way," he whispered, indicating for Elrohir to follow him. He walked down the stalls until he came to a familiar looking pair of horses. They whinnied softly as they in turn recognized their riders.

"Talagor!" Elrohir breathed, finally, finally breaking his stoic silence. He moved forward, placing his hand on his steed's head, seeming to draw strength from the simple touch. The stallion nudged his chest gently, equally happy to see Elrohir, and a bit of the dread in Elladan's stomach uncoiled. His twin opened the door to the stall and stole inside. He leant heavily against the side of his horse, his eyes closed, breathing in its musky smell. And for a moment, the outside world, the nearness of Ecthelion's tower and the dungeons seemed forgotten.

Elladan let him linger. It was clear that Elrohir was suffering both from whatever Denethor had done to him, as well as the guilt he felt for revealing Estel's heritage to the steward's son. Despite having freed Elrohir from the dungeons, the darkness still had a very real hold on his brother. He could feel its menace around him, could see the shadow that lay behind Elrohir's eyes, could sense it tarnishing their bond. More than anything, Elladan wished that he could demand more information from Elrohir, that he would have the time to see to his injuries and expel the darkness. But they were not safe yet.

He fought the urge to swear. Wishing irrationally that time would simply stop and grant him a moment to rest, a moment to care for Elrohir and find the answers to all these clambering questions. Only once he knew what had truly befallen Elrohir could he hope to help him fight off the lingering despair and the guilt he felt for failing Estel.

Failing Estel … That thought brought a new idea and Elladan allowed himself a smile.

"Elrohir," he called gently, rousing his brother from where he had almost fallen asleep standing up, resting against his horse. "Would you like to meet Estel's new horse?" He failed miserably at keeping the slyness out of his voice but his twin did not seem to notice.

"New horse?" Elrohir mumbled, confused, but dutifully followed Elladan from the stall, his interest piqued. Domfast was not far down the aisle and Elladan introduced the horse to his brother.

"Domfast, a proud name for a majestic horse." Elrohir crooned softly, as he obligingly bestowed scritches on Estel's horse. Elladan almost rolled his eyes, his twin was nothing if not predictable. His voice was still hoarse, and it took visible strength for him to lift his hand to the animal's head. Yet, within seconds Domfast was enchanted by whatever spell Elrohir seemed to weave around all horses.

Looking to Elladan for confirmation Elrohir asked: "Rohirric – a gift from King Thengel?"

The older twin nodded, savouring the moment of revelation. Then he added slily: "Apparently Estel gave him Mithelef in return."

Elrohir's hand stilled mid-scratch. "He did what?"

Elladan smiled at the predicted outburst. Oh, but it was good to see some reaction from Elrohir, some glimmer of his normal passion.

"The king left him little choice it would seem."

"I bet he did not," Elrohir muttered, little appeased. "He probably wanted Mithelef to revive … the entire Mearas line."

His breath hitched, but Elrohir did not let his affected breathing deter him as he muttered some more under his breath, uncourteous things about the lineage of the king of Rohan himself, among others, and Elladan did not even bother to hide his amusement.

Until ... Elladan stilled. He had heard something.

"Ro!" he hissed silently, breaking his brother's tirade, "Someone approaches."

They listened in silence to the new sounds coming from outside. Orders were being given and hurried footsteps moved away in all directions, but someone turned and walked straight into the stable.

Elrohir's voice was a dejected whisper. "It is Estel."

-o0o-

Preparations were going even faster than he had expected a continuous, hurried rush that had given his worried mind a blessed respite. Amongst the bustle he could not feel each agonizing minute drag by as it passed without word of his brothers and the progress his men made filled him with true pride. Already most of the horses were saddled and soldiers had left the courtyard to say farewell to wives and families. He did not envy them the task of explaining to their beloved the hasty departure and the very real chance that they might not return.

And still his letter from Arwen sat heavily in his breast pocket. Would that be her fate as well? Forced to stay behind while he faced danger, confined to long days or months of uncertainty until he either returned or message of his death reached her? She had lived the life of the eldar for thousands of years, safe in the knowledge that she would see her mother again one day in the West as well as all her friends and kin that either perished or sailed.

She knew something of the life of uncertainty, of course, for her brothers would ride out to invite danger on their hunt for orcs and other fell creatures. Yet even if something had ever happened to them, she had always had the certainty that they would eventually be reunited on the shores of Valinor. Reunited beyond the Halls of Waiting.

It would not be so if she chose a mortal life at his side. Any parting that she would face thereafter would last beyond the ending of the world.

And what if something had happened to her brothers now? His worry raised its head again and he looked around, scanning the shadows, desperate for any sign of Elladan and Elrohir.

There was none.

He hung his head in a brief moment of despair, his treacherous thoughts again repeating Denethor's words as if in a whisper. The city in which his brother had died … But it could not be true.

It must not be true.

He refused to accept that Arwen had lost her brothers without the chance to ever say farewell. Could not accept that he had lost his brothers. The bond he shared with Elladan and Elrohir might not be one of blood but it was no less strong.

They had to be alright.

As if in answer to his desperate appeals to the Valar, Anwion approached. "The preparations are all but complete. We will be ready to ride within the hour." At Aragorn's thoughtful nod, he added: "Have you spoken with Lord Elladan? I sent him to find you at the stables."

He looked up sharply. "When was this?"

"Not long ago."

Hope exploded in his chest so suddenly he thought he might fall over in his haste to turn back towards the stables. "Get the remaining horses ready, Lord Elladan and I will meet the men at the gathering square."

His feet carried him fast and unerringly towards the dark building he was searching. Apart from a lamp at the entrance, the stables were dark, the large shadows of horses in their boxes amplified by the dark of the night. A whisper of unease rode on the eastwind that mockingly caressed the city. Yet the warm musky smell of the air inside was soothing, and hope was high in his chest as he entered.

"Elladan?" he ventured, his voice silent.

"We are here."

He found his brothers next to his horse. Both of them. His heart might have exploded with joy at the sheer fact that they were alive. That Denethor had lied.

He hurried forward and enveloped Elladan in a brief but fierce embrace. He stepped back and regarded Elrohir. The younger twin looked like even a hug might topple him, so Aragorn restrained himself, noting with worry the paleness of his brother and the dirty bandage that ran across his abdomen.

"It is good to have you back."

Elladan interrupted him before he could say anything further, or ask about Elrohir's condition. "What is happening?"

"We are leaving for Pelargir to prepare an attack on Umbar. It is with undue haste, but Denethor insisted." His face darkened and he drew a hand through his hair uneasily, before continuing "Denethor, he has uncovered my … past." Even here, seemingly alone, it was better not to say some things out loud.

"So he has used the knowledge already," Aragorn looked up at Elrohir's dismayed whisper. If possible the younger twin looked even worse than he had a brief moment ago, leaning heavily against the door of Domfast's pen, his features edged in misery. "Aye, Estel forgive me." he added dejectedly.

Aragorn stepped closer to his brother then, gently laying a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. Whatever had befallen the younger of his brothers, he clearly held himself responsible for Denethor discovering his, Aragorn's, heritage. The guilt Elrohir felt was clearly visible on his delicate features and Aragorn knew just how self-reprimanding the younger twin could be. He would hold little crime more severe than his own perceived betrayal of his brother's confidence.

Despite his reservations about Elrohir's injury Aragorn drew him into a hug. "There is nothing to forgive, Elrohir." He said with emphasis. "Nothing. Denethor has always been suspicious of me."

Elrohir looked like he wanted to protest, to say something more, but Aragorn did not give him the chance. Turning to Elladan instead, he asked: "Have you seen to his injuries yet? What do you need?"

"Only healing supplies and a place where we will not be disturbed."

Aragorn nodded, "Can you find your way to my quarters? You should find everything you need there."

When Elladan nodded, he stepped back, letting them out of Domfast's box. "We will leave within the hour. I will arrange transport for you and Elrohir, but Elladan, please hurry."

He watched as they left the stables. Although he was overjoyed at having them back, worry still clutched his heart. It was not like Elrohir to meekly accept his brothers talking over him like that. And once again, he noticed with dismay, he would have to wait for word from Elladan, would need to trust in the older twin to look after their ailing brother while he could do nothing to help.

His heart ached with the desire to hurry after them, to help in any way he could, but steps already drew nearer from the stable entrance, the hurried voices of soldiers asking for his whereabouts danced in the air. He was needed here as well.

-o0o-

tbc...

A/N: And finally all three brothers are reunited (briefly). I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter and would love to hear your thoughts and comments if you did. We are approaching the end of this story, though that does not mean it will be smooth sailing from here on out. ;)

And as always, thank you so much to anyone who has favourited, followed or, especially, left a review - you are wonderful!