It was getting harder to breathe. The realization was meek, sluggishly vying for attention among his other, jumbled thoughts. It was a fragment of his healer's training, trying to tell him that all was not as it should be. It should not be this difficult to set one foot in front of the other, to match Elladan's pace or to hear the encouraging words his twin kept mumbling.
But he was overwhelmingly weary. The strain from the last few days, the guilt of having revealed Aragorn's heritage to Denethor - possibly to Sauron himself, it all made itself felt and Elrohir was struggling merely to stay upright, to stay conscious. Elladan reached out to steady and guide him once more and Elrohir let him, he lacked the strength to protest, to pretend that he could still walk under his own strength.
He was aware, barely, of Elladan's growing anxiety, his twin's frustration with his continued silence, but he had neither the energy nor the breath to spare to answer his twin. And what could he say anyway? He could not hope to ever justify what he had allowed to happen, the secrets that the palantir had torn from his mind, forever placing Aragorn in peril.
It mattered not that Estel had offered him forgiveness. His little brother was kind of heart and quick to forgive what could not be excused, what should not be forgiven. That, and Estel did not yet know the true extent of Elrohir's betrayal. Denethor was inconsequential, except for the fact that he wielded the Arnor stone - a palantir that was so clearly corrupted that its menace flooded the entire city. It could at any time betray Aragorn's secret to all of Mordor.
A shudder ran through him as he again felt the cold grip of darkness coming from the stone, heard again the hissing voice, dripping malice as it spoke directly inside his mind. It still had a hold on him, a terrible hold that he feared it would never release.
Dimly he noticed that Elladan was tightening his grip around him, adjusting his hands before gently urging him to sit down. It was only then that Elrohir realized that they were not under the open sky any longer. They had entered a room, Aragorn's living quarters, and Elladan was gently but persistently urging him to lie down.
He complied, trying to focus on his brother's words, trying to fill his aching lungs with air. How could it be so hard to breathe?
Elladan swore silently as he undid the bandage covering his wound, then turned to him. "Stay with me, Ro! Please."
Elrohir tried. He forced another breath into his lungs and another, but the world itself was withdrawing from him and the edges of his vision turned dark. He fought to hang on, if only to tell Elladan the whole truth. His twin needed to know.
"Dan…" speaking took all his remaining strength. But, he repeated to himself, Elladan needed to know. "The palantir, Elladan … Sauron might know Estel's secret."
His brother was saying something in reply, his lips moved, forming words that Elrohir could not make out. The darkness from the edges of his vision spread, swallowing the room, the ceiling, Elladan - until everything was black.
-o0o-
Elladan cursed as he peeled back the stained bandage covering Elrohir's side. The cut there looked deep, but it had been reasonably well treated and stitched. Healing had already begun. Whatever ailed Elrohir, it was not this wound. And yet, his twin continued to grow worse. On their way here from the stables, Elrohir's strength had failed with alarming speed, his steps had been dragging, and his breathing now came in short, agonized gasps.
"Dan." Elrohir's voice was barely audible, but he snapped his head around and focused on his twin immediately, desperately hoping that Elrohir would finally answer his pleas to tell him what was wrong. But that was not what Elrohir was saying. "The palantir... . Elladan, Sauron might know Estel's secret."
"What are you saying, Ro? Ro?! Elrohir!" Elladan's hands were shaking as he tried to rouse his brother, gently tapping his cheek and shaking his shoulder. But it was in vain. Elrohir had lost consciousness, his body was unresponsive and still, save for a shiver that ran through his lithe frame. A desperate attempt of his body to generate warmth and fight off the unnatural cold that had claimed him.
His own thoughts were racing. He had to figure out what was wrong, what was happening to Elrohir. The palantir – it had to have something to do with the seeing stone.
He thought of Elrohir's words and back to the time they had first felt the surge of evil in Minas Tirith. Sauron, they had guessed even then, Sauron - or one of his incorporeal servants, the Nazgûl.
A memory rose to the surface of his mind. A battle field, far away in the North and long ago. Glorfindel had led them to battle, a fight at the side of their elven brethren from Lindon and the valiant men of Arnor and Gondor. A battle against the witchking of Angmar.
And though they had been victorious, after the battle many had suffered from a terrible affliction. They had been silent, discouraged, despondent; ruled by despair only to be claimed by a deep sleep from which they could not be awoken - and they had been so cold.
His gaze rested on Elrohir, on his tortured features, even in unconsciousness, as it all fell into place. He had seen this before, had felt it before.
Elrohir had fallen under the Black Shadow!
Elladan jumped up. Desperate, but with newfound energy, with newfound hope, he rummaged through the shelf that held Aragorn's healing supplies, his brother must have athelas at hand. He scoured every nook and cranny, every shelf in the room and at last he was rewarded with a few dried leaves of the precious plant. He sent a prayer of thanks to Elbereth even as he made his way back to his twin's side. Crushing the leaves in his palm, he breathed deeply of the fresh scent that unfurled immediately. Pure and clean, like the breath of air that ran down snow-capped mountains in spring, the scent filled the entire room in moments.
And blessedly, Elrohir's breathing eased almost instantly, then deepened, and the lines of despair on his face eased.
Elladan dropped the leaves of athelas into the cup of water he had placed next to the bed earlier and sat beside Elrohir. Placing one hand on each side of his twin's face, and lowering his forehead to touch Elrohir's, he called to his brother, using their bond to guide him back from whatever place of darkness he had been banished to. Dark mists seemed to rise from the floor, to grasp for him even as he searched for his twin's fëa, trying to drag him into the abyss as well rather than relinquishing their price. But Elladan would not allow it.
"Elrohir, follow my voice. Come back to the light."
He repeated the words, over and over, for minutes, hours, centuries. Time had no meaning in the dark realm between existences, in the world of the wraiths that had sunk its teeth into his brother and refused to let go. He fought their influence, fought their attempts to dissuade him, to ensnare him as well, fought to reach his brother's side. And at last he did.
Elrohir's fëa was a faint glimmer, a pure light amid the swirling darkness and Elladan had found him! He would not let go. Intensifying his efforts, strengthening his call, his plea through their bond he finally felt a connection and knew that he had won.
Even as he opened his eyes, he could already feel the dark shadow that clung to their bond recede, banished by the athelas and his own energy, could feel Elrohir's presence strengthen, his spirit freed from the taint of the Nazgûl.
And finally, Elrohir opened his eyes.
Elladan could have wept with relief. The shadow that had been on Elrohir since he had found him was gone, his silver eyes were clear, though he still looked exhausted, still looked troubled.
Moving back, Elladan helped his brother into a sitting position. "How do you feel?" he asked gently.
"As if I had been caught inside a very bad dream."
Elladan nodded, not surprised. He had felt the effects of the spell of the witchking of Angmar himself all those centuries ago. "The Black Breath was on you," he explained. "I almost did not realize…" he trailed off.
"Alas, I fear most of my dream was true..." Elrohir's voice was soft, forlorn. He sounded as if he had not even listened to Elladan's words, still caught in his own thoughts, his own guilt.
As the silence stretched, Elladan regarded his twin thoughtfully. Elrohir looked better, certainly, but though the heavy shadow of despair had been lifted, his brother was still deeply troubled. Exhaustion clung to him like a heavy mantle, and it seemed that only stubbornness helped him stay awake. But what concerned Elladan most was the solid wall that seemed to block off their bond, not one of darkness and despair but one erected by Elrohir himself, willfully keeping him out.
Guilt had always been hard for Elrohir to bear and he would often lose himself in a mire of self-deprecation and despondency if he felt that he had failed his family or friends. If Elladan was right, then he would see the aftermath of the events in Minas Tirith for a long time still, his twin would bear the scars of his encounter with the palantir but he would not allow the wound to heal, to let his brothers offer the comfort he both needed and deserved. Already now, mere moments from the influence of the ringwraiths, Elrohir kept his emotions, his turmoil entirely to himself, unwilling to share, to let Elladan know how he truly felt. From his normally so open twin, it was a punch to the gut.
"Tell me what happened after I left for Pelargir," he implored. "Tell me everything, please."
He needed to know just what had happened to Elrohir, not only so he could be sure for himself that his twin would recover fully, but also so that he could assess the true danger Estel would be in. Their younger brother was leaving Minas Tirith and while that was certainly for the best, he would be vulnerable to attack from Mordor if he left the stronghold. Especially now that his road would take him south and east, ever closer to Sauron's power.
He listened intently as Elrohir retold all that had happened in Minas Tirith.
-o0o-
"You want me to ride in a cart." Elrohir stated, incredulous. He looked about as put out as an injured kitten in the rain.
Aragorn might have laughed if he had not been so happy that Elrohir would even make the token protest. He had feared for his brother after seeing the dark shadow that had hung over the elf almost like a physical entity, dousing both his spirit and the light in his eyes.
"Yes," he replied happily. He smiled cheerfully at his brother, knowing full well that it would rile Elrohir further.
The younger twin sighed theatrically but climbed up into the wagon regardless. Aragorn noticed Elladan subtly lending his twin a helping hand, but chose not to comment. Neither of his brothers appreciated being fussed over, too proud to admit to any but the most severe injuries. It could be trying at times, but he had learned to accept their peculiarities over long years of acquaintance.
What mattered was that Elladan had said that Elrohir's wounds were healing and that he would be back to his full strength and charming self soon enough. And if Elladan was satisfied with his brother's well-being then so was he. No one could fret over Elrohir quite like his twin.
The sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears and he turned to Elladan. But his elven brothers had clearly heard the sound already, for Elladan took up the tarp that was supposed to cover the wagon and draped it over Elrohir, effectively hiding his brother from sight. The last look he gave his twin was maybe just a bit too gleeful.
Anwion and two more men rounded the corner behind the stables.
"The preparations are complete." The lieutenant reported. He gazed at the wagon for a fraction of a moment before looking fully at Aragorn. "I have some experience guiding carts from my father's farm," he was saying thoughtfully. "Maybe I could steer the wagon, nobody else need bother themselves with it."
A warm glow of gratitude filled Aragorn as he caught the meaning behind his lieutenant's words, the offer. Anwion must have noticed that something was amiss and yet he was willing to help, to prove his unwavering loyalty, no questions asked, no hesitation.
Aragorn nodded gratefully. "That would be most appreciated. Thank you, Anwion."
He turned to the other men. "Have the men saddle up. And send word to Lord Ecthelion," he turned to indicate Elladan behind him, "Lord Elladan will accompany us, for his paths also lead to the south and east."
"Tell lord Ecthelion he has my thanks for his hospitality." Elladan added. The men nodded and turned, as Aragorn stepped over to his own horse. He swung himself up into the saddle and rode to the gathering square.
"To Pelargir!" he intoned when he reached his assembled men. And with Elladan at his side, he led the men from the city. South towards Pelargir and from there towards Umbar.
-o0o-
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter." Denethor stepped away from the window and grabbed the glass of wine resting on his nightstand. He took a deep sip, letting the flavor unfurl on his tongue as the door creaked open.
It was not Balsarion.
He set the wine glass down with a snap. "What is the meaning of this?"
It was a citadel guard, one of Balsarion's men. White as a sheet and shaking, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. "M-my lord," he stammered.
"Out with it, man."
"My lord," he gulped heavily. "Captain Balsarion has been found. He … he was murdered, my lord. In the dungeons. And the … the prisoner has escaped. The guards … they say the black spirit did it."
"Nonsense!" Denethor exploded. "The elf did it!"
The man looked confused, still shaking and Denethor had no patience to spare. "Dismissed," he barked. "We will deal with this in the morning."
The guard all but fled from the room, and Denethor stepped back over to the window, grabbing his wine glass in the process. This complicated things – he would have to appoint a new captain.
But then his gaze caught on Thorongil, seated on his horse, ready to ride out with his men - rows of provisions stored on pack horses and wagons. They were making for the gate of the sixth level already, slowly but surely disappearing from sight, disappearing from Minas Tirith.
Denethor's anger cooled as he reconsidered his position. He would have to appoint two new captains.
He smiled as he lifted his glass towards Thorongil's retreating back. Let the man have this small victory, Denethor had won all of Gondor.
-o0o-