Chapter 1

Aragorn stoked the fire in a fruitless attempt to make it burn a bit brighter, a bit warmer. Though, truthfully, it was merely a futile attempt to distract himself from his brothers' suffering.

They slept restlessly, both of them. Elladan tossing his head, his lips forming words that were too silent for the ranger to make out, his open eyes staring unseeingly at something, a vision perhaps, yet definitely not the tranquil paths of elvish slumber.

Elrohir's eyes were closed, a testament to the injury he had sustained and which was still healing. During the day, the younger twin covered his pain and exhaustion with practiced ease, but at night Aragorn could see the lines of pain etched onto his fair features. Especially when turning and tossing so violently. Aragorn was just about to wake him, lest he reopen his stitches in his futile struggle against an invisible foe, when Elladan's eyes snapped open.

The firstborn son of Elrond grabbed his arm where it was hovering uncertainly over Elrohir and held him back.

"Let me." Elladan said.

Aragorn obediently sat back and waited for his brother to disentangle himself from the blankets he had slept in. It was their third night on the road, their last one before they would reach Pelargir and exchange their horses for a fleet of fast ships. Ships that would take them to Umbar, to battle with the corsairs, and towards an uncertain future.

Whatever the outcome of the fight, he would not return to Minas Tirith, could not return after Denethor's words and his discovery. Yet, he would do what Gondor needed first, in spite of his feelings for the son of its steward. He would not leave Gondor and its people at the mercy of the corsairs, of Sauron.

And he would not forsake the men under his command - Aragorn just hoped that they would be allowed to return, that they would be repaid for the dangers they were about to face with glory and esteem - and he hoped that their future paths would be less dark than the one he and his brothers had chosen.

Aragorn watched as the older of the twins gently placed a hand on his brother's forehead. He whispered something in elvish, too faint to be heard, but Elrohir stilled under the touch and settled once more into a deeper, more restful sleep.

It was painful to watch his brother struggle, night after night, with the demons that had been conjured by Denethor and the palantir. Even knowing what it was that Elrohir had seen in the stone, or rather what the stone had forced him to remember, to relive, it was impossible for Aragorn to comprehend fully what had happened. What his brother must feel. The palantir had invaded Elrohir's privacy, his very mind and memories. No wonder he still bore the aftereffects of his time in the dungeons of the citadel. Aragorn desperately wished that there would be something he could do to help – wished that Elrohir would let him.

Elladan joined him, sitting down next to him at the fire with a sigh. His own sleep had been far from restful over the last few days, though he disregarded the issue when Aragorn brought it up. It was not nightmares or visions that plagued his sleep, he had explained, but echoes of what Elrohir was seeing. A silent testament to how hurt the younger twin truly was, for if he was in more control, he would surely guard his thoughts better from his older brother. Their bond could be a burden in that way, revealing sometimes things that they would keep hidden even from each other, especially in an effort to spare the other pain. And by Elladan's account, during the day, that was indeed what Elrohir was doing, closing his thoughts off so carefully that he was well out of reach of his twin's awareness. It was only at night that his tight defenses failed.

"I hate to see him like this." Elladan whispered silently. The admission in itself was unusual for his older brother, who did not easily admit to weaknesses. But if he had one, it was Elrohir.

Aragorn searched for words of comfort he could offer but found only empty phrases. He could not offer conviction that things would turn better, for he shared Elladan's pain. "He does not even look at me," he said instead, sharing his own turmoil at the change in Elrohir.

The younger twin still held himself responsible for revealing his true identity to Denethor, possibly to the dark forces of Mordor themselves, and the guilt ate at him. When pressed, however, he would claim that everything was fine, that he had accepted the forgiveness Aragorn had so freely offered. Forgiveness that Aragorn did not think his brother even needed, convinced as he was that Denethor had suspected his real identity for some time already.

The confirmation of Denethor's theories, stolen from the uncooperative mind of his brother, would not have made much difference in the long run. Ecthelion was growing older, his time in Middle Earth coming to an end. Denethor would have struck now, regardless. And, Aragorn thought, a willing exile was better than a knife in the back during the battle for Umbar. After the trap Denethor had set for him and Elladan in Pelargir, Aragorn no longer held the steward's son above resorting to the use of assassins.

Now, however, Denethor thought that he had won, thought that he held a piece of information so precious it would keep Aragorn away from Minas Tirith for good. He would be pleased with that, Aragorn knew. Denethor always strove to be better than his peers, to be above them, no matter the cost.

Anger surged through him as his gaze landed on his sleeping elven brother. Damn Denethor to the pits of Angband for his callous acts. Some costs were too high.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to Elladan who was mustering him silently. "He will overcome his guilt, Estel." He said, though Aragorn could not say if he was trying to convince him or himself. "Give him time."

Aragorn nodded, outwardly accepting his brother's words, though on the inside he was still torn. Time. How long would it take for Elrohir to see reason? To understand, truly understand, that he had not failed him, that there was nothing to forgive. He knew the twins had overcome darkness much more potent than this after rescuing their mother from the hands of orcs. But that had taken centuries, and still, by their own admission and Elrond's confirmation, had left them changed forever.

He did not have that kind of time. And he wanted his brother back! It was a childish thought, but Aragorn realized it was the simple truth, the cause of his growing despair and annoyance. Elrohir was punishing himself for a wrong he did not commit, but it was Elladan and Aragorn that were suffering for it, as their brother withdrew from them.

Time was a simple matter for Elladan and a luxury he did not fully appreciate. And he might be wrong. It was a dark seed of doubt in Aragorn's heart. His oldest brother was want to forgive Elrohir his moods, since it was usually he who rose to anger or action too quickly and who relied on Elrohir's calming words and reassurances.

But Aragorn knew his brothers, knew their personalities, their differences, and their flaws. Where Elladan would give voice or action to his anger or despair, Elrohir would not. He would suffer in silence, supported only by the bond he shared with his twin until he had overcome whatever ailed him. That was simply how Elrohir was, always the healer, never a good patient.

And that was why Aragorn feared that Elladan's path was wrong. Elrohir would need to be confronted, would need to be made to see reason. And Aragorn was more than willing to do just that. It was hardly the first time that he had been faced with his brothers' obstinacy.

His gaze drifted back to the sleeping form of the younger twin, to the pain that was still creasing his brow, and the way his eyes moved rapidly under closed lids – still struggling in the grips of a nightmare even though his sleep was outwardly calm.

Aragorn sighed silently, calming his impatience. It would wait. He would give Elrohir some of the time Elladan had asked for before forcing the issue.

Turning back to the fire he stoked it again, finally succeeding in eliciting a spark that made the flames grow higher, spending more warmth on this cold night. Winter was not yet fully over and the chill that gripped the country was hard to dispel by mere woolen blankets. But the flames of the fire lifted his spirits and warmed his weary limbs and next to him Elladan began to sing gently. A soft tune from the Halls of Fire back home, bringing with it a different kind of warmth.

Aragorn raised a hand to his heart, to the letter he again carried in an inside pocket of his tunic. He drew strength from Arwen's words, from the unfailing love she had declared again. Never should he doubt it, she had asked, and he did not. He did not doubt her strength, or the depth of her love for him. It gave him strength, lifted him up above the curling darkness that lingered in the night and filled him with a light much brighter than the dancing flames of the fire.

As he remembered her written words on the soft parchment and listened to Elladan's peaceful song, he let himself forget for a while the worries in his heart and the uncertainties of the future.

-o0o-

Arnor rose and with it the spirits of his youngest brother. Elladan could see him, already up and about, striding from one group of his awakening men to the next, exchanging words, stories, assuaging worries. He made time for all of them as he strolled through the camp, from the newest recruit to the seasoned warriors until he finally came to join his lieutenants Egrahil and Anwion, as well as Captain Callon, the Captain of the Havens of Pelargir.

For a moment, Elladan considered whether he should join them, doubtlessly they would discuss their scheduled arrival at Pelargir today and perhaps the transfer of men and provisions to the fleet they would hopefully find ready and waiting. Aragorn had sent a messenger ahead of them the day before yesterday, giving the lord of Pelargir a slim head start to prepare.

But before Elladan could make up his mind, Elrohir began to stir, and he discarded the thought. They had their own provisions to pack and their horses to see to, and beyond that, they were here only as guests of Gondor, guests of Aragorn. He could not presume to barge in on their tactical discussions, though his fingers itched to do just that. Elladan knew that, should he ask, Aragorn would indulge him, but it would open him up to scrutiny from the superstitious men under his command, the ones that still regarded him and Elrohir with suspicion. And anyway, their little brother would share whatever was decided with him and his twin in due course. Elladan could afford to wait.

Aragorn did not need him to hover over his shoulder, reminding him that, for all the growing up he had done, he was still and would always be their little brother. Never mind that he was commanding his men with a surety and skill that rivalled Glorfindel's.

Elladan turned to his other brother instead. "It is about time you woke up," he said cheerfully, "half the camp is already ready to set out." He knelt at Elrohir's side and, ignoring his twin's long suffering sigh, undid his bandages to check on his still healing wound.

He nodded to himself, satisfied with what he saw. "I think we can remove the stitches once we arrive in Pelargir. It is a miracle you did not tear any of them, the way you have been tossing during the nights."

Elrohir only shrugged, not meeting his eyes, as he glanced off to the side, watching Aragorn's movements. Elladan fought the urge to sigh himself. He hated his twin's passivity and the way Elrohir was locking him out, was withdrawing from him. During the night he was an unwilling spectator to Elrohir's nightmares yet during the day Elrohir guarded his emotions so well he felt nothing through the bond they shared. It was maddening.

But Elrohir needed time, he reminded himself. Elladan knew that if he pushed too hard, Elrohir would merely withdraw even further. Foolish, stubborn twin of his.

Elladan sighed, admitting defeat. Elrohir would tell him more once he was ready and no sooner. Even though he hated to accept it, hated the change in his twin after his captivity in Minas Tirith, he knew that he would have to arrange himself with the long wait.

To distract himself from his own increasingly gloomy thoughts, he followed his brother's gaze where it was tracking Aragorn, still in discussion with his lieutenants. Their human brother was laughing at something Callon had said, and one of his hands moved up to rest over his heart, over the letter from their sister that he carried with him, always. It was quickly becoming a habit, though Elladan doubted that Aragorn himself was aware of doing it.

Elladan found himself smiling. "He is so smitten with her words. Like a love-struck kitten."

Elrohir nodded. "Yes." There was a hint of a smile on his lips but it did not reach his eyes and Elladan felt his own smile freeze.

Elrohir had delivered the letter from their sister himself, had always been Arwen's most stalwart supporter when she had declared her intentions, her love for Estel, to their father. He should be overjoyed now, should be smug about the role his sister had allowed him to play. Maybe Elladan should remind him of his failure to keep the letter secret, tease him, but he doubted even that would elicit any reaction from Elrohir apart from meek acceptance.

He sighed again and started rolling up their blankets and packing their belongings. "Will you see to the horses?" he eventually asked Elrohir, thinking it best to give his twin a task to focus on. And horses at least might bring comfort to his stubborn twin, comfort that he would not allow his brothers to offer. If only Elrohir wouldn't be so obstinate, so determined to suffer alone.

It would not be a long ride today before they reached Pelargir and until he could seize the chance to talk to his stubborn twin in private, not surrounded by a score of men on the road. When he removed Elrohir's stitches tonight he would make him talk, would make him see how much his withdrawal was hurting him and Aragorn. He would … he hesitated, his hands still clasped around a rolled up blanket, the material soft and warm under his hand as he gripped it tightly. He would not do any of that he realized, for he could not add to the guilt that Elrohir was already feeling.

Frustration surged through him and he fought to remain calm, to remind himself that what Elrohir needed was time. He himself had told Aragorn so. It was the inactivity, he knew, his own impotence to do anything that most bothered him. Aragorn had a platoon of men to command and a letter to reread as many times as the parchment might last. All Elladan could do was keep out of the way of his human brother and observe his twin's suffering in silence. It was not an easy task for him. He might be able to wait still for hours if caught on the eve of battle or on watch duty when it was demanded, but then he knew that the fight would eventually come. What did he know now? Only that he and his twin were following Aragorn's lead to Umbar, to eliminate the threat that the corsairs posed. And yes, there would be battle, but he had no hand in its planning, no control over its advance. Waiting, it seemed, was all he could do. And he hated it.

The inactivity ate at him. That and the fact that Elrohir had closed off their bond, unwilling to share his turmoil. It made Elladan feel uncharacteristically superfluous, incapable, unwanted; Not a good feeling, and not easily accepted.

Luckily, Aragorn joined him then, preventing him from further musings and finally giving him something else to focus on.

"We are ready to ride." He informed his older brother, "We will spend the night at Pelargir and will discuss the boats and our journey this evening. Will you join us? I would have your input on our plans."

His brother's words were like a balm. Finally he would have a task, could actively steer their fate. He nodded, resolute. "Yes."

Aragorn nodded in response, a smile on his face. He had confided in Elladan that it was both reassuring and strange to have the twins with him in Gondor. He had missed their council, had missed them, but found himself suddenly in the strange position of being the commander of a force of men that had never seen elves before. His men would follow him, and they understood that he and them had shared history, but it did not stop them from throwing glances at him and Elrohir, some curious, most suspicious. Elrohir's stint as the Dark Shadow, and his capture at the hands of some of Aragorn's men did little to help the issue, despite the fact that the men seemed to think that "Lord Elladan's brother" and their erstwhile captive were not the same person. Apparently, they were content to accept that all elves looked alike. Not that they had much evidence to tell them otherwise.

Still, already some of the men were whispering about the amount of time Captain Thorongil spent in the company of 'the elves'. It was part of the reason why Elladan had refrained himself from joining Aragorn and his officers before.

Things had been easier in the north, the dunedain rangers had long worked together with Imladris, and often Elrohir and him had joined them on hunts, for orc or game, or provided help and healing to the valiant men and women that were their distant kin.

Aragorn's eyes trailed over to Elrohir uncertainly. Their brother was still tending to Talagor and Belroch and was sneaking Belfast an apple that he had taken from his own breakfast provisions. Already Aragorn's new steed was literally eating out of his hand, powerless to resist Elrohir's effort to get to know the Rohirric horse that was bearing his brother through dangers and perils.

"He will come as well." Elladan said, understanding Aragorn's unspoken question and his uncertainty. "Whatever demons he is still fighting, he will not miss the chance to discuss our strategy."

Aragorn nodded once more, then bade his farewell as he hurried back to his men. He whistled, once, sharply and Belfast, after a brief moment of hesitation, stepped away from Elrohir and trotted to his side.

As he stepped up to his twin, Elladan laid a hand on his shoulder. "Ah, brother, his horse still likes him better." He declared gravely, though his voice was laced with mirth.

Elrohir brushed off his hand and gave a quick whistle of his own. Both Belroch and Talagor raised their heads and stepped closer to him immediately. "Well, at least yours is all mine," he replied with a grin and proceeded to give Belroch gentle scritches to the top of his nose.

Elladan laughed, shaking his head as he stepped up to his own horse. "Traitor," he whispered into the stallion's ear, just loud enough for Elrohir to overhear as well. His twin's answering laugh was like music to his ears.

He had known the horses would be good for his brother, and he felt reaffirmed that, given time, Elrohir would defeat his demons and come back to himself.

-o0o-

A/N: Alas, the flu struck again and I am posting a day late, my apologies. But we are officially off - on the road to face new adventures, wind and waters and wraiths. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this new chapter, the new story and Elrohir's lingering trouble with facing his own feeling of guilt and the after effects of the palantir's dark touch.