A/N - Quite a short chapter, but quite intense, I think. Please, if you read this, review it. It really helps me, and its tough when you're writing dark chapters like these. So brighten my day with a review!

Chapter Eleven, Sorrow and Loss.

The dawns eventual arrival, gently separating light from shadow in the forest of Fangorn, came as no comfort to those who had not slept.

Legolas looked across the camp to where Elrohir silently cradled his fallen brother, Aewen beside him, her head bowed as if in prayer. Aye, the dawn's light was merely a harsh reminder of those who would look upon it's beauty no more.

Time had shuddered to a halt as Elladan fell, each moment passed as a lifetime and it seemed a thousand years before Elrohir reached the prone body of his Brother, his Twin.

Tor nin, tor nin, echuio, ceno, thuio, cuino!

Falling to his knees, he begged for something, anything, a reprieve, some small hope. But Elladan's eyes were closed, his body held no breath, and no life. His soul had departed him and could not be called back by any skill or prayer.

A hand lighted on Elrohir's shoulder, but he pushed it away. Aewen was there, her eyes pools of liquid sorrow, her lips mouthing despair, but he heard not her words. Drums beat within him and his face turned to fury in answer to their call. He stood, and none could stay him as he walked into the cave, flaming beacon held high, dark words falling from his lips. He would watch them burn and cared not if he fell to flame alongside them.

Morn naur, amarth-hen, lasto beth - nin, lacha si dan in yrch!

The children of Elrond were skilled in control over the natural elements, and as Elrohir spoke, dark flame leapt from his beacon and flickered around him, searching out its victims. He stood in it's midst long enough to hear the screams of the pathetic creatures as their flesh was seared from their bones, but fire is indiscriminate in it's dealings and would have turned on its master had another not found him and pulled him from its scorching tongues.

He wished in that moment to stay and burn, but it was his niece who held him and he would not fight her, so the elven Lord allowed himself to be lead, meekly, from that place of death and slavery, even as its walls were charred and the bright gems it yielded were turned to black.

As his lungs drew in fresh air once more, Aewen turned on him. He saw her hand connect with his face, but did not feel the sting of the slap she dealt him. She was berating him, and loudly he was sure, but still no words reached him where he had retreated within himself. He held her as she fell, sobbing against him, but he heard not her cries.

His eyes, and all his thought, was fixed on a face, so like his own, that was stilled in death, a body that lay cradled in the long grass at his feet.

To any who looked upon Legolas in those few short moments, it may have seemed that he was a cold hearted creature. It may have appeared that he had a heart of stone, for his face was marble and betrayed nothing of it.

In truth, the veneer was that of a trained warrior. A royal son, well used to watching loved ones fall and well aware of the importance of remaining calm when others could not. The prince pushed his sorrow into a deep well within himself and assessed the situation.

Elladan was dead, that much was sure. The light within him had flickered and gone out, but a faint glow still remained within the body of the pitiful elf he had bourn from the cave. Elrohir had stormed into the darkness and would not be swayed from his revenge. Panicked words were flying among the former slaves, and it was clear that they were close to fleeing. He could not let them scatter now.

Quickly, Legolas barked a few short sentences to a silver haired elf, who seemed more steady than the others. He told him to calm his companions and to take them but a short way downstream, where they would find a camp and some provisions that they were welcome to.

He had judged the elf well, for his instructions were passed quickly on. Legolas turned back to look to the needs of the elf whose fragile life Elladan had likely saved with his last act and saw that Aewen was gone, following her uncle into darkness and flame.

For a moment the marble veneer cracked, and he screamed her name, offering a hundred prayers to The Lady as he ran to the mouth of the cave. A wall of heat met him there and pushed him back, unable to do aught but watch as fire consumed the cavern.

Something inside him reached up and caught itself tightly around his throat, stopping his breath and pulling the strings of his heart taut until, at last, shapes could be made out within the haze. Figures, running toward the entrance. It seemed only another century or so before Aewen pulled Elrohir, coughing, into the daylight.

She turned on him then, and slapped him. How dare he, she said. How could he be so foolhardy, she cried. She couldn't lose him, too, she wept. Elrohir did not seem to register a single word, but held her close as she cried, his own eyes empty and unblinking.

Legolas could do nothing, now, for either of them, though his heart sang with gladness at their safety and howled with sorrow at their pain. He looked up into the gradually darkening sky and sent his grief and his thanks to the yet hidden stars. Finally he bent and lifted the elven slave into his arms, the elf was unconscious, but yet breathing.

As Legolas reached camp and set the elf gently down upon the soft grass, he decided to leave him as he was for the night. There was nothing that could be done for him yet, and his broken body was surely in need of the rest.

Around him, others were laying themselves down to sleep, exhausted, or speaking closely in small huddles. The elf he had instructed earlier came to speak with him, introducing himself as Tharel of East Lorien and offering him thanks on behalf of the group. Legolas offered a small smile in response, but said that there would be time for talk on the morrow, his mind was too weary for conversation that evening.

Yet the Prince did not sleep. He watched and waited until Aewen and Elrohir returned to camp, bearing the body of Elladan. Elrohir walked a short distance from the rest, and set his Brother's body down before him. He knelt and with great care, as if in an attempt not to cause his twin further pain, he broke the arrows that defiled the elf Lord's body and removed them, casting them into the bracken.

Finally, when this was done, Elrohir took Elladan into his arms and cradled his brother as he would a child. Still he did not speak, or weep, but stared into the distance as if he saw things beyond this world.

Aewen had walked to the water side, and she waded now out beyond it's banks, deeper and deeper still into the stream. She bent, and ducked her head beneath the clear waters, as if cleansing herself of the pain and horror that the day had brought. Legolas had to fight himself not to go to her side, but it was clear enough that she had her own purpose. The comfort he could offer would mean little to her yet.

The Princess filled a container with the cool liquid, and took it to Elrohir's side. Taking a place on the ground beside him, the firelight caught the droplets in her night - dark hair, making them gleam like diamond tears. She dipped her hands into the water and gently washed the black blood from Elrohir's face and hair with a Mother's tenderness.

At some point that night, sleep came to Elrohir. It was a welcome release from the pain he could not escape when waking. Aewen and Legolas were not similarly gifted, and did not find rest that night, but stared silently at each other across the camp, their eyes saying all that was needed.

When Dawn came and spread its pale fingers through the trees, the change in light roused Elrohir and, for a brief moment, he forgot all that had been, but his Brother's body was cold against him and the memories would not be held back for long.

I... I did not think I would wake to see this day. he said at last, and turned to look into the overcast seas of Aewen's eyes.

She kissed his brow, then, and laid her head down upon his shoulder, whispering softly, I am glad you did, pen - muin, I am so glad.



Notes on this chapter:
Tor nin, tor nin, echuio, ceno, thuio, cuino! - My Brother, My Brother, wake, see, breathe, live!

Morn naur, amarth-hen, lasto beth - nin, lacha si dan in yrch!- Dark fire, child of doom, hear my words, flame now against the orcs!

pen - muin - dear one