Author's Notes: Celestel the telpe vende, Shlee Verde, and Insomniac Luddite, thank you for your kind words! I apologise for the rushed pace of this fic, but it is part of the effect. The next chapters are definitely going to be a whirlwind, as I feel that the reader should feel some of the confusion that the characters are feeling. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter Three

[Westron]

"Isn't this a little dangerous?" Ilitha asked apprehensively, as she peered over the edge of the cliff. The distance of the ground below (not that she could see it, thankfully, as there were treetops in the way) sent a shiver down her spine, but the sons of Elrond simply shrugged.

"Do not worry, we have traveled here many times," one of the twins said. To prove his point, he balanced precariously on a rock jutting out of the edge. Ilitha thought she could feel her skin turn green.

Estel laughed at the sickened expression on her face. "Do not worry. Elrohir knows what he is doing, and we do come here often."

It was Ilitha's second week of stay, and she was on the mend, though not as quickly as Elrond had expected. Obviously Betrayer was taking steps. The elf lord was baffled at her slow progress, and undoubtedly worried if there was something he had missed that was hindering the healing process. Still, he now encouraged her to go outside as often as she could, and his sons have taken it upon themselves to show her their home.

Today they wanted to show her 'something', which was why she was battling a phobia of heights as she ascended the steep path. She had to admit that the elven realm was very beautiful, a blooming garden of life and colour. Men had often complained bitterly that elves and dwarves plundered wealth from honest folk, yet Ilitha saw nothing of the kind. Though she did not doubt that Rivendell had a great store of wealth, its main treasure was obviously the life and people within her borders. There was something… healing… about a land tended by elves, for mortal mind and body. Sometimes she would even let herself imagine that staying there for a long time would eventually heal those deep scars in her soul, scars on which Betrayer had so greedily attached himself to.

"Finally, we are here!" the other twin- Elladan- announced as the path turned. She looked up, and gasped.

In a small open cavern, flowed the smallest of waterfalls, hidden somewhere in the cliffs around the valley, surrounded by flowers and greenery. The sunlight made the water glitter, as if a thousand gems were beneath the surface. Birds sang as they perched on the lone tree some distance away from the stream flowing from the waterfall.

"It is beautiful," she breathed. "Thank you for bringing me here."

One of the twins (she had given up trying to tell which was which) smiled. "Our pleasure, Ilitha. Orcs afflict more than physical wounds on their victims. We only hope to help you heal, and this place was the easiest of many to reach. Such beauty can only make one wonder why anyone would betray life over wealth and power."

Ilitha wondered if the elves could read her mind. And she had caught something else in the tall elf's voice. Someone dear to them had been taken by orcs, once. Their scars are buried deep. But not deep enough.

She was startled to hear Betrayer so strongly in her mind. Reality came crashing back down, though she had desperately wanted to stay in the happy dream of rest and peace offered by the little paradise the sons of Elrond had brought her to.

I hate you. I hate what you've made me into.

But you'll still do what I tell you to, won't you, my little one?

~*~

[Language of the Istari]

The figure robed in white decided that he despised Mithrandir's mystery pawns. The Grey fool had them everywhere, even in carefully-chosen Rivendell. Such pieces put him in a state bordering on paranoia, as he could not anticipate the next move. He despised not knowing the next move.

Who was that woman? Her name, Gilraen, identified her as either Gondorian or one of the wandering remnants of lost Arnor. Whichever was the case, what was her purpose in Imladris? And more importantly, what influence did she have on Elrond?

He had his suspicions, of course. Estel, the adopted human who was crucial to his plans, gave him a clue, as Gilraen had been confirmed as the boy's mother. Hmmm…

There was a definite kinship between the boy and Elrond. If stood besides Elrond's twin sons, mortal eyes could easily mistake Estel as their real brother. The boy had told Ilitha that Gilraen's husband had been killed by orcs. Distraught, the woman had sought refuge and counsel in Rivendell, where Lord Elrond had adopted her son out of kindness. But perhaps… he laughed. Perhaps he had been complicating things.

Estel resembled the Peredhil too much to be simply an 'adopted' child.

Perhaps the answer to this little riddle was very simple indeed, though unexpected from one of the noble Eldar. Yes, yes, that was the secret all those fools had been trying to hide. He had been wondering at that for some time now, especially when the Master had inquired about it. And Gandalf had known about it! It seemed the old fool still had many tricks in his hat.

He wanted to laugh, and settled for a soft chuckle.

So, Elrond, your whore bore you a son, and to save face you 'adopted' him. This should make an interesting shift of my plans…

~*~

[Sindarin]

Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air, a silent menace, searching, seeking… something.

Gilraen had lived most of her life around people who thought her helpless and vulnerable. Even Arathorn, though her own skill with a throwing knife bested his. Perhaps it had something to do with her physical appearance: she was small, with delicate-looking skin and pretty eyes. And for her first few years in Rivendell she had retreated into a shell, becoming quiet and reclusive. She was coming out of it now, but it seemed as if every elf in Imladris feared to speak too loudly around her for fear that she might break. At least the twins had stopped being her guards, after a fashion, though it involved a lot of blunt comments on her part. But persuading everyone else that she was not made of thin glass might become a life-long effort, and she wasn't sure she would succeed in the end, elves being what they were.

One thing that she knew separated her from most others of her own race was her gift of foresight, and something bordering on elven-sense that alerted her when evil was near. It wasn't even as precise as that, actually; in this case, for instance, she knew that something was wrong, but deciphering what was up to her.

It had something to do with the woman, Ilitha. She hadn't really caused trouble, or had done anything out of the ordinary, but Gilraen's 'bad feelings' had begun the day she arrived. And it frustrated her that she couldn't tell this to anyone; Elrond and the twins certainly wouldn't listen, for they had a deep sympathy for anyone victimised by orcs, and Estel would simply assure her that she may have only been having a bad day, or perhaps she was sensing something else entirely. The large number of wolves outside Rivendell's borders, perhaps? No, they would not listen, and there was little point in telling anyone else.

Perhaps she could be mistaken. It was quite heartless, being suspicious of a poor woman who had been waylaid by orcs. What if she was wrong? And in any case, she couldn't really accuse the woman of anything; after all, it was only 16 years ago that she, soaked to the bone, had been escorted out of her home with Arathorn with Estel in her arms and taken to the House of Elrond, to await what future held for her. She remembered well the suspicions of many of the elves, and knew now how they must have felt. It was easier to be suspicious of a stranger than of someone you knew.

What is this? What is it after? She almost kicked a nearby vase in frustration. What was the point of having this sense if she couldn't interpret it?

But though her foresight hadn't warned her of what would happen to Arathorn, her other elven-sense did. She had been most reluctant to let him go on that raid. 20 years ago, she would have doubted her heart's warnings. 16 years ago, she did, and paid the price. Never again. ~*~

[Sindarin]

First he went to the library. Then he tried concocting a particularly complex potion in the Healing Halls. Then he went to sit in his private garden.

But try as he might, Elrond couldn't dispel the bad feeling in his stomach. Neither could he pinpoint what it was, though not for lack of trying. Glorfindel had been sending him worried looks all day, but the elf lord was in no mood to banter with his old friend. He really did not like being ill at ease because of an elusive problem.

Perhaps he would talk to Gilraen later on. The woman was strangely perceptive even for one of the Dùnedain. At the moment though, his mind was strangely cloudy. He tried to concentrate, but… strange. One moment it was as if a fog had entered his mind, and the next his thoughts were as coherent as they had ever been. The feeling of unease had also gone.

It suddenly occurred to him that it was time for dinner.

We should have wine tonight, to celebrate Ilitha's recovery.

So Elrond returned to the House, happily humming a tune that had not been heard in Middle-Earth since the beginning of the First Age.

~*~*~