Well, Ch 2 is finally written, despite distractions like work, electrical storms, seeing TTT a third time round and assorted computer…technicalities. Thank you so much for the reviews! I was awed to see so many – I hope you continue to enjoy this fic and can still find the time to review. Special thanks to Nerys/Beth, who corrected my spelling of 'Elladan' – I've fixed it in the first chapter and will spell it correctly from now on. As you might be able to tell, I am a fan of the movies rather than of the books. I read the whole series for the first time after FotR first came out, but haven't tried again since.
(Ack!! What's wrong with my spacing? Why doesn't it work?)
~~*~~
The Beginning of a Beginning
Slowly Aragorn's senses swam towards awareness, and immediately he wished it did not have to be so. Dull explosions of light thudded behind his eyes even when he had them shut, but when he ventured to open them, the world spun so erratically that Aragorn felt he was going to lose the contents of his stomach.
He closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. The wooden floor was blissfully cool, if uncomfortably hard, beneath his aching head. He opened one eye tentatively to survey his surroundings. The wooden cabin was small and sparsely furnished. One rough-hewn table of oak, two benches set into the walls. A foresters' cabin, then; one of many in the woods of Imladris built to provide shelter to those elves who hunted in or guarded the woods.
Aragorn took a quivering deep breath to steady his roiling stomach, but all that did was bring the strong scent of souring elven-wine to his nostrils. He gagged, the double thought of more wine and last night's excesses more than he could bear just then.
There was a faint sound by the door, then searing brightness filled the room as a graceful figure let itself in.
Aragorn moaned faintly and cradled his head in his arms. 'Shut the door,' he croaked. Then, after a moment of consideration, he added, 'Go away.'
'Such gratitude, Estel!' said Elladan, but he pitched his voice mercifully low. 'Here – I brought you some tea. And something to break your fast with.'
Aragorn could smell the warm aroma of newly baked bread and soft cheese. 'If you don't get that away from me,' he said hoarsely, 'I am going to throw up all over your fine guard's uniform.'
'Better out than in,' Elladan said serenely, but he did take a few steps back. 'I cannot linger,' he added. 'I have the watch till the low second bell. Try to take some of the tea,' he suggested kindly, as he slipped out and closed the door quickly and silently behind him.
Aragorn remained unmoving a few moments more, but he could not ignore the dangerous way in which his stomach lurched. He staggered to his feet, kicking aside the cloak that had served him as a blanket during the night. The trees blocked most of the sun's light, but the faint brightness that greeted Aragorn as he pushed the door open brought another explosion of white light in his skull. Nausea washed over him again, and then he was on his knees, retching violently into the autumn grass.
He continued until there was nothing left in his stomach, and the back of his throat burned from the effort. He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand, then noticed the shadow which had fallen over him.
'Nice work, Estel,' Elrohir said scornfully. 'I hoped that made you feel a whole lot better.'
Still kneeling in the grass, Aragorn did not answer. Reluctantly, he recalled the night before. Determined to get drunk, he had sought out Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan had matched him drink for drink – Valar take him, Aragorn thought irritably, knowing Elladan had most likely awoken at dawn for his watch nothing worse for the wear. Elrohir, however, could not be persuaded to have a single drink, which was quite unusual for him. He had sat without a word or movement, as Aragorn had proceeded to get drunk, and Elladan tipsy.
'Get up,' snapped Elrohir, as Aragorn made no response. He hauled Aragorn roughly to his feet, but supported his weight as the man staggered against him.
Cold anger burned inside Elrohir as he pushed Aragorn back in the foresters' hut.
'Drink some of that tea,' he ordered. 'That might restore some of your wits – or it might not, seeing how few you had to begin with.'
Aragorn obeyed, because the effort of refusal seemed more than it was worth. The liquid in the flask was acrid and bitter, but it did appear to help. He drank all but the dregs, but at Elrohir's angry frown, he swallowed those, as well.
'What are you so aggravated about?' he grumbled. 'You're not the one whose head is about to cave in.'
Elrohir glared at him. 'The fool you're making of yourself,' he grated. 'I thought you had more sense.'
'You're angry because I love Arwen?' rasped Aragorn, his voice hoarse from last night.
'You don't love her!' Elrohir snapped. 'Stop your childish fantasies. Love – pah! Let me tell you something about love, Estel. Love is an affliction. It weakens the heart and addles the mind. Do not let me see you un-man yourself for 'love' again.'
'What would you know?' muttered Aragorn under his breath, his own anger rising. 'Did you come only to impart your wisdom, Elrohir, or was there a purpose to your call?'
A muscle jumped in the elf's cheek, as he restrained his temper. 'I came to collect my cloak,' he said coldly, snatching the one which had been Aragorn's blanket and now lay discarded on the floor.
The door slammed so violently behind Elrohir that the little cabin rattled.
~~*~~
Elladan sat cross-legged, eyes closed, palms turned up in a gesture of acceptance. The gentle breeze which stirred his hair and set the leaves fluttering only served to emphasize his intent stillness.
It was not truly necessary to begin this preparation in order for him to touch the mind of Elrohir – indeed, their minds were always linked in the most primal and natural of bonds – but Elladan found that stillness of the mind and body seemed to give keener results.
The mind-bond he shared with Elrohir was as strong as any that had ever existed, but surprisingly, a weaker form of it existed between him and Estel.
Or perhaps it is not so surprising, Elladan mused. They are the two I love best in all this world.
Unlike the bond between him and Elrohir, the one between him and Estel seemed to go one way only. Elladan doubted that Estel could feel him, and he had never told the young man that such a bond existed. It was unheard of to be bound such to a Man – as unheard of, Elladan thought wryly, as it was to be brother to a Man. Only Elrohir shared that secret with him – and not for the first time, Elladan wondered whether Elrohir was bound to Estel as he was.
His awareness of Estel told him that the man was submerged in water somewhere. Elladan listened carefully for a moment, but felt no sign of distress.
His awareness of Elrohir told him that his twin was in the southern practice yard, with Faelnor and Enmarel. Elrohir, blindfolded, held a wooden sword in each hand and was furiously attacking and defending against the joint attack of his companions. Elladan heard the staccato beat of sword against sword. He felt Elrohir's rage and frustration as Enmarel slipped beneath his defence and gave him a sound blow to the ribs.
Calmly, my brother, Elladan murmured in his mind. He felt an answering thought of gratitude, then fierce satisfaction as Elrohir struck Faelnor hard enough on the wrist to make him drop his weapon, and whirled to bring his other sword in a resounding SMACK on the side of Enmarel's head.
Abandoning his attempt at stillness, Elladan rose and went to meet his brother. The unabating impressions of bitter anger and frustration troubled him.
~~*~~
If Elrohir's expression was impassive, the agitation of his mount was more than a hint at the sentiment he was hiding.
Aragorn sighed inwardly at that. He was sorry for his rash words the day before, but apologizing to Elrohir could be notoriously difficult. More often than not, Elrohir simply refused to take offense, and if he did, the transgression was usually forgotten between blows. But on occasion, the elf seemed determined to remain in a black mood.
They were some three leagues out of Rivendell now, but Aragorn had seen no sign of the foxes that Elladan had claimed they were hunting. Aragorn suspected that they riding just to be moving, and that his brother was hunting for something far more elusive than foxes.
Whatever that was, it did not appear to be the lone rider that suddenly crashed out of the trail ahead of them. The rider was dressed in brown and green livery – Mirkwood, Aragorn thought with distaste. Although he had not been embroiled in the feud between Rivendell and Mirkwood for millennia as an elf had, he had picked up enough to share in the animosity towards folk of the Woodland Realm.
Anger darkened Elladan's brow at the sight of an enemy so close to Rivendell, and Elrohir's rage was held in check only by his brother's strong grip on his forearm.
Surprise flashed across the face of the Mirkwood elf, and a hint of fear shadowed it. To be caught one against three was to herald certain death.
'Halt,' commanded Elladan, but there was no need.
The elf had drawn up his quivering mount so that he faced his three opponents squarely.
'It is not a crime to travel the free highways,' he declared, but his voice held little conviction. It was no breach of Galadriel and Celeborn's laws, true, but the long standing feud between the two houses had developed its own rules.
Elrohir had shrugged off Elladan's hold on him, and spurred his horse closer to the Mirkwood elf's. He eyed the other disdainfully, taking in the flaxen hair and light eyes innate to Mirkwood, and their ensign of a leaf emblazoned in green.
'A servant,' Elrohir said scornfully.
'A messenger,' said Aragorn quietly.
A glint came into Elrohir's eye. 'A messenger, say you? Now, what would Mirkwood have to say to Rivendell?'
Before he finished his words, the other elf's sword was unsheathed and came flashing towards Elrohir. Almost carelessly, Elrohir parried with the knife that just appeared in his hand. A quick, twisting motion wrenched the other's blade from his grip, and left a seeping gash on his hand.
'Oh, polite, are we? Since you so kindly offered some sport, I simply must accept the offer.'
Elrohir dismounted from his horse in one fluid movement. Aragorn and Elladan followed his example.
'Three against one?' the messenger said bitterly as he dismounted. 'Ah, such is the vaunted bravery of Rivendell.' He spat into the grass at Elrohir's feet.
Elrohir's fist smashed into the other's face before he had the time to look up. 'Do not think to flatter yourself,' he sneered. 'You are barely worth my effort.' He kicked the sword out of the other's hand as soon as it was clear from the scabbard. 'A human could best you at combat.' A second, powerful side kick snapped the other's head backwards, and he fell, unmoving to the ground. 'A dwarf could.'
'A dwarf did,' remarked Aragorn lightly.
Elrohir spun with such speed that even Aragorn's sudden step back would not have spared him had Elrohir followed through with his kick. 'Do not test me,' he began tersely.
Then his eyes lost their glint of rage, and Elrohir began to laugh helplessly. 'Is this Estel calling me a dwarf? Estel, who's swaddling cloths I changed, who puked over my best tunic more times than I care to remember?' He gazed at Aragorn, whose eyes were now level with his own. 'Ah, how quickly you mortals grow up!'
'Just the other day, you refused to believed I was old enough to be out of swaddling cloths,' grumbled Aragorn, but his eyes were mirthful.
Elrohir waved his hand dismissively. 'Come, let us see what Mirkwood would have to say to Rivendell.'
Jesting momentarily forgotten, the three of them searched the fallen elf's clothing. It was Elladan who pulled out an envelope of green parchment, and inscribed with a gold leaf. They all stared at the name written in a precise hand.
The Lady Arwen Evenstar.
'What trickery is this?' snarled Elrohir. 'What business has Mirkwood with our sister?'
Elladan tapped a finger on his lips thoughtfully. 'It is not so strange,' he conceded. 'Arwen is as much a Lorien elf as a Rivendell one, with the amount of time she spends with Grandmother and Grandfather. It stands to reason that she, out of any of us, might have escaped the feud.'
Elrohir tore open the envelope with a savagery that would have reduced the contents to shreds had Elladan not intervened.
'You may not want to see what lies inside, but I do,' he said calmly, taking the envelope from his brother carefully. He scanned the letter enclosed.
'Well, now,' he said at last. 'This is news indeed.'
Please accept our most cordial invitation, to you and your company,
to attend the betrothal feast of the son of Mirkwood,
Prince Legolas Greenleaf, and the Lady Heleyna Dawnsinger.
'So the runt is about to bind his love,' scoffed Elrohir, an almost wild laughter in his eyes.
'When is this for?' asked Aragorn curiously.
Elladan glanced again at the letter. 'Tonight,' he said with some surprise. Then he snickered. 'No doubt this fool has been more keen to deliver himself to alehouses than to deliver a message for his king.'
'He must have thought Arwen was at Lothlorien,' said Aragorn, finding, much to his chagrin, that he still blushed when he spoke her name. 'It's probably taken him a week to travel here – and to stop wetting himself in fear at the thought of entering Rivendell.'
Elladan and Elrohir sniggered at the unmoving elf at their feet.
'Well, that was interesting,' said Elladan offhandedly, losing interest in the scene. 'Arwen will be pleased, I suppose.'
The wild light came into Elrohir's eyes again, and Aragorn suppressed a shiver of anxiety and anticipation. When Elrohir looked like that, some wicked scheme would soon be hatched.
'I do not think,' Elrohir said smoothly, 'that an infestation of Mirkwood elves is an acceptable place for our little sister. Nor,' he said as Elladan tried to interrupt, 'do I think we should let Rivendell be unrepresented at this great event.'
'You are not suggesting…?' Aragorn's voice was faint despite himself.
Elrohir grinned at him.
Aragorn and Elladan exchanged glances.
'He is in a strange humour today,' observed Elladan.
'He is mad,' said Aragorn.
'Well, gentlemen?' asked Elrohir.
'It shall be a night to remember,' Elladan said solemnly.
Aragorn laughed, and asked of no-one in particular, 'I wonder, what trouble will find me next?'
~~*~~
'I will,' said Legolas gravely.
Berethin looked at his cousin in disbelief.
'I will,' Legolas repeated, a small smile playing on his lips. 'And there is no changing it.'
~~*~~
Ok! Legolas has finally entered the scene. Expect to see much, much more of him in the next chapter! (And, um, no, Legolas wasn't really replying to Aragorn – I don't know if you all got that. Oh, well. Explanations in Chapter 3, which will be up sooner than Chapter 2 was! I promise. Please review?)
