Bill the Pony: Ah, okay. Sorry about the aborted story. You know, one can have so much fun when their characters fall alseep. *evil grin*
Grumpy: Fun with sleeping rangers. Hehe. And I have no idea why ff.net keeps disappearing. It's ticking me off, though. I'm about ready to kill it, and if I didn't rely on it so much for my reading fixes, I'd abandon it. Well . . . Maybe not.
Anyway, read read! Let me know what you think! *jumps up and down excitedly*
Choices
Aragorn looked around. He was not sure where he was, but it did not look like the tunnels he and Kalya had been traveling through nor the strange dream-world which had held him enthralled, so he was not sure what to make of this development. Nor did he know how to take the realization that he no longer hurt. A good thing, to be sure, but curious as he knew no reason why the pain would be gone. The healer in him simply could not accept it.
He turned in a circle where he stood, the movement not all that different from the last time he had stood in an odd place, but unlike then the images that greeted him were not horrible. A copse of trees appeared to his left and was joined by others, which seemed to appear out of nowhere. He could hear the beautiful songs of birds and feel a light breeze on his face, caressing his hair. The air was warm and a feeling of peace enveloped him. He smiled and started walking into the trees.
They were tall and fairly old, reaching up to the sky and out towards each other. Their green boughs blocked the sun from the sky and cast a cool shadow over the ground. Flowers and other small plants littered the ground from time to time, casting their own shadow and the occasional splash of color.
He peered curiously around a copse of trees and found a small clearing with a birdbath in the middle, a small fountain sending the clear liquid down into the bowl, musical twinkling adding a feeling of joyful serenity to the already calm setting. Two blue birds--he could not tell what kind--were busy drinking and splashing in water, chirping contentedly and challengingly, sometimes splashing the other. It was a scene the ranger had not been able to enjoy in a long time and it soothed his weary heart.
He smiled and walked on. This place, he could not remember it, and yet he felt it was familiar somehow for some reason he could not place. It was almost as if he was looking at this place through the eyes of another, possessing the knowledge of past association, but still in his own mind and lacking the intimate knowledge of one who knows their surroundings. It was a curious sensation that was beginning to worry him. Why would he recognize this place yet not know it? That did not make any sense.
Aragorn continued walking, placing his hand against a tree to steady himself as passed into yet another clearing. Then something odd happened. The ground lurched causing him to stumble slightly. The tree he was partially leaning against seemed to disappear, then reappear again in the flash of an eye. The world spun, colors blurring before reestablishing themselves before him. He blinked and struggled to comprehend what had just happened, but could not. He swallowed thickly before stepping into the clearing, wary of what might happen.
He glanced around him, then turned back. Arwen stood before him, her black hair pulled back from her face in an intricate weave while the rest flowed gracefully down her back, curling a bit. A radiant smile lit her face, and her deep blue eyes, so old and wise yet young and radiant, sparkled at him, sending a rush straight through his body that infused him with energy. "Arwen," he murmured, walking towards her quickly.
She ducked her head, a playful smile touching her lips before she glanced at him through her lashes. The weight of the ages seemed to be held in her gaze. "You are troubled."
He frowned, a bit thrown by the sudden shift of mood from lighthearted to serious. "I don't understand."
She laughed. "What's to understand?"
Aragorn had no idea what to make of this: Arwen had never been so . . . flighty before, and his tired mind could not keep pace with her jumps of mood. He decided to take a different track. "What is this place?" he asked instead. "Where are we?"
"Aragorn, do you not recognize your own home when you see it?" she asked coyly, her tone light and teasing. "You truly have been away too long."
That seemed odd to him. Of course he was away for long periods of time, but then Arwen did not reside in Rivendell anyway. She would not be effected by his long absences for she resided in Lothlorien. That, then, presented a new question, so he asked it, hoping for a straighter answer than he had received so far. "Why are you in Rivendell, Arwen? Are not you staying with your grandmother in the Golden Woods?"
"I'm here for you, my love. I want to be with you." Her expression was absolutely serious, catching the ranger a bit by surprise, for he had expected a completely different answer--or at least a different tone--though he should have realized whom he was speaking to.
He smiled gently, taking a step closer so she stood only an arms length away from him. The man brought his hand up as if to touch her face but stopped short before he actually did and let his fingers lightly ghost over her face. She closed her eyes. "I want to be with you as well, my angel, constantly. You are the reason I go on."
"I want to be your wife," she insisted, once again opening her eyes and pinning him within their blue depths, her love held clearly within her gaze.
"I desire that, too, my beloved."
"Let's do it now."
He blinked. "What?" Arwen had never before proclaimed any intention to go against her father's wishes, and she had never asked Aragorn to follow similar action. That she would now express such a desire on something they had both formerly agreed to puzzled him far more than he would care to admit.
"Let's get married," she clarified. "Now. We've waited so long. . . ."
He shook his head slightly. "Arwen, your father--"
"My father simply worries too much," she interrupted, moving the last distance to stand in his arms. "I know my heart. You are the one I love."
"I must be King of the united kingdoms of Gondor and Anor before I can make both our wishes come true, my love," he reminded her gently, well aware of the reasons for Elrond's decision. It would be cruel to bind a woman to him only to die in the pursuit of his goal and leave her alone. He could never stand to do that to Arwen, even as he was aware that his death would be no kinder.
"I care not for the throne. Only for you." Wide blue eyes pleaded with him to agree, to understand and accept . . . and he did--or he longed to, but. . . .
"Upon my word I am bound," he told her solemnly, his words still gentle. "I could not tie you to me forever as I am, Arwen. You deserve more, so much more than I can give you now."
"I need only you, Aragorn."
He brought his fingers up to gently brush her cheek and smiled. "You have me."
"Do I?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered, completely confident in his answer, for in his mind he had always been hers and no one else's.
She stepped back out of his arms and the ranger watched curiously. She raised her head slightly, then demanded, "Show me."
Before he could respond, though, a sound behind him drew his attention and he turned to see lord Elrond standing on the other edge of the clearing. Turning back towards the elf lord's daughter--for what reason he was not sure--he found only grass and trees, the maiden herself was nowhere to be seen. Then his attention was called back to the majestic and ethereal being before him, the first words he heard surprising and confusing him.
"Do you care for my daughter so little, son of Arathorn?"
Slightly wide eyed, he replied, "I love Arwen, with all of my heart."
"Yet you would bind her to pain, ensure her destruction."
Aragorn blinked. Elrond had never talk to him so, not even when he had first discovered their relationship--such as it was. That he would react this way now confused him to no end. "Lord Elrond--"
"Only pain lies along that path. You lead her to much sorrow." The elven lord's voice was hard, not gentle as he was accustomed to hearing it.
"I would spare her such pain," he tried to assure, "but I love her."
"Do you care nothing for her own feelings?"
"She loves me as well!" he cried, scandalized by his foster father, and that prompted his next response. "I wonder if it is not you who cares nothing for Arwen's feelings!"
"You forget yourself, son of Arathorn," Elrond stated coldly in warning.
"Forgive me, my lord," he replied immediately, embarrassed by his outburst. "But surely she is old enough to make her own decisions."
"Sure, though I wonder if you are."
"I don't understand. I am well into the life-span of my people."
"If you insist, you will take her away from her people."
"It is her choice," Aragorn insisted, wondering why some nameless voice was jabbering away inside him, twisting fear through his belly and whispering that his father did not love him, that Arwen would leave him when she finally realized her mistake, and that none of his family had ever really loved him.
"Do you really believe that?"
"I must."
A sound to his right drew his attention to that area and to his surprise, both Elladan and Elrohir stood looking at him. They wore identical expressions of blank amusement, the look they plastered on their faces when they did not want anyone else to know what they were thinking. He turned to glance at Elrond in order to determine what he made of this, only to stare at empty space. Again, someone he thought was still around him was gone and he could not place their leaving. He shifted uncomfortably before turning to look at the twins.
"Hey, little brother," Elladan called out, his voice pleasant enough, but strange to Aragorn's ears, who had listened to him for years.
"You need to be more careful," Elrohir chimed in. He took a step closer.
Elladan followed. "We won't always be there to protect you."
Aragorn frowned. Be where? What were they talking about? "I don't need your protection."
"No?" Elrohir asked, as if that was the most novel suggestion in all of Middle-earth. The young ranger was even more confused by this turn of events. Why was everyone acting so strange? "You're not immortal, Estel."
"I know that," he snapped, his voice coming out sharper than he had intended due to his frustration and confusion. Unconsciously, he took a small step back as they took another forward.
"Do you?" Elladan pressed.
"Of course."
"But you need our help now, don't you brother?" Elrohir continued, their tones matching perfectly and neither one was pleasant.
He looked between the two, concern edging onto his face. "What are you talking about?"
He was suddenly sure the world dropped out from under him, for he felt he was falling, only to find himself still standing on firm ground. Wind rushed around his head and the trees all seemed to melt away, swirling together into a brownish black color and soon resolved itself into new images. What he saw made his eyes go wide, for the three of them had suddenly ended up on a battle field. Warriors rushed around them, brandishing swords or bows and arrows and rushing each other. Men and elves stood around him facing off against legions of orcs. Both sides were losing numbers quickly, but the allied forces were dwindling quicker and the orcs had the greater numbers. Pain filled cries filled the air.
Elladan looked around him dispassionately, a slight, bitter smile pulling the corners of his lips. "So many dying," he murmured, almost dreamily.
"What to do, brother," Elrohir questioned, his tone unconcerned as he looked at Elladan jauntily before turning back to Aragorn, his expression suddenly becoming far grimmer.
"They die because of you," Elladan accused.
"You led them here. Led them to die."
"They die for you."
"Because of Isildur's failure, the weakness in his blood. In yours."
The twins continued to step forward slowly, their steps carrying them across the clearing even as the human they advanced on backpedaled, each condemnation pulling at his heart with razor sharp claws, tearing it to shreds, and the voice inside his head started gibbering louder.
"Evil was allowed to remain," Elladan continued. "Flourish."
"It waits."
The elder of the two smiled. "You kill them all."
"I-I," Aragorn stuttered. "What are you saying?"
"It is your destiny."
Elrohir smirked. "They will die because of you."
"Sauron will kill them," Elladan finished.
"Look." Elrohir and Elladan both swept their hands out to indicate the battle field. The orcs now outnumbered their enemies almost two to one and the beleaguered soldiers fell in the onslaught of superior numbers.
"Poor Legolas," Elladan said suddenly, his voice mournful.
Elrohir said mournfully, "How was he to know you would lead him to his death?"
"What?" Aragorn cried, fatigue and heartache stealing any force from the demand. The dream was still painful in his mind, a knife in his heart whenever he thought of it for it had seemed so real. He could not quite accept that it had been only a dream.
"See for yourself," Elladan invited, again sweeping out his hand to indicate the direction Aragorn should look.
The young ranger turned to look in the indicated direction, multitudes of warriors obscuring his vision and he could not find a single one that looked like his friend. He frowned, then the carnage around him seemed to clear and suddenly he had a clear view of his friend, fighting desperately against nearly a dozen orcs, his long knives in his hands as his only form of protection, completely cut off from any help that might have come his way. Aragorn could see others fighting nearby and knew that somehow he was not standing in the same spot he had been, though he could not remember moving, nor could he figure out how he would have arrived at this spot unmolested. Everyone seemed to be ignoring them.
He watched as the elf parried a series of strikes before slashing the orc across his throat and taking him down. Another met the same fate but Legolas' quick movements were slowing, each parry finding its mark just a little slower, until finally, the elf missed a parry. Aragorn saw the moment clearly, stretched out before him like an eternity yet he could not move, and the blow would land before he reached the his friend's side.
"NO!" he yelled, strength coming from somewhere, but Legolas did not hear him, nor did he manage to block the blow. The scimitar in the hand of the orc sunk deeply into the fragil-looking being before being roughly jerked out.
Finally, Aragorn could move. He darted forward, leaving his brothers behind, watching as the fair-haired elf he had come to love as a brother sunk slowly to the floor among mud and blood and orc bodies he had slain.
Just before the other hit the ground, Aragorn slid down next to him, and slipped his arms around the other's shoulders to support his head and cradle it to him. "Legolas," he whispered brokenly, his voice catching in his throat. Glazed and pained filled eyes slowly looked up into his, lacking recognition and the light he was used to seeing in them. Tears pooled in the ranger's blue eyes. "No," he tried again, hoping to deny what he knew was true.
"Yes," Elrohir affirmed mercilessly. "Because of you, he will die."
"There's no stopping it," Elladan seconded.
"He would follow you anywhere."
"Even to his death."
Aragorn had been looking despairing into the pain-filled eyes of his friend that at the word death became glassy and unseeing--like the mere mention of the word had been all he had been waiting for--but now looked up at his brothers, tears streaking his cheeks at the second loss of his best friend.
"Devotion like that is hard to find."
Elladan smirked again. "You must be very proud."
"Too bad it's wasted on you," Elrohir said, a matching smirk adorning his face, a mirror to his brother.
The man's hands tremble, the pain in his heart begging for release he refused to grant; he would not cry. Against his will, he looked back down at Legolas and was suddenly transported back to his dream. His friend's body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his eyes staring sightlessly far too wide to be sleeping, horror shining brightly in their sightless depths, chilling his blood even further. Blood pooled around him, soaking the ground that did not seem to be there and yet was. Too much blood. Some of it leaked from the side of the being's mouth, from the corner's of his eyes, his nose. A large spot colored his tunic, darkening most of the dark green fabric with its horrid stain. The image from then, indelibly etched into his mind, merged with now, and he was looking at his best friend, Legolas. Dead.
Sounds of battle had disappeared, all movement seemed to have ceased, nothing but the lifeless creature in his arms remained real to the young man. A single tear slipped down his cheek, escaping his rigid self-imposed control.
Elladan nearly broke it. "To think, he only wanted to protect you."
"And this is his reward."
Elladan sighed. "Poor Legolas."
"Pitiful Adan," Elrohir sneered, the words an echo from his childhood he had thought long buried, a pain he had thought long gone.
"Can't even keep your friends alive."
"So weak."
"So fragile," Elladan murmured in agreement.
"I can't imagine why father took you in," Elrohir mused, his tone somewhat thoughtful but enough to send another knife blade through the ranger's heart. He hoped he would die, that an orc would come up out of nowhere and stab him with his filthy blade, ending his pathetic existence.
"You never were good enough," Elladan went on relentlessly, his words falling on deaf ears yet working their way into the human's consciousness to beat at his soul.
"Never will be good enough."
"Not for father."
"Not for Gondor."
"Not for Arwen." The words seemed to come from all around him, pressing him down into the ground, the cooling body of his best friend still clutched desperately in his arms.
"You will never be strong enough--"
Elladan interrupted, "--quick enough--"
"--wise enough to be King of Gondor."
"You will lead the DĂșnadain to ruin," Elladan pronounced.
Aragorn shook his head slowly, not in denial, but in helplessness. "How can you say those things?" he questioned his brothers--foster brothers, but he had long since stopped marking the distinction--his voice weak and lost to his own ears.
Somehow, they heard him. "How?" Elrohir asked. "Because they are true."
"You've always known it," Elladan condemned.
"We just never told you because father thought he wanted to protect you."
"Now he thinks as we do."
"And knows that is a waste of time," Elrohir concluded.
"That's not true," Aragorn denied, not really believing his own words. How could it not be true? He was worthless, pathetic, helpless. He could not even take care of himself, why would anyone want to be his friend, his family? Why would anyone want to love him?
Slowly the world around him was growing darker, his hopelessness and despair eating away at his mind, destroying his resolve, and with it his grasp on life.
"Of course it is," Elladan denied.
Elrohir again backed his brother, their back and forth never faltering once. "You've shown everyone that you're not good enough."
"It's a waste of time to look after you."
"You're not good enough to be a member of the family."
"Good-bye, brother." Elladan and Elrohir smiled. It was a cold smile, completely different from the smiles he had always seen on their faces and the malice behind the looks chilled his blood, looking odd on such fair faces. He wanted to yell, to scream, to plead with them not to abandon him . . . but he could do nothing, frozen in his spot with Legolas clutched in his arms unable to summon the strength to save his future.
Then another figure appeared, this one as familiar as the first two, even though he seemed to appear out of thin air, and Aragorn watched apprehensively as Elrond stepped forward between his twin sons. The elder elf looked down on the human, his face expressionless, that in itself was not strange, however the utter lack of warmth was. Without knowing precisely why, the ranger's heart sank to his feet. He knew his heart, his very life, hung on what his foster father would say . . . and he already knew he was rejected. Elladan and Elrohir had said as much. He merely waited for the confirmation.
Elrond gave it. "No more, Estel."
With those words, the three beings who had been most important in his life disappeared and the world he had thought so beautiful when he arrived faded away to nothingness. Even Legolas faded away, and he clutched desperately at the insubstantial form, shaking terribly, a cry wrenching itself from his throat as despair took him. Painful, pitiful cries filled with pain and loss began to fill the air, cutting into his heart and riding whatever hope he yet held. He pulled in on himself, curling into a small ball and rocking back and forth. It was over. He could not go on, he had no reason to. He was not good enough, but he had always known that. His family, the last family he had . . . was gone.
Then whatever paralysis had struck him before was gone, and he began to cry softly, desperately, for his family to hear him. "No. No, father. Please, I-I'll do better. Please. . . ."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"NO!"
Kelt jerked awake with a start, her eyes flying open as she sat up, moving towards the ranger even before conscious thought, for her mind had been dwelling on him for hours, her heart troubled by his pain. His helplessness had pushed aside the conflict within her, the healer in her not able to stand the sight of his suffering. She knelt next to the prone figure and gently brushed a hand over his forehead, using the motion to push away a few strands of hair which had stuck there.
Sweat beaded his forehead as he jerked and turned restlessly in his sleep, then stilled. The tightness in his features, though, precluded any thought that he might have recovered from whatever horror he was witnessing in his mind.
"Oh, Strider," she murmured softly. "I told you to stay awake."
She watched him carefully as he started to calm down, his movements slowing. Someone less experienced might have thought he was out of the woods, the worst of his dream--or nightmare--over now that his movements had calmed. Kelt, however, knew better. She checked his pulse. It beat wildly beneath her fingertips, racing far too fast for her comfort. He needed to wake up. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. No response, so she did it again. Then again when she still received no sign that he had felt a thing, this time a little hard than the previous two. Still nothing happened.
"Come on, Strider," she encouraged, knowing she truly needed to get him awake, but not quite sure how to accomplish it. "Fight it, Strider. You have to fight it."
She still got no response, but he did speak. "How can you say those things?" The pain and anguish in his voice clutched at her heart, nearly bring tears to her eyes but she forced them away; she did not have time for tears, not if he was to live. It was not the pain nor the anguish that worried her though, it was the despair, the hopelessness that coursed through the question that sent fear shooting through her veins. If he gave up, not even the antidote would save him.
"Say what things, Strider?" she tried. "Who is talking to you?" She expected no response.
His head tossed slightly, his lips moving, then, ". . . not true." The denial lacked conviction and Kelt knew that it was simply a token defense, something he felt he had to do instead of a conviction born of the knowledge that something where he was was not right. She bowed her head, her fingers still against his neck to track his pulse. It had slowed drastically. "No. Father, please. . . ."
"Don't despair, DĂșnadan. Come out of the shadow," she entreated, still not getting through and well aware of the fact. "You can, I know you can."
The ranger continued to mumble deliriously and the young girl frowned. She was not sure what she should do--indeed what she could do--and so simply grabbed a bowl and put water in it, and using a small section of cloth proceeded to wipe his forehead, hoping to soothe his troubled sleep, knowing in the back of her mind and heart that it would never work--could never work, not against the drug. She closed her eyes painfully as the murmurs continued, pain increasing with every word. Despair's grasp increased with every moment, and the man's chances of pulling through decreased with every tortured word.
"I'm Aragorn. Aragorn, my name. Please. . . . Alone. . . . Can't do anything right. anything. . . . Arwen. Father! No, don't leave. Come back. Don't . . . leave--me." A broken sob ended the plea, choked out on a desperate breath as the other's breathing had also slowed with his heartbeat. She reached forward to feel it and found it threateningly weak.
A small battle took place inside her mind, halting her hand from immediate action. The herb that would end the drug's effects was not in her possession and she could not wake him. Without the drug, she needed him awake so the drug could not torment his unconscious, yet he would not respond. She could give him a stimulant but there was no guarantee that it would wake him, and no guarantee that it would not do more harm than good. Still, if he did not live, the effects of the stimulant would be a moot point.
The girl turned and began to dig quickly through the pack by her side. Bottles were discarded with little care as she frantically sought what she was looking for. Minutes passed that seemed an eternity while at the same time flying by far too quickly and taking the ranger's life with it.
Finally, her hands uncovered the desired objects and she sat back, pulling the vials with her, one a rustic gold and the other a light red, their colors not easily told in the flickering light of the fire. She uncapped them and their scents revealed themselves to her and confirmed their identity. A nearby bowl was dumped and the two vials dumped into in measure--all of the first and half of the second. Kelt flickered her wrist in a circular motion, swirling the liquid, then soaked a square section of cloth that she had also pulled from the pack and set the bowl aside.
Fearful eyes darted up to take in the sleeping ranger's face, noting the sweat that sheened his face and beaded upon his upper lip, the ragged pace of his breathing, and the slight trembling in his frame that could almost go unnoticed and would have if the observer had not so keen sight. Kelt pulled the small dagger kept in her boot from it's sheath and held it briefly over the flame, sterilizing it for what she needed to do. Then she brandished it carefully in her right hand, the medicated pad in her left, and paused slightly to pray her actions would not go astray.
Only once had she lost her patient, a small dog, a puppy that had wandered too far from home, who had been shot with an arrow laced with a poison she did not know, but the circumstances were far too similar for her liking, and her hand halted as her mind whirled with agonized indecision. Then, before she could change her mind, she moved forward and made a small incision in the ranger's arm before pressing the soaked cloth against the wound and allowing the potent mixture to seep into his blood. Had he been awake and not caught in tortured dreams, he would have cried out. As it was his body jerked against the intrusion.
Her brow creased with worry; she watched his face urgently. "Come on, Strider," she encouraged softly. "Wake up. Wake up."
Strider--no, Aragorn, she reminded herself, her mind flashing to the words she had heard spoken by the man before her not so long ago--tossed his head fitfully from side-to-side, a moan escaping his lips. The hand she held to his neck found the beat of his heart, a beat that was steadily increasing as his restlessness grew. She feared she had made a mistake. Then he stilled, all movement ceasing as Kelt held her breath, praying he would keep breathing.
Suddenly, he sat up, jerking quickly out of her grasp and gasping, his hand going to his head. After a few moments, in which Kelt recovered her own breath and calmed her heart, he spoke, "What did you do?"
"Gave you something to wake you up," she replied carelessly, masking how concerned she had been. It did not matter to her if he lived or not. It could not matter. "Come, DĂșnadan, we're moving."
Without waiting for a response she moved away to re-gather their supplies and pack them away. She finished quickly and looked expectantly over at Aragorn who had not moved from his position save to rest his head in his hand. "Moving will help the headache," she announced when it became obvious he was not going to move.
The other's head snapped up, his eyes flashing. "Where ever would you get the idea that I have a headache," he snapped, his voice just as sharp and he climbed to his feet, quicker than Kelt would have guessed he could move.
She regarded him steadily for a moment, her face betraying nothing. His balance seemed fine, lacking the disorientation she had come to expect as one of the side-effects of Shirk's favorite drug, which seemed to her a good sign. In any case, it would do well for them to begin moving again; it was likely that Aragorn would not be this able ever again. She forced carelessness into her voice and said, "Well, then, since you obviously feel fine we'll pick up the pace. We should reach our destination in three days." Hopefully ahead of our pursuers.
She turned and heard Aragorn fall into step behind her. Together they traveled further into the tunnels, one hoping to escape the pain and the other hoping her charge was as strong as he appeared.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nirt carefully scanned the floor of the cavern, searching--in vain, it would seem--for footprints or some other sign that would point out which direction Kelt and that Ranger had gone. So far, she had come up empty, which had not pleased her boss not at all.
Of course, she thought furiously, it would be Kelt that has to be found. Arguably the best tracker the Slyntari had boasted in more than a century and unarguably the best at concealing the signs that would give her away made her difficult to keep track of. That, coupled with an annoying independent streak that defied explanation, made her almost impossible to find, especially when she wished not to be. Had the search been up to Nirt, she would have called the whole endeavor off and dismissed it as a waste of time--which was part of the reason why she would never enjoy a command post of any kind--save for one thing: there was another with her and he was injured.
It had always been easier to find the girl when she was with someone else. Few could match her in moving stealthily and her companion invariably made some mistake which gave them away. That the one with her was a ranger could have been a problem, themselves very capable of moving without detection, except that he had been poisoned and that that poison would make him careless. Plus, if Kelt was trying to protect him, he would prove a distraction and perhaps, just perhaps, that would be enough to cause her to make a mistake. Nirt just wished she would do it sooner rather than later. Chasing that one through dark tunnels was not her idea of fun.
She frowned as she caught sight of orc activity in the tunnels coming from an adjoining tunnel and continuing on the way she was headed. Her lips curled in disgusted anger. If they had come this way, there would be no telling it now: the orcs would have completely spoiled any signs that may have been left by her quarry's passage. With a disgusted snort, she turned and headed back up the tunnel to the randevous point to report her findings. She comforted herself with the thought of torturing the orc band she had found witness of if they lost their quarry.
"NO!"
The cry stopped her in her tracks. It was quiet, but after the more or less absolute silence she had been walking in for the last couple of hours, it split the air like a firecracker at a summer celebration--something she had seen one year near the Shire. She listened and knew that it came from somewhere further up the tunnel in the direction she was traveling. She started running. Shirk would know where to go now. The hunt was on. It was just a matter of time before Kelt and the ranger were dead. And before that . . . they would play.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Elladan paused and looked up from the ground, searching the surrounding area with keen, piercing eyes. He thought he had heard something . . . felt something.
He frowned. Nothing was near. He wondered what had become of his human brother, who had not returned to camp last night. He and Elrohir had decided to wait on any action since the human could be quite testy when he felt his brothers' were hovering and treating him like a child. Both elves were willing to admit that he was more than capable of looking after himself and tried to back off--most of the time.
Just this minute, however, he was regretting the decision to respect his brother's skills. Something dark was pressing on his mind, a shadow that had been growing for many hours.
Despite his unease, his knowledge of what they were hunting for, and his better judgment, he kept working his way further south, away from where he had last seen Aragorn. Unknown to him, further up the mountains, Elrohir did the same thing.
