That said, I'm reasonably well satisfied with this chapter. If they're getting boring and you want more action, it's coming up in the next chapter or so, I think the thirteenth. Anyway, I'm really anxious about those because I've never really been able to write action scenes. They either end up really short or really crappy, and you lucky people get to tell me which. But not yet. Hope you enjoy.
Bumper: I'm glad you liked that part! I wrote it in school, and it just happened, but I thought it was funny, so when I was going through the dialogue I wrote while I was bored, I thought I would include it. Useless information: the actual dialogue of the last two chapters was finished about two weeks before I actually got to the chapters. Lol.
Nell-Marie: Welcome to the club! Lol. Oh, that might be taking it a bit too far, but I'm glad you enjoyed the story. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when people say they liked it. I never considered myself perceptive, but if you do, I guess I did something right. It's really good to know exactly what's enjoyed. Then I can repeat it. *g*
Tainted Fortune: You're the first person I've ever know of to come in late and review the beginning chapters. Truly unique. And you're also welcome. Mmm, well, the story is completed, as you'll likely know by the time you get here if you read my little introductions, and you'll likely know who "she" is by the time you get here, too. If you don't, let me know and I'll explain it, though maybe I wouldn't be the person you needed to talk to....*g*
Now that I've responded to all the people I can respond to, I'll release you to enjoy my creative art. And for the information of those interested, I'm about halfway through chapter 16 of the sequel with three left to write.
Enjoy!
Don't Call Us . . .
Once Aragorn had awoken an undeterminable time later--at least as far as the human was concerned, the two companions had started off again, moving at a quick pace. Neither spoke, Kalya struggling with the weariness so little sleep had caused and Aragorn considering what he knew of his new friend. It was not much, but he figured he would have plenty of time to examine the little clues and reach a conclusion, as "soon" was not likely to be soon enough to stop him from thinking.
As he reflected, he realized that last night had been the first truly peaceful sleep he had experienced in far longer than he cared to admit. He was still surprised the shadows had not returned to plague his dreams yet was thankful for it just the same. He wondered what, exactly, Kalya had done. He knew his father could put him to sleep, but so far as he knew, the elf had never guarded his dreams. Whatever it was, it must not have been easy.
He shot a quick glance at the girl who walked before him yet again, carrying a torch. (They had decided after the first couple of hours that they really only needed one to light the path and had put the other one out. The unlit torches were currently stuffed among the luggage to be carried, the most important items stuffed into the bag on Kalya's shoulder.) It was difficult to tell, but he thought the other looked exhausted, her shoulders a bit more stooped than before, her step a touch heavier, almost seeming to drag along the floor though it remained as quiet as ever. He was sure whatever she had done had not been conducive to a restful night and wished he could convince her to stop.
That, however, had proven quite futile. The one time he had suggested it, she had shot the idea down like it was an orc who had just jumped into her path from behind a boulder, quickly and without mercy. Not that he could truly blame her for he agreed with her assessment of the situation, still. . . . He hated it when others suffered because of him, for him. It hurt deep inside for he could not stand to see others in pain.
Still, he kept moving and stayed silent, knowing full well that she would not stop, and that the only way to insure she would rest would be to reach their destination as quickly as possible. He hoped it would be sooner than he thought and that they would find no trouble once they did. An uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, however, was doing a commendable job of killing that particular hope. Besides, with his luck, he knew better than to entertain any serious ideas that he could ever possibly escape trouble. It was like he was drawn to them, or them to him. Either way, it was never good.
He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. One good thing at least, was that his concussion finally seemed to be going away and his ribs were mostly healed. The arrow wound remained, and would, Kalya told him, until the poison could be eradicated from his system. He was told it was a miracle it had not been a severe wound or the bleeding might never have stopped no matter what had been done and created a whole different problem than the one they faced now. If that had happened, he would never have had to worry about the shadows which plagued his mind, he would never have lived long enough to reach that point. Or would have been far beyond reaching by the time he did.
He glanced again at the girl before him and frowned. What had she done? Why did the darkness no longer plague his thoughts? He thought he knew why she had suggested he sleep then, the darkness had been partially dispelled--he could see that now--though he knew not what the cause had been. That, he supposed, was the real question. Why had the darkness lost its hold?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Kelt trudged along silently in front of the Dunadan, a rare occurrence indeed as those of elven descent rarely trudged, and yet she did, fatigue pulling at every corner of her mind. Rarely had she extended herself to guard another's dreams--their night terrors being of course their own problems--and never against a force so persistent as the Ungwale in the ranger's system. She was grateful for his silence as she was not particularly sure she would have been able to answer coherently just this moment.
She resisted a sigh as she considered how she had ended up in this mess, then stifled a curse as she stumbled slightly on a small stone she had managed to overlook. She could just imagine the look on Shirk's face, and scowled darkly at the air before her.
She had been doomed, of course; from the moment she had unconsciously, instinctively saved Strider's life, she had been hooked. The instant she had begun to tend his wounds, to care for him, she had been ensnared beyond all hope of redemption, no matter what platitudes she told herself to the contrary. She cared for him, loved him even, after a fashion, and could not bear to see him suffer. Had never, in fact, been able to long endure the suffering and pain of others, a fact she had previously given little thought as she had been able to cover it up, and even now shied away from it, afraid of what it could possibly mean.
Chancing a quick glance back at her silent companion, afraid he would determine he did indeed wish to talk, she was pleased to note he had not noticed her stumble earlier and actually appeared to be quite deep in thought--actually thinking, too, instead of brooding. Pleased beyond any measure she would ever care to admit, the young one returned her attention forward, marking the passage of the tunnels and the time unconsciously and leaving her thoughts free to travel--against her will--down many varied paths.
Then, suddenly, she no longer traveled through a cave under the Misty Mountains. She was in a dark room, small and enclosed, locked with no escape; a scared little girl who had done nothing wrong save being born into a world that held no mercy and little kindness. Her step faltered, grinding to a halt and nearly dropping her to a ground as her momentum sought to keep her moving forward, her eyes dilating despite the fire light and for a moment--just a moment--eyes peered at her, shadows moved just beyond her vision and she was not alone with a ranger but locked in a room with monsters too terrible to imagine.
"Kalya?" A gentle hand grasped her shoulder.
She inhaled quickly, just managing not to jump, then banished the shadows back to the room they had escaped from and looked at the man who had turned her world upside down with an action she should have been grateful for. Worry and concern, emotions she had only ever seen in a few eyes, stared back at her from grey-blue depths. She breathed out slowly, releasing her anxiety with it and tensed muscles relaxed. "I'm alright."
He searched her gaze for some kind of answer and she held still, wondering if it was a good idea to let him get so close, though it was not physical proximity she was worried about. She had suffered no one near her for so long, could she truly--
She looked away abruptly, and pulled out of his grasp. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw his startled expression but could do nothing about it. She could allow no one near her. They all died. He would die. Shirk would kill him, just like he had killed her parents. "We must move on," she announced tonelessly, even as a small part of her mind rebelled at the idea of moving on. It insisted they were safer staying still. A lie, she knew, a comfortable lie made by a small little girl who was still trapped in a locked room hiding from monsters.
She started moving again and was relieved to hear Strider following. The last thing she wanted to do was have to answer more questions right now. A sad smile pulled at her lips; yes, her mother had been right. She had been right about many things, this not least of all: "You can not run from the past, my dear. It always moves faster than you, and sooner or later it will catch you. You will stumble or find yourself trapped with nowhere to go and it will catch up with you. Then, you have a decision to make: you can either let it overwhelm you, or you can fight back. Only you can make that choice." She hated caves.
After a few minutes, she relaxed, thinking the ranger was content to go back to silence. She should have known better.
"Are you happy?"
"What?" she asked, confused by the question and unable to stop herself. Against her better judgment glanced back at him.
He smiled slightly. "Are you happy?"
"Doing what?"
"Working for Shirk, for Sauron?"
She looked away, back at where she was going and sought to deflect the question. Well had she learned not to question, it was simply better that way, and she was not about to start questioning her feelings now. "Does it matter?" she asked instead.
"Yes," he insisted. "Are you happy?"
She frowned, thoroughly annoyed with the ranger who had saved her life. She did not want to talk, especially not about her emotions since that involved delving into areas she dared not travel. She did not want to think about it . . . but in this, also, she was doomed. The question had been posed, and whether she wanted to or not, she had to think about it. Her traitorous mind had the tendency to work that way. He fell silent, and she fell into memories. Was she happy?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Aragorn waited a few minutes, giving his companion time to think about a response. From her tone of voice, he would guess she was rather annoyed just this minute and figured that pressing an answer would not be precisely beneficial to his health.
To pass the time, he started examining the gray walls, looking for variations, anything, that would mark distance in the uniform tunnels. The rather discouraging thing was that they were not even smooth tunnels and were actually fairly rough, yet he still could not tell one section from another. He could not understand how Kalya seemed to know exactly where she was going. Tunnels which told him nothing apparently told her where she was. He frowned slightly, wondering where she had learned so much about these little used tunnels. He bit his lower lip momentarily before coming to a decision.
"So?" he asked.
Kalya looked back at him, a glare marring her fair features dark enough to send a thrill of fear skittering down his spine . . . until he realized there was little real anger behind it. "Are humans always so persistent?" she demanded.
"Yes," he replied as if the answer were obvious, then raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"No, I suppose not." She looked away from him, staring down the tunnel before her. He wished he could see her eyes to know what she was thinking.
"You could do something different," he observed, seeking to learn more about her thoughts.
She shook her head somberly. "Not so easy."
"Never so easy," he agreed readily, "but you could still do it."
She was silent for a few moments, possibly thinking about what he had said, but in the end, it was not convincing enough, for she said, "I would never be given the chance."
"How come?" he wanted to know, or at least thought he did, not that he wanted to give the matter much thought.
The silence that followed made him question asking, then, "Slyntari are very possessive. Once a part of the group, one does not leave . . . alive."
"They would have to find you first." he pointed out.
"One does not hide long from some of the best trackers in Middle-earth," she countered.
"But could not one who knows tracking also avoid detection," he insisted, refusing to just let this go since she seemed willing to continue the debate. It seemed important to him, somehow, that he get through to her, as if there was something that had to happen.
There was a brief pause. "I could not run for the rest of my life, Strider," she told him.
He shook his head, despite the fact that she could not see him. "You do not have to."
"I will not hide."
"Perish the thought," he allowed glibly.
"There is no way," she insisted. "One cannot run forever even if they wish, and all hidden things are found, eventually."
"There is always a way," he insisted, his tone brooking no room for argument. "One just has to find it."
"Are you always so incredibly, overwhelmingly optimistic?" she asked, the frown apparent in her voice though she did not turn.
He laughed. "Perhaps this optimism is how I got my namesake," he mused without really meaning to.
Now she did look at him. "Do tell," she ordered, the first true interest he had seen in her since they had met, not forced for his benefit nor hidden, apparent in her voice and manner. Perhaps that meant she was moving further into the light.
He decided to continue and spoke again as if she had not. "Or how my namesake got me."
Kalya rolled her eyes and looked away. "What is it?" she asked.
"Estel."
"Hope?" she asked, her tone once again amused.
He confirmed it. "Yes."
She was quiet for some time and he let the silence be. He figured she would again fall into silence and they would continue on without speaking. He was surprised, then, when she spoke only a few minutes later. "It fits," she announced.
"What?" he asked, somewhat startled and a bit confused.
"Estel," she clarified. "You are the Hope of Men."
He clenched his jaw and made no reply. The Hope of Men . . . yes, he had heard that before. Elrond, in fact, had used those very words when he revealed the young man's heritage to him not even ten years before. He remembered being proud to have such a high heritage, but that was before. Before he realized the very real weight of such a responsibility. It was a burden he knew he was not strong enough to bear. Isildur had been a stronger man than he and he fell to the darkness. It was incredibly unfair to be hope to others when there was no hope for himself.
He looked up when he felt the weight of someone's gaze and found piercing eyes focused on him. He frowned. "What?"
"You are their king," she said, and he caught the unspoken question. If he was their king, why was he out here? Why did no king sit on the throne in Gondor?"
He looked away. "I cannot be their king."
"Why not?"
Grey eyes darkened as the shadows again rose up inside of him, pushed on by the drug flowing through his system. "You know of Isildur and what he did--or didn't do. You know what my ancestors have continued by their weakness."
He saw understanding flash through her gaze, but not the sympathy he usually saw from his father or brothers when they spoke. "You are not them." He was slightly surprised that she nevertheless spoke the same words.
He ground out the next words even though he desired to speak no more of it. It was as if some outside force had overtaken his body and was forcing him on despite his deepest protests. "The same blood flows through my veins."
"Similar," she agreed, "but still different. That difference could be enough."
"But it also could not." He wished she would stop speaking, then he would have no reason to keep delving into this horrid topic. He did not wish to speak of his heritage. He had spent years not speaking of it.
"And yet it is your destiny."
"I will not be king!" he snapped, his temper flaring briefly, though it garnered not so much as a flinch from his companion. Then more quietly, almost to himself, "The risk is too great."
"Without risk there is no achievement, no great men."
He looked up at her, anguish clear in his eyes. "I am not half so great as my ancestors and they failed. How can I hope to triumph where they could not?"
"Because you must," Kalya answered simply. "If the darkness is yours to face would you really turn away from it? You do not strike me a coward, Aragorn."
The dĂșnadan looked away and said nothing. She, like his family, would never understand that he could not accept the fate of so many into his hands. He could not condemn so many for his folly, if folly it was. He hoped--again--that she would leave him be. And again he did not get his wish.
"Your people need a leader, son of Arathorn. I have seen them."
Anger and frustration welled again inside him. "As have I."
"Yet you leave them to fight the darkness alone," she continued without any consideration for what the words did to his heart.
"They are better off without me as leader," he declared.
"Not from what I have seen," the young Slyntari countered.
"You have not seen much," he said shortly, his voice clipped in anger.
He would never say she was not perceptive, no matter what, for she surprised him with her answer, though he could not deny that she had seen through him, and he wanted to. "Self-pity does not become you," she told him haughtily.
"Nor you," he shot back, knowing that she would not be able to deny that, either. She did not.
The small silence that followed told the ranger that he had hit his mark with the barb, just as her next comment showed that she was not yet willing to call game. "You cannot run from your destiny forever," she declared, her voice uncompromising.
"I am not running," he ground out through clenched teeth.
"Nor can you hide," she continued without missing a beat. "It will find you eventually. Will you be able to face it when it comes?"
He turned away yet again from her piercing gaze. They seemed to see straight through him and he did not want her to see him, judge him, and find him lacking. His heart would not be able to bear it. Confronting her, it seemed, was getting him no where. Perhaps a little misdirection would work where direct conflict did not, so he changed the subject. "When we get out of here, will you come with me to Rivendell?"
She hesitated, thrown, he thought, by the question. Any hope he had that she would be distracted from her intended conversation, however, was fruitless. "Will you accept your destiny?"
He glared at her. One so young should not be so annoying. "It is not that simple."
She looked at him, her gaze clear. "Now you understand," she intoned.
When they had stopped walking, he could not say, but he watched, dumbfounded, as she turned away and began walking once more. He wondered if that had been her goal all along but felt he would never know. But he did understand, and he thought--just maybe--she understood his dilemma as well, as no one else had. Everyone thought it was a simple matter, easily taken care of by simple choice, one that seemed obvious to all but those facing it. Yes, she, of all who had discussed his destiny with him, understood. He was sure of it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Silent figures flooded into the valley, moving quickly among the broken stones and shattered greenery. Bows were out and arrows drawn as the many beings sought to catch anything that moved before it caught them. Anxious eyes swept the area, half expecting to be ambushed, yet nothing moved.
A tall, regal, completely silent being moved onto the scene and the others snapped to attention, clearing the way for him when he walked, yet anyone could tell it was no mere man.
Keen eyes scanned the area, and a small, cruel smile stretched across his face. "Secure the area. Make sure nothing breathes without our knowledge." Figures scattered to comply. "No one is to know we are here. Kelt is not stupid. She will know we should be here. Do not underestimate her, nor the one she is with. Take them, and take them alive."
The area cleared out quickly, quicker than any man would have thought possible. Yet in the space of a few heartbeats the valley was as clear as if nobody had ever been there. Shirk looked around carefully, elven eyes scanning the area for anything out of place. Finding nothing, he smiled.
Come, little one. Master's waiting. Now you will call me Master, and no body's here to save you this time. . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The rest of their journey was conducted in silence, the anger still a tangible force between them and, though much diminished, it still strained their companionship. While before the silence had been preferred, now it was required. They had stopped for Aragorn to sleep briefly and continued on their way. Little more than a day was left in their journey through the mountains and she wondered if the foul mood would carry over into fresher air.
Kelt sighed. Angering the ranger had not been her intention. In fact, she was not quite sure what her intentions had been in continuing that conversation. She just knew Aragorn, heir of Isildur, had to assume the mantle of leadership and that would not happen if he refused his responsibilities. Of course, it also would not happen if he were dead.
Discreetly, she brought up a hand to rub at her temple, which had begun to throb quite painfully. Elvish blood helped her heal, and her ribs no longer truly bothered her, and her concussion was all but gone, any cuts long since healed, but her current lack of sleep was doing nothing to aid her. The stress she found herself under due to the drug in Aragorn's system and the shadows growing in her mind made the situation easier not at all. Sometimes, she thought, it really does not pay to get up in the morning. Except in her case, that morning had long passed, for she would have to go back to a time before she had even seen the ranger to find a time that was not tainted.
She was tired and she knew it and knew Aragorn knew it. He would have had to be blind to not know for she had been stumbling more frequently of late, her steps unsteady in a way they had not been even when she was injured, and was was most certainly not blind. She had caught the odd looks he sent her way whenever he thought she did not see. Fatigue, though, she could deal with. Were this just simple fatigue she would have no problem. No, this was a combination of many things and lack of sleep was only one of them and a minor one at that.
More trying were the shadows of the past which contact with the Ungwale in Aragorn's system had resurrected. Far too frequently for her liking, she found herself looking twice at a shadow, thinking it was more than it was, a monster from her dreams.
That, while the most trying, was not the one that troubled her the most. It was the shadow growing on her mind, warning of trouble that was truly the worst, for she could not place what the warning was. That uncertainty, and the struggle to erase it, while still functioning with the other problems, was causing her headache, and she was still no closer to identifying the impending threat than she had been when she began the attempt.
Kelt frowned, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind insisting she was overlooking the obvious answer. She hated those feelings.
A crossroads with several tunnels branching off the one they walked brought both to a halt. She watched out of the corner of her eyes as Aragorn walked forward and stood next to her, watching her. He wanted to know which way to go, she knew, but she could not tell him. Sometime during their trek, concerns other than what their path was had consumed her attention and pushed out that crucial information. She had thought there were still several leagues before they were to come to this intersection. Was there another one she had forgotten? Blue eyes scanned each path in turn, searching for a match in her memory and coming up blank as her headache intensified, a frown scrunching up her forehead, and her surroundings seemed to waver out of focus like she was about to black out.
"Which way do we go?" Aragorn finally asked.
She passed a hand over her face, hoping to wipe away some of the stress, and again looked at the various tunnels. She could not think. Which way? She could not afford to be wrong. "I do not know," she whispered. Never before had she feared the darkness, not even after the drug except in dreams, but now she found herself paralyzed, fearful of moving lest she plunge everything further into the dark with one foul move. And still she could not say why she cared. The dark was what she served. . . . Was it not?
Confusion swirled through her mind. She could not think, could not decide. She was startled when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder, starting slightly before her mind focused enough to remember Aragorn's presence. It was even longer before her eyes managed to focus on his face. "I don't know where to go," she murmured helplessly.
"Yes you do," he denied calmly. "You know, but you must be calm. There is no hurry, Kalya, no pressure. Just relax and let the knowledge come." He swept his hand down her arm in a calming gesture, his presence steady.
Slowly, the bowstring tension relaxed from her lean frame and she trembled ever so slightly with its release. Kelt returned her attention to the tunnels and passed her gaze over them once again, allowing her senses to take over her mind. Her eyes drifted half closed and she released all her worries, easing the mental burden she had assumed hours ago without her direct knowledge. At ease, she suddenly knew exactly where she was and where they now needed to go.
She turned toward the third door from the right, and froze. Images flashed before her eyes: startled blue eyes, an arrow protruding from living flesh, angry elven eyes flashing with hatred, a dozen beings, surrounded, helpless. And knew.
A quick glance back at Aragorn, intending to suggest they turn back or take a different route, but in that moment she realized the Hope of Men had no hope except the one path that led to death. There was nothing she could do to change it. She turned back around.
"This way," she announced, her voice expressionless as she struggled to determine what action to take. She started walking. For now, there was nothing to do except go forward. The steady foot falls of the ranger marked his presence behind her.
Kelt measured the distance in her head, and the speed of their travel. She had eight hours to figure out how to save the king of men from the poison that threatened his mind and the doom that awaited him at journey's end. Right. Then I'll blow myself up and come back to life, a living relic that rids the world of evil, she thought sarcastically. She looked up, towards the stars that she could not see, wishing for some of the wisdom her mother had always talked about, had always held even if she would not see it, had always insisted would be there if she but searched for it. Yet now, when she truly needed it, she found the stars were silent.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Elladan looked up, truly realizing for the first time in days how far south he had traveled. Rivendell lay not too much further and he nearly panicked at the thought that he had seen neither of his brothers since after he and Elrohir had decided to give Aragorn his space. What if something had happened to them and he had been too far away to hear it? They could be dead for all he knew, and then what would he tell Ada?
He swallowed and looked around, noticing that he was very near a pass, one of a few in this location, even though it did not go all the way through the mountains. He wondered where Elrohir was. Perhaps, a small part of his mind tried desperately, just perhaps Elrohir had already found Estel and both were perfectly fine.
Unfortunately the elder twin knew his human brother far too well. The human had a knack for finding every being who could ever wish him harm no matter how far from civilization they were, or how close. The elf seriously considered strangling both his brothers when he finally found them for causing him so much worry, but knew that no matter how angry he was with them, he would settle for simply finding them again, alive and well--no matter how unlikely a prospect that seemed. The danger they had come out hunting was too great to hope that Aragorn would be well.
The dark-haired being shrugged, then continued on towards the pass. It could hardly hurt to stop by, after all. He was no where near finding either of his brothers standing where he was and had no place he could think of to check. Plus, he had heard it was very beautiful. Besides, who knew, they just might have had the same thought he did.
On that note, and clinging to a hope he did not particularly feel, he made his way over the crumbling rocks and rotting vegetation, along with the few weeds who clung desperately to life, towards the dark line he could just make out in the distance that signaled the pass.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Elrohir looked around. Rocks, plenty of rocks, stretched out around him in every direction for as far as he could see. Not far, admittedly, since he was in a depression which severely limited his range of vision, but that did little to diminish the impact of the vision. He sighed and once again began to climb, hoping that this time he would finally reach a point where he could see something--anything--other than rocks.
The dark-haired elf reached the top of his chosen escarpment and looked around. A small frown appeared on his fair face when the sight that greeted him was no different than what he had been looking at for the past two days. It deepened when he turned and saw a break in the more or less uniform gray that surrounded him. He was not sure whether what he saw was an improvement or not for he could not tell what it was.
The being thought for a moment, then sighed. He had been traveling for days with no change in scenery. He had lost his brother--both of them, though it had been longer since he had seen Estel than Elladan. Really, he had nothing to lose, so with resigned curiosity, the elf began making his way toward the darker splotch near the horizon that he had caught sight of. With any luck, which was looking doubtful, he would reach this anomaly before another day had passed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The exit from the cave appeared before them as a pale white glow in the distance. Kelt heard Aragorn sigh in relief behind her and nearly smiled--his dislike of caves was distinctly elvish--though she could not share his relief. Her own feelings of apprehension had only grown as the hours and leagues melted away. She wondered if she should tell the human what was likely waiting for them outside the caves. He had a right to know yet she could not quite bring herself to speak of it, perhaps afraid to voice her suspicions lest she somehow conjure them before her.
Still, they continued forward, on towards their doom--Kelt felt--and she said nothing, but the tension in her frame had to have betrayed something or else the human also felt some kind of warning for she felt him tense as well.
She paused and looked back at him, his gaze catching and holding her own. "Are they out there?" he asked.
She nodded. "I think so."
His gaze strayed to the opening, through which one could just make out the lush greenery and colorful plants that lay beyond. "Do we have a chance?"
She followed his gaze. Her first instinct was to tell him no, they had no chance. They were dealing with ruthless individuals who tortured and killed people for pleasure. Beings like that did not leave two enemies, two who had betrayed them, alive. Yet, something else told her that was wrong. She shook her head slowly. "There is always a chance."
"Then lead on," he said, seeming to steal himself against what was to come.
Kelt watched him for a moment, her respect for this one raising a notch, even as her pity and despair threatened to send her into a dark pit that would be nearly impossible to recover from and ensure their demise just as surely as an arrow from Shirk's bow. She shook herself and continued her way towards freedom--and the trap she was sure lay on the other side.
She feared not even the ranger's newfound resolve would save him now.
They emerged into the outside world and fresh air for the first time in far too long, by the accounting of both travelers, the bright glow of the sun overhead momentarily blinding them. Not that it mattered: Kelt felt the others around them. They were surrounded and her heart sank even before she heard Shirk speak.
His smooth voice, accented by anger and full of deadly promise, rolled out from the brightness beyond, greeting them in elvish. "Welcome to the Tumna Falqua, friends. We have been expecting you."
More than a dozen arrows were pointing at them from every side, their only escape being to retreat back into the caves they had just left, which would only delay the inevitable. Against every instinct inside of her, Kelt stood her ground and did not fight when some of her own stepped forward and relieved both her and Aragorn of their possessions. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the ranger flexing his fists. Capitulating, obviously, did not sit well with him, either. But what else could they do? Fighting would get them no where . . . but neither would giving in. Both led to death.
Yet where there was life. . . .
Their arms were bound securely behind their back, the ropes digging painfully into their skin and led away, further into the pass. Something inside whispered wait, and she could only obey and hope it knew what it was talking about. At Shirk's mercy was a place she did not care to be, and a place she had gone to great lengths in the past to avoid. He would enjoy this, and she had led the both of them straight into it . . . with her eyes open. She shot Aragorn an apologetic look and he merely shrugged, smiling slightly in return.
Their attention, however, was soon returned to the man who held their fate in his hands. "Kelt, Ranger: it was so good of you to join us," he said smoothly. "Now we can . . . play." The grin that the Slyntari graced them with sent shivers down Kelt's spine. It was an expression she had seen many times in the past, and it never meant anything good. She saw no reason why that should change now. Shirk was not known for his kindness.
After she and Aragorn were secured against a tree and the various devices Shirk always carried laid out before them, Kelt decided she would rather not already know what to expect. The look in the dĂșnadan's eyes suggested he also had a very good idea what to expect and also wished he did not.
When Shirk stepped forward and picked up one of the tools--a nasty looking corkscrew-curved blade, Kelt wondered if this was what her mother had meant when she had informed her daughter that one day she would press her luck too far. The wicked smile on her leader's face seemed to confirm it.
