Almost to the end. Then on to the next, how fun. *g* Gee, everyone's so busy. . . . If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like me anymore. Hehe. Luckily, I think I know better. You'll like me better when I bring Legolas into the picture, I think. Anyway. . . .

Nell-Marie: LOL. I'm glad you love it. Technically, you're my 40th reviewer. I don't know if it counts or not if I never got two of them, but yeah! If I could give you something, I would. *g* Oh, um, well . . . Just read, you'll find out more about what happens to the girl. *g* hehe.

Let's see, we find out where Elladan and Elrohir are and stuff happens. Me and my brother had an interesting little laugh over this chapter at 2 a.m., when he was proof-reading this for me......something haveing to do with trees and bushes.....lol. *g*

Enjoy.

Chaos

"NO!"

The cry ripped through the still air, startling every being in the clearing, and snapping Kalya's head--along with everyone else's--up to look in the direction of the cry. The girl felt her heart sink at the sight of the ranger, standing, heedless of his danger. Yet she could do nothing. The trials of the past couple of days along with her injuries and insurmountable fatigue, were finally conspiring to steal consciousness away from her. The pain--incredibly bright--was sinking away as her senses numbed.

As she sank into the comforting black of oblivion, she thought, Strider, you fool. Why couldn't you have just run?

Then her eyes closed and she knew no more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elladan's head snapped up like a deer who has just sensed danger was near, his grey-blue eyes riveted to the southeast, the direction from which the cry had come. The pain-filled denial had startled the elf, for he had not expected it; he had caught no sign of another's presence, though there was another reason that made his blood turn to ice: it had sounded like Estel.

Without another thought, the two-thousand-sodmething-year-old elf began running, his heart demanding he answer the call of his human brother.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elrohir ran, jumping nimbly over rocks in his haste, sometimes more sliding than running as rocks crumbled beneath his feet and slid down the mountain with him, heralding his approach with their skittering. He did not care; the only thing that mattered was reaching Estel and taking care of whatever had caused his brother to cry so, his blood pounding furiously through his veins.

He feared something terrible had befallen the young human, and his mind ably raced with dreadful possibilities. The memory of losing his mother to orcish villainy still terrible and fresh in his mind, and he knew he could not stand to lose the young Dúnadan to the same fate.

A drop appeared before him, having finally arrived at the invisible pass--even to elvish eyes--from a direction with no entrance; not pausing, he jumped.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The heart-wrenching cry burst the tense silence that had descended upon the riders, causing the horses to pause mid-stride and the herds of the entire company to come up. Keen elven eyes sought to pierce the stone that lay between them and the owner of that voice, dread coalescing like a hard rock in the pit of their stomachs.

"That sounded like Estel," Taima observed, his voice unable to conceal the fear the elf felt for his friend as he vocalized what they all thought.

The company glanced at each other, then, as one, pushed their mounts faster. Deep in his heart, Glorfindel feared they would arrive too late to help the young human, but he also feared what may have happened to Elrond's sons, for he could think of little that would force such a broken cry from the strong youth's lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A breathless stillness engulfed the clearing as the echoes of the cry died away. The Slyntari were too surprised by the unexpected outburst to react to the intruder in their midst. The fact that it was the ranger they had been unable to find was a double shock (for they had thought he was long gone by now) and took a minute to sink in.

When it finally did, they charged the distraught human, the younger of the group issuing war cries as they ran, swords brandished before them. The others followed more slowly, content to allow the "children" the chance to exercise their skill.

Oblivious to the beings rushing at him, Aragorn took a step toward the fallen figure, only to duck as something shiny descended towards his head, belatedly realizing it was a sword. He heard the thud as the weapon struck a tree and for the first time focused on his surroundings, taking in the rather large group of armed people coming at him; his eyes widened. The snapping of a twig behind him was the only warning he had before another sword was swung at his head. He ducked, then darted off to his right, only to skid to a halt as he rounded the tree to find another man bearing a sword before him. Again, the ranger was forced to duck.

He reached for his sword as he stood back up, only to find it missing. He froze, eyes wide. Facing so many, unarmed, was not a promising endeavor. He needed a weapon other than the dagger he had appropriated earlier.

Another sword swung towards him, forcing the ranger to move or be skewered. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his foot caught on a tree-root. Then a sword slammed into the tree where he would have been standing. For once, Aragorn was grateful to be clumsier than an elf (it made up for being slower).

The ranger rolled and, taking advantage of the close proximity of his prey, kicked the man, who dropped his sword as he stumbled backwards. Aragorn continued the roll and grabbed the sword, then scrambled backwards, narrowly managing to keep all his fingers when another blade crashed into the ground before his face.

Quickly, the Dúnadan gained his feet, relishing the feel of the sword in his hand as he parried the next blow that came his way. A person to his left struck at him, and he intercepted it, forcing it away from him as he hastily stepped backwards, desperate for a chance to regain his breath and his bearings.

A seconds pause, then they were on him again, darting forward and forcing his retreat so as not to be overwhelmed. They came at him fast and in great numbers, but were uncoordinated in their attack, which allowed him a chance.

Desperately, he fought on, his blade a blur as he struggled to meet each new offensive. Never before had he been more grateful for the "chaos training"--one on any-number-greater-than-ten battles--Elladan and Elrohir had forced on him as a youth after he had grasped the basics of sword-fighting. What he had once considered useless had now come in handy twice--in less than two weeks. It was not something he wanted to do again anytime soon. Assuming I survive this, he thought. Ai, they're worse than Orcs!

He ducked again, then ran backwards a short distance before reversing direction to again face his adversaries. Using a small tree to redirect his momentum as he swung around it, he met the first in line with surprising force, driving the other's sword back at him. The being yelped and fell, slipping in his unthinking haste. Aragorn drove the tip of his sword through the other's chest, then he spun on his knee and brought his sword up to meet the next strike. The blade slid as their masters struggled in a contest of strength with neither gaining ground.

Aragorn broke off the attack, throwing himself backwards over his fallen enemy before rolling to his feet. Once again level with his enemies, the ranger rejoined the fight.

Metal clanged. The forest rang with the sounds of battle. Long minutes passed, and one would be hard-pressed to claim one man fought against many by the sounds that could be heard from the clearing in which Shirk stood. If one did not know better it would be easy to claim it was two small forces going head-to-head.

Yes, Shirk mused. Kelt was right. That one is quite skilled. A malicious smile crossed his face, though it was marked by none. He glanced behind him nonchalantly, taking in the still figure that lay barely two feet away in a growing puddle of blood. He dismissed her as a possible threat (she would not be going anywhere anytime soon), then returned his attention to the fight still ongoing under the trees, keen elven eyes easily spotting the combatants. He would enjoy playing with the ranger, he decided, and he had better toys than the Ungwale.

A second being finally fell to Aragorn's sword, and he actually managed to count his assailants: twelve, with at least eight more standing back, watching. The young ranger wondered why, then quickly decided he did not care so long as they stayed away. He had more than he could deal with already.

Slash. Parry. Duck. Swing. Turn. Parry. Strike. Aragorn had long since given up trying to form a strategy for this fight. His mind would not cooperate. See and React; Elladan had warned him against falling to such tactics before, stating traps were difficult to avoid when one gave no thought to the future, but it could not be helped. Something would have to give--either his opponents or his body; the Dúnadan could not keep up this punishing pace much longer. He had a feeling it would be his body that quit first.

Still, he kept fighting, positive he did not want to end up in Shirk's hands nor at his mercy. He had a feeling the Slyntari leader would not let his men kill him if there was any way to stop it. Fear kept him fighting, even after strength and hope failed.

Yet even as he continued to parry stroke after stroke, he knew he was quickly running out of time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Twelve yards. Thirty-six feet.

That is how far Elrohir fell before he again reached solid ground. Unprepared, even elven reflexes could not save him, and the shock of impact jolted through his lithe frame even as he allowed his body to continue down into a roll to help absorb the impact. Of course, such techniques to minimize damage work best when there are no hard objects to bar one's path.

Elrohir had this information forcefully driven into his head when his roll firmly introduced him to one such hard object.

Brilliant lights flashed before his eyes, obscuring his vision. Then the elf finally came to a stop, a rather undignified heap on the valley floor. Dazed, the fair being cautiously pushed himself up, pausing as the world decided to go on a trip without him. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the nauseating view and easily decided that jumping from an unknown height without looking was not one of the wiser things he had ever done. He made a mental note to exclude this little episode when his brother asked what happened later. He did not want his father learning of this, either.

The thought of what Elrond would do if--when--he discovered this, nearly made Elrohir groan out loud independent of his aching head. He did not want to think about it, he decided.

Finally, the pounding in his head diminished, becoming a dull throb at the base of his skull. Deciding he had nothing to lose by tempting fate, he stood. He watched as the world spun once before settling down like it was supposed to. Then, satisfied it was not going to jump or anything else as soon as he started moving, Elrohir ran. He moved quickly, dodging trees and leaping over bushes, his movements graceful as always and fleet as a deer.

His intimate meeting with the rock had knocked a bit of sense back into him, so he no longer ran blindly and instead scanned his surroundings, looking for anything out of place.

Then, something that should never happen, happened. Despite scanning his surroundings with his kind's keen eyes and listening with his kin's sharp ears, Elrohir did yet another thing he never wanted to tell his brother--neither of them--nor his father: he stumbled, unknowing, into the middle of an orc camp.

Elrohir burst past a shield of leaves into a fair sized clearing, intent on getting to Estel, and froze. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the orcs before him. His shoulders slumped just notably as his wandering gaze took in the foul creatures to either side of him and behind him. It simply had to be his luck that he found--when he really did not want to--the orcs he and his brothers had been searching for--and really tried to find--earlier. Valar, he cried silently. It's not fair!

The stillness lasted for another moment as both sides got a good look at each other, gleeful smiles adorning orc faces, then pandemonium broke out and all parties started moving.

The orcs rushed forward and Elrohir drew his sword. He twirled the long blade at his side, then swung it up for a high block of an orc scimitar. He pushed the crude blade down as he turned, ending with his side to his enemy. With his left hand he quickly drew his dagger, holding it reversed in his hand, and swung his arm back. The short blade buried to the hilt in the creature's neck. He stepped back, pulling his blade with him, and the orc body fell. Six more orcs were revealed by their fellow's fall, and Elrohir quickly looked around him for an escape. None was to be found.

He set his feet and pushed from his mind the knowledge that more than thirty orcs were preparing to rush him, and tried to convince himself this was just like Elladan's insane "chaos training" and not a big problem. Trying, however, proved a problem: he failed miserably. It had been a long time since he had fought alone against so many. Father will most definitely not be pleased.

An orc bellow echoed close by, sending a small shudder of mingled fear and hatred down his back though it did not bother him. However, the answering cries--many of them, his mind traitorously supplied--did. The color drained from his face. Oh, this is not good.

Then the distance between him and the orcs disappeared, as did the time for thought, and the clash of metal against metal joined the pounding of feet and loud battle cries in the still air.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Glorfindel looked up, a familiar dark feeling descending on his mind, a shadow that pressed in on his thoughts. Orcs. The elf lord's eyes narrowed and measured the distance to the pass that could just barely be seen by eyes that knew what to look for.

Two leagues. So close, yet too far. The twins and the young human would have to make due for a while longer.

Hold on, young ones. Just hold on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elrohir swung his sword with brutal force, ruthlessly forcing the vile creatures away from him. Any who dared stray too close fell to the sting of his blade. Sharp eyes flickered over the converging enemy, jittery as they were, and took their count.

Too many.

Slowly but surely, the elf pushed his way towards the trees. If he could just gain the forest again, he could lose the orcs in the trees and continue on to his missing brother.

He ducked a wide swing and met another, then swung his blade from across his body and around his head, scattering the orcs before him and catching a deadly blade that had arched towards his back. Suddenly, he darted forward, using his enemies' distraction, and quickly gained the trees. He swung himself up and scrambled into one of the higher branches out of the way of ambitious orcs.

Once safely above them, he looked down. Their angry jeers easily reached his ears, grating in their harshness. A few began attempts to follow him and the others clustered around eagerly. Elrohir had seen enough. He darted off over the branches, springing from limb to limb as nimbly as if he was on the ground.

Even as the distance grew, he could hear them coming behind him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elladan moved through the forest cautiously. Having finally reached the pass, common sense had again set in and the elf's movements had slowed, eyes darting around to spy any enemies that could be hidden in the growth around him. That is not, however, to say he moved slowly.

The dark haired elf paused, unsure where his human brother was. There were no tracks in this area to lead him one way or another and he dared not be wrong. A slender hand rested against a nearby tree trunk as he slid into thought. He wished he could talk to the trees the way his woodland friend could. In a forest, he knew, Legolas would have little trouble finding the human. Not so for him.

Disgusted with his inability, Elladan gave into a childish impulse and kicked at the ground. A slight sound almost straight ahead of him got him moving again. He was sure Estel did not have much time left. He charged through the trees as quickly as stealth would allow.

Gradually, sounds came to his ears to replace the tense silence that had surrounded him shortly after entering the forested pass. It took him a moment, but eventually he could discern the clashing of swords and the quick movements of feet over the ground. As the distance closed, he could also make out the humans' heavy breathing. A grunt of pain and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground nearly froze his heart, except that in the next instant he realized the voice had not been Estel's.

The elf crept forward more slowly as the humans finally moved into view between the foliage. Cold fury lit in his veins when he saw seven men attacking his brother. Sharp eyes caught two or three other bodies strewn across the ground, obviously dead. Fierce pride for the young one's accomplishments chased the fury. Outnumbered, Estel had still managed to beat them back and take them down, and had apparently been doing so for a while. That realization sent worry following on the heels of his pride and he observed the ranger closely.

Sweat beaded Estel's face and plastered his shirt to his back. His sword--no, someone else's sword, Elladan noted with a frown--still swung quickly through the air, moving in time to meet each attack. However, Elladan was well used to watching the human fight and knew his skills well. Estel's counter strikes were not coming as quickly as normal, nor were his footsteps so fleet or nimble. Fatigue was pulling at the human. Sooner or later he would make a mistake, and Estel could not afford mistakes.

Elladan prepared to go to his aid, just about to rush forward and make his presence known--and felt--when what he had predicted happened.

He watched, horrified, as his brother's sword was knocked from his hand and the ranger stumbled backward from the power of the blow. The elf saw the blow that would end his brother's life even before the weapon was pulled back.

Quickly, with a speed only elves could manage, Elladan strung his bow and held it firmly before him. He watched. As his brother's attacker pulled back his arm in preparation for the stroke that would end the young ranger's life, the elf pulled an arrow and notched it, pulled back and took aim. Then, before the blow could fall, Elladan released the arrow.

It flew true, catching the man in the neck and halting his movements. Shock widened his eyes and his hand made an aborted motion towards his throat even as his sword dropped from suddenly numb fingers. His companions did not notice, and Elladan did not pause. As soon as he had released the arrow, the dark haired elf drew a second and released it. Two more fell in rapid succession before the rest realized what happened. They turned to face the new threat and a fourth fell to precise elven shooting.

The distraction was enough for Estel, who quickly reclaimed his sword and ran it through one of the human's chests. The remaining two withdrew as the elf came running up to his youngest brother.

"Estel!" he cried. "Are you alright?"

"Elladan!" the human exclaimed, relief overwhelming the fatigue momentarily. "You're here! And yes, yes. For once I'm fine. Not even a scratch."

The elf looked more closely at the tired human and noticed quite a few scratches, mostly on his arms. They were all shallow, too much so to draw blood though they were certainly red. They were the kind of scratches one got for moving quickly among trees heedless of their branches. Elladan decided to let it go; they were superficial. He could hardly believe the young one had truly fought so many and actually remained unscathed. Father will die of shock, Elladan decided.

"I'm impressed," he replied, whistling slightly.

"There are more," Estel continued before he could say any more. "These weren't even the best of the crew. There are at least eight more, plus the two that retreated. Their leader is an elf and they all work for Sauron."

Elladan looked at the human in shock. "What?" he hissed. "Impossible!"

"No, it--" Aragorn cut off with a frown as Elrohir suddenly dropped down between them. The human was used to elves appearing out of nowhere, but that did not mean he liked it, even if Elladan's appearance had saved his life.

"Estel! Elladan! We'd better leave," he announced. "Orcs are coming."

"Orcs?" Aragorn question, his frown deepening. " Kalya said there were no orcs."

"Who's Kalya?" Elladan asked.

Elrohir said, "Well I found them, and last I heard they were coming right behind me."

"A girl," Aragorn replied.

"Where did you come from?" Elladan demanded.

Elrohir pointed off to the northwest. His brothers looked in time to see the horde rushing toward them, at least a hundred strong. The twins turned to move in the opposite direction and came face-to-face with the remaining Slyntari. They froze. The ten they had known about had been joined by another five, apparently drawn by the commotion. Shirk was still nowhere to be seen.

Not sure which enemy to face but sure they could not turn their backs to either one, the three brothers stood with their backs together.

"I don't suppose they'll play nice?" Elrohir asked hopefully.

Elladan glanced back at him. "Precisely what is an Orc's definition of nice?" he demanded.

"About the same as a Slyntari's," Aragorn replied.

"There are Slyntari here?" Elrohir hissed.

Aragorn glared at him. "Who did you think our other friends were?"

Elladan sighed. "What am I going to do with you two?" he asked, exasperated. "I leave you alone for a minute and you find trouble. No one else around for miles, and you find trouble."

"This is not 'no one', Elladan," Elrohir objected. "I think maybe we'd better have Father check your eyes."

Whatever reply Elladan had been going to make was cut off as the orcs finally charged, requiring the elder twin's attention. Elrohir joined in his defense against the onslaught, and Aragorn was surprised when the Slyntari did not charge the beleaguered brothers immediately. With is back to the orc horde (not a comfortable place to be no matter who's guarding you back), he was thus in a position to get another surprise: the orcs attacked the Slyntari.

His mouth dropped partly open in surprise. He did not have long to dwell on it, however, for at just that moment some unoccupied orcs discovered he was available. They rushed him.

Aragorn grit his teeth and tightened his grip on his sword. The ranger met the first's attack, promptly batting aside the blade before removing the creature's head. The second, enraged by his fellow's death, crashed into him. "Out!" he managed to yell to his brothers before he was unceremoniously knocked into Elladan's back, shoving the twin forward and off-balance. The elf quickly regained his feet as a fresh wave of orcs charged.

Aragorn, however, dropped to the ground, the orc landing on top of him, and winced slightly when he caught a boot in his head. The beast's hands closed around his neck--both had lost their swords sometime during the fall, apparently--and Aragorn wrapped his own hands around the other's wrists, desperately trying to keep the orc from applying that final bit of pressure which would snap his neck and end his life. So far, he was succeeding, but he could not breathe and dark spots were beginning to cloud his vision, bringing into question how long his accomplishment would last.

He was rather surprised, then, when the pressure suddenly released and he was able to pull the hands from his neck. A sword (now that he could see clearly) was pulled from the orc's back by one of the Slyntari, and the ranger gaped at him as the man moved on to another beast. With all the strange things that had been happening recently, Aragorn decided to ignore it as simply one more. Then he wondered if maybe he was not still having one of those dreams induced by that Ungwale drug of Shirk's.

No, he decided. Even I couldn't imagine this.

He rolled back to his feet, picking up his sword on the way. Another orc came at him, and he once again started the dance he had just managed--not all that long ago--to finish.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Shirk glowered into the trees, still standing in the same place he had been standing when the fight had begun. He was not upset that the Ranger still lived. Indeed, he was rather pleased with that, never mind that he was still fighting--he would be caught eventually.

The Slyntari leader was not even displeased with the appearance of two elves into the mix. It had been a long time since he had come into contact with his kin, and he was even looking forward to the opportunity to get . . . reacquainted. Even the deaths of his men, more than a dozen, could not be attributed as the cause of his foul mood; if they were competent, they would still be alive.

No, that was accounted for with the arrival of orcs. Shirk hated orcs, more even than the Dúnadain or men.

A squawk drew his attention skyward in time to see a black bird that he recognized quite well descending towards him. His glare becoming thunderous, the dark elf waited for the menace bird to land, then took out the message.

Return immediately, it read. I have a new job for you.

The Slyntari crumpled the paper in his hand. Just when the orcs were finally eliminated and he could turn his attention to more . . . pleasant things, his lord had to go and change plans.

Furious, he let out a shrill whistle and turned away, quickly and easily disappearing into the growth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elrohir cut the head off a nearby orc. Then he turned to meet the charge of another, who was actually closer than he had thought. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backwards into another orc, who--surprised--caught him. The elf quickly wrapped his arm around the orc's neck and flung him at his fellow. He was impaled on his companion's sword. The first orc roared in anger after removing his blade from the body, and charged.

The elf cut him down quickly and, as no one else presented themselves to him for head-removal, looked around. Only a handful of orcs remained scattered throughout the woods. Those who were brash enough to wander near any of the humans were promptly cut down. He caught sight of Elladan a little ways off and jogged over to him. Halfway there a high whistle split the air.

The heads of the surviving Slyntari--he counted fourteen--came up. The final orcs were dropped, blood spilling from one wound or another, then the humans turned and left, occasionally stooping to pick up something from the ground. Before long, they were gone.

The younger twin stood beside his brother and surveyed the carnage around them. Orc bodies lay piled on the ground, their black blood soaking and poisoning the ground. The humans he could see were young, almost innocent-looking in death. Nothing was around to connect them in any way to Sauron or Mordor. For all it looked, they could have come to the pass, run in to a large band of orcs, and been slaughtered, adventurous youths who pushed their luck once too far. He shook his head. He had a feeling that was how it was supposed to look.

Hoof-beats pounded against the ground, disturbing the silence that had once again descended on the area. The twins turned to face the intruders, tensed for battle, only to glance at each other with relieved smiles a moment later. "Elves," they breathed in unison.

A company of elves on horseback suddenly broke through the leafy growth from a western direction, and pulled to an abrupt halt. Glorfindel stared at them a moment, blinking slowly, then turned to take in the rest of the area around them. The others also sat upon their mounts, taking in the bodies scattered on the ground, expressions stunned.

Finally, the regal elf spoke. "Well, at least you've destroyed something other than the house," he remarked. The twins exchanged sheepish smiles.

Then someone else spoke up. "Where's Estel?"