ONE WAY STREETS

"Here I stand

All alone

Have my mind turned to stone

Have my heart filled up with ice

To avoid it's breaking twice

Thanks to you

My dear old friend

But you can't help

This is the end

Of a tale

That wasn't right

I wont have no sleep tonight

In my heart in my soul

I really hate to pay this toll

Should be strong

Young and bold

But the only thing I feel is pain"

(…)

"A tale that wasn't right" by "Helloween"

Author's note: Sentences in italic – Saruman's thoughts, not spoken aloud.

I.

 "The wood elves!" they had whispered to each other, and they had exchanged conspiratorial glances and knowing smiles. "The wood elves!" These three words had included their own world of magic; and they had coloured the cheeks of the elvish kids from Rivendell.

Yes, in the beginning not only Sam had been interested in the wood elves, their looks, their customs, and their songs. The most adventurous kids too, every now and then, had run into the forest to catch a look at them; for they occasionally were mentioned in the tales of their parents or grandparents, and always had been depicted as sufficiently strange and uncivilised to be considered to be bold; or even heroic, at least in the eyes of the enraptured listeners.

.

Of course the kids knew about the tragedy that had stricken the elves of their admiration, and they acted shy, running away the moment they felt being discovered, thus often causing a rare smile on the faces of the wood elves, in all the grief that surrounded them.

Now no kids ran into the forest anymore. Some of them had been ordered not to, by their parents, which increasingly feared and distrusted their sylvan relatives. The rest of the kids had been driven away by the wood elves themselves, their grim faces, equally grim words and harsh gestures.

No, the wood elves did not tolerate any observer, not even children, not after Saruman had told them what had happened – or probably would happen – to their prince.

Their anger hung like storm clouds over the wood, bone-crushing and electrifying at the same time, and Mardin knew how to use this anger when he finally held his speech, a speech, which was neither well-considered nor wise, which would never be retold in tales or even history books, but a speech which non the less – or maybe even for this reason - managed to inflame the hearts of the wood elves.

Mardin was in no way a skilled speaker, even clumsy for an elf with words, but his words were coming from an upright, valiant, and sincere heart, and the desperation and anger of his listeners had made sure that the seeds of them fell on fertile ground. Mardin´s words were nothing but coarse steel; but heard with desperation, they became swords, bows and spears, and a summon to arms, mightier and more haunting than even war horns would have been.

They had lit fires, in the midst of their provisory accommodations, which simultaneously accentuated light and shadows on their faces, and they had posted guardians, which, in the trees around them, carefully observed their surroundings.

Rivendell was no place of shelter anymore, and their friendship, their trust, even their gratefulness towards their saviours, had grown thin.

The wood elves would take their matters in their own hands once again, like they had always done, and this meant that they would be watchful; and protective of their own kind; once more.

Nothing, and no one, not even a Rivendell elf would approach them without them noticing, and allowing it.

Mardin's gaze flew over the martial crowd gathered at the fires around him, the warriors, leaning on their newly cut bows, their quivers tightly refilled with arrows; the elvish women, armed with bows as well, only slightly lighter than the ones of the men; all, all of them were there, and their sight filled Mardin's heart with pride.

Initially they had been sitting around the fires to warm themselves, but now they stood, one after another, and turned their attention to him, their unofficial leader after Legolas incarceration, and waited for him to speak up, as he had announced he would do.

"Wood elves." Mardin said. "Elves of the Mirkwood. Folk of Thranduil." The embers of the fires seemed to leap over in the eyes of the listening elves. Some of them bared their shining teeth; others hid their eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by grief.

"There are times in which life itself seems to progress slowly; and the days of those witnessing them are filled with happiness, joy and hopes. Our people, too, have lived to see such times. A proud, upright people, leading a free life in the Mirkwood, a people with it´s own laws and customs we were, depending on no one and friend to everyone which was a friend to us. Yes, untouched from the elapse of time we lived, and the songs we made these days were all merry and joyful.

But then, surprising like the first snowfall in the mountains; incidents are starting to follow hot on each other's heels; and time itself seems to condense; and the tales of the people living trough it are all too sudden full of grief, sorrow, agony and crushed hopes; and all their songs become sad.

Well, I do not have to tell you that we witness such times, these days, and that evil has come over us. When the orcs destroyed our homes and killed our brothers, they also killed every happy song on our lips, and so throughout, that we only can sing of loss and grief now, not even of revenge. At least up to now, for I do not doubt that many of you will carry the name "orc-hunter" in the future."

Some of the elves hissed angrily. It was a scaring sound, filled with hatred beyond imagination. Their pale faces with the high cheekbones seemed like carved from ivory, cold and distant. "The orcs have taken our homes; and almost wiped out our people. They'll pay for it." Some of the elves moved their lips to his words: "They´ll pay."

"Yet exactly in these times, in which all a people is living for seems lost; in which no stars shine at night and thoughts of hope are futile and foolish, the fate of a people is decided. Will it break and fade, defeated by storms that do not spare any people? Or will it face up to the storm, bending under the adverse winds, but holding out, with all it´s remaining strength; to finally stand once again, like a stormshattered oak, more upright, stronger than ever before?"

Mardin´s listeners stood like hypnotised. Some of them nodded their heads approvingly, others gripped their bows tightly, their faces still unreadable.

"I know what will be the fate of our people, and you know it, too."

They had thrown even more wood into the fire. The wood elves´ faces burned.


"But if you think that our ordeal, the injustice we have suffered, is over now, you´re wrong. Another attack on us has taken place, much more silently; and subtle; than the one of the orcs, but still an attack."

This was finally enough to arouse anxious whispers among his auditors.

"Yes, there has been an attack on us. An attack that is more treacherous than everything you witnessed before, for someone we regarded as an ally has accomplished it.

You know what I´m speaking of. You´ve heard it yourself: How the heir of Thranduil, our new king Elwyne, exhaled his life, poisoned under the very hands of Elrond. You´ve heard whom they have arrested, accusing him of this terrible crime:  his brother and heir, Legolas. He might be awaiting the death sentence the very moment we´re talking here…

In one point I agree with Lord Elrond though…" he almost spat the "Lord", "…To kill out of eagerness for power is a terrible crime." A malicious smile was suddenly on his lips.

 "Only that the wrong one has been accused of it." His words came now faster, more urgent, almost adjuratory.

"I say it is Lord Elrond himself who is to blame for all the terrible things that have happened in his house. "The last save haven", so they call it. Safe for their kind perhaps, but not for wood elves.

Have not our kings been lured to destruction in exactly this save haven? Aren´t we leaderless now, so he can finally claim the lordship over our people – and our lands and treasures? I do not doubt that he will do so…" Mardin´s voice trailed of, his gaze became unfocussed. For a few moments he did not say anything further. A nervous silence fell.

Then Mardin whispered:

"There are some dark, and evil tunes among the charming, enchanting melodies of Rivendell. We have to be careful now, very careful, for if we aren´t, the melody of the wood elves will fade away to never be heard again." It was obvious that he was talking to himself more than to his auditors.

"What shall we do then?" an elderly warrior exclaimed.

He was about the same age as Mardin, and if he didn´t really appreciate Mardin´s increasingly allegorical words, he did appreciate their meaning, though.

"What we always have done, in our own way. We confront Elrond and claim our king. With our bows risen. We didn´t start this false song, but we will have our own melody in it, and a mighty one."

"And if Elrond refuses to let Legolas Greenleaf go?" the rather pragmatical warrior asked further. "What if he risks an open fight for his willingness to reign us?"

"Then he´ll get what he wishes!" some of the wood elves exclaimed, having breathlessly followed the exchange of words.

„Yes, he´ll get what he wants." Mardin acknowledged in a hoarse voice.

"And when Lord Elrond does not even let you go after you have confronted him?"

The old warrior spoke up for one last time.

 "Then you know what you have to do." Mardin answered, shortly. "You know what you have to do then, even without me. Fight to the last man."

"Fight to the last man." Some of the wood elves repeated, and it sounded like a promise, dark and threatening, and sad at the same time.

II.

The air up here was pleasant, cool, fresh; gently touched his cheeks and lightly passed trough his hair. The balustrade under his grip felt cool as well, and for a moment Elrond was tempted to touch the beautifully carved wood with his hot forehead, as if it´s coolness would promise relief, as if it´s touch would bring some order into the chaos of thoughts in his head.

Elrond involuntarily smiled. It was a bitter smile. Anxiety had become a fast companion to him, ever since he first had taken a glimpse at the red sky over the burning Mirkwood, accompanying his day and haunting his dreams. It was strong in him, so strong that he needed all his strength to keep himself together, and to still wear his mask of cool, calm superiority. It would need a miracle to bring him relief.

Still there were decisions to be made – and he would have to make them alone. For alone he was – increasingly alone. For a moment he thought of Saruman, the mysterious, the superior, the wise; and of the fact that he´d become strange to him. There were these days at which his counsellor – most likely the counsellor of all free people in Middle-Earth – even was weird to him….

Sometimes, when Elrond had directed his look unexpectedly on the wizard, Saruman had not been able to advert his piercing glance fast enough, and Elrond uneasily awoke to the realisation that Saruman – for some reason or another – observed him, or even stalked him, at his every turn.

Maybe this was just the wizard´s way to show his concern for the elven king, which was involved in serious matters, but still there could be something else behind it, if one considered the fact that Saruman had mentally withdrawn from everyone.

He only did what crossed his mind, ate, drank and slept according to his own rhythms, and thus seemed to live in a world of his own, where the matters of others had no meaning to him.

Elrond knew something was tearing the wizard apart, from the inside, and occasionally, if Saruman believed himself unobserved, this something also appeared in his eyes…

With Gandalf it was no different. The grey pilgrim had buried himself in his, Elrond´s, library and only snatched a hurried meal if he was gently forced to do so, drank some wine, or ate some lembas or some fruits.

In his eyes there was a haunted expression, like it could be seen in the eyes of doomed men, something Elrond had never noticed before on Gandalf, and if the wizard was interrupted in his work, he would react either nervous or angry. It was obvious that he was desperately searching for something, but he would not willingly speak about it.

Elrond knew him long enough to not press the matter. No, at the moment even Gandalf was not good for a sound advice, but strangely enough Elrond felt, now that he wasn´t exposed to the influence of the two wizards, almost relieved, as if the cool night air had finally worked the wonder to calm him, at least a little bit.

The look over Rivendell from the top of his house was like always: Breathtaking and haunting at the same time. Elrond couldn´t exactly remember how many times he´d stood here before, in the small bay at the top of his residence, overlooking one of the last elvish realms. It was his harbour, his sanctuary, and the place where he sorted out his thoughts; and found new strength when the guidance of the Rivendell elves pressed down on him; and never had he left this place without new confidence, or at least some consolation.

Except him, only Arwen had come here occasionally. The thought of her stroke another painful chord in Elrond. Arwen, the evening star. For a moment his eyes searched the night sky. There it was, the evening star, a pale diamond at the dark horizon, bigger and more beautiful than any other star; but strangely enough he did not offer solace to Elrond.

Neither did his harbour.

Having finally awoken to this realisation, Elrond let go of the balustrade as if he had been burned. His heart was in his mouth, and for an irrational moment he felt surrounded, and hunted down, from some unknown evil forces greedily reaching out for him.

His breathing was laboured. No, it weren´t evil forces which had finally caught up with him, but sadness, a paralysing, consuming, and destroying sadness, the only force that could overthrow an elf, by suffocating his very essence; a sadness which most likely sprang from the unspoken knowledge that the time of the elves here was over, and that they had been caught up by their own, personal mortality.

To calm himself he overlooked Rivendell, once more; but all he could discover were a few, spartanic lights, and a paralysing silence seemed to lay over the valley. It was a vision, and Elrond knew it; a vision of the future of Middle-Earth without elves, with a Rivendell abandoned, and in ruins; a vision of a cold, and strange, but still turning world. Elrond involuntarily shuddered. The night air was more than cool. It was cold. Elrond gathered up his cloak and his remaining strength. He wasn't here to abandon himself to vague fears, sentimentalities and sorrow. He had climbed up here to finally come to a decision.

His thoughts wandered back to the events of the last few days. Instantly the acute pain behind his forehead intensified. Elrond chose to ignore it.

„What am I going to do?" he said to the nightly sky, which was listening patiently; and indifferent „The orcs are gathering their forces. The signs are unmistakeable. Perhaps the wood elves are right indeed, and we should wipe them out before they become even more numerous." He smiled at the thought. Never had he even considered agreeing with the wood elves in this matter...

His smile expired, as fast as it had come. The wood elves... and Legolas Greenleaf. The orcs were a minor problem; compared to them.

Suddenly his mind was filled with the image of the young, royal elf, face covered in blood, eyes wide opened, being taken away by his guardians, having been found guilty of the murder of his brother. Convicted and hunted down… and he, Elrond, was now forced to sit in judgement on exactly this elf, to finally pass a sentence over him, a sentence from which he knew that, no matter what he decided, would be taken ungratefully.

To condemn Greenleaf to livelong incarceration most likely would push the wood elves to insurrection. To let him go away with his crime – Saruman as well as his intellect clearly warned him from doing so. And Legolas Greenleaf himself? Would he call his warriors to their arms, the second he was released – by claiming that his brother had been killed here, under the very eyes and hands of Lord Elrond?

Well, the wood elves weren't that numerous – some 100, 200 warriors. But Elrond surely knew to judge the strength of those warriors correctly. They were ferocious and battle-scarred fighters, and their skills with the bows were legendary, would match, if not exceed, the ones of the Rivendell elves. If they would decide to free Thranduil´s youngest son – who would be there to stop them? Would his soldiers be prepared to spring to arms against their own kind from the Mirkwood? Or would they even be all too eager to do so, incited by the arrogance of the wood elves? How could things have gone so far that bloodshed among elves seemed inescapable?

Elrond´s heart constricted painfully. More images were filling his mind. Images of fighting elves, in battle right in the heart of Rivendell; thus turning the pure, untouched lands into bloodstained, unholy grounds, on which one elf after another expired his immortal life…

The visions assailing him were so vivid his breath caught in his throat. Elrond staggered back, as if being hit by some invisible fist, and he buried his face in his hands; if only for a moment. Yes, things had gone far; for the Rivendell as well as for the wood elves; but not that far yet; and visions were still visions, with no more reality to them as were in the dreams of a feverish child. He wouldn´t allow them to come true.

Elrond tautened. His long, slender fingers gripped the balustrade so tightly his knuckles discoloured to white.

There was a key to all his problems, and this key answered to the name of Legolas Greenleaf. Over him, his people, and his father´s ring all the tangled cords of the last events seemed to cross. Greenleaf incarcerated…

The image of Aragorn, vehemently protesting Legolas´ innocence, his face ashen, slipped into his mind, as well as the one of Greenleaf´s horrified face when he was confronted with the results of his crime.  Hadn´t Gandalf frowned, when he heard Saruman accusing the young wood elf king to be the murderer of his own brother?

All this images intermingled with the image of Saruman; explaining him; face motionless and cold, that Legolas did not carry his father´s ring with him anymore, that he most likely had lost it by his fall into the river; and that there would be no magic in this world which could retrieve it… So there was no need to interrogate Greenleaf further after all…

Saruman´s opinion against the conviction of Aragorn, and Gandalf…

All of a sudden Elrond felt doubts arise. Could an elf be so depraved, as Saruman had stated, to kill his own brother and betray his people; just to own one of the elven rings? And if so: Why then had Greenleaf, the blood of king Elwyne still fresh on his hands, simply „lost" the ring, when it was more precious to him than his own kind?

Doubts began gnawing on him like the time on old buildings. It was as if his strong will had finally been released from reins that another will, a strange one, had imposed on him, and this released will would allow him to take the matters of the Rivendell elves – and the wood elves – in his hands once again; as he had always done; and to turn the tide. His intellect and wisdom finally started to hold their ground against his anger, whom´s origin Elrond had never really understood.

He had to hear Greenleaf; for he´d never done this before. The realisation came like a cold shower. Greenleaf was the most important pawn in the game they all had to play, and only his release would – Elrond knew it instinctively – lessen the wood elves anger. After all they played for high stakes: For the life of elves. Wasn´t it irrelevant if the wood elves were lead by a white or a black king, as long as they lived? One unpunished bloodshed was still better than many… 

Without really noticing it, like a sleepwalker, Elrond had started to return to his house. He knew now how he would proceed further, but he also knew that his decision to free Greenleaf -at any price- would be far from popular. Elrond didn´t really care.

Now, that his ultimate decision had been made, he all of a sudden felt strangely relieved, and equally tired. He´d stuck to it, and face the consequences. Even if he was in this alone. Alone. His eyes once more searched the evening star at the sky stretched over him. In vain. It was hidden behind a thin layer of clouds, which had build up without him noticing it. They looked like rain.

But he noticed the small fires that had been lit in the camp of the wood elves instead. The thin pillars of smoke were clearly visible. Like the knells of future doom a flock of black, screaming birds arose from near the wood elves´ camp this very moment, their silhouettes clearly visible against the fires. So the wood elves were, quite in contrary to the Rivendell elves, seemingly wide awake.

The reason for their gathering wasn´t difficult to figure out and smelled of trouble. Elrond accelerated his steps. Perhaps it would be best to talk to Legolas right now, even though the night was already advanced and fading.Or should he summon his guards, so they could keep a careful eye on the wood elves, instead of watching the city walls against all evil from outside? Maybe he was just too tired to shake off the gloomy thoughts that slowly but surely wore him down? Would a good night´s rest melt away most of his problems; like the spring sun did with all winter ice? He still thought about this when he reentered his home. The warmth in there welcomed him like an embrace.

III.

There was something else awaiting him when he returned to his house. A subtle, yet overwhelming presence, an almost physical attendance in his head; from which Elrond had believed to be rid of; and which, however, immediately started to shake the very foundations of his determination, like the wind that rages against unwillingly, defiant, yet bending trees.

"What are you doing at this late hour?" a silky, disembodied voice asked from beside him, and against his will Elrond spun round, almost startled. "Saruman." he said, half delighted and half annoyed, trying to hide his primary dismay.

"I've watched the fires of the wood elves." he then said, and if this would have been a sufficient explanation, he tried to pass the wizard. Saruman's hand on his shoulder stopped him mid-tracks.

"I've seen the fires you've mentioned. But I've also seen you, watching out over Rivendell for hours." Saruman said, and in his voice there was warmth; something Elrond had missed for a long time. "I fear evil things are being planned at the fires of the wood elves... But primary I came to talk to you; or to offer you my council, if you ask for it."

Elrond nodded. His gaze was still unfocussed, distant. He'd wished for an outstretched, and helping hand only minutes ago, but now, when he finally got his wish, he felt strangely uncomfortable, even though Saruman, one of the mightiest men in whole Middle-Earth, offered the hand.

His throat suddenly was dry, and his headaches – why did he suffer from headaches all the times lately? – had returned full force. But still he couldn't put his discomfort into words...

Saruman, eyes full of concern – or was there something else in his eyes as well? -, had watched him patiently, and he did deserve an answer. So Elrond said rather woodily: "I thank you for your offer, Saruman. You know very well what's haunting me. You're right, evil things are being discussed at the fires of the wood elves. I cannot get rid of the thought that we've made a terrible mistake by arresting Greenleaf."

"He has killed his king, and brother." Saruman said coolly. "For a mere ring. I do not consider it as a mistake to disarm him. Perhaps Greenleaf knows more about the power of the elven rings than it is entirely good for him."

So you start to defy my control. You've been quite a match from the beginning, half elf, and your thoughts are difficult to direct. But your awakening will come too late, elven king! The seed of mistrust and hate, sown into the hearts of all elves dwelling here, is already full-grown and mature, so mature there will be no way back, neither for you nor for Greenleaf's people. Your ring, and everything he stands for, will finally be mine...

"What do you actually know about the elven rings?" the thought passed Elrond like an icy shower, and he mechanically backed away from Saruman´s glistening eyes, which had fixed him all the time; like a bird of prey might did before falling down on his prey.

"He may be guilty of this crime or not." Elrond retorted. There was more than a touch of desperation in his voice. "But you know that the wood elves are preparing for war. They´ll claim their king, for they will believe him innocent."

"A handful of uncivilised warriors out of the woods! You´ll easily repel them with your well-trained, experienced soldiers."

The contempt in Saruman´s voice woke something akin to nausea in Elrond´s stomach.

"Those uncivilised warriors are, doubtlessly, the most skilled archers in Middle-Earth." he said, coldly. "Of course we can defeat them with ease. But this would claim elvish blood, being spilt in Rivendell itself…" his voice faltered. "It is not you asking it."

Oh yes, elvish blood will be spilt, Elrond. Streams of blood and more than you can imagine in your darkest nightmares. My orcs will bathe in elvish blood, and Rivendell will be a cursed place, when I´ve finished with you. Even this witch Galadriel in Lorien will wonder how fast her people will share your fate, elven king!

"You may be right." Elrond said and fought for words like a dreamer for awakening. "But as long as there is the slightest chance of avoiding a desperate act from the wood elves, I will take it. Everything else must lead to their destruction."

"What is your plan, then?" Saruman asked, somewhat warily.

 "I´ll talk to Greenleaf, for one last time. Perhaps he´ll bring the wood elves to reason – if I offer him release. Greenleaf´s crime will not be avenged. I'll only ask him – and his people, if they wish so – to leave Rivendell.  May they will judge over Greenleaf later."

"That´s not what I would advise you." Saruman said, trying to conceal his growing anger about Elrond´s distant, even cool attitude. "I fear the wood elves would be even more dangerous, reunited with their king, as they are right now.

For your own safety, Lord Elrond, you should not forget that Greenleaf – unlike the other elves from his people – does know his way around the palace reasonably well. You´ve seen what this prince is capable of; when he tried to kill his brother, or me. What if he also plans a murderous attempt on you? Or decides to incite his elves against you, by simply blaming you for king Elwyne´s death?"

He sighed. A thousand little wrinkles were around his eyes.

"No, I would not advise you to let him go, at least for the moment. Wait until tomorrow, find some rest, and then try to talk some sense into the wood elves instead. Perhaps daylight will soften their minds, and they´ll be not as eager to kill themselves as they seem in the dark hours of the night. Ask also Gandalf for his opinion, if you wish…" 

You´ll not to that, elf, by no means! Taking the only possibility to still spoil my plans... I wanted to let you keep your ring, until I´ve crushed you and your people, but if you insist on talking with this miserable wood elf instantly, I might have to change my plans and take the ring from you right here, right now… even if I have all elves of Rivendell breathing down my neck afterwards!

The cold glistening vanished from Elrond's eyes. "Gandalf…" he repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, I´ll ask Gandalf for his opinion as well as for his help, tomorrow."

So you trust Gandalf more than you trust me. Very well, consult with him, then. It will not help you in he end.

"But I will let Greenleaf go, if the circumstances require it."

"You might do whatever you think is appropriate." Saruman said smoothly, but it was clearly visible in his cold stare that Elrond´s intentions did not please him, not at all. It had become increasingly difficult for him to disguise himself lately. So he now turned away from the elven king without a further word. Elrond watched him leave. His eyebrows were thoughtfully shortened.

So have it your way then, Elrond, and the blame for everything that is to come now will be on you. I would have spared him, this poor creature in its cell, for his life as well as his death is of little meaning to me. But you aren't to talk to him, and the little elven prince isn't to be released, either. By planning this, you, and you alone, have just condemned him to death. I think poison would be a nice option. Yes, the same poison that has almost killed his brother, into the water you insist bringing your prisoners – and Greenleaf will finally be released from his agony. I think it will look pretty pathetic – the furies of regret must have deranged his mind, until he took his own poison, the calming, the redemptive one, to silence the accusing voices in his head. No, Lord Elrond, I don't think you'll talk to Greenleaf tomorrow.

To be continued…

Author´s note part 2:

It took me quite some time to write the next chapter to my story. Do not blame me for this, but the muses; they didn´t really favour me with their graces the last few days. And I´ve to get used to the fact that I´m not a student anymore. My spare time has been drastically reduced. Poor me… But as long as there are a few reviews occasionally feeding my letterbox; I surely will continue writing…

To Hypy: I tried my best to; but… (see author´s note part 2) The next chapter though, should be posted earlier, since it´s halfway written. The original chapter in german had become just too long, even for my measures, so I decided to make two english ones of it.

To Flame: (What sort of a scaring name is this?!?) Author´s slapping her forehead: Forgot to mention that Saruman is indeed, as you have suggested, an advisor, sharing his wisdom with other people if he´s asked to do so. He´s well-known and respected, and no one suspects him

to have evil intentions, not even Gandalf or Elrond. I tried to point this out in Elrond´s monologue...

To SpaceVixenX: It was rather sad for me to kill Thranduil as well, for he´s one of my favourite characters. But in favour of the story you have to bring some sacrifices… Just in case you didn´t notice: There wasn´t a single word about Sam in this story! The next chapter, though, will be dedicated to him, and Arwen, and Aragorn, and some Orcs…

To Legolas Fan: As long you aren´t too lazy to leave a review...

To Daylight: I had some nice holidays, thanks for asking, but I´m in desperate need of more…

To Legilmalith: Hehehe! This was just what I wanted to hear concerning my English! Now I do not need to worry about my translation abilities anymore. My humble thanks to you! Besides, I would rather prefer to speak Irish-Gaelic than french. The latter is spoken by so many people it misses the romantic touch that I connect with the Irish-Gaelic…

To Sarah Lynne: Well, I hope you´re not a case for the funny farm yet; since I didn´t update for about a month. J (But I´m going to be soon; if I don´t get more spare time to spend with my little hobbies) And Galadriel: I would love to give her a place in my story, but the problem with her is… she can read minds! She would have learned about Saruman´s evil intentions the moment she would have met him; thus "spoiling" the plotline. If Saruman´s in trouble putting a spell on Elrond to keep him compliant; in what kind of trouble would he run with Galadriel?

To everyone reading this: I got 13 reviews (with more compliments that are actually good for me: Being posted on some favourite lists and stuff like that… as I said before, I think I´m getting too big for my boots) but still there are 13 reviews… Please send me more, for 13 definitely is an unlucky number...