Sarah here! Oh, it is so loverly to have you guys back!!! Hannah and I have been in little bursts of ecstasy over your reviews. It's great to be posting again! :D
FAQs — EVERYONE READ:
To answer the usual most commonly asked questions right here at the beginning: We will be posting every other day. * This fic is about 18 chapters long. * This fic is prewritten, like our others. * Quality cannot be assured after a certain point because we had to break off writing and then pick it up again — which did nasty things to our otherwise cohesive writing style. * And there is 1 character death in this fic that we forgot to mention in the rating (no, we can't tell you who!)
We're sure other questions will come up as we go along and we'll answer them as they arise, or as it is in our power to do so. In fact, I think we're going to have to reserve most of our author's notes for people with lengthy comments or questions, since we really don't have time to respond to everyone like we usually do. After all, with Cassia and Chloe both posting fics simultaneously… who WOULD have time?? ;D
Cassia: OOH! *hugs Anonymous Torture writer* We're SO glad to have you! Knowing how little time you have for your own stuff, every review from you is a treat. ;D You like that effect? Thank goodness! It has come to our attention that we use it rather a lot and we're just glad to know we aren't confusing people… :P Ah… yes… great minds… *blushes and giggles* Oops! At least we aren't posting them at the same time. 'Too funny' is definitely the phrase, all right. ;D And don't worry. Hannah drops philosophy, I drop kudos, and Chloe drops her mind. So far as traceable persons go, you're in good company! Besides, smilies are cute. ;P
Hiro-tyre: My word! I'm so glad your so happy about this! Hope we can keep up on our approval ratings… though we would urge you to see item number four on our FAQ list above. Yes, we're a disclaimer-ing duo and for once we make no apologies! ;D Ooh, interesting impressions! *smiles innocently* Don't worry, you're right: they aren't Legolas and Aragorn. ;) Big squeeze for you! Readers who can mention details they liked (even inexplicable ones) are gems worth treasuring. :D And we're glad you liked our Dúnedain!
w: W!! *knocks unsuspecting reviewer flat with a big hug* SO wonderful to have you back!! You checked every day? Wow. Sorry it took us so long to begin! We had no idea… :O Wordy? Yeah, well, that'd be my fault; Hannah doesn't have as much of a problem with extraneous adjectives. I'll have to keep a sharper eye out I guess. :D So our monster was good? Oh good! There came a point when we wondered if avoiding a distinct corporeal form for our beast had been such a good idea; we're glad to hear it wasn't so confusing after all! :) Oh, and we're glad Aragorn came off as inexperienced! Since we had him only really thinking about the whole 'leader' subject in Thorongil (which actually comes *after* this fic), we wanted to put across his role here as more unofficial. As if the Dúnedain see Aragorn as their leader, but though he *does* take charge, he sees himself almost like just another Dúnadan. It sort of helps that the Dúnedain were probably the most elvish humans in ME, making the Rohirrim and Gondorians *still* the first actual 'men' Aragorn would meet and lead. Did that make any sense?? :| POV is a toughie; if nagging is in question: don't worry (or maybe 'do worry'?)! You'll almost certainly have plenty of opportunities. :P Anyway, sorry to make you blush, but it's true! Your reviews are something we highly look forward to. And though it may not look like it at times, we DO try and pay attention to your advice! Only one thing I should probably warn you about: You know how at the end of Thorongil you mentioned that we could have fleshed out our story a little more? Well, I'm afraid we didn't do that very much here. In fact this fic is a good deal *less* involved than our last one was, not to mention being riddled with angst… Too: even taking that into account, I'd probably still say this was one of our better ones, if it weren't for note #4 in our little FAQs list! That forced vacation from writing did some pretty awful things to our stride in this fic. :{ Felt I ought to give a heads up so that you can (hopefully) still enjoy this! We'd seriously hate to lose you over it. :D *gives blushing w another hug and skips off to post some more*
Lady Sandry: Ah, that's our Chloe! Putting out the word for us. She may be sans-mind and she may abandon us on horrid cliffies, but she has her sweet moments too. ;D Glad you like El and El! *opens her mouth to say more, catches a raised eyebrow from Hannah the spoiler-leak-stopper and closes it again* Um, heheh. We like them too. :} Yeah, being sibs helps some in this kind of writing — though frankly we have never had the opportunity to rescue each other from anything bigger than a renegade grasshopper. Come to think on it, that didn't turn out very well either… :P Thrilled to have you!!
Everyone Else: 'Dark' you say? 'Great beginning' did I hear? 'Excellent', 'creepy', 'powerful', 'wicked'? *does happy dance* Oh you are all too wonderful for words! No question about why we keep writing fics like this! :D And you're all welcome for the e-mails. It is a service we are happy to provide, especially if it gets most of our tried-and-true readers back. ;) P.S. If you *didn't* get an e-mail (some of the messages we sent came back to us, and others of you don't have addies posted on your bios) and you would like one next time, let us know! Happy to oblige! *smiles the smile of pure selfishness*
Okay, here you go: a new chapter! This one, to alert you, is low on the action and heavy on the information, but hopefully not too boring! We must have something of a plot here, you know. ;)
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Darkest Night
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
Chapter 2
Legends From the Past
Lord Elrond stood on the balcony that encircled his study, his fingertips resting lightly upon the intricately carved railing. Beyond the Last Homely House the valley of Rivendell rose up like a verdant bowl, its sides covered thickly with green in all hues. A thin morning mist clung to everything, its tendrils mixing with the spray of the falls where the Bruinen made its entrance. Down below the soft sounds of elven voices could be heard, either in conversation or in song, as the residents of this sheltered haven rose from sleep and began their day. Elrond himself had slept very little, but with the long endurance of the elven folk he felt neither weary nor irritable. In truth, an odd smile was playing about his mouth as he thought over the events of the evening before. //I might have known a quiet night was too much to hope for…//
His reverie was interrupted by the sounds of feet upon the stones of the courtyard below. Though soft, they were not elven feet, and the lord of Rivendell's hearing was keen. The lurking smile became a full one as he recognized the windswept hair and mud-spattered clothing of his adopted son.
"What news, Ranger?" Elrond called formally.
Aragorn hesitated, not wishing to cry out his news in full for all those nearby to hear. He bestowed upon elves a more widely encompassing trust than he did upon his own kind, but it would be better not to cause anxiety in a place so peaceful. "News of the Dúnedain, Lord Elrond, and of your sons! We have need of council."
Elrond's brow creased slightly with worry, deeming now that his son had not merely returned for a visit, but nodded his head and gestured to the door below. "Enter and we will speak."
The ranger was nearly ten minutes delayed in coming and when he entered his father's study he looked, if nothing else, even more disheveled than before.
"What kept you?" Elrond asked, one delicate eyebrow arching at the expression on Aragorn's face.
"Celboril," the man said briefly. "Every time I return from the woods he feels it necessary to clean me up before allowing to roam free in 'his' house; he habitually greets me now with a warm welcome and a clothes brush. I had to tell him my business was urgent before he allowed me free passage." Aragorn ran his hand through his hair, returning it more to its original state, and sighed.
Elrond's eyes twinkled a little, but he recognized the two sides of his son and it was not the mischievous boy who had come to speak with him today. "Is your business urgent?" the elf probed.
Aragorn nodded gravely, unconsciously confirming his father's guess and looking very much a worn and tired leader of an exiled country in need of aid. "I fear so. We have encountered something which we are at a loss to understand or defeat. Knowledge we must have if there is any to be had, else I fear we will not long be able to hold it in check."
"And so you came to me?" Elrond prompted when Aragorn seemed unsure as to what to say next.
"Yes," the ranger nodded, relaxing a bit. "If there is anyone who might recall having seen such creatures before, it would be the elves here and thus you."
"We have not lived here always," the elf lord cautioned, "but if there is any information or council I can give you, I will give it gladly. What is it you have found?"
The Dúnadan's finger absently traced the edge of the table beside him. "I wish I could describe them, but though we have battled with them nearly every night for almost a month, we have yet to more than guess at their form. They are fell creatures of incredible stealth and speed. They move silently and seem to leave no mark of their coming or going, as if they possessed no physical weight, yet they are strong beyond the strongest of wargs and can knock the breath from you in one blow. They have claws upon their feet, and claws elsewhere as well — perhaps at the end of a tail. Fur covers their bodies, and they have blood in their veins and give a cry similar to how I've heard that of a dragon described. I do not know of their teeth, for they have so far only attacked with claws."
Elrond frowned over the description, disliking the number of gaps still left to be filled in, but realizing that his son must truly have not been able to see anything further, else he would have spoken of it. "Has it been then so dark when you have fought with these creatures?"
"Dark enough," Aragorn nodded. "The clouds hang heavy over the north and it is long since we have glimpsed the moon and stars. Then too," and here he paused, as though approaching the portion of his news most detestable to him, "they seem to carry their own darkness with them. There is something in them that is not quite real as an orc or a warg might be. Several times we have wounded them, and ever they have retreated from our attack when our numbers have been strong, but we have never slain one." Troubled blue eyes rose to meet the dark ones of the Elrond. "Can you think of nothing you have heard of such beasts?"
Elrond's eyes turned deep with thought as he searched back along his far-reaching memory, but in vain. Many fell things had he battled in his youth at the side of elven lords long since dead — still nothing had he fought so horrible as what his son was describing. Much could be read beyond what Aragorn had related, and this at least was certain: the Dúnedain were afraid. Willing they were to continue on in their long fight to protect the north from harm, but though dauntless against trolls and other such things of twisted birth, they were now terrified and sensed with a feeling of impending doom the failure of all their labors.
The elf exhaled heavily, shaking his head in sadness, "I am sorry, my son. Whatever you have found it is new to me as well." Noting the slump of Aragorn's shoulders, he added, "But there is a chance that others may have heard what I have not. When did these creatures first appear?"
"I am uncertain of the date, but it was the night immediately following the great storm we had near the beginning of the month. Did you see it?"
Elrond nodded, recalling the evening well, though the storm had not actually touched Rivendell itself.
Aragorn lifted one shoulder in a gesture of hopelessness, adding inconsequentially, "Elrohir declared he had seen another such storm before, though I was hard pressed to believe it. Even Elladan said it was likely the memory of another storm that was coming to him, and not one nearly so terrible. Elrohir has the oddest turns of memory at times…" The man came to a halt, realizing that he was speaking to no purpose, but his father didn't even seem to be listening to him anymore. Instead the elf had gone to the desk and lifted a large flat book of thin parchment with gently flowing elven script covering each page in what appeared to be a sort of calendar, or table of numbers. The expression on Elrond's face was intent as he paged quickly through it.
"Father?" Aragorn asked in puzzlement, coming to the desk. "What is the matter?"
"Elrohir spoke the truth," Elrond announced briefly, still scanning the pages for the information he sought. "That at least I *do* remember. It was exactly twenty-five years ago."
The elf lapsed back into silent searching and Aragorn settled in to wait patiently, a skill he had perfected in that very house. Clearly, whatever had occurred to his father was just distant enough in the past that *he* would not recall it — having only been two years old at the time mentioned.
At last Elrond paused over a single page and ran a finger down a center column, coming at last to rest on a single entry that meant no more to Aragorn than all the others had. But the elf's expression was at last one of understanding.
"Nwalme," Elrond murmured under his breath. "Every twenty-five years… the moon of Nwalme." His eyes met those of Aragorn and he continued now rapidly, but in a low voice, "'Nwalme' is 'torment' in high elven. It was the name given to a certain arrangement of the heavens during the time the Witch King of Angmar invaded Arnor and it has come every twenty-five years since. It was on the night of its appearance shortly after you were brought here to Rivendell that a storm occurred exactly like the one of a month ago. It was also at that time that Sauron dispatched his emissaries into the lands nearby to seek you out; he could not afford to allow an heir of Isildur to survive. You were too well hidden for his underlings to find, but there was trouble about Rivendell for several years before the Dark Lord felt it safe to withdraw his men and assume you had already perished. When the storm came, we feared Sauron was unleashing some long hidden devilry upon us in hopes of revealing you, but *that* storm was different from this in one respect: that it ended in but a few hours' time and departed with the morning like it had never been." Elrond gestured to the book, "It is a narrow thread upon which to travel, but though I never participated in the battles against the Witch King, I have spoken with those who have. Chief among them was Glorfindel. I feel it is from him we might gain insight."
"Has he spoken of such things as this before?" Aragorn asked, trying to sort through all his father had told him.
"What he spoke of was mere rumor, but I deem rumor to be as useful as fact in this instance. Whatever you have met it must needs be investigated through any guides possible."
The ranger nodded instant agreement, "Yes. Yes, it must. It has been put off too long already."
"Have any of your company been lost?" Elrond put the question quietly.
"Miraculously no," Aragorn shook his head. "These beasts seem more intent on wearing us down. The youngest member of our patrol was nearly slain, but the creature was lured away from him."
"By whom?" Elrond's uncanny knack of seeing straight through his son came into full play.
"Myself," Aragorn admitted, but did not add that he himself had nearly perished as well. He also did not reveal his brothers' suspicions about the creature singling him out. In spite of his father's mention of Sauron's emissaries, he still felt the notion unlikely and he did not wish to burden Elrond with unnecessary speculation. "Where are we likely to find Glorfindel? I do not mean to rush, but I must return as soon as may be."
Elrond shot his adopted son a keen glance, once again gathering more from the man than his words were meant to give, but gestured to the far door, "I am uncertain, but come: he can be found soon enough."
Aragorn started down the familiar hall at his father's heels. "I am sorry not to have come under better circumstances," he apologized. "How has Rivendell been faring in my absence?"
"There have certainly been fewer broken vases," Elrond smiled, trying to lighten the weary atmosphere. "Beyond that, a year alone can cause little change and you have not exactly isolated yourself from us as you seem to think."
"What of this morning then?" Aragorn asked agreeably, choosing a more specific topic.
"A messenger from King Thranduil arrived around midnight," the elven lord mentioned, glancing sidelong at Aragorn who predictably became more interested.
"Carried he any word of Legolas?" the ranger asked. He had not seen the elven prince since they had parted in Mirkwood after their long 'detour' to Mt. Gundabad.
"Some," Elrond nodded, guiding the way up a flight of stairs that his son was too distracted to recognize. "He had tangled with a small band of orcs by mistake on his way over the Misty Mountains and was too tired to discuss much of anything with me when he first arrived. Would you care to question him yourself?"
The man blinked, not expecting the offer, and then started as he recognized the door as the one just adjoining his own room. Knocking briefly, the elven lord apparently heard permission to enter and swung the door wide, revealing the room's single occupant.
"Legolas!" Aragorn exclaimed in surprised delight as the golden-haired elf within rose with equal pleasure to greet him.
"Aragorn, it is you!" The elf came quickly forward and embraced Aragorn tightly, in spite of the bandage about his forearm. "Lord Elrond said you were away at present!"
"I was; I only came to speak with Father of a single matter and then depart again." Aragorn almost laughed with pleasure.
Legolas looked the ranger up and down, smiling momentarily at the state of his friend's clothing, then saying, "I'm glad to see you looking so well."
"I wish that I could respond in kind — what have you done to yourself this time?" the human chided, noticing now the twin cuts across the elf's face as well as the bandaged arm.
A slight shrug came in response. "I suppose it's my unfortunate habit of sticking out when I ought to blend in. Orcs are not so unobservant as many believe."
"Whatever happened, you are now forbidden from saying that it is *I* who make your life difficult. You manage quite well on your own, it is plain to see. How fare your opponents now you have escaped them?"
"Dead," Legolas responded briefly. "And Lord Elrond can testify that I entered on my own feet at least. I am only sorry you were not present to witness such an important occurrence."
Elrond waited a little longer, allowing the two friends to quickly catch up on what had taken place since their last meeting, and in the meantime enjoying the sight of Aragorn finally releasing the load of care he had brought in with him. Never had his son and the prince of Mirkwood managed to stay long downcast when together.
At last Aragorn himself realized that he had work still undone. His face became grave again as he explained as quickly what had brought him home and begged his friend to excuse him.
Legolas nodded his reassurance, "Of course. Would it be better if I stayed here?"
"No!" Aragorn exclaimed, then amended rapidly, "That is, no, I would not wish to confine you so, but I also don't wish to trouble you with what is not your fight."
The elf laughed lightly, closing the door to the guest chambers as he stepped into the hall, "How long will it take you to realize that your fights are *always* mine."
They reached the main hall and had stood for a moment while Elrond considered where best to direct them when an elven maiden entered, shaking the dew from the red cloak about her shoulders.
"Narandune!" Elrond called to her so that she paused and came towards them.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice warm as the rising sun outside. She was tall and golden haired even as Legolas, though she was Noldor and not Sindarin in descent.
"Do you know where your father is? This man needs to speak with him."
The woman nodded, smiling, "I can take you to him."
"Thank you," Elrond bowed, but was interrupted by the sound of Celboril approaching. The two elves conferred quietly for a moment and then Elrond turned back to his son, his forehead creased. "Estel, someone has arrived that I must see to."
Aragorn was already nodding in acquiescence, "Please, do not let this keep you. If there is any news to be had, Glorfindel will know and I will be on my way as soon as I hear what he says."
Elrond nodded his own understanding and paused to rest his strong hand on his son's shoulder. "May Ilúvatar protect you."
Aragorn embraced his father and Legolas bowed formally.
"Do not fear, Lord Elrond, your sons and I shall make sure he does nothing ridiculous," the elven prince reassured with a smile.
"I know you will," Elrond nodded and left them.
"So now you are going back to the Dúnedain with me?" Aragorn's eyebrows rose as he and his friend turned to follow Narandune down a different hall.
"You have said several times that I ought to meet a few more rangers," the elf reminded him.
"Yes, but are you fit to travel yet?"
"As fit as you."
"I didn't tangle with a dozen orcs."
"And I didn't tangle with an evil beast of shadow. Your arguments will need to become better contrived ere you may rid yourself of me, my friend."
Ahead of them a barely stifled laugh from Narandune brought the two companions' argument up short as they recalled they were not alone.
"We apologize," Aragorn said quickly.
"Nay, worry not," she insisted, her green eyes twinkling as she cast a glance over her shoulder at them.
"This is a very beautiful place, Strider," Legolas said by way of changing the subject. They were passing down a long hall that the elven prince had never seen before. Along its right side a woven lattice allowed the first rays of the morning light to pattern the pale wooden floor, and along the left their ran a mural depicting scenes and people from Rivendell's long history. Thranduil's halls, though marvelously constructed, had little such decoration and Legolas was fascinated. "Do you know who painted this?" he asked his friend.
Aragorn shook his head, though he had examined the mural many times. "I can scarce keep abreast of my own family's history, let alone that of others," he sighed ruefully. Within the mural he knew were scenes of his father, his brothers, their mother, and many other fair people he did not recognize. "Narandune, do you know how this came to be here?"
The elven woman nodded, "It was begun many hundreds of years ago when these halls were first constructed and it has been added to over time. The history has been put down symbolically when there has been no space to paint the events in full, but here at the end the wall has nearly run out." She gestured to where the mural finally came to halt and at the few remaining yards still to be filled. "Some of those more inclined to gloom have suggested it is a sign of our own end."
"And you?" Legolas asked curiously.
Her head tilted as she contemplated the delicate painting. "It is unwise to dwell on such thoughts: they can create a future where one might never have been. It is a painting, nothing more, and can neither mend nor break a single thing." Her eyes drifted slowly back over the length of the hall they had just traveled and added, "It is important to remember history and learn from it, but to dwell on it too long can be dangerous. Whatever it may hold, the past is not the present." Then she straightened abruptly, "I am keeping you over long; please, come. My father is on the terrace by the river."
"Narandune," Legolas ventured one last question, "who painted that mural?"
As she started down the steps, her red cloak reflecting the rays of the sun, she called back over her shoulder, "I did."
Glorfindel greeted the man and elf warmly, rising and offering them seats when his daughter brought them. Narandune left unobtrusively, returning to whatever errand had been interrupted by her offer to escort them. The fair-haired elf was tall even as Elrond, and had much the same presence, if not the same wisdom or power. He had met both friends more than once and now welcomed them with gladness, but became sober when they sat down together.
"I deem this is no meeting of pleasure," the elf lord said as he looked from one face to the other, his piercing blue gaze difficult to meet, even for another elf. There was a keenness about him that reminded one of a steel blade, sheathed for the present in silver. And there was a restraint to his movements that suggested strength rather than weakness.
"I fear you are right," Aragorn nodded, and brought his hands rest lightly upon one another as he told his tale anew, including the details he had not had time to communicate to Legolas. When he was finished he turned intent eyes upon Glorfindel, hoping that here at last he might find an answer.
Glorfindel looked to his own hands when the account was ended and seemed almost ill at ease as he contemplated his response. At last he spoke and, though hesitant, his words were clear to be heard. "Yes, I know of what you speak. Or rather, what there is to be known; the Nwelmai were never released."
"The what?" Aragorn asked, his mind flashing suddenly to the smell of the creatures coat when it had tried to crush him. The name did not bode well.
The elf seemed to glance about, as if wondering whether this were the correct setting for his tale, but then took a breath and said, "It would be best for you to know the whole of it and judge for yourself. I could be mistaken in my assumptions and I would avoid misleading you. You know that 861 years after the beginning of the third age the king of Arnor divided his land into three kingdoms: Arthedain, Rhudaur, and Cardolan. Several thousand years ago, your ancestors turned to fight amongst themselves. Rhudaur and Cardolan desired the watchtower of Amon Sû l, resting place of the chief Palantir of the North, and they quarreled long over who ought to possess it. In their moment of weakness the Witch King struck, seeing in their strife the waning of Arnor. Out of Angmar he came bringing evil men, orcs and other foul things from the far north, and the king of Arthedain, hoping for reunion amongst his kinfolk, claimed lordship over all of Arnor once again. Cardolan joined him, but Rhudaur resisted his authority, for power in that land had already been seized by an evil lord in league with the Witch King.
"During the time Rivendell was besieged, Arthedain and Cardolan succeeded in maintaining for a time a strong front, but the Witch King attacked afresh, bringing greater forces from Angmar and his new lands of Rhudaur. Amon Sû l was razed to the ground and Cardolan was ravaged.
"With the aid of Cirdan and those of the Dúnedain still faithful, the Witch King's advance was halted, and Lord Elrond brought vast companies of elves out of Rivendell and Lorien to drive him back. For many years we had a sort of peace, but the Witch King had not yet been driven completely from the north and he had built for himself a hidden tower. Over five hundred years later he struck for the third time and this time the Dúnedain were swept back before the onslaught. Arthedain was destroyed and Arvedui, her last king, perished as well. His son and somewhat of the remnants of the Dúnedain escaped, and it is from them you are directly a descendant, Estel, but they were then a force unworthy of notice."
Legolas glanced at Aragorn briefly. Though the ranger had doubtless heard much of this before, it was fascinating to the elf, who for many centuries had known little and cared even less about the histories of men. He wondered how his friend felt about this, but doubted Aragorn would ever tell.
Glorfindel was still speaking, his gaze turned inward as he talked, "For a time the Witch King carried all before him, but at last he was turned back. It was from Gondor, and again from Cirdan in Lindon and from Rivendell, that help came, and I myself was sent to lead the elves that Lord Elrond dispatched. Cirdan marched north and challenged the Witch King. Filled with foolish pride, the ranks of Angmar came out to meet him, thinking to sweep him before them as they had the Dúnedain; yet their ranks were broken upon his like waves upon stone, and when at last they turned to retreat, Earnur of Gondor and my own force fell upon them.
"When the battle was the thickest, the Witch King himself came out and fear fell upon even the bravest, for he had long ago taken of Sauron a ring of power — though we did not know it then. He turned upon the captain of Gondor, but Earnur's horse would not heed its master and it fled in fear with Earnur still upon it. The Witch King laughed and my own horse I rode before him, cutting him off, and he turned and rode back the way he had come. He would have returned to his tower, but his men were decimated and his lands taken away. Instead he disappeared and was never again seen by mortal or elf."
The soft whistling of birds down beside the Bruinen seemed strange to the human and two elves that now heard them. Aragorn and Legolas sat long in silence before the man asked softly, "And what kept he in that tower?"
Glorfindel shook his head slowly, "Perhaps only more orcs."
Legolas' voice was faintly skeptical as he said, "Perhaps?"
The elven lord nodded. "It is here that the information you seek begins, if it is true. I told you that the Witch King built for himself a tower during the days of peace before his last assault. Though we could not discover where it lay, it was known he spent much time there. Long he plotted and practiced his sorcery, and the lands about became troubled and dark, though there were no open attacks. Spirits from the north came at his bidding and took up residence in the Barrow Downs. And there were also rumors that he had crafted for himself fell creatures, terrible and deadly, after the manner of Sauron the Deceiver, and that he would one day release them upon the Dúnedain. 'The Nwelmai' they were called, 'The Tormenters'. For it was whispered that black hearted dwarves had built for the Witch King a chamber to house his beasts — a chamber in the mountain beside the tower with a great door that could be opened only during the moon of Nwalme."
The elf paused for a moment, glancing at the two friends who were listening with almost painful intensity, "Such words were seldom heeded, for fear tainted everything, but of the things spoken some came more reliably than others, and many from the mouths of captured enemies themselves. One such person I myself took prisoner.
"He was a small, withered man — old beyond the normal span of years — and little that he said was understandable, but before he died he spoke to anyone who would pause and hear him. Again and again he warned of the Nwelmai and the terrible power that controlled them. He claimed that they came with the cold lightening, were silent in attack, cloaked in darkness; that they would fall upon the Dúnedain and could smell the blood of kings. He had once been the right hand of the lord of Angmar, but no longer would he serve, he declared. We had not held him long before his life began to fail, as if he had been away from his master too long to survive. I went to him myself before he died and listened to the last things he said. 'The book,' he told me, as if it were most important that I understand. 'I left the book behind. Read it.'" Glorfindel shook his head again and sighed heavily. "He died in the night and never did we discover the truth of either the tower or its contents. During the cycle of the moon of Nwalme we wonder, but it is seldom but a passing thought."
"And so you think that someone has released the Nwelmai?" Aragorn murmured, knowing full well that was what the elf was suggesting, but having difficulty grasping the horrible significance of the thought.
"I know not," Glorfindel replied. "I will own that I thought so twenty-five years ago when you were but a child, but nothing came from it then, and I can think of no reason such an event should have been stopped so suddenly at that time if the tales were true."
"Yet Aragorn *has* met the creatures," Legolas reminded him.
"Truly," the elf agreed, "and it thus it seems the best assumption, whatever the discrepancies. What say you?"
Aragorn gazed long at the glittering waters of the river below. The mist had drifted off with the coming of the warm sun, and all of Rivendell was now awake, unconscious of the shadow in the ranger's heart. "I say I must return as soon as may be. You cannot tell me whether or how these things might be killed, but this we know at least: they will come for the Dúnedain. I cannot let the others fight unawares."
Glorfindel nodded soberly. "I wish that I could come with you, but I am even now waiting for my horse to be saddled before I must go south. Assuredly, if such trouble has sprung again then Lord Elrond will not be slow in sending aid as he did before. But be ever careful, Estel. It is uncertain who has again released these things, or what their intentions in doing so are."
Aragorn rose and bowed, "I thank you for your aid, Glorfindel. I am sorry that we cannot stay longer for more pleasant speech."
"Pleasant speech is reserved for days when darkness is finally fled this earth," Glorfindel smiled wryly. "And you, heir of Isildur, are unfortunately fated to do constant battle with it. Yet we will meet again, I am sure. May Earendil shine upon you, and upon you also, Legolas, son of Thranduil."
"Namárië," Legolas replied, touching his shoulder in farewell.
The sun was rising towards noon, making the valley golden behind them as the two friends rode up the winding path out of Rivendell and Legolas tilted his head to glance at his companion. "Are we now to discover whether all rangers are as slovenly as you?"
"*You* have been speaking too long with Celboril," Aragorn growled. "I ought to have restocked our provisions myself before I let you into his kitchens." The jest was strained.
"Are you alright, my friend?" Legolas asked without preamble.
Aragorn shook his head with a sigh, leaning forward to duck a low branch as they began to go downhill again, "No, I cannot say that I am, and you ought to be just as anxious as I. You have just found yourself drawn away from a peaceful journey home and off into the northern wilds to defend a group of short, fat farmers from the deadly onslaught of half-phantom creatures — pulled out of legend to roam the woods and slay both the Dúnedain and anyone who is foolish enough to walk in their company." The ranger grew silent when he realized his companion was none-too-subtly laughing at him. "I'm beginning to sound like Bartho," he sighed again and waited for Legolas' mirth to die down.
"Ah, Strider!" Legolas smiled, "I have never known you to be involved in anything uninteresting. If I was 'drawn' here it was by desire alone, and you needn't fear for my anxiety. Like your brothers, I need such things to keep me young."
"Or kill you altogether," Aragorn retorted, smiling in spite of himself.
"Either way," the elf conceded easily, his eyes still dancing. "Now come, we have caught up only a little on our doings since last we met, and we have a journey ahead of us. Tell me who besides fat farmers and phantom creatures have been troubling you of late."
TBC…
You didn't fall asleep, did you? ;D
Author's Note: If any of you are wondering about Narandune and what part she plays in this story, you've just seen all you are going to see of her. Each of us girls chose an elvish name when we decided to dress up for Two Towers, and while we were at it we chose a homeland and someone already in the stories to whom we could be related. Hannah chose Narandune of Rivendell, daughter of Glorfindel. When we decided to write this fic, we thought it would be cool to give Hannah a cameo in it! So if you were ever wondering what Hannah/Siri looks like, then now you know — minus the pointy ears, of course… ;)