*Siri sneaks in hoping not to be seen…it doesn't work*
I'm SO sorry this is so late! Our family was out all day today so we're only now getting to the post! But here it is :D
Mariana Nimeneth: Ooh dear. *laughs* I'm not so sure I want to get between you and Anarril on this Mariana ;D So nice of you to share songs and rain clouds! =D
Lurker_elf: *squeezes Lurker_elf* Oh thank you for trying to figure out our sanity!…huh, that's funny ;D Good thing it ain't 'just for sailors' the last thing we need is a sea-longing on top of everything else ;) Survive? …uh… Well, considering practically *everything* is South of the North you might be searching a while ;D I'm glad you like our fighting elves, it's certainly something I like to get across when writing them and I'm glad it has! *laughs* Yes there are MANY MC gags I'm afraid! ;D But hey it's too fun to give up! ;) *hands Lurker_elf some tissue* Just in case… *laughs* I'm afraid you are just a tad Lindamar-Obsessed there Lurker! ;)
Maranwe: Ah yes, the young Captain. *smiles* Yeah I have sister (Chloe) who is not my twin but we may as well be! And trust me we can TOTALLY get on one another's nerves ;D Lindamar…uh…I'm SO helpful! *grins* Hey loving the whole thing isn't a problem! I'm really glad to hear that! =D *laughs* Poor Doctor, you may want to find an LOTR fan next time Maranwe ;)
NaughtyNat: Bad fan fiction.net! ;) Yeah Sarah, you may regret burning Jack's hat all right! *laughs* Yes, it does have to come out that Elrohir is the younger of the two…if only by a few minutes ;)
Lady_Sandry: Yeeah, or maybe your mother will never understand you ;D Though trust me: I know the feeling! =D Gandalf Complex? Oh certainly not! LOL We're just weird! ;) Oh, if you want a source for non-slash LOTR fan fiction, you should try storiesofarda.com (hope ff.net prints that…)! They have some really good stuff. :) I pronounce Elrohir El-Ro-Hear though I'm not sure if that's right or not.
Nio: *squeals!* Mellon-nin! I'm thrilled to see you! …I hope you're enjoying the story. *grins* I'm so proud of you! *hugs* Oh, well…I don't know, Aragorn would probably paint it…uh…brown ;D I doubt Elrond would let him choose though! ;)
RainyDayz: Penguin? Uh…well I saw one go that way *points* but I think it might have been a chicken, and I think it was wearing a red rubber glove so you may want to assume I'm wrong ;D Ah yes *sniffs* Poor Twins… *is having trouble smothering an evil grin*
;D
Again thank you ALL for being patient for reading and for reviewing!
You make our day!
Here is more now!
*skips away in a rather foolish manner*
______________________________________________________________________________
Darkest Night
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
Chapter 7
A Choice too Difficult to Make
Elrond rose early as usual, entering his library and pausing to gaze appreciatively at the strange vibrancy the night's rain had lent the trees. The air smelled of moisture and damp earth. If he felt a faint unease, he attributed it to the distant sounds of thunder that still lingered beyond the valley.
The morning eased towards noon, but all was still pleasantly cool and the sky remained overcast as the lord of Rivendell finished writing several letters and began to put away his materials, placing the unused parchment in a thin drawer at the center of the desk and reaching to close his inkstand. The movements were automatic, and the things nearly as old as the elf who used them.
A sound of footsteps brought Elrond's head up and in mid-motion his hand seemed to freeze, his fingers just brushing the delicately carved lid on the inkwell as he caught the expression of the elf who entered.
"What is it?" Elrond asked quickly, looking from the Moranuen's face to what he carried in his hands.
Moranuen bowed hastily, more intent upon his errand than formalities. "I only just returned with the rest of the hunting party and I have found a piece of parchment in my quiver that is not mine, and was not there when I left this morning. I think it must have been slipped in at some moment when I was distracted. It bears your name."
"Did you ask the others if they had placed it there?" Elrond asked, trying to quell a strange and sudden fear.
"They didn't," the elf replied quietly. "I know. It reeks of orc."
"And what does it say?"
The question was not sharp, but Moranuen winced anyway. "I did not read much when I realized for whom it was intended, but… it concerns your sons." The elf started forward abruptly, "My lord? Here, let me help you."
Elrond watched distantly as the younger elf caught up a cloth from the desk and moved to clean up the ink he had spilled. He had been unable to control his start and the small bottle had overturned; ink was sliding in a dark, wet mass across the desk's wooden surface.
Moranuen moved quickly, fingering the sodden cloth gingerly as he looked about for something else to clean up the rest of it— and then his eyes fell on Elrond's taut face and the cloth dropped back onto the desk, forgotten.
"Where is the parchment?"
It was a short message, but it took reading the sinuous Numenorean script twice for the elf to finally understand its meaning. History often repeats itself… an agreement to our mutual advantage… your gates will remain closed, your troops remain within… a violation of this agreement…
//Elladan. Elrohir.//
"My lord?" Moranuen asked again, this time even more alarmed. Elrond's face looked paler than death itself.
"Leave me, please," Elrond whispered and he felt relieved as the other left without question. Like being plunged beneath a pounding waterfall, or thrown off a high cliff, he could not get his bearings. He, Elrond, who had remained clear-headed when half his warriors were falling around him on the slopes of Mount Doom; who had stood firm when within the volcano itself, when the resolve of his companion had failed; who had met with calm every disaster that had ever come upon the valley that he ruled.
Ice had filled his lungs, cutting off his breath. He could not breathe. Almost falling, he staggered as one wounded onto his balcony, his cold hands clenching the railing. It was too much. Too much to bear alone, and there was no one else.
His lips moved, forming pleas in his own tongue. "Celebrian…" the name fell like a wind-tossed leaf into the courtyard below. But though a phantom of a beautiful elven woman looked up from her roses and smiled, a wind whistled through and carried her away before she could speak to him. Or perhaps she had never been there.
Had he truly come to such a choice? He did not doubt the sender; could not doubt him, whoever he was. The proof was in the words themselves and in the knowledge behind them. The Nwelmai of whom Glorfindel had spoken: it was this person who held them in his control. And now the lord of Rivendell had been left at the choosing of ways… what decision could he make? His sons! His sons at all costs! Whatever it took — there was too much father in him to risk going out as he had intended. The Dúnedain were strong; they could stand long without aid!
His eyes were still resting on the courtyard, and now there seemed to solidify before him the memory of another figure standing below him. A familiar face. A Dúnadan. And also a son.
The return through the woods was to the untrained ear as quiet as a still pool; the only sounds being the constant dripping of water off the trees and from the north the occasional damp crack of a branch, or the slipping sound of a boot against wet tree bark, or the splash of a disturbed puddle. To Legolas, whose ear knew well the usual care the Dúnedain took when they traveled, the noise was terrible. His eyes rose from his own path and sought the face of Aragorn at his side, but the human did not lift his own head in response. His chin rested on his chest and his sodden hair obscured his features, slapping his face lightly as his head swayed a little from side to side. It was as though he were unsure of his path, or else was too deep in thought to control the movement.
The elf held his peace, knowing his friend would speak when he wished and that rushing him would bring no results. In the following silence, Legolas was allowed time to sort out his own feelings. He had no brothers of his own and in a strange way when he had allowed Aragorn into his life — human though the ranger was — he had allowed the entrance of Aragorn's whole family. Elrond, in some ways wiser than Legolas' own father and a calm place in the midst of even the most violent of storms; Elladan, warrior and ever the elder brother figure to those around him; Elrohir, equally the most sensitive when confronted by evil and the most inclined to pranks when surrounded by tranquility. Through numerous adventures he had come to rely heavily on all three, even as Aragorn himself did, and through equally pleasant and quiet times together he had come to respect and appreciate the individual qualities that made the strangely mixed family so enviable.
And now they had been torn asunder in a way the elf had never quite experienced before, for usually it was he and Aragorn who were lost this way and their feelings were more taken up with the surrounding danger, leaving little time for worrying about what might be befalling the others in their absence. Now the unknown was more terrible to him than any sudden attack of orcs upon his own person could have been, and to Aragorn, who had lived his whole life with the twins at his side, the affect must be a thousand times worse.
"What will I tell Father?" a hollow question finally broke the layer of silence that had covered them both.
Legolas looked quickly at him and a new emotion took hold briefly in the elf's eyes as he recalled the twins being dragged away — as he saw Aragorn's confused grief — as he envisioned the reaction of Lord Elrond when word reached him. It was fury. A boiling righteous anger, washing over and through him and changing the color of his gaze to a tingling steel. Had an orc appeared at that moment, he would have fled in terror without a single blow having been struck.
Slowly, the feeling ran its course, the raw emotion leaving him instead with an iron resolve. He would not set foot on the road home until the evils begun were put to flight and Elladan and Elrohir brought home to Rivendell. With a readjustment of his slim shoulders, his promise was made and he exhaled, relaxing back into his usual elven calm. There was a job to do and he would need control of himself to do it.
Then he realized he had not answered Aragorn's question. "Best to send one of the Dúnedain as soon as we return," the elf recommended softly. "Lord Elrond will probably wish to send others to help you in your search."
"Yes," Aragorn nodded and seemed to take hold of the task like a lifeline of normalcy. When they came upon the few Dúnedain who still remained about the feet of the tower, only his eyes still betrayed his great anxiety, for his voice was calm and his hands no longer trembled as they pushed his hair from his face.
"Idhrin, I need you to carry a message to Lord Elrond in Rivendell."
The elder Dúnadan nodded and stood up alertly, his gear already stowed as though he had been anticipating departure once his leader returned. He waited to be either handed or told the message, dreading already what it might contain.
"His sons, Elladan and Elrohir, have been taken by a large company of orcs, heading north. The trail has been obliterated due to the rain, but Legolas and I will try to learn of their location and bring them back as soon as may be." Aragorn opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then closed it again and nodded once.
Halbarad's eyes closed briefly before he lifted his own gear and nodded to Idhrin, "You had best start immediately; there are horses in the lower clearing with Malvegil. The rest of us shall continue on our patrols: we will need to be doubly watchful while short of men." It was bravely said, for the ranger could sense the disquiet amongst the men, though they showed no sign of their feelings. That of all the members of their company it should be the two strongest who would so suddenly be taken away was a thought that had occurred to none of them. Turning about, the men dispersed silently, disappearing into the familiar trees in all directions. Only Erynbenn and Halbarad remained, the younger Dúnadan with the air of uncertainty, as though he felt he ought to say something and could not think what.
"My friend," Halbarad murmured, "will you be all right?"
Aragorn released a breath, "I will have to be. My brothers are in jeopardy and time is short — I cannot waste even minutes on brooding." He gave a ghost of a smile as he gripped Halbarad's shoulder briefly, "Thank you."
The Dúnadan gripped Aragorn's shoulder in return and turned to Legolas, "So the impossible falls to you."
"Impossible?" Legolas' brow creased in confusion.
"He means keeping Aragorn out of danger," Erynbenn explained. "All but a few of us have given it up completely; he refuses to be 'followed', as he terms it."
Legolas bowed solemnly, knowing full well the identity of the 'few' to whom the young man was referring. "I can only do my best and pray the Valar will cover my lapses in vigilance."
Aragorn shook his head in what might have been exasperation, though he did not laugh as he usually would have done. Instead he turned and led the way back towards where he and his friend had last seen the twins. Somehow, there had to be a trail somewhere.
It was several days before Halbarad saw his leader again, and when they once more crossed paths Aragorn seemed to have both recovered somewhat and to have aged a great deal. Care had creased lines in a face where there had already been too many, and the Dúnadan could only hope these would disappear if— no, *when* Aragorn's brothers were found.
"Nothing?" Halbarad asked, knowing already the answer.
"Nothing," the answer came anyway, only it was from Legolas, not Aragorn. "The trail is completely gone and we can find no clues of their destination."
"How have you fared?" Aragorn queried with concern, realizing that his company must still be scattered for only Bartho stood nearby.
"We have done well," Halbarad said. "Only one attack since you left. There is a chance they are moving off, or it has also been suggested by…someone… that they are lulling us into a false sense of security."
"Of course," Aragorn nodded dryly. "What of Idhrin?"
"He has returned and brought with him a friend of yours," the Dúnadan replied, already leading him towards the old tower and the figure who had now appeared in front of it. It was Moranuen.
"Mora!" the ranger cried, a look of actual pleasure appearing on his face as he embraced his friend. "I am glad to see you, and so soon! I had not dared to hope Idhrin would return with such speed. What news from my father?" And his eyes now betrayed his anxiety.
The elf had smiled in return at his welcome and had greeted Legolas warmly, but at the question his expression grew grave. "I met your messenger on the road and he came back directly with me instead of making the whole journey. I already have a response to your message."
"How did Father know…?" the question trailed off as Aragorn accepted the message and broke the seal. The ink used was blue rather than the black Elrond usually favored, and the writing was slanted as if the words had been written hastily. It was painfully short.
My son,
I have received word of your brothers. Perhaps you already know of their fate? They are yet alive, if I can trust the word of their captor, and will be safe as long as I remain here and do not act upon the plight of the Dúnedain. This I admit I was ready to do, deceiving myself that the Dúnedain could stand alone. But whoever this person is he has determined to take for himself the north kingdom as it was of old, and this he can do only when the fell creatures at his command have completely destroyed the last remnants of Numenor. In the depth of my grief, I might well have condemned a whole people to destruction for the sake of my children; but you are also my child and I could not so easily forsake you. I know also that were I to present such a choice before Elladan and Elrohir, they would not choose their own lives over even a single member of your company.
May Ilúvatar be merciful to us both — for I know you, Estel, and I know the love which you hold for your brothers. I can only assure you that whatever occurred, it was no fault of yours. I shall have enough warriors assembled to dispatch a sizeable force before the end of the month.
Elrond, Lord of Rivendell
Legolas started at the pallor that overspread his friend's face. "Aragorn, what is it?"
The ranger dropped the parchment as if it burned him, his eyes going wide as he stared at it, lying white in the grass. "Is there no way to stop him?"
"Stop him from what?" the elf pressed, reaching down to lift the letter again and glancing desperately through its contents when the ranger made no reply. It was every bit as heart wrenching as he had feared — the bleak honesty and rawness of emotion showing through each syllable. His eyes shot up from the last lines to Aragorn's face, "You're thinking that he's chosen you over your brothers, aren't you?"
"Hasn't he?" the Dúnadan shuddered. "I know not what possessed him, but he cannot mean this!"
Mora's eyes were pained, "Aragorn, even were Lord Elrond to remain in Rivendell it is unlikely that Elladan and Elrohir would be returned; such men of the sort as this one, whoever he is, seldom consider themselves bound by their word. If he is to get his sons back, and you your brothers, your only hope lies in finding them and retaking them without their captor's consent!"
"I agree," Aragorn nodded vigorously, "but the moment it becomes clear that Father has not kept his end of this cruel bargain Elladan and Elrohir's life will be forfeit! There will be no time to prevent their being slain, and even less for discovering their whereabouts. At all costs if we are to find them we must find them before he sets out."
The ranger spun around, walking three steps away from them and stopping, his shoulders just noticeably trembling as he strove to master himself. Everyone else was silent — knowing he was correct. When he came back to stand with them, his face was again calm and he spoke quickly, as one who knew now his course and was ready to travel it, "Mora, I thank you for coming with such speed. Now I must ask you a great favor: that you will return with equal speed and bear back to my father a message in return. Please tell him to withhold his aid until the middle of this coming month at the very least. We will need every day of it."
"Of course," Moranuen nodded, his slender dark brows connecting in a frown. "I doubt he will approve."
"I doubt it also, but it is the only way. Thank you, my friend."
The elf did not linger after he had been given fresh provisions, but started his horse back into the trees with only a brief backward glance.
"Where do you intend to look?" Halbarad asked quietly.
Legolas glanced at Aragorn, who was staring thoughtfully at the ground, and shrugged his shoulders, "Not in the woods, unless we can find clearer directions to this tower of which Glorfindel spoke."
"I think that would be the most logical," Bartho nodded. "It seems unlikely that such valuable prisoners would be left in an easily accessible place, and that is assuredly the least accessible choice the enemy could make."
The elf nodded, glancing again at Aragorn and wondering if the other was going to have any input.
"The greatest obstacle," Halbarad mused, "is our ignorance. It is something, I suppose, to know that the same person or persons are responsible for both these beasts and the capture of Elladan and Elrohir, but as for who exactly we are dealing with… one orc looks very much like any other."
Aragorn looked up, "Yes, but humans don't."
"Humans?" Legolas repeated.
"Humans, and don't even think about denying it." There was a spark of the old humor back in Aragorn's eyes. "Elves are not as observant as they think they are."
At any other time Legolas might have disagreed and loudly, though he had to plead guilty on having once claimed that all humans were very similar in appearance. Now he felt as if, unconsciously, he'd been alone in the woods for the past several days and at last he had found his best friend.
"There was a man in charge of the orcs," Aragorn was explaining rapidly to the other two Dúnedain.
"What good does that do you in your search?" Bartho frowned. "Think you to ask the birds if they've seen this person?"
"What birds?" the ranger asked rhetorically, gesturing impatiently to the silent trees. "And no, that would be of no use to us at all. What will aid us is actually not the man's appearance, but instead the fact that he is human." Turning to Legolas, the ranger smiled briefly, "Our search is suddenly not quite so hopeless, my friend. Though I'm not sure if you will favor my next suggestion…"
TBC…