The Return of the Sarah! Thanks SO much for all your lovely reviews; I can't even tell you how much we love them. :D Must go fast and see if I can actually get this posted in a somewhat timely manner… :P

Lurker_elf: There you go again, making us smile even while we make you cry! Of course, we're glad we were good enough at this to make you cry, but really: we don't take delight in your misery! *hands fresh Kleenex box over* No more than we take in Aragorn or Elrond's misery, anyway… :{ Glad you liked the role switch!! Enough of this is MC old-hat as it is; we decided to see what would happen if we muddled the characters around some. :) *glances at strangled Kallomore* Yeah, diplomacy isn't exactly his strong point, is it…? :P Yup, he meant the twins alright. *sigh* And no, Aragorn is no more logical-minded than your average brother-deprived ranger. ;D Us and Tolkien-esque in the same sentence? Whoa. *glows red* Oh, and unfortunately: the 'cliffie' here (such as it is) won't be understandable until the *next* post. This post, well… *pales and forks over another three boxes of Kleenex* This post is really not my fault, let's just put it that way. :P And no, I wouldn't dream of thinking you could forget Lindamar!

Belothien: Yeah, sorry about all the tears! That was one of our angsty chapters alright. *sigh* Hannah likes Mora too! Part of the reason he makes an appearance in this fic at all; as for whether he will be in it more, I guess you'll see. ;) If you're looking for hints of who's going to die in their names, I can tell you now you won't find one. You might find some other hints, but we also used a fair number of historical names in this fic (so we're not even sure what they mean ourselves… :P). Thanks for the feedback!!

Lady Sandry: I'm so sorry your sick! Here's a new post for you. :) Oh, and here's some Kleenex to go with the new post… :{ You're right, Eression and Aragorn kind of look alike, don't they? So far as an explanation goes, well, keep reading. ;)

Maranwe1: Wow, questions galore! Let's see what I can do for answers… 1) Chloe is about as predictable as her plot, and I'm afraid we're having no luck finding out when her next fic is due. Last I managed to get from her: the writing was going well! :D 2) This story is 19 chapters long. 3) Sorry, no info on Lindamar permissible at this time! ;P 4) Sorry again, you won't find out for a while. :{ 5) Posting generally takes place when I get home from work (i.e. just before dinner time at our house). Sorry it shows up so late for you! We've tried posting earlier, but we never seem to pull it off… :(

Anarril: LOL! It made perfect sense! Just like 'knowledge' and 'wisdom' are not the same thing, if *that* made any sense. You like the twins, eh? Oh. :(

Hiro-tyre: *glows a color somewhere between royal burgundy and tomato red* Hiro… *falls over backwards in her chair* Whoa. *from the floor* You do realize you rendered us speechless for a full five minutes after we read your feedback, right? 'False sense of humility' nothing; our attitude upon presenting something new here is one of absolute trembling. Questions and doubts flash across our brains at a speed usually reserved for sound. The only reason we actually manage to go through with it is because we know you are all waiting for it. So if praise in general makes us glow and float about for days at a time, praise like this generally knocks us flat. *pats floor* Literally! :D THANK YOU SO MUCH! I hope we can manage to keep going with the same quality!! Oh, and so glad you liked Elrond; there was a very delicate balance we were trying to strike there, and it seems it came through as we planned! Amazing… *subsides into a more normal shade of pink*

Karina: LOL! Hey, that's okay! We actually used to spend summers in Canada, so the French/English dynamic there is pretty familiar to us. Which province do you live in? We don't live in Florida, but close: we live in North Carolina. It's probably warmer here, all right, but I don't like being cold so it feels freezing to me! ;P Yep, invincible they are not! I think part of it too is not wanting to place other people in danger by having them come after you. *laughs* Yeah, the twins seem to be generally pictured that way all right! We actually try to avoid Elladan-the-brooding, preferring Elladan-the-protective instead, but in this case he was upset about being lost, probably worried about what might have happened to the Dúnedain (especially Aragorn), tired of his brother's teasing, and the result was somewhat less than cheerful. ;D Yeah, that was Eression all right! Of course, Aragorn doesn't know that. ;) Thanks! The title was a brilliant creation of Hannah's! *curtsies to her sister* Alas, we are indeed rough on our characters. If we were nice to our characters, you'd all be bored and quit reading! Oooh, writing style compliments give me warm fuzzies. *hugs herself* And this was your favorite so far? Wow. And here I wondered if we would make everyone fed up with us for not having any action here. I need to learn to stop underestimating you guys. ;) Sorry about that cliffy; unfortunately, we won't be getting you all down until the chapter after this one. Hopefully, you'll forgive us. :} Thanks for all the wonderfully extensive feedback!! It made our day. :D

Okay, I'd love to hug you all some more and reread your feedback (for the umpteenth time; that is how much we thrive on your posts!), but I have to go punch down the bread, make dinner, and a bunch of other fun stuff, and I don't want to wait until bedtime to get this posted! WARNING: One of the reasons for the PG-13 rating is lurking in the following paragraphs!! :{

______________________________________________________________________________

Darkest Night

By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries

available at the top of chapter 1)

Chapter 8

Hauntings of the Past

History was not a subject for the young. Such scholars that read the details off parchment and toyed with the words of ancient days were deluded if they felt they could delve so far past their own existence. It was a mystery that only the experienced could truly claim to understand or hope to duplicate.

There were many tales of the Black Numenoreans to be found in transcript, and these tales issued from the mouths of just such historians — and even from some elder ones who thought that they knew the truth. Of course the initial history was well known. The Black Numenoreans had come to Middle Earth from Numenor prior to the foolish leaders of that land who had attempted to storm Valinor and take the gift of immortality.

It was no secret that these black descendants of Numenor had traveled to the new shores to pillage the land and take it as their own, nor was it a secret that these men were led by nine princes, each doomed to fall into darkness.

But even in all the supposed truths, error could be found. For the tomes of history also stated that the Black Numenoreans — all but the nine princes — had died after the last battle of Angmar.

However, as it went with all survivors, it must be understood that overlooking them was no serious error; it is quite easy to believe a race to be wiped out when all that remains is a single affluent man.

After gaining prestige and wealth in the plundered lands he had watched from a distance as his fellow men were destroyed, for no lot would he take up in folly. This man would not fight to the death beneath his Prince, the great Sorcerer, the Witch King of Angmar's banner; he knew that each of the Black Numenoreans would fall to ruin in this attempt and he knew better than to rise against Arnor and the elves, even when victory seemed assured.

When at last all of Angmar fell to Gondor and the Noldorim, and the Witch King fled at the last stand, this man had found his wisdom to be well rewarded. Now he stood alone with only his kin and servants. They had lived solitary lives, far in the north, out of sight and knowledge for hundreds of years, until a plague had struck them all. All but two. One man had again survived, with only a young lieutenant, now his captain of war. And they were now the only Black Numenoreans left truly alive in Middle Earth…

Kallomore stood by the wall, his hand tracing gently the grooves imbedded there, stains like blood melded with black stone in the shapes of strange beings, grotesque in shape and with a strange sort of vibrancy that seemed to almost speak to him in whispers and screams.

His slender hand was ashen and the skin hung loosely on it as though he had grown old in hands alone. Moving his bent finger over the crimson shapes his hand paused at last over the stained image of a being like none other. Scratches like a shaggy mane distorted much of the creature and lifelike claws jutted from its form. It was on these claws that the pallid fingers stayed their movement. A cold smile came over Kallomore's face and he curled his hand into a fist before the image.

Turning at last from the wall and moving to the alcove at the side of the room, he traced his fingers carefully in a place where the dust had not settled so thickly. It was in the clear outline of a square shape. Yes, he knew what article of the past should lie here, but he had no need of it; it did not concern him.

History might be for the experienced to tell, and perhaps they were the only ones who should duplicate it, but he was far more competent than any historian could hope to be.

There came a military knock on the door — easily recognizable. Kallomore gazed at the entrance, wondering if perhaps he ought to wait a few minutes to teach his young captain patience. A warrior in his own right, Kallomore had long made a practice of training his underlings in his service from their childhood. Eression had been different, it was true, but he would never have gained the position of second in command like this if Kallomore's original captain had not perished during the plague. He was a fine enough soldier and had learned the art of keeping his councils within his own head, but there were still times when Kallomore could see something in the back of his eyes; something unworthy of a future king's chief general. Like every other flaw the Numenorean lord had found it would have to be driven out of him sooner or later.

However, Kallomore could honestly admit that the flaw was certainly not impatience. Eression had not even so much as knocked a second time. Besides which, he would be bringing news of his mission.

Opening the black door, Kallomore stood looked the captain up and down. Eression was clearly weary — the journey south and back was not a short one, and with the orcs none too trustworthy it would have been unwise for him to rest for long. But he was also triumphant.

"Greetings, Captain. I trust you bring me good tidings?" Kallomore asked.

"Yes, my lord. We have succeeded in seizing both the sons of Lord Elrond. I sent my spy to deliver your message as soon as we had secured them." He seemed to be waiting for a commendation.

"Where are you intending to keep them?" Kallomore asked.

"On the second level in two of the barracks rooms. I decided that there would be the best place for them — given the lack of outlets on the second level, and also given the orcs and their ways. The doors are well constructed there."

"You 'decided'?" The question was a dangerous one and Kallomore watched carefully for the reaction.

"I — yes, my lord," the captain replied, apparently aiming for sheer honesty.

There it was, though. The small weed in the young man's mind. "I am altering your decision. I grow weary of your orcs causing mischief beneath my tower, Captain Eression. By one means or another I must have silence or I will not be able to concentrate my powers and direct those… other creatures which are under my authority. You will double the current rations and place the prisoners down with your army. Food and amusement; that should accomplish what I desire. The fact that I am forced to turn my attention to a matter which ought to be under *your* control is inexcusable, Captain."

"Yes, my lord. But if they are hostages—"

Kallomore's eyes seemed to flame, a red glow lighting his gray gaze. "Captain Eression," he hissed, ever so softly. "Are you questioning me?"

Eression paled. "No, my lord."

"We are at war, Captain. We are no longer in our old lands. Here things *will* be different, or I shall give *you* to your army for their pleasure and place your head above the front entrance." The flames sank away into bottomless wells of blackness. "Do not question me again."

"No, my lord." The young man's face was hard now. Hard and unyielding. The weed had been pulled.

"Inform the orcs that they may do as they please, but they are forbidden to slay their captives. If they cannot restrain themselves, then one elf can easily do the work of two. But it does not matter overmuch; in only a few months I shall not need them at all. Go."

"As you command."

When Elladan woke he could not open his eyes immediately. For some unrecalled reason he hurt everywhere and his head throbbed mercilessly. He was slowly made aware that someone was pulling him roughly by the arms on either side; his feet felt heavy and he realized that they were being dragged behind him. Somehow, he knew he had been unconscious for more than a few days, and he wondered what had kept him asleep for so long. Had someone drugged him? He squinted his shut eyes trying to grasp what was going on around him.

Then, with a flash of bursting pain in his head he recalled it in one gasp. His eyes flew open and he was met with a dark passageway deepening before him. There was an orc in front of him and, he realized a moment later, two orcs held his arms dragging him through the hall. Elladan turned his gaze quickly to the side and before he could fully grab hold of himself he blurted.

"What have you done with Elrohir?"

The orc just in front of him turned and grinned wickedly. "Oh, you mean the little one like you?" it sneered. "Nothing. We've done nothing to him…yet." Elladan did not miss the tone at all and he felt his heart skip a beat. He tried once more to find his brother among the orcs around him, but he was disoriented from the fight and the long journey to this place and his head pounded from where it had been struck.

After a while longer down the hall, they final came to a halt and Elladan saw a human step up to the orc in the front.

"Rogkhar," the young man said with authority, "Lord Kallomore has ordered that your rations be doubled and that the prisoners be placed under your watch. He further says that you may do what you will with them, but keep at least one alive, and if it is in your power, both. Is that understood?"

The orc known as Rogkhar gave a tilt of the head. "It is understood Captain," he turned his cold sneer on Elladan and the elf felt his heart freeze.

The captain gave a curt gesture towards a door to the side, "Then be gone from my sight, and I want to hear no more reports of dissension in your ranks; if I hear so much as a whisper of trouble, I shall have your heads." With these words the young man left the orcs without a glance at Elladan.

Rogkhar pounded the door open, sharply bringing Elladan's attention to him, and started down a set of sheer stairs into a darkness impenetrable. Elladan gave a vain attempt to struggle, feeling the evil like a wave of stale air wash up to him, but he knew it was to no purpose and soon he was being pulled against his will into the dark.

At the base of the stairs the stench of orc, burning flesh, blood, and other foul matter filled Elladan with disgust and strengthened the sense of dread that was coiling within him. He had only a moment to look about the gloomy chamber before he was dragged to an alcove in the far wall. In the light of scattered fires he could just see the grotesque forms of more orcs and the meals they were eating, but Elladan did not wish to dwell on the chamber's occupants at the moment.

He was abruptly forced to put all such thoughts out of his mind anyway as he was slammed hard against the wall. His hands were jerked above him until he could only just touch the floor; his wrists brutally bound in twisted metal manacles. The ill cut bindings dug into his wrists and he winced in spite of himself.

Then, at last, he saw Elrohir. His younger brother was pushed to the wall as he had been and bound against it with manacles in the same fashion. Elrohir only just seemed to be coming around and Elladan saw the blood that trickled from a bad wound on his brother's head. A burning rage was building inside the elf and now, seeing his brother like this, the disgust he felt for the foul creatures that held them captive grew until it rose up as biting words in his throat.

"Spawn of the decaying realm of Ulund," he spat viciously in his own tongue, then turning to words they could understand. "You are in grave error if you believe us pliant to your whims!" In the elf's eyes there burned a light that radiated from him, the faint glow he presented by the nature of his kind seemed grow until it blinded the orcs for a moment. Rogkhar growled and sharply cuffed Elladan across the face, jerking his head to the side. Within the orc kind there dwelt an unquenchable lust for blood and Elladan's outburst seemed to only fuel their hunger.

"The captain said we must keep only one alive," Rogkhar snickered to his fellows. "The other *we* may keep, eh lads?" After a moment of discussion disguised in a dark, poisoned tongue that left Elladan's head ringing strangely, they moved up to the two prisoners.

"This one," Rogkhar decided aloud, pointing one gnarled finger at Elrohir. The orcs moved on the instant to the younger elf removing his bonds and dragging him to the floor.

"No," Elladan whispered, his eyes transfixed as his brother was pulled down onto his knees. He had felt sure that his rash words would bring their brutality upon himself.

Elrohir was still dazed and did not have a chance to see the blow coming until he was hit hard in the stomach, dropping him down onto his hands on the cruel stone floor. The elf gasped, trying to take in his breath, but before he could he was struck again in the same place, dropping him closer to the floor. Elrohir coughed and shuddered again as he tried to fill his lungs; Rogkhar moved close to him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head up and pulling him back to his knees. The orcs kicked him down again and twice more after this until Elrohir could barely breathe and had curled numbly in on himself. Rogkhar yanked him up to his knees by his hair again and sneered in the elf's face.

Elladan felt his heart pounding hard in his ears. He remembered vividly. The fearful eyes, the tears, the pitiful screams, the deathly pale skin — his mother's breath gasping into his shoulder as he carried her from the orc's lair, their blood still staining his hands as he held her. It was these orcs, these fell beasts of the Misty Mountains, that had so broken his fair mother's spirit until she had no will remaining to live in Middle Earth. After all her sons and husband had done, still it had caused her to pass to Undying Lands once and for all. Leaving them. It was like an ember awoken in Elladan's heart. He could not, *could not* allow them to do this to Elrohir. But Elladan was also painfully aware that just like with his mother, there was nothing he could do.

Rogkhar studied Elrohir for a long time and the elf met his gaze squarely, refusing flinch away, though Elladan knew his brother could remember these orcs as well as he.

"You see this?" Rogkhar gestured with his free hand at Elrohir and grinned. "He is just like us only he is made all fair and fine, but it wouldn't take a lot to make him *look* like us."

Elladan tensed and for a moment met his brother's gaze. Elrohir's fear was masked behind a well built calm, but Elladan could see through it and he felt more helpless than ever.

"His hands are not like ours at all," one orc sneered, gripping one of Elrohir's fair hands in his own scarred, perverted hand and twisting it sharply, making Elrohir wince.

Rogkhar nodded to three of the orcs beside him. The three chosen knocked Elrohir to the ground, pulling his hands out in front of him, stretched across the floor. One orc placed his foot firmly on Elrohir's back, pinning him, while another bound the elf's hands together at the wrists..

Elladan felt his heart pound so hard he couldn't think. Rogkhar hefted his knife stained black with orc blood, and when the blade fell to Elrohir's hands Elladan knew he would not be able to bare it.

"No!" Elladan screamed suddenly. "Please no! Leave him alone!"

The orcs however were not listening, almost as if Elladan was not there or had not spoken, Rogkhar dropped his blade against Elrohir's hand and cut a fine line across the back of the elf's right hand. Expertly he traced it down to his wrists and dug it deeper, dragging it up once more. He began to make slashes in Elrohir's palms and across his fingers, causing them to bleed freely and sting terribly. Elrohir kept as silent as he could and did not utter a word, but the gasps were not lost to Elladan's ears and he closed his eyes trying desperately to suppress the pain in his heart.

When at last the orcs had finished with the elf's hands they unbound them and surveyed their captive for new mischief.

"No scars on his back," Rogkhar decided at last, placing one hand on Elrohir's back and tracing imaginary lines across it. To this the orcs took immediately — beating a prisoner was like a beloved sport to them.

The orcs forced Elrohir's head to the ground bending him over his knees, exposing his back to the hard lash that fell across it. Elladan flinched and clenched his fists hard above him. The lash fell again and again, digging deep lines that the orcs hoped would surely leave lasting marks. Elrohir began to make louder gasping sounds. Clutching his bloodied hands to his chest he whispered softly so that only Elladan could hear.

They were elvish phrases and Elrond recognized them as the words to a song that their mother had taught their sister Arwen so many years ago. Elladan tried to whisper the words, tried to calm himself, tried to breathe; but he felt his heart wrench at the harsh treatment he was forced to watch and instead he became desperate. Pulling at his bonds he tried to get closer to Elrohir — he had to stop his brother's suffering, he could not fail his twin like this: he couldn't leave him alone.

The orcs paid him no heed and the lash fell again and again drawing blood from Elrohir's back and at last causing the elf to bite back cries he could not help.

"Stop!" Elladan cried clenching his fists and trying with all his might to break free. "Stop! Let him go! Please…." His begging dropped off, they refused to hear him, they were too overcome with their own cruel delight in hurting Elrohir, hurting him for no other reason than their own pleasure. Elladan closed his eyes wishing desperately that he could block out the cries as painful tears fell to stain his cheeks.

When at last they had completed their work with the whip they dragged Elrohir to his knees once again. He could barely keep upright and swayed uneasily under the pain. Mocking Elrohir cruelly, the orcs began to gouge blood from Elrohir's wounds, stringing it through his dark hair and causing it to cluster in thick dirty strands, even as the orcs' foul manes hung. Elladan twisted his wrists in his bonds, drawing blood as the edges of the metal dug into his flesh, and clenched his teeth until it sent flashes of pain through his head.

Still no words would penetrate these cruel monsters and they continued to torment the younger elf in any way they could devise.

"His face is far to fair." One orc with flat eyes and a crooked mouth stepped near Elrohir and dragged his knife across Elrohir's cheek, drawing blood at once. The elf cried out and it came as a sob. Elrohir was in severe pain — too much to hide it — and he was falling prey to their torment.

Elladan could bear it no longer, he did not care if it was hopeless, he would do all he could to draw their attention away from Elrohir.

The elf waited until one orc drew close enough and with a vicious kick he caught the creature in the back, throwing it forwards. Leaning as far forward as he could, Elladan kicked out again, catching the skull of another that bent low.

Rogkhar laughed scornfully at his efforts. "You think you can overcome us little elf?"

Elladan did not respond, he only retaliated, again striking his foot against one that drew too near. Now that he had their notice, he would try to keep it.

"You fear me then," he said as simply as he could around his burning throat. "You hurt the young and leave me here: you know you can never break me. I am too strong for you repulsive, pathetic spawn!"

Rogkhar grinned wickedly at that, "You are so sure we cannot break you elfling. I think you need a strong lesson in pain; be sure that you are listening when your screams fill this chamber." Rogkhar motioned to the others who dragged Elrohir back to the wall and bound him against it once more. The younger elf slumped limply against the dark stone; Elladan could see that his brother was trembling from strain and fear. His filthy hair was plastered against his cheeks and above him his hands were badly cut and scored. It looked too familiar…far too familiar.

"Elladan," Elrohir whispered with what little strength he had left, turning his pain glazed eyes up to meet his brother's, "please…don't…."

"Sh…" Elladan whispered gently as the orcs began to pull him down from his own manacles. "Do not worry for me Elrohir; do not give up hope. We will endure this; only remain strong."

Neither could say any more, for now the orcs were pulling Elladan to the center of the chamber, jerking him roughly to his knees. Elladan heard the sound of a leather whip being shaken down and he closed his eyes.

//Ilú vatar help us.//

This was his final thought before the lash fell.

TBC…