*Siri comes in looking very ashamed of herself*
Oh! I'm sorry this is SO late! I'm afraid that the power went out in our house for a long while and I didn't get the chance to work on the responses yet!…yeah…that and I had to build a boat to get through the ReaderTears Sea! =D
Chloe: Hey lil' sis! *laughs* Yeah we do sorta sound like that sometimes…but I will have you know it ISN'T always my idea! =D Sorry we made you cry…well…actually not really since you made us SOB rather UNPROFESSIONALLY over YOUR little fic! ;D OH MY! That was the WRONG song to be listening to at that moment ;D
Maranwe: Lindamar? *puts hands on hips and turns to Sarah* Any idea what's got them onto this whole 'Lindamar' deal? ;D *eyes go wide* LOL! I don't think they should be dancing NOPE! Might ruin the whole dark'n'evil mystic! ;D I'm glad you liked that part! *points at Sarah* ALL her! :D
Mariana Nimeneth: Oh! *hands Mariana tissue* I'm sorry we got you so upset! Well…to be honest it was all the ORCS fault but I'm still sorry =( *laughs* Good rules though! Should be sure to get them published…though there are always those who transgress those sorts of laws ;D
Lady Sandry: *blushes* Thank you Lady Sandry! I'm glad you enjoyed it (as much as you can ;) Yes well, I have often wondered why their fathers haven't locked them up. =D
Lurker_elf: Aha! You are in luck! *hands Lurker a nice warm piece of homemade bread with butter and honey* Sarah is really good at making bread! =D Ah yes, those princes would be the delightful Nazgul, however we couldn't find any trace of names for them! I don't think anyone knows unfortunately…conscience? Kallamore? Huh. *smiles here winning 'no spoiler' smile* Yipes! Eaten by his own Nwalmai?! That seems highly cruel ;D *pats Lurker sympathetically* It's s'okay, they have to live till RoTK remember! :D Lindamar…Lindamar…rings a bell… ;)
Belothien: *laughs* Whoops! What's Elrond doing there! LOL! Thanks for pointing that out! According to the Silmarillion (which, to our knowledge is the only place Ilúvatar's name gets mentioned) it is 'Ilúvatar', not 'Ilúvitar', but either way: it's still fiction. ;P I'm glad you are enjoying it! :D
Cassia: *squeals and hugs…pulls back and straightens out wrinkles* LOL! I guess we're even now ;D Don't worry about it! We're always happy to see you! :D Tiny brain syndrome? ;D Well it could be worse…it could be NO brain syndrome…that's MY problem ;D Review queens?! *blushes furiously* Wow! Thanks! =D Yeah stupid movie ;D Oh thank you! We enjoy writing the twins I'm glad you like them! *laughs* Would it help you to know I ADORE Mora?! No really I was thrilled to get to write him and thanks again for letting us! I'm so glad we are doing him right! *hugs Mora* Yes! Many 'ouches' much 'ows'! Very important! =D *pulls Cassia out of the roof* LOL! Elrond's grief/letter was ALL Sarah's fault! *grins at her sister* Yes the Black Numenoreans was one of the reasons we started writing this story actually, or at least it sparked the crazy idea…that an apparently some Cassia/Sio brain waves that somehow reached us apparently! ;D *eyes go round* Kallomore, you may want to run for your life! =D Ah yes, Elladan has some method to his madness…too bad it didn't work! *hugs* Oh! A big stamp! From the Great Anonymous Torture Fic Writer! Thank you! Ah yes, here we definitely gave the more angst side of torture…not saying that's how it will stay, but I'm glad you liked it. *grins somewhat innocently* Yes well I have ALWAYS liked that part in Betrayal, total selfless sacrifice just makes my heart lurch so badly! Who writes the torture…oh…uh…*blushes* That would be me…yeah…actually I always ask Sarah to let me do it and I have been known to invent some torture scenes we hadn't planned on…there I confessed! =D But that's what makes me the 'crazy visionary' and Sarah the 'plausibility-mad realist' At least that's what SHE said, maybe I'm just morbid! *smiles sheepishly* Oh but your reviews are so great! Something about your writing in general seems to spark uh…long reviews from me…as for the lack of hamsters and gerbils I'd say that our Super-Amazing-Outright-Unbelievable-Rodent-Repeller is doing its job! *glowers* For all but Bucky that is. ;D
Karina: We were actually right across the continent from you: in British Columbia. Not as many French folk there, but a few, and we got very used to having everything translated both ways on our cereal boxes, etc. ;D I'm glad you like our titles! Those are mostly Sarah, she's great at those! Yes I feel really bad for Elladan and Elrohir, they didn't deserve us or Cassia and Sio! =D Ah yes, things to come for Legolas and Aragorn!
Mercredi: Great to see you! I'm glad you are enjoying it! I'm glad you liked our little hobbits, we wanted there to be some obvious reason for Aragorn's speech since Farmer Appledore wasn't really good enough ;D Yes it's El and El's turn…how lucky ;D
Well everyone thank you SO much for reading! I'll just run along a good authoress now and…hide… *laughs*
Talk to you soon!
*rows back to shore*
______________________________________________________________________________
Darkest Night
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
Chapter 9
You want to know what happened…
Rain dripped off the large wooden gate and trickled through the high set gutters, splattering down onto the cobblestone streets. Above the sky was not clearing but it appeared to have had its fill of rain for a time and now it rested, leaving the clouds to drift ominously over the town —foreboding the further work of the elements.
Amongst the many occupants of the winding streets the two strangers walked, wending their way between penned animals — including the public stable that held their own mounts — and shops from which emanated an orange glow, signifying life within. The locals ignored both figures and dismissed them easily, though if they had not been wearing their hoods things might have been different.
One of the strangers spoke at last, not moving his gaze from the wet cobblestones before him lest he should stray into something foul on the less than savory streets, "Strider, are these frequent visits to all your favorite towns a trend contrived simply to impress me?"
"If I am to witness Mirkwood and all its glories my friend, I think it only fair that we in turn see such towns as this one," the other replied dryly, knowing full well that whatever Mirkwood's current shadows, there was truly no comparison between it and this town in this weather. Still, Aragorn could not help feeling greatly at home in such places, despite how much he disliked certain of them. "You will be pleased to know that, notwithstanding certain fools as Bill Ferney and the more vacuous sorts as Lindamar, this place is one of the less hostile and can in fact be friendly in its own way." Aragorn's following smile was enough to create a barely concealed grimace on his friend's face. "Don't worry about it, Legolas, just talk as little as you wish and I'll handle it."
To this the elf shook his head and dropped the subject.
"Where are we going?" Legolas looked around the slowly crowding street at the many buildings which lined it.
"The Prancing Pony," Aragorn answered. "It's just ahead." He gestured vaguely towards the apparent end of the street, though Legolas could see a few alleys branching off it. At the place where Aragorn indicated, however, there stood a building. It seemed a good deal wider than the others and somehow better kept. Warm lights filtered from the windows onto the street illuminating a sign with a rearing pony embossed with metal and painted white. As they drew nearer Legolas could hear the pitches of many voices and an occasional burst of laughter or lines from a song.
The elf's overall impression was not made until he and Aragorn pushed inside the crowded inn, but even from the outside he could see why the Prancing Pony would be different from many of the towns he and his friend had been unfortunate enough to stray into.
The opening room of the inn was indeed very busy; men, halflings, and one that looked like a dwarf crowded around tables — now talking, now laughing loudly. A lot of attention was centered on a man about Aragorn's age who was telling a lively story of some hunt; it was apparently fraught with alternating tension and humor and he was gathering more and more of an audience as the tale progressed. Legolas saw a stairway leading up to the inn's rooms. It had close walls on either side and turned a corner up to the next floor. A black animal caught his eye and after a moment he recognized a cat which had draped itself over a partition between the room and the stairs. Its lamp-like eyes fixed on him briefly before turning to something more interesting.
Aragorn gave a short shake of the head and Legolas felt light splatters of rain strike his cheek; the ranger was still wet through from their journey to Bree, but it didn't seem to bother him and already he was moving up to the counter just in front of the door. No one stood behind it, though frequent noises were coming from the kitchen area.
"Burgess!" Aragorn called in the direction of the door. There was a very long pause before the noises in the kitchen ceased and a large man came from the doorway. He was tall but stout at the same time and gave Legolas the impression of someone who had lived his entire life in only as much space as his inn afforded. The innkeeper seemed rather flustered and almost annoyed when he realized who he'd been called by — if such an emotion were possible on such a round, jovial face.
"Strider then," Burgess Butterbur said by way of welcome. "You choose very poor times for me. The night's been busy and excepting my own boy the help's been as bad as spoiled eggs, if you take my meaning. Then there were the gents who gave me some mischief because they didn't approve of one of my costumers; said he was speaking brashly and they didn't take kindly to my ale, to which I can only avow that their taste must be very dull. It's been raining and that one gentleman complained about the floor, they don't understand it at all I tell you. The weather I can't help whatever else I may—"
"Burgess," Aragorn cut in smoothly. "I need to ask you about a man I think may have come through town. If he was looking for supplies, he likely would have stayed here."
"Then ask, though I don't rightly know why you think I would know; I can't be expected to remember every—"
"He was a tall man, dark haired, gray eyed, and like a soldier in build. He was no Breelander; I am guessing he haled from somewhere further north than here." Aragorn waited patiently as Burgess pondered the description.
"Tall man you say?"
The ranger nodded and the Burgess squinted vaguely in Legolas' direction. Legolas caught Aragorn's expression which had become somewhat fixed and the elf couldn't help smiling.
"And he was foreign you say?" The man's eyes continued to squint until he at last straightened a little. "Can't say's I remember any gentleman by that description. You remember his name by any chance?"
"No," Aragorn replied simply.
"Well…" the bartenders face gave away that he was concentrating again and at last he turned to the Dúnadan again. "Did he have a horse at all?"
"I'm not sure." Aragorn waited.
"Barli!" Burgess called suddenly back towards the kitchen. "Barli?"
A short figure, astonishingly similar to the innkeeper in build and expression, poked his head out from the kitchen door and called back loudly, "Wha', Dad?"
"Did we have a tall sort of foreign man in here at some time or another?"
"Might 'ave," Barli replied, looking agitated. "What's his name?"
"We don't know that," Burgess replied. "There was that fellow with the beard and his friend with that bad temper, and they were traveling north as I recall. Had a pretty feisty gray mare didn't 'e?"
"Could 'ave been the one," Barli shrugged before ducking back in the kitchen. Burgess turned back to the other two and for a moment seemed to be thinking on something else entirely.
"Eh…" he looked from one to the other. "Right, so will you be having the home brew or some of my fine ale?"
Aragorn gave the man a patient glare before turning to Legolas. "You go sit down somewhere out of the way. I'll talk to him and see if I can figure anything out." Legolas gave a short nod and moved away before his expression could betray him.
Leaving Aragorn to rifle the needed information from Burgess Butterbur's cluttered brain, the elf moved to sit at an empty table close to the wall and surveyed the bar with an apparent disinterest.
The hunter's long tale was still on and a few more had joined the audience; the cat, bored of its perch on the partition, had contented itself with rubbing against table legs — all the while emitting a thick purring. There were other patrons scattered about in twos and threes at other tables but no one seemed stand out much as a threat.
Then Legolas finally caught sight of one table that grabbed his interest. There were only two figures sitting at this table, which was only a few feet away from him. One, the one facing him, was a woman in her elder years. Her hair was graying from its previous auburn hues and her eyes were a pale green that seemed almost faded. She was clothed simply, wrapped also in a thin purple shawl, and holding a mug before her with both hands while listening with simple interest to the hunting story.
It was the man beside her, however, on whom Legolas fixed his attention. This man was close to the woman in age, but there was something altogether different about his appearance. His hair was very gray, almost prematurely so; his hands also held a mug, but the bent fingers clutched it so tightly Legolas wondered if the beaker would shatter in a moment. The man's clothing was drab as though he always wore it and his boots seemed to be splitting on his feet. His face was gaunt and drawn, the skin seeming to cling to the skull and giving the man even more the appearance of being held up by constant tension and nothing else. But it was his eyes that truly drew one's attention. They were both wild and wide, sunken slightly, and their green tones seemed to seep into darker hues with each breath he took. And though occasionally the eyes would dart edgily to the side, they were almost completely riveted on one thing.
Legolas followed the man's glance and felt his heart skip a beat when he realized what the man was staring at. It was Aragorn.
Why would he be watching Aragorn? Legolas turned his attention on his friend, who had resorted to very clipped requests to the bartender.
A light tap came on the elf's shoulder and he turned sharply, startled suddenly out of his thoughts. Almost immediately he relaxed; it was only a halfling. Having gotten Legolas' attention, the hobbit seated himself at the elf's table and gestured cautiously towards Aragorn.
"You ought to be careful, sir: takin' up with them rangers," he whispered confidentially. "Dangerous folk."
Legolas stifled any desire to laugh, memories of the ranger in question tumbling out of the sky on his head flickering across his mind. He gave a short nod. "Thank you. I shall keep that in mind."
The hobbit returned the nod, his pleasant face solemn, and cast a suspicious look at Aragorn — then he quickly rose and moved away as Aragorn turned from the bar.
Watching the hobbit go Aragorn raised his eyebrows at Legolas, but he just shook his head. The ranger seemed to sigh and started towards his friend again, lifting his hands in a sign of helplessness as he jerked a glance back at Butterbur. The flickering torchlight caught on the human's finger the Ring of Barahir, causing the ring to gleam with verdant fire.
Aragorn was unaware of the attack until it was upon him.
Without warning the old man leapt up from the table just in front of him. A terrified snarl was heard before Aragorn felt a hand clamp down hard on his wrist, twisting it sharply. Aragorn looked up into a pair of crazed green eyes before the man jerked him around, pinning him against his chest. He was aware of Legolas calling his name, but that was all he could distinguish between the throaty snarls until he thought he heard a scream. Again he was quickly distracted by the threat around him as the man who held him suddenly jerked his hand up so that the ring on his finger again caught the light.
The man shrieked and almost immediately there was knife in the hand that held Aragorn against him. The ranger tried desperately to struggle away as the man brought the knife down towards the his index finger, his intention clear.
Then, at the same moment, Legolas and the woman were upon the man. Legolas grabbed the hand that held the knife and twisted it, causing the man to drop the blade to the floor, and the woman grabbed the man's other arm.
"Raane! Raane!" she cried urgently, jerking on the man's arm. "Let him go Raane!"
With a pitiful cry the man released Aragorn and turned to the woman. "He doesn't know! He doesn't know what it will do to him!" he whimpered. Aragorn stumbled forward into Legolas who steadied his friend, looking the man over concernedly.
"Are you all right?" Legolas queried. Aragorn gave a short nod as he tried to gain his breath again, his eyes never leaving the man and woman.
After a moment the woman left the man at the table and came over to them, tears standing in her eyes as she looked fearfully from one to the other.
"I am so deeply sorry sirs! He did not know what he was doing! He has fits sometimes, I never let him out alone… I don't know where he got the knife! I would never let him have a knife! I promise he didn't mean it!" Her gaze settled on Aragorn and her eyes were begging, "Please…please don't—"
"No, all is well," Aragorn assured her, placing his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her. "No harm has been done."
"I'll remove him at once," the woman continued, trembling. She moved quickly over to the man who was staring blankly at the wall. "Come Raane," she murmured, taking hold of his arm and pulling it gently. The man flinched away and shook his head. "Come Raane!" she said a little louder, but the man refused to come.
"Let us help you," Aragorn came to stand beside her as she rose.
She looked up at him then nodded miserably. "Thank you, sir."
Aragorn smiled and pulled Barahir from his finger, gently concealing the ring in his coat pocket before he came to stand next to the man. Aragorn knew that Legolas was at his elbow and when he and the woman had helped Raane to his feet Legolas was ready to clear a way to the door. Aragorn was aware of every person's eyes on them, but he ignored that and helped the man out the door, Legolas shutting it behind them.
"Where do you live?" Aragorn asked gently.
The woman, obviously relieved to be out of the Prancing Pony, gestured up one of the alleys that branched off the main road. Both followed her lead down the darkened road and soon reached a dimly lit home in a chain of such houses. The woman opened the door to admit them and allowed the man to stumble into a chair near the fire. He stared into it intently and did not face them.
The woman was still trembling, but seemed to recover slowly. "I thank you so much sirs for your help and I am so deeply sorry for my brother's behavior."
Aragorn felt pressed to leave, but somehow he felt he shouldn't — not just yet anyway. "I am called Strider, my friend is Legolas." Legolas had let his hood drop so that his golden hair was plain to be seen and he smiled at the woman, taking her hand and clasping it kindly. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at the elf, but she seemed too surprised to comment.
"I—I am Helin," she introduced herself with a slight curtsy to the friends. "This is my brother Raane." She gestured to the man seated by the fire, who was now rocking back and forth and humming something softly to himself. "He isn't always like this," she tried to explain embarrassedly. "Sometimes he's quite himself, but things upset him and he tends to ramble and—and…" She trailed of again and after a moment she gestured into the living space, "May I offer you something to drink?" Aragorn would have refused, but he sensed that Helin could use something to keep her hands busy so he nodded.
"Thank you, we would appreciate that." He nodded to Legolas and the elf seated himself in one of the chairs; Aragorn sat beside him, close to Raane. Helin moved quickly to the kitchen and very soon returned with mugs of a sweet tea.
When they were all seated in the quiet Aragorn asked, "Has he always been this way, Helin?"
Helin shook her head and the ranger saw the most incredible sadness coming over her face as she looked at her brother. "No… not always," she whispered softly. "Once he was so much more… alive. He always was there for me… I suppose this is how I repay him for that. There's no one as can do anything for him; it's as though he is lost and they don't know where to look for him, even when he sits right there in front of them."
"I don't want you to speak of what pains you, Helin," Aragorn murmured.
"It does not pain me so much any more," Helin shook her head, turning away and adding randomly, "If he had never gone off with Qualin this would not have happened." She then seemed to draw within herself and was frowning at the burning fire, holding the warm tea rather tightly in her hands. "I thought Qualin had more sense than that, but then I thought that of Raane as well."
Something was tugging at Aragorn's mind; he didn't know what, but somehow the things she were saying seemed to be important to him. "Qualin?" he queried.
"Yes," she gave a short nod. "Raane and I had only just arrived in Bree — Raane was a tanner —when Qualin came to him, speaking of some 'grand opportunity' something that they couldn't pass up. Raane went with him and bless me if I know why now, I encouraged him. Just a short trip north and we'd have money enough for a decent house." Helin shook her head, moving slowly to the fire and throwing another log rather forcefully into the flame, sending sparks up that glinted in Raane's eyes. "Some time after he left there was a storm — the worst storm we'd ever had." She shook her head, becoming distant again. "I remember worrying about him in that storm…to think how much more I would soon have to worry about."
At the words of the storm, Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a glance. It was becoming clear to both of them that they had stumbled across something that very likely dealt with the mystery they were trying to solve.
"Then he returned," Aragorn prompted softly, bringing Helin back to the present once more.
"Yes he did," she nodded. "Alone. Without Qualin. And he was mad. He screamed and wailed about ghosts of the dead and a book, an archway, a dark hole, and again and again he repeated this one word I could not understand." She frowned at the floor, it seemed as though she had never before told anyone her story and now it spilled from her like some dam had been broken. "Strange word," she whispered trying to remember. "'Twas something like New, or Nua--"
"Nwelmai!" Raane shrieked suddenly. Whirling on the three of them, his eyes large and his hands clutching tightly to the chair's back until his knuckles were white. "Nwelmai! They will come! They will come! They will kill the last…. last… Isil… Isild-duh," he trailed into a whisper, sinking back into his chair. Turning his sunken eyes to Aragorn he seemed to remember the man. "Do not put it on. It will kill you! It will drain your life like sap from a tree, it will drain your life into shadow, it will show you darkness…. shadow…. it will show you blood!"
Aragorn felt his heart suddenly beating fast and he stared transfixed at the man before him.
"Don't ever put it on! Save yourself from the shadow and … and Nwalme!"
"I will not put it on," Aragorn promised suddenly, not entirely sure what he was promising, but trying to calm the man. Legolas and Helin remained wisely silent, watching the two and not daring to speak.
At Aragorn's words Raane relaxed and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. Aragorn was suddenly afraid that the man was dead as all the blood seemed to have drained from his face, but with a sharp breath the man woke again and turned his eyes to Aragorn. His expression almost normal, he seemed himself for a moment as he stared at Aragorn.
"You want to know what happened….don't you?"
Aragorn nodded imperceptibly.
Raane straightened and fixed his eyes on the ranger and Aragorn did not shy away, though he felt uncomfortable under the powerful gaze. "We left, Qualin and I," Raane began softly, as though he was recalling a dream. "We were told to do it, told to release them, to kill a little boy." Legolas looked up at Aragorn. The man did not look back. "Money was the promise…. so much money. So much opportunity…" Raane's eyes suddenly hardened. "So much folly."
For a long time he did not speak, the hiss of the fire was all that could be heard and this eerily loud in Aragorn's ears.
"Such a fool," Raane whispered. He looked directly into Aragorn's face and reached out, touching the man's hand where the ring of Barahir had been. "Yes," he nodded. "Yes, I put it on, and then they came. Nwelmai. They came from the hole and they were upon us. But we stopped it!" he cried suddenly, jerking away from Aragorn. "And they were trapped! Yes and we took it! Took the book! The book. No one can find it without the book… We ran away then. We took it with us. Over hills, through fields, through trees…through fog." His voice seemed to choke off in the last words and he sank back into his chair. "Then we were lost. Lost in the fog. Lost." Raane trailed off once more and Aragorn suddenly saw tears shining in the man's eyes. At last Raane turned his gaze away. "They took us down into the fog, under the archway in the hills. Their dead souls alive and screaming, and singing, chanting our requiem in our ears…Wights. Living in the barrows; so much treasure, so much laid waste. I ran…. yes ran. Qualin didn't run. The book didn't—" Raane broke off and for a last moment he turned his haunted face back to Aragorn. "I can still hear his screaming."
Then Raane spoke no more.
TBC…