AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! This has got to be the latest we've ever been, barring getting it in the next morning (and since it is now 11:11pm, we're cutting even *THAT* pretty close). SO SORRY!! Not our fault! We even had all our responses written earlier in the day. But to try and explain now would be to put off your chapter even further, so I won't bore you. :{
Sarah here again! If we are gratified by the sudden outbreak of speechlessness, be assured it is not because we want you to all be quiet! ;D Just like if we are gratified by all the tears, it is not because we enjoy making other people miserable. *smiles, then notices the twins glaring pointedly at her* Okay, well, so maybe occasionally… :P
Gwyn: But I like to fuss! :D And it's okay if you don't have time/inclination/whatnot to review longer, I just wanted you to stop publicly beating yourself about the head like that. ;D Heck, we're just glad to know you're reading! ;) *shudders at Gwyn's eleven-year-old-Mary-Sue-fanfic-writer imitation* Ugh, you are too good. :|
Maranwe: Yeah, it's a poem, though ff.net ran the couplets together and made it look rather confusing. Not that it was very clear to begin with; after all, I was supposed to be imitating a mostly insane man at the time! Oh, and yeah, I wrote it; most of it was finished in about an hour. Yup, t's a little different from Tolkien's. ;D Ah yes, our ominous character-death warning… *smiles blandly and says no more* Oh! A favorite part! I love it when people give those. :D Lindamar? I guess we didn't mention Lindamar, did we… Huh. *changes the subject* Sure, THIS fic is finished, but are you going to tell me you aren't even a little curious about the fic we plan to write *after* this one? :) *watches Maranwe laugh dangerously and rant for several minutes about revealing secrets* CHLOE! We've got another one of YOURS in here! Chloe: Uh-oh. Bengwiil? Sarah: Bad.
Lurker_elf: Yipes! *jolts back in surprise as chibi-Lurker appears and then disappears* Entertained? Oh, yes, most definitely! :D *grins* Bartho meditating? Oh, that's a scary thought. I think he's just a little too practical for such a thing. ;D Ancient swords have their uses, all right! That is… *glances nervously at engraving on sword* Hm. That doesn't sound very reassuring, does it? :| Yes Aragorn, like a nice ranger, tried to fill in with his own weapons. *pats nice ranger on the head* And we are oh so glad our emotional roller coaster keeps it's realism!! Sometimes we find ourselves wondering: is this too much? And then we reread some of Chloe's stuff, and the question becomes academic. *grins at her angst-loving sister cheekily* Here… *retrieves more cocoa and a box of Kleenex for poor Lurker* We just don't seem to be making your life easy for you, do we? :} [*Siri pops in for a moment* Oh…yeah, it uh, got worse ;) I'm sorry Lurker! I didn't mean for you to leave lose sleep over this! *hands over tissue and a fluffy thing* :D *laughs* Oh yes, 3-D villains should be banned…their certainly harder to WRITE I can tell you that =D Yeah, they are VERY stubborn about that ;) *disappears*] LOL! At least Aragorn's not nearly as bad off as Gollum. ;D
Mariana Nimeneth: *watches Mariana die again* This is getting serious… You read my poem out loud? Once again: you're braver than I am, and I wrote the stupid thing! Oh, and it took me about an hour to write the bulk of it; we tweaked it later on to better fit the plot we'd concocted. One thing I was particularly proud of was the fact that each couplet ended off with a form of the word 'flee'; just thought I'd mention it, since you seemed to enjoy it so much. :) And free time? Some. Actually, the book entries wasn't all that complicated to write; perhaps I was just in a spooky mood. Then again, I'm also considering writing a pamphlet: You Too Can Learn To Write Like Madman! ;P [*Siri jumps in* Yeah we're working on that law but it can't seem to get past its early stages. ;) Give ya an orc? Well if you can catch one I suppose all I can say is 'more power to you' ;) *jumps out*] Poor Lenablin. Not. ;D He really ought to learn his lesson!
Cassia: *Sarah contentedly munches her apple* I feel like Sam… ;D Herm, yes, extra clothes… lucky. *snorts* Yeah, that was a sort of 'avoid at all costs' sort of thing. :P Good old Tom; we felt we were just too close to avoid him altogether, and besides: we've always wanted to take a crack at some Bombadil nonsense. :) Oh, oh, oh! And you liked the poem? And you noticed the title? *squeezes Cassia blue* Yeah, vague, freaky poetry can be almost as complicated as constructing those reminiscence scenes we were talking about. ;D Oh, and one little detail that I don't know if anyone picked up on is that every couplet in the poem ended off with a form of the word 'flee'! I mention it only because it happened almost by accident, and then I found I rather liked it. ;) *sheds a tear for Qualin and Raane, forgetting for a moment her part in making them miserable to begin with* Poor guys. I think I actually like Qualin better - seeing as how he was the one with the presence of mind to get himself and Raane out in the first place. *sniff* Okay, no more extraneous OC musing for me! :P [*Siri bounces in…and immediately tries to look innocent* Oh…uh…yeah…hurt. Well for all this is worth I DID warn you there would be some more torture stuff…but yeah. =) Yes I have always liked noble character who are willing to sacrifice themselves like that! Elladan himself has always been that way in your stories and that carries on into how we like to portray him in ours! So thank you! *hugs* Ah yes! Eression, well yes, if nothing else he DID save Elladan some broken bones and (oh yeah) probably his life! So…you never know ;) *Siri bounces out*] Oh, and here! *hands Cassia a box of Kleenex* You'll need it. *catches worried stare from Cassia* Um, for your cold I mean…. yeah. :D
Lady Sandry: Nope, not many Numenorean scholars out there; or at least, not many this far north. Probably Gondor has some - they're those kind of people. ;D You overanalyze MC stuff too? Cool! We (and specifically *cough*Hannah/Siri*cough*) do that a lot. And we're glad you approve of the mutual skills acknowledgement! We were trying for a subtle equality there, since - as you so excellently put it - sometimes elves are portrayed as being better at *everything*. :D *blushes* You liked our emotion that much? Gee, thanks! :) Yeah, no more Barrow Wights. You'll have to wait until Curse of Angmar comes out! ;D LOL!! Maybe 'evil' is a bit strong; just 'not good for eating'. *glances over at Hannah/Siri* Then again, if you read any of Hannah's reviews on Cassia/Sio's stories, then maybe 'evil' would become an appropriate term after all… *ducks the furry, bushy-tailed form of Bucky as he comes leaping at her head, chattering madly* Yeah. :P
Belothien: LOL! You know, more than a surgeon general's warning, we may want to alert people when *not* to read our chapters in a public place! ;D Yeah, we decided to be nice to Tom and give him a cameo; besides, he was fun to write! And we liked Aragorn's superior knowledge as well — it evened things up a little between man and elf. For all his skill with weaponry, etc., Legolas just hasn't ever come this far west before. :) Oh, and it may be the first fic in Aragorn's homeland, but with Curse of Angmar on its way (yehaaa!!) it will not be the last! :D
Anarril: Aule? That's an interesting theory! I guess that would make Goldberry Yvanna, hm? Funny; I think I have an easier time visualizing the latter than the former… :) Yup, wrote the poem. That was one of the first things we had done, actually! We tweaked it to fit when we changed the plot a little, but it's otherwise the same. Glad you found it freaky!
OKAY, A HINT ABOUT LINDAMAR: It's not what you think it is!! No, really, that is a hint. *innocent smile*
As a consolation for that bit of weirdness, another chapter for you! :D
______________________________________________________________________________
Darkest Night
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
Chapter 12
The Moving Pieces
Erynbenn had to admit his half formed ideas of protecting his companions had come to little or nothing. For a while he had felt a certain pride at being able to slip out on Bartho, but his lack of experience in this part of the wood rendered him confused in the dark and by the time he had identified the source of the strange cracking noises as nothing more dangerous than a few deer, he could not see his way back to his companions. What light was allowed through by the thickening clouds was already brushing the leaves when he recognized a tree he had passed over an hour ago.
"Well, I can comfort myself that they didn't have to come and find me," he sighed, readjusting the worn leather strap on his quiver.
At the soft sounds of undergrowth brushing aside, he spun about, the knife from his belt already in his hand. It was Bartho.
"I spoke too soon," the young man said drearily.
Bartho's eyebrow rose at the odd statement. "Find anything?"
"No." Erynbenn's voice was clipped with frustration at himself. "I know that I was wrong to leave without asking either of you, and that it was foolish to rush off at only a sound like that in the first place." He was too busy gazing down at his hands to notice the hidden tension in the other's shoulders.
"No, lad," Bartho said evenly, "your instincts were correct, and your mistake lay only in not taking one of us with you. It's best to travel in pairs, especially in times like these; why do you think Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir always stay together?"
Erynbenn didn't answer and the older ranger shook his head; it had taken very little observation to recognize the lad's hero worship of the elven twins. Undoubtedly Erynbenn admired them second only to Aragorn himself, and their disappearance had bothered the young man greatly, even if he had kept his feelings to himself.
"If anyone can find them, it's Aragorn," Bartho said.
"*Will* he?" Erynbenn asked absently, his hair brushing his shoulders as he turned his head.
Bartho gave half a shrug, "Perhaps."
Strangely the young man felt comforted.
Distantly there came the sounds of thunder breaking several miles away and around the two men the air took on a sickly hue. Rain had become almost constant over the past weeks and the sound was not surprising, but there was something lurking at the backs of their minds: something was amiss.
"Where is Halbarad?" Erynbenn asked softly.
"He's still following your trail," Bartho answered, his gaze intensifying as he looked carefully around. There it was again: that feeling of lurking menace. "We'd best get back to him before—"
A shriek split the silence. Bartho swung about, his sword in his hand, and felt the impact as the creature slammed shoulder first into him, laying him flat on the ground and knocking the air from him. Two slashes of lightening fast claws in a billowing mass of darkness and the arms that the man had jerked up to protect his neck were pouring blood. Another slash and Bartho curled up in pain, hugging his abdomen reflexively.
Erynbenn opened his mouth to call the other's name, and then found he had no time. Lunging forward towards what seemed more shadow than flesh, he smelled decay and then stabbed with his short knife, hoping to distract the beast even if such a blow could not have slain a wolf.
Thick fluid poured over his hands and he gasped in pain. The blood was like acid upon his bare skin, burning until he wished only to let go of the knife hilt. Still he hung on, gritting his teeth and waiting for the creature to swipe him off. A glittering claw came swiftly, aimed for his head, and he wrenched his knife free to swing wildly at it, but it evaded him and caught him instead across the thigh, sending him staggering back with an cry of pain.
It was the first noise that had been made since the creature shrieked, except for the rustling of leaves as the two men moved, for the footfalls of the fell thing were silent as falling snow. It seemed to gather itself for a second rush upon the young man, it's shadowy form coiling for a spring or a blow, but instead of the rush that Erynbenn expected there came a lash out of no where that threw him back against a tree. Bright spots danced before his eyes. He had forgotten what Aragorn had said about the creature having a tail.
A second lash came, this time raking his back and leaving bloody furrows in his tunic. Stifling a scream, the young man twisted around, trying to see, trying to block— and then another blow came and this time it was the creature's front claws, pressing, and the glimmer of teeth in a black hole of its mouth.
Sharp as the sound of a razor slicing cloth, there was the buzz of an arrow and a thud as it struck home. The creature reared and howled, spinning round like a blur of wind, and through the mist one could see the feathers of the arrow protruding from its side.
In return Halbarad gave a yell, releasing a second arrow. At the same moment the creature jumped, reaching for his throat, and it and the arrow met in mid-air. A second sound of impact and the creature changed course, whipping its body through the air as though uncontrolled by gravity. A ripple of putrid fur under blackness was the only indicator of its next move and Halbarad had to throw himself flat to avoid the creature's leap. In the half second that it took the beast to turn about and crouch for a second spring, Halbarad had fitted a fresh arrow and again he fired.
This time the creature evaded it, leaping up and perching itself on the lowest branch of a tree, hissing sibilantly. The branch creaked and for a long moment there was a pause as both man and beast froze and gazed upon one another. Halbarad had drawn out his sword and his muscles were taut, waiting for his adversary to move. Why had it stopped so suddenly?
Pain ripped into his back. The ground came up to meet him and sharp teeth bit deep, trying to break his neck. His sword had fallen from his hand and his nails scraped at the ground, gouging furrows as he tried to twist himself free. Again the teeth bit, but his thrashing prevented it from getting a good hold. A scream shattered his ears, for a moment leaving his world soundless: only the beating of his heart echoed within his head. He could not hear what happened immediately after, but the claws suddenly released him. Twisting, he rolled aside and caught up his sword, swinging it back to clip the creature's leg before it leapt back again.
Squinting, he saw only rushing shadow and fur above him, and then suddenly the world was full of sound again and he heard someone calling his name.
"Halbarad! The throat!"
Just above him he caught a glimpse of teeth stained with his own blood, and just within his arm's reach there stretched the beast's neck. Only once he stabbed and blood poured down his blade. Then the creature was gone like a whirlwind, blasting him to the ground and driving his senses from him.
When Halbarad awoke, Erynbenn was sitting beside him, his face weary and pale, but his eyes alert. The young man smiled starkly, his hands trembling where they rested on his knees.
"Are they dead?" Halbarad whispered.
"I don't know," the other ranger admitted. "I shot one where I think its eye may have been, and Bartho actually seized the tail of the one that attacked you, but though we wounded them both, I don't think our weapons are capable of slaying these Nwelmai." He lifted one shoulder fractionally. "At least they went back into the woods instead of on to Bree."
"Where is Bartho?" Halbarad eased himself up, reaching back to feel the familiar sensation of bandaging around the back of his neck. It was fortunate the hood on his cloak had stood between the creature's teeth and his flesh, or he knew he could have easily been dead. Erynbenn was also bandaged.
"He went a little closer to the town; I think he was in search of more herbs. He used nearly all of his on cleaning the venom from all our claw wounds, and a horrible poultice it was too. Are you sure you can stand?" The young man's voice was concerned as he pulled himself up quickly to steady his superior.
"What about you? I only have a few bruises and this one wound; you seem about ready to fall over."
"I won't be falling over," Erynbenn said firmly, but he didn't elaborate — he merely pulled a pair of gloves on over his burned hands and lifted his quiver from its resting place.
"Then we ought to go after him," Halbarad said
"Do you fear a repeat of Lindamar? I have caught neither sight nor sound of any trolls." Erynbenn's mouth quirked into a small smile.
Halbarad snorted briefly, "Hardly. Though it wouldn't necessarily be trolls this time — it might be something worse."
Descendants of Numenor though they were, the steps of the Dúnedain were heavy with pain and weariness. Lesser men would have perished in the attack, but long had these rangers hardened themselves against all injury, and now they did not think of resting.
The forest ended at the top of low rise and the two companions paused for a moment at its crest, their eyes taking in the town in the distance and the black storm clouds above them. A narrow road wound down from the trees, used chiefly by farmers in search of wood. The rangers seldom took such roads unless to avoid them meant to trespass upon private land, but now Halbarad started down without pause. Likely Bartho would have had to purchase some of what he needed and a night in Bree would be better than sleeping in the rain.
As they walked the town became temporarily lost to view in the rolling hills and for stretches there were no farm houses within sight either but only straggling patches of the wood that they had left behind. Passing through one of these they became aware of sounds up ahead. Touching Erynbenn briefly on the shoulder, Halbarad reached back and withdrew his bow carefully. At the same time they both stepped off either side of the path and melting more clumsily than usual into the trees.
The commotion was significant considering the small number of people involved. At the center was a carefully made farm cart, the horse before it moving anxiously back and forth. In the back of the cart bundles of wood lay piled neatly under burlap sacking to keep it dry. A tall man with short gray beard and the clothing of a farmer was arguing furiously with three other men, all of them clothed poorly and carrying their weapons openly as they jeered at him.
"I tell you this road here is free to any honest man!" the farmer shouted, giving no ground in spite of being outnumbered.
"And we tell you that either you'll pay your toll or we take your horse, your wood, and your life!" the closest of the armed men retorted.
A derisive laugh greeted this statement, "You think you can bluff travelers into paying you what isn't your due?"
"Silence, old man! Now will you pay in gold or in blood?"
"I've no gold to pay you; not until I take this wood into town! You fools are wasting your time with me."
"*You* are wasting *our* time!" the man yelled and all three lunged forward.
The farmer backed against his cart, a long staff his only weapon. But before he could strike a blow there was a furious triple hissing of air, the barest glimpse of three shafts in flight, and then all three highwaymen fell at once, identical expressions of shock on each of their faces.
For a moment there was an eerie silence as the farmer gazed down at the dead about his feet, and then he looked up to find himself surrounded yet again.
"Who are you?" he demanded, raising his staff once more — not ready to take friendship for granted. Then he frowned as he took in both their gear and their injuries. "Wait, you're rangers, aren't you? You live in the woods up north a'ways."
"Aye," Halbarad acknowledged, inclining his head. "I am Halbarad. The young man here is Erynbenn, and the one behind you is Bartho. We mean you no harm."
Slowly the staff was lowered as the old man glanced ruefully down at the highwaymen, "Apparently not. Why did you kill them?"
Erynbenn blinked in surprise, "Because they were about to kill you! Why else?"
The farmer tilted his head to one side, eyeing the young man with interest, "Why else indeed. If only people thought so simply as a rule, but you see precious little of such logic nowadays." He smiled and the expression seemed to bring out the warm tan of his skin and the twinkle in his weathered brown eyes. "Well, good sirs, you've saved my life sure enough and I hope you'll allow me to repay you as far as I'm able. You look as though you tangled with one too many wolves at once. If you'll ride into town with me I'll see to it you get fresh bandages and food, if you'll oblige me by accepting it."
"Gratefully," Halbarad bowed, and turned to the bodies in the road. "We'd best load these up as well. No doubt your local sheriff will be interested, and we cannot leave them here."
"Oh?" the farmer's eyebrows rose, his expression distasteful. "And why not, sir?"
"We cannot," Bartho repeated firmly, and there was no room for arguing.
As they moved quickly about their work Erynbenn shifted close enough to whisper to Halbarad, "It was not a troll."
The other ranger shot a swift look at Bartho, reassuring himself that the man was too far away to hear, "True. What is more to the point, though, is that this farmer resembles Lindamar as closely as Tom Bombadil resembles the Lady of the Golden Wood." He smiles slightly as the younger man had to cover his mouth to hide his surprised laugh.
"If none can enter or exit the tower once it has been closed, then how are we to enter it?"
"Perhaps we could disguise you as an orc." Aragorn managed to maintain a straight face as he said it, but it cracked a moment later. "I was jesting, Legolas. Of course there is absolutely no chance of you being mistaken for an orc! You would make a poor enough man as it is."
"Careful Strider or I shall have to say something regrettable on your performance as a wood elf."
The man frowned, "I have never disguised myself as a wood elf…"
"No doubt the opportunity will arise and in the meanwhile your skills leave much to be desired."
"It is an unfair contest, my friend. I am required to successfully imitate an immortal being whose years have been filled with the improving of its talents. The appearance I will not even mention, for there comes a point when mere washing will not make up for the lack of pointed ears. You, on the other hand, have only the behaviors of a short living, filthy, and relatively unskilled hunter to acquire. Given the difficulties involved with the prospective roles, I feel I am being called to account for a good deal more than is equitable." He inclined his head solemnly. "As the elven folk are all wise and understanding you may of course make your own judgments regarding my case."
Legolas shook his head, "Nay, there is no winning against you, Strider. You have lived too long already with elves and I cannot scold you in any way that you have not already heard. I hope all previous critiques have been as unserious as mine…?"
"Some," the human agreed, not elaborating. "I think the tower's defenses are not so well arranged as it seems."
"What?" The land slanted suddenly down hill under Legolas' horse and he hesitated at the similar shift in conversation.
"You asked how we were to enter the tower once it was closed to us. According to the book the Nwelmai were kept somehow within the cliff face against which the tower is built. They had two exits: one into the uppermost room in the tower, the other in base of the cliff. I deem it was the Witch King's intention to have access to his creations and yet not to allow them within his fortress — even when he needed to release them to do their work."
"And you believe that because this exit is separate from the tower itself that it will not be closed to us," Legolas finished.
"Yes. It would not be necessary to fortify it when the Nwelmai were kept within, for they were more than enough of a deterrent, but now they have been released and no long reside there. It is possible that whoever now controls the tower has not thought to close the passage against intruders."
"Such as yourself."
Aragorn nodded once.
"It will not be a pleasant journey, Strider, but I can find no fault in this plan. Even should orcs have been sent to guard these caverns, it is still a better plan to evade them than to try storming an unconquerable tower by force."
"Or trying to dress you as an orc," Aragorn added, moving automatically to dodge a light cuff from his friend. "I had hoped we might avoid causing a disturbance and merely slip in and out before the tower could be locked against us, but there seems to be only one entrance to the tower and it is too small a door to allow such a plan. With all the guards that will certainly be ranged about it, the best plan may be for Halbarad to lead an attack on the tower itself and draw away their attention from our doings."
Legolas frowned, his eyes narrowing against the sun, "That would work, certainly, but would it not place your men in a great deal of danger? The new lord of the tower is certain to call the Nwelmai onto you, quite aside from these orcs."
"Yes." Aragorn's tone implied he'd already thought a great deal upon that fact. "But here it comes to it: we have seen that we cannot kill the Nwelmai on our own strength. Yet to leave them to roam is to turn the possibility of death for all of us into a certainty. Whatever power moves through them and gives them their life and invulnerability must somehow be cut off if we are to destroy them." His face seemed to stiffen as his eyes assumed an odd brilliance. "Thus it is not only for Elladan and Elrohir that we must do this. Somehow we must end this war before it has rightly begun."
"What if the source of the Nwelmai's power is no easier to defeat than the beasts themselves?" Legolas' frown was not directed at the ranger, but rather turned inward as he voiced his thoughts. "I fear the folly in such an attempt; it is a great task for so few men."
"And what then was the Last Alliance?" Aragorn queried. He would not have asked this question of any other wood elf. Thranduil and his people had always born a sort of resentment towards the conflict because of their initial unwillingness to involve themselves, and also their heavy losses after they joined the fight. For his part Legolas had long ago accepted the validity of the Alliance — even as he had accepted the friendship of Isildur's heir. He also understood the point.
"You are right, Aragorn," he nodded slowly. "It must be done. Whatever the cost."
The ranger straightened in his saddle, his posture seeming to imitate his resolve, yet he had no words to reply.
Celboril entered his lord's study as quietly as possible, a tray of food balanced on one hand. He had long since discovered that the best way to convince Elrond to sup whenever he was absorbed in some study or anxiety was to leave the food lying about where he would eat it out of sheer absent-mindedness. With practiced ease, the elf deposited the tray silently on the edge of Elrond's writing desk. His eyes flicked briefly over to note the papers scattered there. A volume on the Witch King's war in Arnor, a schedule covering the phases of the moon, the message from Estel concerning Elladan and Elrohir, and a half completed epistle to back to the ranger that had been intended to tell him when Rivendell's troops would arrive.
The moment of inattention to his surroundings cost Celboril his scheme.
"Please don't, Celboril. I really cannot eat anything." Elrond was standing only a few paces behind him, a few books under one arm and a worn smile on his face.
"My lord, I would not have you wasting away like this," Celboril protested. "Estel has promised to bring home your sons if it can possibly be done, but what good shall his efforts be if you sicken before they come?"
Elrond sighed and lowered the new books to the desk, his fingers lingering over them. "Many nights I have nearly convinced myself that it is futile. Time and again, I leave my rooms intending to go to Glorfindel and tell him to gather our warriors again and prepare to set out. In truth, I have almost given up grieving. The feeling is growing in me that I cannot continue in inaction much longer, for fear of compounding my grief by losing my adopted son as well."
Celboril stared. Elrond's candidness startled him, as did the vulnerability that seemed to hang about the elven lord's stooping shoulders. "What is it that stops you?" he asked softly.
Elrond's dark gaze drifted towards the western edge of Rivendell. "Estel."
And whether he was referring to Isildur's heir or something more indefinable, Celboril decided not to ask.
TBC…