AAAACCCCCKKKK!! It's happened!! We have been forced to post the morning *after* our posting day! Please believe us: this wasn't our fault (for once). We had this ready to post yesterday, but then FF.Net *grumble rumble* wouldn't let us on to post it! Dang.

And now: back to your regularly scheduled (and irregularly bumped) responses. :)

You guessed it: SARAH is back!! *smiles winningly, which is frightening*

Gwyn: *Sarah fusses a few bars, checking to see if she has the tune right, and watches as the reviewers begin to put on their running shoes* Hm. I think you may be right… :P Oh, and I get it! No worries, I'm writing! I'm writing! I'm writing! I'm writing! (and yes, copy/paste is fun :D)

Maranwe: *shrugs apologetically* Sorry about that; I can't honestly say we expected this much interest to be invested in Lindamar! She was sort of a funny side-line we cooked up. :P *grins with glee over the lovely collage* Thankee kindly! We're glad you approved. And that goes for Erynbenn's coming-of-age and Kemen's existence as well; I rather like the farmer myself. ;D Oh yes, about the other story: stick around for the Special Features after the fic and you'll see! :D

Lurker_elf: *examines Raane's forehead* Yup, here it is! 'Professional Clue Giver'. ;D LOL! Crazy People = unreliable at best; I'm afraid I'd have to agree. ;) I admit we enjoy hearing praise for characters we like, so that's probably the reason why Idhrin got that little moment there… That and the poor guy didn't get as much development time as the rest of his fellow Dúnedain, even though he was *supposed* to. *sighs* Sorry, fresh out of magic swords. :P *giggles* Yes, well, 'chicken thief' wasn't too far from our minds either. What *I* want to know is who taught *Elrond* to pick locks?? *glances questioningly at Cassia and Sio* :D Have you ever seen the movie 'Holes'? If you ever do (or ever have), you'll be interested to know that Lindamar was inspired partially by Myra, the Latvian air-head. And yes, her name has a meaning (most of our names do), and it will be revealed in the Special Features section at the end of this fic! :D *snorts* Good luck on the hunt; at least be glad the renegade portions of your brain don't find their outlet in lousy puns like mine tend to… :}

Belothien: That question sounds familiar — only in our case it tends to be 'Why does our schedule always fill up at exactly the wrong moments??' :P *hugs Belothien* Oh we are SOO glad you liked our little side-line there!! We worried some people might be disappointed with it when they realized it wasn't a very integral part of the plot. We love being wrong! ;) And we had a great deal of fun concocting a match for Helin! ;) *wonders what the heck is so funny about Willem… wonders if she wants to know* ;P Yeah, Erynbenn's funnily unexpected sometimes… *watches character as if she has had absolutely nothing to do with making him that way* :P Please don't tell Bartho!! Oh, and I'm afraid it's true: it really *wouldn't* be as fun if it were easy. ;D

Carrie: *hugs Carrie* Marvelous to have you!!! After all, better late than never! ;D Nobody wants us to kill Erynbenn or Bartho…. *raises hands in a helpless 'what's a girl to do??' gesture* And we were purposefully trying to be vague with what (make that 'who') Lindamar was. That was the whole fun of it, considering the story itself was pretty basic! ;D *shakes head* I know what you mean about Curse of Angmar; if it were being posted, there'd be no way you'd be getting all these astonishingly long responses! ;P And truffles for you: you complimented our rangers! I almost fear we sometimes have a greater attachment to our OCs than to our canon characters… Sometimes, anyway. ;D

Cassia: We love making things meet up too! That's actually a big part of the reason why we set Thorongil in Rohan instead of Gondor: so we could reuse Kelegalen, Nethtalt, and Stavhold. Good thing we played it that way too, or the similarities to Traitor might have been very freaky indeed. :O LOL! I just love your honesty! Why bother wringing your hands and weeping at our feet over the plight of the characters when you're actually enjoying every minute of it? Well, keep reading: we've done our best by you. ;D *grins* I think Bartho might be a bit weirded out if you tried to hug him; yup. I feel rather sorry for him myself, and I helped write him into this sad little mess! :( ROTFLOL!! Well, you WOULD know, wouldn't you? :D Stupid scroll down. Here, though, if you try it again I think we fixed it… ;P *pats Room Cleaning Bunny* Maybe someday. ;D Oh, and I'm so glad you liked my feedback! Late, disjointed, and pirate-infested as it was. You think I write a good Jack? SIO thinks I write a good Jack?! Whoa. *blushes, then pauses* Hm. Considering I spend all my time at war with the lousy pirate, I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not… :P JackSparrow: A compliment it was, love. Me: No way am I going to let you into my responses!!! *smacks pirate silly, sending him staggering off to await the first piece of feedback for Curse of Angmar* And you're going as Jack for Halloween?? CASSIA?! JackSparrow: (his voice muffled by the wall between Feedback and Responses) Don't go squealing; it's a brilliant idea! Couldn't possibly choose a more devilishly handsome pirate to imitate. Me: Shut up, Jack.

Lady Sandry: I'm rather fond of truffles myself! I ate *way* to much of my own Anti-Angst stock during Escape From Mordor. *sigh* ;D If you're strange, you are *our* kind of strange!! I could kiss you for the details you notice and appreciate! Particularly since Idhrin didn't get as much fic-time as most of the other Dúnedain — which bummed us because he had a very unique perspective on his leader and work. :) We live to be unexpected! Okay, so actually we weren't expecting quite so much interest in dear Lindamar — but we're glad you approve! *snorts over mental picture* Yeah, I wouldn't risk such a phrase anywhere *near* Eowyn. ;D *wink* Cassia seems to think she knows all about the lock-picking deal. ;P Us? Lull you into a false sense of security? Never! Well, almost never. Very rarely. Only for the good of the plot, never out of cruelty to innocent reviewers or rangers! Almost never, anyway. *turns red and goes back to reading her new handbook, Open Mouth, Insert Foot: A Guide To Clumsy Denials*

Thank you all SO SO SO much for your continued reviewing!! If it weren't for you guys, we would likely have stopped at Death or Despair, and *then* where would Aragorn and Legolas be? Besides reasonably uninjured and un-traumatized, that is… :P

More coming up… :D

______________________________________________________________________________

Darkest Night

By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries

available at the top of chapter 1)

Chapter 14

A Hidden Menace

At first glance, the ruined watchtower seemed to be deserted. Cupping his hands about his mouth, Halbarad gave a short whistle and a lone figure appeared in the doorway at the tower's base.

"Halbarad?" the figure asked. It was an elf.

For a moment, the ranger's breath left him as he saw the dark hair, but then the elf came closer and he recognized his face. "Moranuen?"

"Yes," the Rivendell elf nodded quickly. "I was hoping to find Aragorn here, but no one is about. Do you have any word of him?"

"We only just arrived," Halbarad shook his head. "Come, though, there should be someone left nearby."

Moranuen followed readily, his light feet leaving scarcely a mark on the rain-softened ground. He cast the three Dúnedain a sidelong look. "You look as though you battled a cave troll and lost."

Erynbenn gave a small smile, Bartho a grunt, and Halbarad stared back at the elf. "Aragorn has most definitely had a bad influence upon you," the ranger sighed.

"Perhaps," Moranuen agreed. "How was he when you left?"

"Fine," Halbarad said, "but I dearly hope that he has not departed yet."

The elf's dark head came up suddenly, "Why?"

Halbarad's answer was delayed by the appearance of Eldacar from the trees ahead of him. The Dúnadan had a weary and grim look about him, as if the night watches had been especially long of late.

"What news, Eldacar? Where is Aragorn?" Halbarad asked urgently.

Eldacar pushed his hood back and gave a brief nod of greeting. "Aragorn left in the dark hours this morning with much of the company — he selected eight of us to stay behind. He had found a map to where Lord Elladan and Elrohir were taken."

Bartho's eyes closed briefly, his grim expression darkening still further.

"Then we are too late," Erynbenn said.

"No, not yet," Halbarad denied firmly. "If we leave now we may yet catch them up before they reach the tower."

"Too late for what?" Moranuen demanded. "What tower is this that you speak of? Lord Elrond sent me to seek word of you, and your half words are all of mystery."

Halbarad glanced towards the sky. It was difficult to tell through the clouds, but he guessed the time to be early evening. Looking back at Moranuen he said, "There is a Nwelmai yet lying in Aragorn's path of which he knows nothing. If we can warn him, perhaps he can find a different route in and yet save your lord's sons. If we cannot, he may very well be slain."

The elf did not flinch at the raw assessment of his friend's danger. "Is there anyone you can spare to return to Lord Elrond with this news in my place?"

Eldacar nodded, "Aye, if it is needed."

"It is needed."

Bartho frowned, "Are you not returning yourself?"

"No." The elf turned back towards where his horse was grazing beside the tower base. "I am coming with you."

The reply caught Halbarad by surprise. He had naturally recognized that Moranuen had been a good friend of Aragorn's, but he only now realized how much a friend. Nodding to Erynbenn and Bartho, he too started back to the horses. They had a long ride ahead of them and somehow they had to both track and catch up with Aragorn before he entered that tower. Somehow.

In a way, it was comforting to have an uninjured elf as a companion.

Legolas had felt sure that the sky could not possibly be any more gray, nor the rain so heavy as it was around the Chetwood. By the end of the fourth day of travel, he realized he had been very wrong. Above him the lowering sky was so dark he could scarcely believe it was early afternoon, and the constant rain had managed to soak completely through his cloak, his leather over tunic, and his silken under tunic. With a better tolerance for cold than humans had, he did not pay much heed to his chilled feet and hands, but he guessed that the Dúnedain were even more uncomfortable than he was. And each day took them even further into the colder climate of the north.

At the elf's side, Aragorn rode in silence. He was not brooding — on the contrary, he had shown an unexpected eagerness through the past few days of hard travel. The feeling that he was blundering about with no hope of ever finding his brothers had dissipated with the finding of the map, and now he had thrown his full energy into reaching the tower as soon as possible. It was a desire that all the company seemed to share, with the possible exception of the tired horses.

Topping a ridgeline, Aragorn glanced at the map and led them along a steep trail that took them down into the gully below. Pale trees that did not look as though they received enough sunlight hung over them as they went even deeper. Plant life began to dwindle, with only the occasional skeleton of a tree to mark where there might once have been a flourishing wood. The ridges on either side began to close in, narrowing the gully until it was only possible to travel single file. Idhrin looked up uneasily; any rocks falling from above would reach a speed fast enough to kill a man once they actually hit the ground. The gray sky had dwindled to a narrow snaking ribbon far above their heads.

When it seemed the track must finally disappear into a dead end of blackness, Aragorn halted. The cliff walls shielded them from the rain, but they also blocked out most of the light and Legolas could not tell what his friend was looking at.

Dismounting, Aragorn took a few steps forward along the rocky ground and placed his hand on the cliff wall, his fingers feeling along it.

"What is it?" Legolas asked.

"There are Numenorean words carved into the wall here," Aragorn murmured. "And the lichen has already been brushed from them."

"You think it must have been that man who came this way?" the elf questioned, dismounting and moving to Aragorn's side.

"Yes. Orcs would not know this speech, and it is unlikely they would look for such an entrance to begin with; they would attempt something more direct, such as smashing the door down."

"It is a door?"

In answer Aragorn reached out his hand and placed his palm over a twisted carving of a black tree. Looking up to the inscription he whispered a word in a language Legolas did not understand. Red lines seemed to crawl out from under each of the ranger's fingers, snaking across the face of the rock and glimmering dully like blood. A soft crack echoed as the door's edges were revealed and the red lines crept through the crack and on into the tunnel behind. Reaching into the gap, Aragorn grasped the edge of the door and swung it open and to the side.

"We should leave it thus," Malvegil suggested. "We do not know if we will be able to open it again once it is closed behind us."

Aragorn nodded and frowned at the door, holding it pressed back against the cliff face as Malvegil shifted a large stone to keep it open.

Without another word, they mounted and rode inward. There was no suggestion made of torches — everyone knew full well there was not a dry stick of wood left to be found. After an hour a dim light began to shine up ahead and the tunnel opened out at last onto a small plateau. To their right the other side of the cliff curved around to create a sort of wide, circular valley. To their left the cliff also curved a short way, but then it pressed a tongue of itself into the center of the valley, like a jetty into the sea, or a single spoke reaching towards the center of a wheel.

Built against and into the side of this outcropping of stone there rose the high, black shape of a tower.

Legolas shuddered silently as a bolt of lightening crackled above. The whole sky was a black, roiling mass of storm clouds, but where everywhere else the clouds had given way to icy rain, here everything was dry as ancient bones. Clinging wearily to the hard soil, blasted trees leaned their twisted forms away from tower at their center. Mounds of stone rose and fell, desolate black refuse from when the tower had been constructed hundreds of years before. The torpid grasses lay limp upon the ground. The lack of sunlight turned everything to shades of gray.

A path had been trampled by orc feet through the low hills of stone towards the tower's base, but it led past the door through which the Dúnedain had entered and farther along to what seemed to be an even larger entrance into the valley. It was from there that Elladan and Elrohir had likely first caught sight of their prison. //If they are still alive.// Legolas shook himself harshly at the thought. If only for Aragorn's sake, he would not even consider such possibility.

Slowly, Aragorn closed the black book and slid it into his saddle bag. He knew where the entrance to the Nwelmai's tunnel was; he'd looked at the drawing so often as to have it memorized.

"Idhrin?"

"Aye?"

Aragorn pointed towards the orc path, "This leads around to the eastern side of the tower. Take your men and travel as careful a route as you need to keep yourself from being noted and attacked. So long as you can initiate the conflict, the size of entrance should limit the size of the force they can send against you."

"Aragorn," Malvegil said carefully, "may I again suggest it would be wise for more than you and Legolas to enter the tunnels?"

"No," Aragorn shook his head, "there are few enough of us here. I already know I am condemning some of you to death with this plan — I will not condemn more by stripping you of extra men; especially when it is best if only a few enter the tower. Our hope lies in the fact that the Nwelmai tunnels are empty so that we can therefore avoid a fight within; and all the caution in the world will be in vain if too many of us go."

Malvegil nodded unhappily, turning his horse and heading it down the rough trail at Idhrin's instruction.

The old ranger, Aragorn, and Legolas all waited as each of the Dúnedain rode past. When the last one was several yards away, Idhrin turned soberly to Aragorn. "Since Halbarad is not here, I will pass on what I know he would have said. You do not condemn us to death, Aragorn. We are men of Arnor, though it stands no more, and we follow our king gladly. If it is to our deaths, then so be it. But you travel a path too dark already and we will not grant you the burden of our own choices." His gray hair twisted about him in the cold wind as he touched his left shoulder in farewell. "May the Valar be with you, my lord."

Turning away, he urged his horse down the path and out of sight amidst the stones.

A hollow moan echoed through the valley as the wind whistled through some arch or crevice. Aragorn let out a breath.

"Come, my friend," Legolas urged gently. "There is a cave awaiting us, and I have no intention of entering it alone."

The human tilted his head and grimaced. "I am sorry, Legolas; I seem always to be dragging you underground."

"It is not underground, for the cliff into which it was carved is aboveground. What is more, there are no orcs in this one," Legolas retorted firmly. "That difference alone makes our portion of this attack very much simpler."

"Still nothing, my lord," Sharzak shook his hideous head slowly. "The filthy elf-kind put away their weapons a few days after the letter arrived. They have not brought them out again."

"Yes, that is what you *saw*," Captain Eression agreed. "What did you hear?"

The orc shifted from one foot to the other, his head lolling to the side as he tilted his poison green eyes to meet the steely ones of his human captain. "The elf king is anxious for his sons," Sharzak spat. "It is rumored that soon he will come for them against all threats. The hunters: they say this when they go out for deer in the evenings."

"But he has not moved yet," Eression mused. "I am rather surprised, in a way… I had always heard that Elron—" he broke off, recalling that his spy was still cringing before him. "Go back to the caves; I wish you to leave again in the morning. Rogkhar will give you provisions."

After a little groveling, Sharzak turned to go — only to leap back from the doorway with a squeal as a gravelly shout echoed down the corridor.

"Attack at the doors! Attack! Attack! Come on, you mangy louts, to the doors as fast as your miserable stumps can take you!"

Leaping to his feet, his first instinct to race up to Kallomore in the tower, Eression instead turned towards the entrance. A defense had to be arranged first. Somehow the impossible had happened: they had been found. And who could possibly be at the gates? Lord Elrond must have sent his troops after all.

It had been more difficult to find the Nwelmai's exit in the cliffs than Legolas had thought. The rift in the rock was narrow and ragged, like an open wound, and as the elf slid through it behind his friend, he could feel the evil pressing down on him like a physical force. For a paralyzing minute he feared he would not be able to walk the long tunnels up to the tower's summit. It was too dark, too strong — just too dark.

A hand reached back out of the blackness and touched his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Legolas nodded, taking several more steps inside. His skin glowed only barely, for the light was choked off before it had traveled far beyond him. There was the scratch of flint and steel as Aragorn struck a light. The torch, which he had cut from one of the dead trees outside, burned slowly and showed them the black walls and ceiling around and above them.

Crushed rock lay on the floor. Every surface was pitted and scored with crisscrossing lines — as if claws had been scraped along them. Up ahead the tunnel wound upwards towards their destination.

"Come," Aragorn whispered.

Trying to move quickly they started forwards, but their movements were sluggish as if they were trying to swim upstream against a strong current. Legolas licked his lips as if to begin a song, but the notes were hurled back in his throat to choke him. Aragorn reached a narrow rift in the floor and took a short jump to clear it, only to barely reach the other side as his feet stumbled on some loose shale. The pieces of rock clattered down the vent, taking an eerie amount of time to hit the bottom.

"They have left their mark," Legolas shook his head as they pressed even further in. "There can be no cleansing this place."

Aragorn nodded silently. Though not an elf with an elf's perception of the earth around him, he was yet elf-raised and a ranger. The very stones had been blackened to their cores. No redemption.

And then the torch went out.

"Aragorn?!" Legolas called, whirling to where his friend had been.

A blood-freezing cry — like death in winter — like something soulless and hungry — ricocheted off the walls. It was above them, behind them, in front of them, within them. Somewhere something pounced like a whirlwind and Legolas felt a moment of relief as he smelled the decay of the creature's coat; at least now he knew where it was. Then he felt a blow with claws catch him on the shoulder, spinning him around and sending him off balance. His body felt pain in a dozen places as he slammed over rocks and down a short incline he could not remember being there.

Blindly, the elf scrabbled in the utter darkness, feeling again the horrible helplessness of the Barrow. There. His knives. He still had them. Up above him another scream sounded, followed by a deep, barking battle roar and the crush of more stones as the creature leapt again and landed. The ground seemed to tremble a minute, sending a shower of gravel down the incline over Legolas' head. The elf could only assume that somehow a Nwelmai had remained in the tunnel, but if so it was twice the size of any they had faced before. And he and Aragorn had little enough time as it was.

The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed as Aragorn gave a muffled cry and fell, rising again and swinging his sword in a whistling arch that struck something. Whatever it was, it only enraged the beast further.

Legolas scrambled up the slope, the glow about him showing only near glimpses of a clawed foot, a pile of stones, a pitted wall.

"Aragorn? Aragorn!" the elf shouted anxiously, darting forward and slashing once at a portion of the gray furred hide, flinching back as some of the blood dripped onto his fingers and burned.

"Legolas, the torch—" Aragorn's plea was cut off as another blow caught him across the chest and knocked the air from him.

Legolas stared about, trying for bearings and finding none in the impenetrable dark. Where had the torch been dropped? Throwing himself recklessly forward, the horrible screeches of claws scoring the stones filling his ears and setting his teeth on edge, the elf's hands wandered about after the torch.

The Valar were still with them. His hand grasped charred wood and he cared not for the burning that told him he had grasped the wrong end of it. His hand dove for his own flint and steel as the scratching continued. It was now accompanied by furious screaming barks as the beast caught the scent of blood. And not just any blood.

With a spark, the torch sputtered to life again, throwing a feeble light at best, but light enough for Legolas to at last discover what the noises had been. Aragorn had wedged himself firmly into a narrow crevice in the wall, out of reach of the Nwelmai's claws, and it was tearing furiously at the entrance to his refuge. A thin trickle of blood from a wound above the human's ear was making its slow way over the lip of the rock.

The Nwelmai itself…

It was larger than Legolas had even imagined, almost filling the space between floor and ceiling, except that so little of it seemed to be flesh that the elf imagined it could fit into a tunnel half this size. The black cloud that followed the unnatural creatures roiled as it moved, almost as if the beast were a storm and its claws lightening.

//And we cannot kill it.// The elf thrust the thought aside and cast down the torch, drawing two arrows almost before it struck the ground. With only stone upon the floor, the torch did not go out, and the shots soared true. They lodged but three inches apart in the side of the Nwelmai's neck. The beast bucked, whether in surprise or real pain Legolas could not tell.

"Aragorn, come!" he shouted, firing three times more in rapid succession. One shot sailed through the black mist without striking anything, but the other two seemed to vanish into moldering fur and the creature yelled again, lunging for Legolas. The elf took a long step back — realizing then that it was not long enough.

Aragorn meanwhile had acted instantly, worming his way back out of his hiding place and drawing his sword before his balance was really regained. His first swing was clumsy. His second struck the Nwelmai's tail and noxious blood poured onto the stones as if he had struck an artery.

Again the creature swerved about so quickly that the elf he had lunged for was sent slamming into a wall with the force of the motion. Raging and thundering it reared up so that the ceiling seemed to crack to accommodate it.

Baiting the monster back and forth like this could only last minutes at best and they had nothing with which to slay it. At best they could hope to get past it in such a way that it would let them free. At worst, it would kill them before they ever reached the top. And by the time the Dúnedain realized that they would not be coming back down, it would be too late for them to make their own retreat. One Nwelmai might well cost all of them their lives.

"Up the tunnel!" Aragorn shouted. As the creature clawed the ceiling in fury, preparatory to falling back to all fours, the ranger ran recklessly forward and directly into the black mist. So great was the creature — so thick its darkness — that for a moment it enveloped and blinded him, freezing the blood in his veins and the breath in his lungs. He floundered, drowning in the stench of death, until his hands briefly brushed fur covered muscle on either side of him. The Nwelmai's back legs. And then he was through the dreadful archway and Legolas was in front of him, staring at Aragorn as if he might be a ghost.

"This way," Aragorn shouted pointlessly, scooping up the torch and dashing up the narrow tunnel as if a demon of the underworld was on his heels.

It was.

TBC…