Disclaimer: All rights to whoever exactly they belong to!
A/N: This is a re-post with the typos sorted out, and the removal of my other rambles! Fun when I was 15, not so much now. Anyhow, please read on and tell me what you think – chapter two will shortly follow, also reposted.
Chapter One – Darkness
The silent night pressed in around them, suffocating any faltering beam of starlight that could ever even hope to make it through its icy, raven grip. No life could be seen for miles around them; not even the slightest trace of existence lingered in this desolate, hellish plain. Jagged rocks jutted out from the darkness, looming before them like ominous statues, attempting to ward away attackers. The stench of death, of rotten, decaying flesh was everywhere; it filled them, consuming their senses so that they wanted to recoil in utter disgust.
But they would not.
On the shoulder of the mountain they had waited, biting back their almost over whelming desire for revenge, biding their time… Letting their prey come to them. For hours now they had remained motionless, noiseless, poised alertly behind two boulders, one on either side of the dirty great entrance to the cave. Their Noldorean blades of cold, harsh steel glowed a dull blue in the otherwise impenetrable darkness, as if growling in anticipation, fighting to dance from the hands of their owners and shatter the silence.
Still the twins waited. And waited.
Each was the perfect double image of the other; fair faces set into plain, emotionless blank expressions as though they were beyond a pain, beyond a gnawing, festering raging hatred that any emotion could ever show. Their chests barely rose and fell as they breathed minimally, melting into the mountain shadows, becoming the rock and earth beneath their feet. Yet their eyes; their eyes caught the faint frozen light from their swords, and were terrible to behold. Fire pirouetted and leapt, bright and clear, hard and grim as the sapphire flames licked and stroked at the glassy crystalline walls of their confines. No compassion, no pity, no warmth for the creatures they hunted of any kind did their fixed jewel like orbs hold; burning as an inferno, the light of the Silmarils born again, a chilling sight. Their deep rich brown, almost black hair flowed like inky rivers down their backs, two braids at either side of their heads keeping loose wavering strands free from their faces.
Still they waited.
Suddenly, one of them moved; a minute, unperceivable movement to a mortal's eye yet picked up easily by his twin. For a moment their flaming eyes met, the blinding fires clashing; they were coming.
A swift sharp nod from Elladan told Elrohir all he needed to know and soundlessly, with such grace and stealth that only an elf could hope to possess, he crept down from his higher vantage point to a lower standing boulder. His brother mimicked him on the opposite side, coming to stand in a concealing shadow much nearer to the cave entrance. With a finalising knowing last glance at one another, they gripped their swords tightly and raised them, preparing for the oncoming battle.
The sound drifting out from the cave came dim and distant at first, though to the elven brothers it was as clear and sharp as piercing moonlight. Quickly, the low rumble began to form indistinguishable, hoarse words, guttural and repulsive languages that only made the twins need for retribution greater; yet stock still they remained, awaiting their opportune moment.
All at once, the rasping, grinding noise erupted before them as a host of forty or so Orcs began streaming out of their lair's entrance. Iron shod feet pounded ruthlessly at the already forsaken earth as the sickening creatures scuttled and shuffled out into the open night air. Their blood curdling shrieks and throaty vile, cackling was accompanied by the foul stench of putrid infested flesh, hitting the twins like a metal clad fist to the stomach.
Yet they did not flinch.
Still they stayed unnaturally frozen, waiting for their perfect chance, holding themselves with a great display of self control, not wanting to move too soon…
And then the waiting stopped.
As the Orcs drew level with the twins hiding place they hid no more, but stood straight and strode undaunted out into the path of the approaching beasts. The Orcs cried out in alarm as they saw them; two Elven lords, fell and dangerous to look upon and their high pitched screams ripped into the night. They desperately struggled to draw to an abrupt halt, but the brothers were too near, and their own speed too great, so that they ran head long into the elven blades.
In an instant, standing firm and steady, the twins grasped their swords with such strength as they had never known before, as the Orcs were sent hopelessly forward by their hurrying company behind. The war blades sang, ringing shrilly in the air as they sliced mercilessly through the heads of four of the monstrous creatures. Hot coal black blood spilled high and far, splashing down onto the parched ground and soaking the sleeves of the brothers' tunics.
Now the twins began their full assault, their very souls on fire as they launched themselves into the fray of jabbering mutants. Elladan ploughed pitilessly through another three Orcs as he brought his sword back around in the return swing. They slumped lifelessly at his feet, blood flowing freely over the earth and it became drenched with the oily, slick substance. Elrohir's sharp swift movements were too fast for the eye to see; as a blur of silk and silver grey he whirled, slashing and hacking with an insatiable need for justice, all of his senses on their highest alert.
Suddenly the Orcs, who until then had been either frozen in terror or running around like crazed animals seemed to snap back into reality; with a terrible war cry that penetrated the pitch black night they threw themselves at the Elven twins. Their yellow, cat like eyes glowed with a malicious light, their grotesque and scarred faces contorted into masks of pure evil.
The twins felt the strength of the attack pressing against them, but it did only to incense them further, to make them fight more skilfully and more determinedly than either had done in their lives. They too let out their own war cries, but fuelled by truth and love, the power they held had a far deeper meaning and it gripped at the Orcs like unforgiving dark forest creepers, dragging them down into oblivion.
In a sudden stab of pain in his left shoulder, Elladan shouted out in fury as the Orc's blade plunged deep into his upper back, tearing and ripping the soft flesh with its jagged, blackened edges. Elladan roared in defiance and thrusting his sword at the Orc, he thrust it hard into its gut, twisting and turning the weapon as he did so. The Orc shrieked out in agony at his short lived victory, and toppled dead to the ground as Elladan kicked him from the blade. The wound on his shoulder was bad, and already his own scarlet blood began seeping heavily out, saturating his shirt and tunic; but it was not fatal, he would survive. Gritting his teeth he renewed his attack, his anger burning ever more fiercely.
At his twins cry, Elrohir had chanced a fleeting glance at his brother and for a second his heart was in his mouth; but when Elladan slew and dispersed of the Orc, and momentarily returned his brothers gaze with a look of reassurance, he continued to fight his own battle.
The Orcs were pressing in closely around him now; time for some knife work, Elrohir thought grimly, and whipping out to two war blades as quick as lightening, they flashed clear and cold as they too sung with a dull blue glow and a thirst for blood. Swishing through the air like arrows, they sliced into the Orcs as though they were no more than butter. Elrohir soon felt the hot, sticky liquid flow from them onto his hands, taking dour delight and release in their death and suffering as he thought of his reason for being here. This seemed to push him even further into battle, and as the Orcs fell swiftly and deftly around both brothers, their enemy's numbers quickly began to decrease. Soon, there were only an adamant and vicious few left standing; but with fatal heavy blows they too became victims to the wrath of the twins.
As the last, stinking creature breathed his last, staggering breath, the twins stood victorious, and surveyed the carnage around them. Piles of the disgusting, mutilated beasts lay heaped haphazardly, some missing limbs or heads, others having been nothing short of ripped in two. The ground was shining with wet, black blood, and the smell of death was everywhere. The air itself seemed to retch at the stomach churning sight; yet, high, far above the battle ground, in the inky raven sky, the thick, foreboding ashen clouds began to part as the winds of the world came into play around them, sighing and whistling, swirling their hair around and softly across their faces. At first, only a couple of stars could manage to send feeble rays down towards earth; but before long, the rolling, looming pillars of sky hewed metal had been driven away, and hundreds upon thousands of glittering, twinkling jewels shone brightly down upon them. For one sweet, blissful moment, they imagined they were back in their home in Rivendell…
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel,
o menel aglar elenath!"
Celebrían sang softly in the starlit twilight, gazing down lovingly at her two twin sons. Sleep was almost upon them, and yet they refused to succumb to it. She could not help but to laugh lightly at their stubbornness, a trait inherited no less resolute from their father.
"Why are you laughing, Nana?" yawned Elladan, his eyelids drooping heavily as he fought to keep them awake, to keep the golden sight of his mother in his vision. Her sunlit hair billowed slightly in the spring breath through the window, and her white dress glittered, the hundreds of diamonds twinkling in the low light.
"Out of happiness, my love," she smiled compassionately, stroking his cheek gently with the back of her hand, her eyes as deep as the endless blue oceans, pouring love and joy to her sons.
"Why are you happy, Nana?" sighed Elrohir, his eyes already shut though he pulled an arm across his face to hide it.
"Because I am the richest woman in the world; I have two beautiful, daring and brave sons, a loving caring husband, and a safe, warm home. No richer a person could walk this earth, though he had all the Silmarils within his hand." replied the Lady, and she leant down, tenderly taking Elrohir's arms from his face, and kissed his forehead. The twins smiled lopsidedly, as sleep finally began to take them.
"Will I be rich like you one day, Nana?" asked Elrohir, barely clinging to the waking world.
"Always, my son."
"Night, Nana," they said, "We love you." Almost as soon as the words were said, they were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling quietly as they entered the realm of elven dreams.
"And I love you, my sons," she whispered, covering them both with the light silken sheets. Standing up, she still did not take her eyes from them; how could anything else matter, but these two innocent souls? How could any evil come to pass, any shadow fall across her, while these two, her beloved two were with her?
"Sleep well, my loves," she breathed, and turned to the door, where her husband stood smiling, leaning against the door frame.
"You have worn them out, melamin," she told him teasingly.
"I should think so too," he laughed quietly, taking his wife into his arms, "A fine pair of little warriors they will make."
Celebrían let herself melt into him, as Elrond wrapped his arms around her and she leant her head on his shoulder and sighed.
"Let us hope they will never have need to use their skills," she spoke softly, yet her voice was pained slightly, as if in memory, "For them, I wish that no war shall ever come."
Elrond looked down at her, and kissed her brow.
"Not such thoughts," he murmured in her ear, "We cannot tell them the future nor protect them from it; only prepare them."
Celebrían smiled and stared deep into Elrond's eyes.
"It is what we prepare them for that I fear."
In the ethereal light of the stars, the twins stood breathing heavily, wiping their weapons clean, and retrieving hunting knives thrown at their enemies. When Elladan bent down and let out a short, sharp hiss, Elrohir glanced worriedly at him.
"Harnolon," he frowned at the long gash, "Tulo si–" ( "You're hurt,"…. "Come here.")
"Law," growled Elladan, "Im flind. Im baroturo." ("No," … "I will live.")
Elrohir nodded and looked towards the cave entrance. No noise came from it now, not even the smallest of sounds; the brothers didn't know whether this was good or bad, only that it put them on edge.
"Let's go," said Elladan darkly, sheathing his smaller knife.
Together, the twins headed unwarily towards the cave, thought both kept their swords out and raised. They passed beneath the rocky entrance ceiling, stepping lightly over bloodied Orc bodies as they did so.
Inside the cave, utter and complete darkness had an icy unrelenting grip. In the murky gloom, the twins could just make out two or three downward leading tunnels, all ensnared by shadows. For a moment they stood poised, straining their acute hearing for the slightest clue as to which path they should take. Yet there was nothing; no living thing in its underground worlds gave away the secrets to its whereabouts. Not even the earth would tell them anything, but remained eerily silent, as if waiting for what would come next.
Elladan sniffed apprehensively at the air, and motioned his head to the tunnel on his right. Elrohir nodded and followed him as he began descending into the mountains enigmatic gloom.
The lower they went, the staler the air became; thick and stuffy and damp, barely breathable. Water had started to drip ominously from the low ceiling and down the walls, forming tiny streams running down the uneven stony floor. Algae, livid and bright green grew undeterred down the tunnel sides, and at any other time it would have made the twins raise their eyebrows in surprise that anything beside filth and evil could live down here.
But not now. Their purpose wouldn't allow it.
Quite suddenly, the tunnel turned a sharp corner and opened out into a dank underground cavern. A small pool of water, like a liquid mirror sat in the centre, where the sloping walls met a point. It was lit by two or three flaming torches that sent treacherous shadows dancing around the slick chamber sides, where yet more algae flourished in the warm firelight. Yet more tunnels, though this time nigh on twenty or more led away from the site, and the twins stared hard at them all. There would never be time to search every last one; it could take days, weeks to expose all possibilities. By that time it would be too late, and the Orcs would have returned to their pitiful dwelling.
But which road should they take? Everyone led further down into the ancient depths of the mountains roots, yet none revealed so much as a breath as to where they took to the traveller to.
Elladan furrowed his brow and began pacing slowly around the cavern, stopping at each tunnel entrance to listen intently. Elrohir closed his eyes, searching his through the almost endless fountain of knowledge in his mind; surely there was something that he knew, something he had that could take them on a true path?
In a spilt second it dawned on him; something he knew, something he had that could prove more valuable than any physical possession.
When Elladan first heard his brother, his mind clouded with confusion; how on earth would this help them now? But then he saw Elrohir's mind, his plan, his reasoning, and he realised they were not on the earth but under it, and he joined him.
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel
silivren penna míriel,"
All about them, the soft elven melody fell like a gentle spring rain, washing away all weariness and wounds, cleansing their souls of hurt and pain and filling the air with a sense of peace.
"O menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel,"
Rolling hills of lush green forests spread out around them, the canopy a vivid summer green, alive and bustling with life as birds flew gracefully from tree to tree, singing sweetly as they chorused together, brilliant hues of blue and gold, lilac and red, oranges and magentas. Elegant white deer leapt nimbly between the mighty ageless trees, fleet of foot and darting like shadows from the dawn as they danced amid their perfect world.
"O galadhremmin ennorath,"
A strong proud city of silver and white upon a tall green hill rose before them; glittering and shining turrets soaring high into the air, far above the plains where streaming banners bore the standards of the High House of Elves. Its streets were full of laughter and mirth, joy and ease, as countless people went about in companies or alone, hunting parties of elven lords, or fair maidens that leant from the tall walls and towers and sang clear and free, so that those below looked up in wonder and delight.
"Fanuilos, le linnathon,
nef aear, sí nef aearon!"
And the sea, rising and falling with such majesty and power, mighty white horses tossing their foaming heads as they galloped along the golden shores, borne upon the waves of Ulmo himself. A great haven, where sea birds circled, wheeling and crying above the sparkling white houses and towers, and ocean worthy elven wrought ships like swans, glorious and yet slender on the tumbling waves that tossed plumes of blinding diamond spray.
In the darkness of the cave, beneath all of the shadows of the mountain, a speeding and bright light raced through the tunnels, filling every notch, every crevice, every crack with such light that had never before been seen in the deeps of the world; the awe inspiring, never failing, ever burning light of hope. It swelled like a joy beyond all reckoning, and the twins were over brimming with a sense of love and loyalty, even as they stopped to listen.
At first, the clear flowing sound of their elven voices still rang through the tunnels and caverns, echoing back off the rocks. Yet as their own voices began dying away, they heard a returning voice; a tune that they had not sung, words that they had not spoken.
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel!
O menel palan-díriel,
le nallon sí dinguithos!
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!"
It was faint and far away, floating up to them from the underground maze of tunnels; but it was still there. By the grace of the Valar, she was alive! The twins almost leapt in tearful joy, but they knew they still had along way to go yet. As one, they sprinted towards a tunnel on their far left, led on and on by the sound of the voice before them.
Twisting and turning, they followed the tunnel as it wound its way deeper and deeper into the mountain, occasionally pausing to listen. They erupted into another chamber, this time smaller; yet as they crossed it, the singing stopped. Once again, deadly silence fell, but that was no longer a problem for the twins – their hearts were their guides now. Still, as they sped down a tunnel straight ahead of them, Elrohir couldn't help but to lace his hope with dread.
A great iron door loomed ahead of them now, blocking out any view from behind it, thought it stood slightly ajar.
They didn't even think of hesitating; instead, reading each others minds, they picked up their pace, hurtling towards the hideous metal contraption, dropping their shoulders, though Elladan was careful to check his left. With a heavy 'thud' they collided with it, throwing all their weight into their upper bodies, pushing with all their might against what would seem to be the final barrier between them and the one they sought. Its hinges creaked noisily from need of oil, and though it moved slightly, it did not yet swing open. Breathing heavily, the twins stepped back, their steps together and launched themselves back towards the door. Thrice they did so, and on the last heave it rolled slowly open, practically screaming in protest to reveal the room they had set out from Imladris to find.
As they both passed inside, the twins felt their eyes drawn to an old splintered wooden table in the room's centre. Chains were attached at the top and bottom, bolted securely on with harsh metal padlocks, to bind their victims, and to stop them breaking free. The age old wood was stained with dark, dull substances, and the twins didn't need the rancid smell to tell them it was the blood of elves and men.
Beside that, a slightly smaller black table was laden down with shiny metal objects that glinted maliciously in the torch light from the walls. Moving closer, Elladan had to steady his shaking hands at the sight of the horrifying torture weapons beyond any description, as Elrohir felt his blood run cold. Some were alike to a workman's tools; a sharply jawed clamp, with a bite as cold as ice and teeth like a roaring beast, though they were stained with blood; an iron fire brander, ashen and cold yet when hot enough to scar skin past recognition, with its twisted Orc symbol; a many thronged whip there was also, each cat like tail of leather ended in a heavy knot, and a short spike of metal. Beside them resided bottles of thick, murky substances; some were a dull, mouldy colour, more like a paste than a liquid; others were gloopy and thick and a deep crimson, and the twins got the awful impression they knew exactly what it was; and yet still, more bottles of an angry, swirling purple, almost like wine and as thin as water, though it seemed to the twins that it hissed dangerously at them. They could not help but to shudder – but now was not the time to dwell upon such things…
Tearing his eyes away from the terrible tormenting devices of the Orcs, Elrohir began looking else where around the room. There wasn't much to see, and the two torches could not chase away the shadows as their song had done, rather create them; another two tables for binding prisoners were half concealed in the shadows, just to the right; chains hung loosely from the walls, seeming almost to sway, clinking in a non-existent gust of wind, cackling malevolently; a pile of dirty old rags, filthy and sodden, lying on the floor, though they were barely visible in the gloom at the back of the small chamber. Suddenly, Elrohir's breath caught in his chest…
"Elladan," he croaked, but could not persuade his suddenly parched throat to make any more sound. Slipping and stumbling on the wet rocks, for a moment their elven heritage forgotten as they embraced the blood line of their mortal ancestors, they fell to their knees by the rags, which had abruptly begun shaking uncontrollably.
"Nana… Law…" whispered Elladan, and as he apprehensively drew back the blankets, the hope that had burned to fiercely in his heart only minutes before wavered and flickered, and was almost extinguished. The short lived joy of the twins evaporated like a ghost in the morning misted dawn, and their hearts shattered into a thousand pieces. Celebrían lay broken and bound upon the cold floor, shivering and muttering to herself, words that even elven hearing could not perceive. Her golden hair, that had shone with the very light of Laurelin himself was now limp and dull, strewn across her face, hanging in sweaty, bloody clumps. Her beautiful face, once so full of life and spirit was now full of pain and suffering. Beaten black and blue, the open bleeding wounds and bruises contrasted shockingly against her startlingly white skin, though even that was blackened by foul smelling dirt and mud.
As Elladan continued to pull back the rags, she seemed to suddenly realise they were there, and shied away from him, muttering and whispering faster and faster, drawing back from his hand.
"Naneth," he soothed, "It's alright, we're here… We're here Naneth…" Yet as she opened one badly swollen eye and looked up at him, still murmuring senseless words, the shredding realisation gripped at his heart that she had long ago given up any hope she once owned, and cared no more for living, or for the world.
Elrohir reached out a tentative hand, hesitating slightly before laying it on her head. She flinched away, recoiling at his touch, and tried to pull away from them both. Elrohir took his hand quickly back as hot, stinging tears filled his eyes, threatening to pour down in a torrent of barely leashed emotion, but he blinked them away; there was no time for that now. But nothing could make it go away; she was terrified of anyone, and anything, of her own sons. Sons that risked hell, high water and death ten times over to reach her, sons that she meant everything to.
Elladan laid his other hand on Elrohir's shoulder, squeezing it slight in support, and once again carried on pulling back the covers. Her body was thin and frail; the once fair white dress that had been woven by the hands of the Lady of Light herself was in tattered shreds, practically black, in some places entire pieces of it missing. Down her back were countless, merciless whip marks, dried blood caked around them as a few drips of fresh scarlet seeped out, staining her clothing, though it was already so soiled it made no difference. Around her wrists were tightly draw harsh ropes, which cut agonizing burns into the red and raw marks that were already there, marks they could only begin to guess came from struggling against immeasurable pain. Elladan quickly pulled out a small pocket knife, and though it tore at him to see his mother shrink back even further from him at the sight of it, he gritted his teeth and steeled his heart, and sliced easily through her cruel bonds, freeing her hands. As they slid away from her, she let out a tiny moan of pain and fear, but maybe also, the brothers hoped, of relief too.
"We must leave," said Elladan quietly, "You must carry her, Elrohir. I fear my arm is not strong enough for the test."
Elrohir nodded but did not look at his brother, and slipped his muscular arms gently around her bony body. As he stood up, she feebly attempted to struggle in his grasp, and let out a small cry of anguish, but she was too weak to help herself.
"Shh," whispered Elrohir in her ear, "Shh, go to sleep… quell kaima…" ("Sleep well,")
Surrendering, Celebrían slowly stopped resisting and drifted into a fitful sleep as Elrohir huddled her close to his chest.
"Tula," beckoned Elladan, and taking his brother's sword from the floor and sheathing his own, he started to lead the way back through the tunnels. ("Come,")
The journey upwards was awful, and not though the twins should live to see all the ages of the earth, even unto the ending of the world would they forget it; time seemed to stand still, to freeze as their slow, sorrowful procession made their way back up the maze of tunnels and caverns. Occasionally, the twins would wince silently as Celebrían called out in fearful memories, or for Elrond, or her mother in her sleep; or cringe at what the twins could not see of her miserable nightmares. It tore them apart inside to see her like this; a ruined and broken life, hardly clinging onto the waking world. Deep, deep in their hearts they began to understand, though in their minds they were still not willing to accept it; it would not matter if their father could heal her wounds, or if they could get her back to Imladris alive. Either way, she was not long for this mortal world. Lord Elrond could heal all her physical pains, yes, could mend all her skin and sinew and bones; but he could not erase her memory. He could not heal her of the ordeal she had suffered for far too long. No one could. Her fate no longer rested in the hands of those in Middle Earth; and still, as the twins were plagued by these thoughts, they walked slowly out of the ever night of the mountains into the slowly seeping dawn light of the new day.
Please R&R.
Loadsa love, Estel xxx