Into The Shadow

By The Last Evenstar

A/N: Yes, it's finally back! And this chapter is short, but at least it's here! Once again, I'm dreadfully sorry for my leave of absense, but you have to understand that some really tough things were happening to me.

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up; I don't know if I'm really back in the stream of things yet. It probably depends on whether or not I get reviews ;)

And on that topic, a HUGE hug and thank-you to everyone who reviews. I can't name names, because there are too many, but know that I hold you in the highest esteem and would not be able to go on without your support.

WARNING: More Silmarillion references.

Chapter Fourteen: Hope Shall Come Again

Arwen looked down at her worn, grime-caked hands and grimaced. Dusty strings of long, black hair floated about her face, remnants of a beauty long forgotten.

Her face was gaunt and stretched, the terrible perversion of holiness, from months of darkness and starvation. Ai, Aredhel! she thought mournfully. I now understand your grief. Sunlight we so rarely treasure, yet above all things it is the warmth on my cheek that I miss most of the outside world. I sit in the dungeons of Barad-dûr like a pale ghost, a White Lady corrupted. Were it only that Eöl was my captor and not this treacherous minion of Morgoth!

Lying back against the dank dungeon wall, she realized that she had spoken a falsehood, if only to herself. Sunlight was wonderful, yes, but it was not its warmth on her cheek that she missed most. Trapped forever in this shrine to the unholy, wrenched forever from the arms or her family and those she had held so dear for millennia past – and all she could think about was Him.

Huddled in the cold, she yearned with all her being for the feel of his strong arms encircling her. The warmth, the security, and the omnipresent knowledge that she was in love – she could go without sunlight for all eternity if only to see him one last time.

Escape . . . the concept floated bitterly across her mind. How many times since her imprisonment had she dreamed of escape? Was it impossible?

Yes, she told herself firmly.

No, countered a small voice inside her head. Remember Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Remember Lúthien.

Lúthien was not the one trapped, she argued with herself. You have already saved your Beren. And in doing so you made the very same self-sacrifice, but without the mercy of the Valar.

Your tale is over.

Our tale is not over. Not until my blood is spilt a last time on that unholy ground.

He stood at Elrond's door, mentally preparing himself for entry. Finally, with a certainty he wasn't sure he felt, he knocked.

A cold voice came from within, heavy and grieving. "Enter."

Aragorn steeled himself and walked through the door, words of bravery and confidence playing over and over in his mind.

Elrond gasped when he saw his foster son. "Estel?" His face hardened when he saw Aragorn's warrior-esque garb. "What are you doing?"

Aragorn gulped. "I'm going to save your daughter. It is your choice whether or not you will aid me."

To his surprise, Elrond laughed, albeit bitterly. "You're going to save her? Tell me this, Estel. When will it end? When both of you lie dead on the blackened earth of Mordor?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this is ridiculous. First she goes to save you, and in turn I loose her." A shadow fell on his faced as he voiced his mockery. "Now you embark on the selfsame noble quest. What do you think you'll do, sacrifice yourself for her?" He shook his head scornfully. "It has been done already, Estel. It has been done already."

"You are mad with grief." Aragorn words were sharp and cold.

Elrond faced him wryly. "Better to be mad with grief than consumed by it. There is nothing left for you, Estel. Just as there is nothing left for me."

"You have your daughter." The words were an incredulous whisper. "I have meleth an cuilen [the love of my life]."

The phantom of a smile crossed Lord Elrond's face. "And you think that after all of this, love will prevail? That if you wish hard enough, she will be rescued and you'll have the ending to your ballad?" His voice hardened. "This is real life, Estel. She will not come back to you."

Aragorn's gray eyes turned to steel. "Your wife's tragedy has nothing to do with Arwen," he said coldly, hardly daring to voice the most unfeeling thing he had ever thought. "Not everyone has to end up bitter and alone."

With that, he turned and strode away.

Elrohir sheathed his knife, not daring to look his brother in the eye. "I'm going with Estel."

Elladan shrugged, his face blank. "Why? She's gone, gwanunig."

"Not until we have tried to save her."

His brother whirled around to face him. "Do you honestly think it will help? Do you truly believe that she has not been wrenched fully out of our lives, and that we are not condemned for all eternity to seek revenge?"

Elrohir stared. "Do even REALIZE what you're saying?"

"I do," Elladan said grimly. "And I know it's true. We are as the sons of Fëanor, driven mad by desire. But this time the Shadow has taken something far more precious to us than jewels." His face was set and grim. "They took our mother. Our sister. Our own shining Silmarils. And I will not rest until I get every last one of them for it."

"You have to stop chasing," Elrohir responded, his voice shaking. "Stop and realize that all you're chasing are your own demons. Give up on them and you may start to see that there is still hope."

At sunset that night, three figures rode from the gate of Imladris. In the very back of his eye, Aragorn could see the pale ghost of a woman, standing hopefully with a candle in the night.