Everlasting

by Nili

When a short hunting trip near Rivendell takes a turn for the worst, Legolas and Aragorn are separated from their companions. While the two must make it back on their own, Elrond tries to save the life of a friend – who might not even want to be saved.

3. Huge Problems

Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.


A/N:

It WAS only a little cliffy. I don't care what you say, it wasn't all that bad. pauses and then starts to grin evilly The one coming up at the end of this chapter is worse, after all. Trust me.

I have to admit, however, that Glorfindel is really having a bad day. His plan wasn't all that great after all, and there is also the small matter of the arrow that is still sticking out of his chest. You are right, Elrond is NOT going to be very pleased. Yet another Midyear's Day his sons and seneschal managed to ruin for him... g

It's also nice to know that you like Elvynd. You don't have to worry about him, though, I promise I won't kill him in this story. I still need him and his persuasive friend Isál for "A Sea of Troubles". They are one of the sub-plots, something about which they aren't all that happy. shrugs I really have no idea why not. So, no need to found an "ELF"! I'm having more than enough problems with the CLF already, thanks a lot... evil look at Firsarnien


Alright, enough of that, here is chapter 3! In which we find out just whereto that reckless human has disappeared, Elrond comes to the conclusion that letting anyone go anywhere is generally a bad idea and Legolas has a brilliant plan which doesn't ... really ... work. evil grin Surprises all around, eh?

Have fun and review, please!

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Chapter 3


This was a hallucination, Legolas thought after a moment. He closed his eyes, a part of him firmly convinced that when he opened them again Aragorn would reappear in a small flash of white light. He slowly opened first one, then the other eye, but there was neither a light nor any other sign of the dark haired man.

Of course there wasn't, the elf reasoned darkly while he still stared incredulously at the trunk of the tree against which Aragorn had been leaning only an hour ago. The man hadn't been in any shape to go anywhere, and he seriously doubted that he had acquired the ability to vanish into thin air at will.

The elf crouched down in front of the tree, his eyes wandering desperately over the dark bark. Where in the name of the One had that man gone? He hadn't had the strength to move far, not in his present condition, and that left only one possibility: He hadn't walked away from here. He had been taken.

But by whom? He had been so sure that they had lost their pursuers, that there was no orc still on their trail, who could possibly… The elf's thoughts trailed off as a sliver of moonlight managed to penetrate the thick canopy of the tree, shedding a sickly silver light onto the scenery. There was blood glistering on the bark of the beech, the dark crimson in stark contrast to the olive-green colour of the tree.

Legolas would have liked to hit himself, and only the seriousness of the situation stopped him from actually doing it. Of course there was blood on the bark, such things had been known to happen when a seriously injured, bleeding person was leaning against something. The fair haired elf's self-critical thoughts were interrupted when his gaze fell on another, faintly hand-shaped dark red mark on the tree, a few inches away from the other large crimson streak.

This looked as if Aragorn had placed a hand against the tree, as if trying to stand up … but why would he do that? Not even he was that stupid, and the man's knowledge of the healing arts which was far superior to his should have informed him that standing up with a wound such as his was at least a dubious course of action, if not a positively idiotic one. No, Legolas concluded, feeling as if a giant hand had grasped his heart and had begun to squeeze it mercilessly, Aragorn wouldn't have done that – that was, not unless he hadn't had any other choice.

Why the man hadn't had any other choice but to leave his hiding spot became quickly apparent. Legolas followed the trail the man had left and which spoke of the bad state of health Aragorn had been in, for even though he was one of the Second People, he never left such an obvious trail. After about thirty feet of following broken twigs and upturned pebbles and increasingly large drops of blood which even increased the fear in Legolas' heart, he reached a small clearing that wasn't really more than a few grassy yards surrounding a large tree.

In general, Legolas wasn't an elf who was prone to panicking. He had fought in many battles against orcs, men, goblins, spiders and various other creatures and had seen a lot of things in his long life, but there had been few sights that had plunged him into such a mindless panic as the one that presented itself to him now.

The small clearing looked as if a particularly strong storm had hit it not too long ago, after which a horde of particularly ill-tempered orcs had shown up and smashed everything that had somehow managed to stay in one piece. For a moment, Legolas was simply stunned, because no matter what he might have been expecting, this sight had not been among the things for which he had been prepared. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, a wry voice inside his head murmured, especially considering that he had been half-expecting to find Aragorn's lifeless corpse, but…

This train of thought was cut off abruptly when Legolas saw two things, almost at exactly the same time. Both of them were enough to make sure that he lost the last bit of his composure, and for a second he wasn't sure which one was actually worse. Neither, he decided a moment later numbly, since they both had "Harbinger of Doom" written on them so clearly that only a blind person could have missed it.

The first thing he noticed was that he was standing in the middle of a gigantic footstep, something he was realising only now. There were more all over the place, all of them seeming to lead over to the tree from the northern side of the clearing where there were the fewest trees. Some, however, also seemed to come from between the trees to his right, where he could see a couple of young oak saplings that had been crushed by a single footstep, and all of them were criss-crossing each other, leading around the tree and over to the bushes surrounding it. Most of them were too unclear and indistinct to make out clearly, but Legolas was sure that he could see the impressions of dull claws around at least some of them.

The other thing he saw was at least as bad – no, it was worse, far worse. To the left of the tree, where the ground was churned up the worst, lay Aragorn's sword, half-buried in the loose soil. The blade's silvery gleam was dulled by patches of dark blood that clung to the metal, only adding to the desolate air that hung over the tiny clearing.

Legolas slowly began to walk over to the sword, feeling suddenly very calm. It was clear what had happened here, almost as clear as if someone had left a written note. There was only one race in Middle-earth that left this kind of destruction in its wake, only one race that was big and vicious enough to stomp a young tree into the ground with one step: Trolls.

For a moment, irrational laughter began to rise inside of him. How in the name of all the Valar did Aragorn do it?! It should be impossible for one person, be he man, elf, dwarf or otherwise, to get into this much trouble in so little time! Trolls! Whatever would be next?!

He didn't really want to know, Legolas decided a moment later. He didn't really want to know what kind of deadly peril the ranger would get himself into next; besides, it hardly mattered now. He would worry about that once he had got that reckless human out of the trouble he was in at the moment, that should be quite enough, thank you very much.

And that, he thought, the panic reappearing in an instant, was quite a lot, too. He did have some experience with trolls, which were quite often straying into the woods of his home. As a rule, they didn't hunt humans or elves for food, but they weren't known to pass up the opportunity for a meal when it presented itself to them. When he had been younger he had heard many stories about young elflings who hadn't heeded their parents' warnings, had ventured too far away from home and had consequently been caught and eaten by trolls, and even though he knew that these were tales meant to frighten young ones, there was more than just a little bit of truth in them.

Legolas reached the sword and slowly crouched down, not touching the blade. His eyes were staring intently at the churned-up ground, willing it to provide him with some clues as to what had happened here – not that he would have required any, of course. He already knew what had transpired while he had been away scouting, and more than once he had already cursed his own thoughtlessness.

Elladan had told them that there were trolls north of Rivendell, in Elbereth's name! What had he been thinking, leaving Aragorn alone, and injured at that, when there were trolls about? He could even remember the twins telling him about some trolls that had harassed the inhabitants of Imladris and the surrounding lands not much more than a score of years ago, and what did he do? All but hand Aragorn to them on a platter!

Legolas shook his head and forced himself to concentrate, sharp eyes wandering over the ground. The trolls must have woken not much after they had run into the orcs, and, now able to move around as they pleased, would have got up to find themselves something for dinner. Aragorn must have heard their approach, even despite the stupor the man had been in when he had last seen him – which wasn't all that surprising, since trolls weren't exactly known to be stealthy – and must have tried to avoid detection when one of them (most likely the one whose tracks he had seen earlier) had come too close to his hiding place.

Then, however, everything seemed to have gone wrong. Instead of avoiding the trolls, Aragorn must have attracted their attention, and in the end they had caught up with him here, next to the tree. And how else could it have ended, Legolas asked himself bitterly. If he was right – and he was rather sure that he was – there had been at least three trolls here, if not four. Not even if Aragorn had been well he would have stood a chance against them.

With a dark curse Legolas finally stood to his feet, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his friend's sword. Self-reproach would help neither him nor Aragorn now, he told himself as calmly as he could. That the trolls had apparently taken the man with them was actually a good thing, as grim as the situation might appear on first glance. The lumbering creatures hadn't killed the ranger on the spot, so that could only mean that they intended to … well, Legolas grimaced inwardly, eat him later, at their camp. That gave him time, time he so urgently needed to find them and teach them that entering the woods around Imladris was a mistake for which creatures of the darkness such as them paid with their lives.

The elf took a deep breath, forcing himself to ignore the small, worried voice inside his head that still wouldn't fade. That might all very well be, it said mockingly, but Aragorn was already injured, wasn't he? Trolls were not only rather stupid, they were also brutal and uncaring, and they would surely not have treated him kindly or would have given any consideration to his wound or general state of health. Yes, they usually preferred fresh meat, but that didn't mean that they would go to any lengths to keep the man alive.

'Varda Elentári, focus!' Legolas told himself, attempting to shut out that persistent voice. Where would the trolls have their camp? Yes, he could always follow their tracks, but if he could figure out where they were going, he might be able to get there before the slow creatures and their prisoner reached their destination. It was hard to tell how far ahead they were from these tracks, but judging from the dried, dark blood on Aragorn's sword he would say that they had arrived shortly after he had left the man. Which meant quite far ahead.

They wouldn't have a camp, Legolas thought a moment later, once again only a step away from slapping himself. He was north of Rivendell, and north of Rivendell you could find hill-trolls, not stone-trolls like in the Trollshaws. Hill-trolls dwelt in holes in the ground, dark ravines or shallow caves, anywhere where they could hide from the sun during the day.

So there was only one question, the fair haired elf concluded a moment later: Where was the nearest cave? For a few moments, absolutely nothing came to his mind, but then suddenly the image of a large, dark opening in a hillside appeared in his mind's eye. It had to be somewhere relatively close by, he reasoned, excitement beginning to surge through him. He had been hunting with the twins a few dozen years ago, and they had come past the cave. Elrohir had even told him something about a bunch of trolls that were said to live there, but he hadn't believed him then – of course not, especially not after the twin had just told him a story about how Glorfindel had supposedly written a rather rude word on Lord Erestor's forehead some hundred years ago.

It was awfully thin ice he was treading on at the moment, Legolas was fully aware of that. Still, it was all he had right now, and every second he hesitated was one more second Aragorn was in danger and cut off from the medical attention he so urgently needed. Alright, the elf finally decided, he would follow the trolls' trail for a mile or two and see which direction they had chosen, and if he was proven right in his assumption that they were heading for the cave he remembered so well, he would cut across country and see if he could find a shortcut.

Legolas frowned darkly while he began to follow the clearly visible tracks the trolls had left and carefully attached his friend's sword to his quiver. Whatever happened, he would catch up with them, sooner or later and no matter how long he would have to follow them.

And when he did and these creatures had hurt his friend, they would wish they had never left their cave and set foot into these woods, he would make sure of that.

'Concentrate on the braid,' Elrond told himself firmly while he frowned at his reflection in the polished silver mirror in front of him. 'Concentrate on the … oh, damn it!'

The dark frown on the half-elf's face became even darker, even though it lost quite a lot of its threatening menace by the state his hair was in. On first glance, he looked a lot like an elf who had just discovered that he had braided a sleeping bat into his hair, which had then decided to try and escape its new prison and had ripped out more than half of the hair in the process.

Elrond stopped scowling at himself and let the brush sink down with which he had tried to conquer his hair's stubborn refusal to co-operate. The worst thing was that he not only looked like someone who had just braided an unwilling bat into his hair, he also felt like it. He had been trying to get his dark tresses to look at least faintly presentable for the feast tonight, but up until now he hadn't succeeded.

It was all Thranduil's fault, he decided a moment later while he was still staring at what had no more than five minutes ago promised to become quite a nice braid. It was so like him to sire a son who was this reckless and accident-prone, and probably something the golden haired king had done to the sole purpose of annoying him. The more dubious character traits of the twins which got them and the prince into trouble he blamed on Celebrían anyway – he had never been like this, not even when Elros had still been alive.

That had not exactly been a thought that cheered him up, and his bad mood became even worse and began to enter new dimensions of foulness. There were few days when he could actually think of his long-dead twin brother without experiencing the urge to start weeping, but there were none when he could think of his departed wife and not feel sadness and despair wash over him. After all, Elros had chosen to be counted among Men, he had chosen the fate that had befallen him and had never regretted it. Celebrían, however, had done no such thing; she had been brutally taken from him and everything and everyone she had loved and everyone who had loved her in return.

If she was here now, Elrond knew, she would take that brush from him and help him untangle his hair, all the while scolding him for allowing it to get out of hand. Her mere presence would soothe his worries, would reassure him that his golden haired friend and his sons were alright and that they would have a peaceful festival for once – if only for a little while.

But she was not here, the elf lord told himself bluntly. She was not here and would never return hither from the West, and all he could do was try and get used to missing a part of his soul until his time came to journey to Valinor himself. He had done it before after all, after Elros had died and had taken the piece of himself with him that had always been connected with his brother…

Now his mood was as bad as it hadn't been in quite a long time, and with an inward sigh Elrond forced himself to return to the present.
"Alright," he told his reflection darkly which merely stared back expressionlessly, "Have it your way. No braids today. If I get strange looks because I am not looking presentable enough or sufficiently adorned, it will be your fault."

If hair had the ability to look smug, Elrond's did just that now. Deciding to ignore his hair's obstinacy, the half-elf searched for one of his silver hair clips and quickly bound back his long, dark tresses, convinced that this was the only feasible course of action. He was in no mood to play games with his hair tonight, and if he tried to tame it now, he might end up shearing all of it off in a fit of fury.

Just when he had come to the conclusion that this was the most respectable sight he was going to present tonight (at least until his seneschal, his sons and Prince Legolas returned safe and sound), a soft knock sounded on the door separating his suite and the corridor. With another soundless curse that would no doubt have shocked even his sons he gave his rather plucked-looking reflection a last dark look and left his bedroom, crossed the sitting room that was attached to it and opened the door with quite a bit more force than necessary.

The sudden move had apparently surprised the elf knocking on the wooden door, for his still raised knuckles would almost have made contact with Elrond's nose. The collision was narrowly avoided, and Elrond gave the dark haired elf in front of him the look, his mood not improved in the slightest.
"Yes?"

There were not many people in Imladris, Eriador or the rest of Arda who were not very impressed by the look when it was centred on them in all its glory, but fortunately for Erestor he was one of them.
"It is time, my friend," he told the half-elf calmly. "The celebrations will start soon."

"Wonderful," Elrond retorted, leaving Erestor to wonder how a person could put so much sarcasm into a single word.

"If you keep shooting this glare at people, my lord, at least half of the elves attending the celebrations will run off screaming."

"For that sight alone it might be worth it," Elrond mumbled so softly that Erestor could hardly understand him, which just might have been the half-elf's intention in the first place.

The other dark haired lord gave him a mildly admonishing look which Elrond either didn't notice or ignored and shortly contemplated telling his lord what a joyful time the next two days would be and how much fun they would all have if he only allowed himself to enjoy them, but one look at the dark expression on the half-elf's face quickly made him change his mind. There were times when all such speeches got you was one of Elrond's really evil looks of doom, and this was definitely one of them.

"They will be fine," Erestor finally tried another approach. "They are only an hour late yet. There could be all kinds of reasons why they aren't here."

"Oh yes," Elrond agreed darkly. "Would you like to hear some? Orcs, wargs, wolves, trolls, goblins, highwaymen, hunting accidents, bolting horses, broken bones, bleeding wounds…"

"Ah yes," Erestor raised a hand. "I think I understand what you are aiming at, my lord."

"I even think," Elrond went on and turned around to the window overlooking the gardens, "that he is doing this on purpose, just so he doesn't have to talk with me. But let me tell you one thing: It will not work. I am not letting this go, and I don't care if tomorrow is Midyear's Day or not. For all I care, it could be his begetting day; he will still tell me what I want to hear."

"Who?" Erestor asked, a question that wasn't entirely necessary since he knew perfectly well about whom his lord was talking.

He had barely spoken that word when a from the looks of it rather horrified elf burst around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of him. The young elf was gasping for breath as if he had run the entire way here – which he probably had, judging by the way his hair was flying around his head and the flowers that seemed to have adorned it at some point were coming loose and falling to the floor even as he watched.
"Lord … Lord Glorfindel!" he finally gasped out.

"Exactly," Elrond nodded without turning around. "Who else? I swear that, once I set foot onto the shores of the Blessed Realm, I will go and ask Námo and Manwë and all the others who were involved in this what they were thinking when they sent him back and…"

Only now it seemed to register in his brain that it hadn't been Erestor who had spoken these last words and he turned around, his eyes widening when he saw the slightly dishevelled elf who was staring at him with wide eyes.
"What did you say, young one?"

"Lord Glorfindel," the elf repeated breathlessly. "Please, my lord, you have to come quickly! Lord Glorfindel has been injured!"

Elrond was already out of the door before the young elf had even finished the sentence, and Erestor and the messenger only caught up with him when he was already hurrying down the stairs leading to the lower levels of the house. The dark haired elf lord shot the two elves next to him a quick look while the three of them were rushing down the steps, eyes filled with suppressed worry.
"Injured how?"

"I do not know, my lord," the young elf shook his head breathlessly. "Your sons arrived mere moments ago – only the twins, my lord," he clarified quickly. "There was no one else with them, only Lord Glorfindel. I was sent to fetch you while they brought him to the healing chambers."

Elrond changed his course smoothly and headed down the right corridor instead of taking the left one as he apparently had wanted to do at first. In a matter of moments they had reached the healing chambers even despite the multitude of elves that were crowding the corridors, and without hesitation the dark haired lord threw the doors open and hurried inside.

At the sound of the opening door Elrohir looked up from where he was trying to loosen the makeshift bandage he had applied when they had been ambushed, and a relieved smile spread over his face when he saw his father enter the room, clad in costly robes but with surprisingly unbraided hair.
"Ada! Thank the Valar!"

He felt Elladan relax next to him, together with most of the healers that were crowding around the narrow pallet on which they had placed the injured blond elf. Their father's eyes shortly wandered over the two of them, apparently making sure that neither of them was seriously injured, before they fixed on his unconscious friend.
"What happened?" he asked while he rushed over to their side.

"An orc ambush, father," Elladan asked curtly. "Only a few miles from the most northern guard post. We had to split up; the others should get here soon."

Elrond nodded, only half-hearing what his eldest son was telling him. Now that he was sitting on the edge of Glorfindel's bed, he realised why Elladan hadn't told him what kind of injury Glorfindel had sustained. It was painfully obvious, after all, with the broken stub of an arrow still protruding from the right side of other elf's lower chest.

After a moment of simply staring at his wounded friend his head shot up and he fixed his eyes on Elladan and then Erestor.

"Elladan, please see to it that reinforcements are sent north, just in case this was more than an ambush. We will wait a little yet to send out search parties; we'll give them some more time to get here on their own." The twin nodded quickly and got to his feet, briefly placing a hand on his brother's shoulder before he turned around, and Elrond turned his attention to his chief councillor who was staring at the projectile piercing his friend's breast. "Erestor, could you please open the festivities? Give a little speech or something like that; I do not think I will be able to attend the feast after all."

The dark haired elf blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and finally inclined his head.
"Of course, my lord."

He turned and followed Elladan out of the room, and was already on the threshold and about to close the wooden doors when he stopped and turned back around, quickly disguised fear on his face as he looked back at Elrond and the still body of their friend next to him.
"Will he live?"

Elrond looked up, his fingers still resting under Glorfindel's chin to feel the weak, fluttering beats of the other elf's heart.
"I do not know," he admitted softly, his eyes hard as stone in his pale face. "But I will not let him go without a fight, that I promise you."

Erestor remained where he was for a few moments, merely looking at his lord and friend, but then he nodded again and softly closed the doors from the outside. Elrond barely noticed his advisor's departure, so concentrated was he on the still form of his friend. Deciding that there was nothing he would be able to do if he couldn't see a thing, he reached over to the table next to him, took up a knife and began to cut through Glorfindel's shirt and tunic, trying not to think about what the other elf would say about that once he awoke. Glorfindel really liked that shirt as far as he knew.

"Is there an exit wound?" he asked, his eyes fixed on his work. "How far away were you from the orcs when he was hit?"

"Not much more than thirty yards," Elrohir answered while he was helping his father to divest the wounded elf of his shirt without disturbing the wound. "And no, I couldn't find an exit wound. I think the arrow got stuck between two ribs."

"Let us hope that you are incorrect, my son," Elrond said softly as the cloth fell away, fully exposing the wound. "Because I don't think that he would survive it if we would have to actually cut him even more to remove the arrowhead."

Elrohir grimaced, staring blindly at the black, blood-encrusted arrow that protruded from his old tutor's chest. He had seen many wounds, and treated injuries even worse than this one, but rarely one that looked as gravely as this one on a person whom he respected and loved like a second father.
"I am sorry," he whispered even more softly. "I did what I could. There was so little time and I didn't have any bandages and…"

"Elrohir," his father interrupted his sentence and shortly looked up from where he was gently probing the area around the arrow. "I do not blame you. Nobody does. You did well; it is a miracle that he is still alive."

"You don't know everything, ada," the younger twin shook his head softly. "Estel was wounded as well. He saved Legolas from an orc, and it cut him deeply before he could kill it. We couldn't even bring him with us; there were simply too many orcs. We had to get Glorfindel here as quickly as possible, and so we left the two of them, left them to fend for themselves."

While he had been speaking Elrond's eyes had darkened, and he stiffened almost imperceptibly at the younger elf's words. A moment later, however, all fear and worry in his eyes was pushed back and a mask of calm control slipped over his face.
"That is not to be changed," he said evenly. "We can do nothing for them now, but we can help Glorfindel. I will need your help, Elrohir, or he will die. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the dark haired twin bowed his head swiftly. "What do you want me to do, father?"

Elrond returned his attention to his motionless friend, ruthlessly pushing down the fear inside his heart.
"Help me turn him onto his side," he ordered curtly. "I don't think the arrow is stuck between two ribs. I think it shattered one and therefore did not exit again, but I do not think it is stuck."

Elrohir did as he was told and pressed his lips together as he understood the implications of his father's words.
"You want to push it through."

"Yes," Elrond nodded calmly. "We will need to work swiftly; he doesn't have much time left. We mustn't tarry any further."

"Are you sure he that is strong enough for this?" Elrohir asked anxiously while Elrond beckoned three healers to take a hold of the unconscious elf to prevent him from moving. "It's already been more than two hours since he was hit, and I was never able to stop the bleeding fully. Are you certain that he has the strength to survive this?"

Elrond seemed to freeze for a moment, but then he looked up and met his son's frightened gaze with eyes that were full of fear and pain and doubt.
"No," he replied so softly that Elrohir could barely understand him. "I am not sure. I hope that he is strong enough, that his spirit is too unwilling to depart from Arda yet again, but I am not sure. The only thing I am sure about is that he will die if we do nothing."

"Then let us hurry and do what must be done," Elrohir retorted with a faint smile. "If anyone can survive through sheer tenacity, it is Glorfindel."

"I pray that you are right, my son," Elrond nodded softly. "I pray that you are right, because I don't know what else to do. I will need you to cut off the arrowhead once we manage to push it through, Elrohir. Are you ready?"

Elrohir and the other healers nodded, and without giving himself the time to come up with even more things that could go wrong Elrond took a hold of the dark shaft of the arrow, angled it in what he hoped was the right direction and pushed with all his might.

Half a second later he was once again reminded of why most healers never or only very reluctantly tended their closest friends or family. The scream that broke from Glorfindel's throat even despite his unconscious state was nearly enough to tear his hear apart, and the three healers had more than a little bit of trouble to press the blond elf's fighting body back onto the mattress. From where he had taken the resolve and cold-bloodedness to ignore his best friend's distress and continue pushing the arrow through the other elf's flesh he would later not be able to remember. He ignored the sounds of pain the harsh but necessary treatment forced out of the blond elf and the way his body tensed against the pain that shot through him, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, the roughly triangular, dark arrowhead broke through the skin of his patient's back.

Elrond fought down the anger and hatred that welled up inside of him at the sight of the small object that was glistering with his friend's blood and was about to tell his son to cut off that obscenity that protruded from the golden haired elf's flesh, but before he had even opened his mouth Elrohir had already moved forward and carefully separated the arrowhead from the wooden shaft.

As soon as the arrowhead had been cut off Elrond began to pull the arrow back out, oblivious of the way Glorfindel's body was still fighting against what it perceived to be even more harm done to it and also of the cold sweat that was beginning to gather on his own forehead. The half-elven healer would have liked to pull the arrow out as quickly as possible, and be it only so he could break it into tiny little pieces and then burn it, but he knew that he had to work slowly and carefully unless he wanted to cause even more damage. After another few seconds the wooden arrow finally slid out of Glorfindel's chest, glistering wet and red in the candlelight.

For a moment, Elrond merely stared at the crudely carved projectile before he let it drop to the floor and turned back to his blond friend whose body had stilled once more, apparently accepting the futility of trying to fight against what was happening to it. The next few minutes passed quickly while Elrond, Elrohir and the other healers did their best to staunch the blood that flowed freely from the wounds. After half an hour of cleaning both the entry and the exit wound and stitching them closed Elrond finally fastened the end of the last bandage and sat back, staring absent-mindedly at his blood-covered hands.

"Ada?"

His son's soft voice combined with a hand that was placed on his forearm brought him out of his short trance, and Elrond looked up, too weary to even try and put on a reassuring smile.

"Will he be alright?" Elrohir asked in concern, his eyes darting from Glorfindel's now motionless figure to his father.

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, asking himself once again just why he had let them go on this accursed hunting trip anyway. This was a price far too high to pay for fresh meat!
"If he makes it through the night and his wounds don't get infected, then yes, he should."

Elrohir gave a deep, heartfelt sigh of relief, a tentative smile beginning to spread over his face.
"He will make it, ada," he said, more to reassure his father than himself. "You know how stubborn Glorfindel can be. He would never allow something as insignificant as an orc arrow to kill him."

"I seriously hope so," Elrond smiled faintly. "I still have some things to discuss to him, and I will be most displeased if he chooses the easy way out and decides to grace Mandos' halls with his presence yet again."

Elrohir grinned slightly, intent on trying to cheer his father up a little.
"I am sure Mandos would be very pleased about that."

"Most certainly," Elrond nodded wryly and ran a hand over his face, leaving a broad, bloody streak on his forehead. He looked over to the large windows, noting with more than a little bit of shock how much time had passed since Erestor had knocked on his door. "Go and change into something that doesn't look as if it had spent a prolonged amount of time in a slaughterhouse, ion nín. I will stay with him."

Elrohir frowned and looked down at himself, only now noticing that the better part of his shirt was covered with dark, dried blood – Glorfindel's blood, he realised with a small stab of horror.
"Yes, father." He was about to turn around and leave when a thought struck him. "What about the others?"

Elrond hesitated for a moment.
"You can go and see how your brother is doing, but don't send out any additional guards. It's too dark now anyway, and I wouldn't want anyone to miss the feast unless they absolutely have to. If the reinforcements encounter any additional trouble, we will send out search parties, but otherwise we will wait until sunrise."

Elrohir looked as if he wanted to protest, but a second later acceptance flittered over his exhausted features.
"As you wish, ada."

He turned to leave, but was halted in mid-motion by his father's voice that sounded calm and controlled, but to one who knew him well also apprehensive and worried.
"You said Estel was wounded, Elrohir."

It was a statement, not a question, and the younger twin slowly turned back around and nodded wordlessly. Elrond nodded as well, his eyes darkening slightly when he added, "How badly?"

"I don't know, ada," Elrohir admitted softly, pain and guilt warring inside his heart. "We were separated during the fight, but … but I think it was a deep wound. A scimitar, to the left side, that is all I saw." He swallowed quickly and added bluntly, "Judging by the look on Legolas' face, it was quite bad."

Elrond nodded again, more slowly this time.
"I see."

"He'll be fine," Elrohir said quickly, realising that he was beginning to sound like a pet bird that had been taught only one sentence. "Legolas is with him. He won't allow anything to happen to him, you know that."

His father smiled slightly and sat back a little in his chair, automatically reaching out to check Glorfindel's heartbeat and breathing.
"No, he won't; you are right, my son," he agreed. "Go and get cleaned up. I would ask you to try and enjoy the festival, but…"

"I will try, father," Elrohir smiled, a dark, worried expression in his eyes that belied his promise. "We will come back later to see how he is doing."

Elrond nodded again, and with a last look at Glorfindel's far too quiet form the younger twin turned around and left the room, closing the door silently behind him. Elrond looked after his son for a while, but then he got up to wash the blood from his hands and arms. After all but forcing all the healers whose presence was not absolutely required to leave as well, Elrond slowly walked over to the large window to his left, his eyes trying to pierce the blackness of the night that had laid itself over the valley.

For long moments he remained where he was, staring into the inky darkness of the night as his thoughts and prayers went out to his youngest son and his friend. A moment later he sighed softly, and with a last, long look the Lord of Imladris turned around and returned to his best friend's bedside.

Legolas was sitting in a large, green-leafed tree, and was at the moment very busy cursing his luck in all the tongues of Elves and Men that he knew – and he knew quite a lot. After a short while he decided that the aforementioned languages weren't even nearly vicious enough for that particular task, and so he quickly began to sort through the fragments of Dwarvish he had picked up over the years for something that might be able to convey his feelings.

It was truly amazing, Legolas thought while he was trying to remember a specifically evil curse he had heard from Celylith many years ago, the one involving an ill-tempered dragon with a liking for grilled orcish liver, fire, doom and pain. If all this weren't happening to him, he would find it downright hilarious – because it was happening to him, however, he was not amused in the slightest.

He should have thought of this, the fair haired elf reminded himself darkly. His thoughtlessness had to be contributed to his worry and fear for Aragorn; there was simply no other explanation. Legolas shook his head, his eyes once again returning to the spot where he had watched the four trolls disappear into their cave only a few minutes ago. He was a fool.

They were hill-trolls, so it was only logical that they didn't have an open camp next to a cave but rather in a cave – only that he hadn't thought of that. His wonderful plan (namely to distract the trolls, grab Aragorn and run as fast as he could) had not really taken into account that said trolls would choose to take the ranger inside their cave – which they had done, no more than five minutes ago.

Legolas ground his teeth, inwardly cursing the fact that these were hill-trolls and also their overcautious attitude. He would have to go inside that stupid, doubly accursed cave; there was simply nothing else he could do. He hated caves, the elf ranted soundlessly while he was climbing down as quickly as he could, now satisfied that the trolls were truly inside and wouldn't hear him. He really, really hated them, ever since that one time he had got stuck in a huge cave system to the east of Mirkwood when he had been little more than an elfling.

The fair haired elf's feet touched the ground without a sound and he carefully hurried over to the entrance of the cave, forcing his thoughts away from these memories that were full of darkness and fear. That was, however, not necessarily a good thing, because his mind immediately jumped to the way Aragorn had looked when he had seen him not much more than five minutes ago.

Legolas' hands balled to fists at his side, and he had to force himself to remain calm and not to betray his anger by making any impatient or hasty movements. He would kill these things, he truly would. They had carried the man as if he was a sort of puppet or doll or something like that! It was most likely a good thing that Aragorn had been unconscious, because the trolls had handed him to each other when they had reached their destination – or rather, thrown him to each other in a way the man would most certainly not have appreciated.

A few moments later he had reached the cave and pressed himself against the rough earthen wall at his back, listening intently to the sounds that filtered through stone and earth. It had taken him a lot longer to follow the trolls than he had originally thought – it appeared that they were not only paranoid, they were also in a hurry. He had finally come to the conclusion that they were indeed heading for the cave he was remembering, but even though he had taken a shortcut through a small wood which the trolls had circumvented he had arrived only minutes before the trolls.

The unarticulated mumblings from inside the cave were interrupted by a loud shout, quickly followed by another and then a third – it appeared that a small argument had broken out. Legolas couldn't really understand what the trolls were talking about in their grunting language, but it appeared that there was some question about who got to pick the spit on which they would roast his friend. For long moments, Legolas was very tempted to throw reason and caution out of the window and simply rush into the cave, but common sense quickly re-established its hold over him.

If he rushed in there now, the elf told himself firmly, he would be killed beyond the shadow of a doubt. There was a saying among the older warriors of his home: "Anglennad dorog vin erui nâ alidhor, anglennad dâd nâ úchannas." Translated into Westron it meant something like "Approaching one troll alone is carelessness, approaching two is stupidity." It was something he had heard many times in the past, and every single one of his encounters with trolls had proved that it was the truth. To try and take on a horde of trolls alone was idiocy, especially when you had to free someone who was most likely not even conscious.

And, Legolas concluded darkly, he may be many things, but he was most definitely not a complete idiot. Putting the memory of the blood that had been soaking through the bandage around Aragorn's waist firmly out of his head and trying to ignore the small voice inside his head that was right now calculating how much more of the precious fluid the man would have lost by now, Legolas attempted to think of something that might sufficiently distract four hungry trolls from their meal.

He could always start a fire, Legolas finally thought somewhat hesitantly. Trolls – like orcs and other dark creatures – feared large fires, and it might distract them enough so that he could somehow take Aragorn and run. Then again, he added wryly, it might also only serve to suffocate all of them, the ranger and himself included. He was still thinking about an alternative when the sounds from inside the cave faded once again; the argument had apparently been settled. He was out of time.

Before he really knew what he was doing Legolas had pushed off the wall and moved over to the entrance of the cave. A moment later the darkness of the cavern surrounded him and he had to suppress his growing unease. After a few dozen steps a faint shimmer of light became visible, flickering and at times disappearing completely. A fire, the elf realised with a small stab of dread. The trolls must already have lit a small fire.

All the better, he thought grimly. If they had lit a fire, they would also have additional fuel nearby, which in turn meant that it would be easier to actually set the cave aflame – if he got that chance in the first place. He would, however, prefer it if the trolls were simply too busy arguing with each other about who got to eat which part of his friend (a rather large part of him started laughing uproariously at that rather morbid thought), because then he would simply grab Aragorn and run while their attention was diverted. He would love to be able to kill all of them, but he was too realistic not to realise that his chances of success were slim.

After a few moments of walking down a tunnel that was at least twice as high as he Legolas reached a small junction, and after a second's hesitation he chose the left corridor. The dim, flickering light grew brighter and the rumbling, bellowing sounds of the trolls louder, and after another twenty or thirty yards Legolas reached what looked like the main cave, a large space with walls that looked like a curious mix of earth and mud and solid stone.

What was far more impressive than the material of the walls were the cave's occupants, and Legolas decided a little dazedly that watching trolls from his safe and rather remote perch in the tree had not really prepared him for this sight.

The trolls were truly enormous, even thought Legolas had already seen bigger ones in the southern part of Mirkwood, close to Dol Guldur. Seldom, however, had he been this close to one of these creatures, something he didn't lament in the slightest if he was completely honest with himself.

The first thing that one noticed when one was close to a troll was the stench, a dark, somehow muddy smell that reminded Legolas of something dead that had been lying in a still body of water for a long time. The next thing the elven prince always noted was the sheer size of the creatures; every one was man-shaped, but far larger than any man (or elf, for that matter) Legolas had ever seen.

They were about ten feet tall or even taller, and as wide as three or four men put together. Their bodies were covered with hard grey-green scales, and their heads were surprisingly small for the rest of them – which was only fitting, since they were also exceedingly stupid. What they lacked in intelligence, however, they made up for with viciousness and general horridness. For a moment Legolas thought they were unarmed, but he quickly saw that he was mistaken: Four large, crudely carved hammers were leaning against the wall to the far left next to a pile of firewood, presenting a surprisingly tidy and neat row.

This sight (right now three of them were shouting at each other while the forth was busy sharpening something that looked like a long wooden spit) combined with the bellowing sounds with which the four of them were communicating would most likely have been enough to send even dauntless men running away screaming, but Legolas had seen such things before. What really interested the elf at the moment was nowhere to be seen, a fact that was beginning to bring him close to the brink of panic.

The prince's eyes were still darting over the cave's interior, desperately searching for Aragorn or even only a sign of him, when one of the trolls made a sweeping, jerky movement with one of his arms, apparently trying to make a point. As if following an invisible red line Legolas' eyes travelled past the troll's green-tinged, scaly arm, all the way down to what looked like a bundle of blood-stained rags on the ground, not much more than thirty or forty feet to the elf's right.

It didn't really take him more than half a second to realise that he had just found Aragorn, and only another half-second to understand with crystal clarity that his plan, namely simply to take Aragorn and run without setting anything on fire, would not work. Aragorn would be going nowhere in the near future, at least not on his own, and there was no way they would be getting out of here if he wasn't even awake to at least try and help.

Legolas' heart seemed to freeze inside his chest when he saw how pale the man actually was; what little was visible of his face was so white that Legolas was almost sure that there couldn't be a single drop of blood left in the ranger's body. His friend was lying on his side, crumbled and in a heap as if the trolls had simply thrown him there and he hadn't moved since. The wound or the bandage Legolas had wrapped around it were not visible, but the elf thought he saw more than a little bit of blood seeping into the ground beneath the ranger. The lumbering creatures hadn't even seen it necessary to tie the man's hands or restrain him in any way, which Legolas could understand only too well. Aragorn looked horrible.

Alright, the elf nodded to himself, a calmness spreading inside of him he was at a loss to explain. So Aragorn wouldn't be walking; that was of no consequence. If the man couldn't walk, then Legolas would carry him, even all the way back to Rivendell if he had to. Now he only needed something he could set on fire … if possible, something that cause the flames to spread quickly and…

A rather wicked grin spread over Legolas' face as his eyes came to rest on the huge hammers that were leaning against the wall to his left. They were crude, ugly and speckled with reddish-brown stains that looked horribly like blood – and not the orcish variety – but they looked dry enough. One of his hands was already beginning to sift through one of the pouches at his belt before the plan had even fully formed in his mind, and a moment later his fingers closed around a small piece of flint.

With a quick look at the trolls to ensure that they were still distracted enough so they wouldn't notice his presence – they definitely were since they were at the moment rather busy pushing each other in a rather childlike manner – Legolas soundlessly entered the cave and pressed himself against the rough wall, carefully moving into the direction of the hammers. After what felt like an eternity he reached the crudely carved weapons and stopped, his eyes darting from the still arguing trolls to the motionless form of his friend.

With a last glance at the four monstrous creatures Legolas crouched down and drew one of his knives, wincing slightly when he heard the sharp, metallic and to his ears deafeningly loud sound it made when the blade connected with the small stone he held in his other hand. Almost immediately a small red-golden spark danced over the blade, but it was not strong enough and too far away from the hammers to actually ignite the wood.

Legolas gritted his teeth once again, and with an inward prayer to Elbereth he repeated the process, his eyes once again returning to the four quarrelling trolls. The large creatures didn't seem to have heard the small noises he had been creating, too concentrated were they on their debate, and so the elf looked back at the four wooden hammers. A fine, grey line of smoke greeted his eyes, and he would almost have laughed aloud. The second try had produced a large spark which had been enough to ignite one of the hammers, and within seconds the spark had grown into a tiny flame that was beginning to sneak into the direction of the other wooden weapons, seeking greedily for more fuel.

The fair haired elf waited for a few more seconds, not willing to depart too soon lest the fire should go out again, but then he turned back around and all but tiptoed into the direction where his unconscious friend still lay in a crumpled heap. This ought to solve two problems at once, Legolas decided while he moved over to Aragorn, his eyes not leaving the backs of the trolls in front of him. He would get rid of the trolls' weapons and create a diversion at the same time – besides, it pleased him to no end that, even though he may not be able to harm the trolls themselves, he was at least destroying their weapons. It was not as good as killing all of them, but it was better than nothing.

In retrospect he realised that all this had been going far too smoothly, of course; now, however, it came as a huge surprise to him when the four creatures ended their argument with the same abruptness with which they had started it. The three quarrelling trolls stopped bellowing at each other from one moment to the next, and the fourth put down the crude knife (truly nothing more than a piece of metal that had been tied to a large stick) it had used to sharpen the large spit in its hands.

After glaring at each other with their small, wicked eyes the four trolls slowly turned around, their huge, bulky bodies moving with a speed one would not have expected from them. Legolas froze and pressed himself against the wall at his back, doing his utmost best to assume the look and texture of the greyish stone. Two of the large creatures didn't even look in his direction but slowly walked over to the fire in the middle of the room and began to stoke it, adding huge pieces of wood to the flames. The third, the one with the spit, fixed its small eyes on their captive, apparently trying to decide whether it would be long enough for their meal and looking as if that task was asking too much of its intelligence.

It wasn't the trolls stoking the fire that worried Legolas, however, and even the one measuring his friend like a piece of meat did nothing more than awake faint anger in his heart. The one that really captured his attention was the one that was staring at the hammers at the other end of the cave – the hammers that were burning merrily by now.

The troll simply stared at his burning weapon for a moment, its small, wickedly gleaming eyes blank and clueless. It raised a large, clawed hand to its small bald head and scratched it in an almost comical display of confusion, still merely gazing at the hammers. Then, as if it had been told about him by a malevolent ghost, the troll slowly and deliberately turned its head and looked straight at Legolas.

For a long moment, troll and elf simply stared at each other, stupid surprise on the one and loathing on the other face. A heartbeat later the spell was broken and the troll shook its head, anger and hatred beginning to contort its face as it began to understand that someone, and an elf no less, was about to steal the dinner for which it and its companions had worked so hard.

Legolas didn't wait for the creature to recover from its surprise, and in the moment the troll's angry roar filled the cave he abandoned all attempts at stealth and secrecy and rushed over to Aragorn's still body, inwardly shaking his head at their bad luck.

It would have been far too easy if everything had gone according to plan, after all.

TBC...

ada - father (daddy)
ion nín - my son




On second thought, this cliffy wasn't too bad either. I know that about 90% of you don't agree, but still. shrugs Be that as it may, the next chapter should be here on ... let me think ... Monday, I think, in which quite a lot happens. We see a little of what troubles Glorfindel, have a little discussion between Elrond and Erestor, and Legolas finds out just what happens to elves who ignore their elders' warnings and take on four trolls alone. No, it's not going to be entirely pain-free. g As always: Review? Please?!

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Additional A/N:

HarryEstel - Guilty as charged. I even love cliffhangers, but only when I write them. Otherwise I'm not too fond of them myself. g You are right, of course, poor Glorfindel and Estel. In fact, the words "poor everyone" would sum everything up quite nicely, I think. They are really having a bad day. g
Tmelange - Well, thank you! It's very nice to hear that you're still enjoying this! Thanks a lot for the review!
Deana - I hope you didn't have to wait too long. Four days is VERY fast for me. It's actually quite nice to have the story already finished before posting. I envy Cassia and Sio. g Thanks for the review!
Someone Reading - LOL, that's my first "Most deceptive beginning of a chapter"-award! Thanks a lot! No matter what you do, however, you shouldn't forget to breathe. Human bodies need oxygen, or so I've heard. g It's great you liked the fight scene. When I started writing I hated fight scenes, but I quickly got over that. Now I even like writing them, mostly. There are some that are still quite hard to write. shrugs They are tricky little things. It's wonderful to hear that you liked the chapter so much (but please stop saying all these nice things - you will give me delusions of grandeur! g), thanks a lot for your review!
Mornflower - Don't hit Legolas. It's wasn't really his fault, after all. I mean, yes, he left Aragorn alone, even though he was wounded, knowing that he would most likely not be there when he came back ... ah, what the heck, go ahead. Hit him. He deserves it, stupid woof-elf that he is. g I hope you didn't, after all, lose the rest of your sanity, and don't worry, you'll find out where Estle went. Everything is going to be fine - eventually. evil grin
Sadie Elfgirl - Ah yes, the chickens. Glad you liked them, I honestly don't know where that comparison came from. shrugs I'm weird, don't tell me. I'm sorry about the cliffy - uhm, no, I'm not, now that I think about it. This story has only five chapters, so I need to start early! g
Zinnith - Hmm, let me think. "Your" elf lord has an orc arrow imbedded in his chest. Yup, I think you should be worried. g And I AM being nice to Glorfindel. All this will (of course) end in him telling Elrond what's wrong, so it's only for his own good. Your new flat sounds very nice indeed! And I can only recommend cats! We have five, and I can't imagine living without them. Shmul is at the moment sitting next to my keyboard and trying to bite my fingers. huggles cat Isn't he adorable?
Nikara - Yeah, I guess he could say that Glorfindel REALLY has a problem now. Then again, he's unconscious, so he might not even be aware of that. g Aragorn's wound wasn't really poisoned, he was just behaving like he always is: Reckless and without thinking. Did anyone expect anything else? g
Katie - LOL, yes, it's quite careless to misplace a ranger. Bad Legolas. g Great you like the rivalry between different elven people. I just can't imagine that they all decided to be the best friends after the destruction of Beleriand. It doesn't really fit, and teasing each other is the least one can expect, I think. I like Aragorn angst as well, only a little, of course. I know, who'd have thought? g
Ellyrianna - Well, that was highly quotable! How could I resist? I am very glad that you won't spent your vacation wondering about Aragorn. He's in a lot of trouble, don't worry. evil grin Hmm, Tuck Everlasting sounds interesting. I have to admit that I've really never heard of it. shrugs Well, I guess you never heard of the "Robber Hotzenplotz" either. It's a wonderful book though, about someone who constantly tries to steal the grandmother's plum tarts. And her coffee mill. blushes Don't ask. It's one of these children's books about everyone here knows. It's very good, too. nods I loved it. I hope you have a lot of fun in Mexico!
Marbienl - Whoah! Huge review! Thanks! huggles Thanks btw, but I could never write something about Gollum. I've never liked that treacherous little bas$$$$, and I don't think he's adorable. Not even in the movies. Now that you ask me, however, I must admit that I like Aragorn a lot more. I can't help myself, even though I like the twins and Elrond a lot, too. Legolas is unfortunately only my fifth-favourite elf. pats his head Don't worry, I STILL like you. g Oh, I AM on holiday. College doesn't start till mid-October, but we have to write papers and have exams now. Don't ask me why, it's always been like this, that's reason enough, I guess. School doesn't start till the tenth of August either, which makes working in the library not that much easier. g I never said that I follow C&S' version of Legolas' and Aragorn's first meeting. I decided to kill Gilraen off, too, but I never said that they'd met like they described in that first story of theirs. Sorry. Thanks for pointing that mistake out, though. I ALWAYS confuse "muster" with "survey" (or a synonym), it's because in German "mustern" means both "to muster" and "to survey". I just can't get it into my head. hits herself I hate it. There ARE different kind of trolls, it's in LOTR, the appendices, the Hobbit, and the Book of Lost Tales (at least I think so). There are cave-trolls, hill-trolls, stone-trolls, mountain trolls and snow-trolls. Oh, and olog-hai, of course, let's not forget about them. g Legolas' horse isn't Rashwe yet. I think he gets it sometime between now and AEFAE. You are quite scary, btw. You REALLY like Estel pain and angst and all that, huh? g Yeah, I thought so. But Estel isn't that stupid as to hide to mock Legolas. Besides, I don't think he possesses the strength to do more than lift his head at the moment. evil grin LOL, don't bother, I am quite happy with my series as it is, namely nameless. g About the movies: they synchronise most of the movies here, I think about 95% or something like that. But there are quite a lot of cinemas where you can watch the original version, with or without subtitles. I have stopped watching synchronised movies altogether; it's almost always better to watch the original. g And I'm studying History, my dear, it's ABOUT finding the original sources. If you can't do that, you should find yourself another subject. Most of the time it's rather easy. Look at this novel! points at reply All your fault! But still: Thanks a lot for the huge review! huggles
Kathleen La Corneille - I hope you didn't really check twenty times for the chapter. I'm beginning to feel bad for not posting sooner... g And trust me, mate, that cliffy WAS only a little cliffy. This one is worse, or at least I think so. It's a matter of definition, I think. And please don't leave your mother's wedding for this. My mother would kill me - mind, you, not that she would marry in the first place, but still... g But it's very nice to hear that you like this so much! Thanks!
Kitsune Kida - Yay! I got another one hooked! evil cackle Uhm, sorry, ignore that please. I didn't say anything. g It's great to see that there's another person who liked cliffies, though. They're a lot of fun, aren't they? Anyway, thanks a lot for reviewing!
Templa Otmena - blushes Thanks a lot for all the very nice compliments. Since I know perfectly well how awful college can be (right now I am suffering through a course on Medieval History. I HATE Medieval history! g), I am very glad that I could help. Thanks for taking the time to review - you may like the chapters, but I LOVE reviews! g
TrinityTheSheDevil - You're twitching a lot, don't you? I have no idea why... g Great you liked the cliffy. You DID like him, didn't you? evil grin Of course you did. And now give me back my reckless human. I need him for this post. Really. Thanks. g
Lindahoyland - Hmm, let me think for a second. What will happen to Aragorn ... ah yes, now I remember. Quite a lot, and most of it unpleasant and/or painful. Does that answer your question? g
Firnsarnien - You! huggles I missed you! Great to see that you're still with us, and I hope you had lots of fun on your vacation. Making you wait till the last chapter to find out what's wrong with Glorfindel isn't unnecessary. It's VERY necessary for the plot, but I will admit that it's a little cruel. g As I said in the A/N, you don't have to worry about Elvynd, I will need him for the next story. He'll definitely survive this one. g But you're right, he DOES seem like a "typical, expedable, handy little disposable Elf". Maybe I'll kill him in that other story... ducks heavy objects Just a thought! Thanks again for the review! huggles
Maranwe1 - ducks head in shame I'm not doing the "it were" thing anymore - or at least not as often. Am I? I am trying very hard to remember... Then again, my memory is like a sieve, so... g I like both of your ideas. Aragorn could have done both, reckless and stupid man that he is. g Don't worry, baby, we still love you. pats ranger's head LOL, Glorfindel as Riddick is DEFINITELY an interesting idea. I liked Pitch Black, even though I didn't really like the ending. Don't ask me why, and I REALLY don't want eyes like that. Don't you think they're a tiny bit ... creepy? shudders slightly Yup, they definitely are.
AngelMouse5 - O God, I am SO sorry. I was supposed to send you about a hundred chapters, wasn't I? wails Forgive me, please! I completely forgot! I didn't do it on purpose! These evil papers have really made my memory even worse somehow... Forgive me? Please? puppy dog eyes
LegolasGreenleafGil-Estel - Your school has blocked ? That's evil! It really is! My college luckily hasn't ... not yet, anyway... g And I may write an "How Aragorn and Legolas met story", maybe as my next short story. Which should be sometime next year... g "Cwute little trolsses"? LOL, well you could say that, I guess - if you're slightly demented, that is. g wide-eyed Uhm, I'm sorry? For shooting Glorfindel, I mean? Trust me, it's for his own good. In a kind of twisted sort of way. You'll see. Thanks a lot for the long review!
Grumpy - Thanks a lot for saying that you liked the fight scene. I am getting used to writing them (after four stories, it's kind of hard not to), but they're still not my favourite scenes. Not a lot of dialogue, I think that's it. shrugs Whatever. LOL, yes, maybe Elrond forgot Glorfindel's birthday. Who knows? Oh, and I liked Aragorn-the-tumbleweed. It's so very fitting, somehow. g
Crippled Raven - Oh yes, post-it notes are useful little things. I can't use them since my cats think they're edible, but they're still rather nice. g And I don't think that's it's possible to underestimate Aragorn's stupidity. I mean, even though it's my story I sometimes just sit back and think "Wow, he really IS stupid, isn't he?" Reckless, stupid human. g You really like Boromir and Faramir? I hate them, at least in the movies. But no, that's not entirely correct. I hate Sean Bean, I only loathe that other one. evil grin Oh, well, Aragorn being one of the Dúnedain. Well, that's quite a long story. It all starts with Elros, Elrond's brother, who chose to be counted among Men. He became Númenor's first king, the island the Valar created to reward the Three Houses of the Edain for their services to the Firstborn. They blessed the Númenóreans with long life, but Elros' and his descendants' was even longer, because of their elven blood. When Númenor was destroyed, Elendil and a few other of the Faithful survived and founded realms in ME. So, Aragorn lives longer because he is a Dúnadan, but even longer than most since he is also of the royal line. Faramir and Boromir, however, are also Dúnedain, since they're Gondorians. Their blood isn't quite as "pure" (forgive me for using that term, I can't think of any other) as Aragorn's, but they are still Dúnedain, just like the Rangers of the North. frowns I hope that wasn't too confusing?
Uineniel - Thanks! It's surprising how many people liked the little blackberry-incident. I didn't really think it that funny... g But I agree: The cliffy WAS quite evil. What can I say, I love them?! g Thanks a lot for reviewing!
Aratfeniel - g I think they're all having a very bad day, to be honest. Then again, what did they expect? Stupid elves, really... g LOL, you're right, of course. Glorfindel is so grumpy because of the blackberry-incident. What are 16 or 17 years for an elf, after all? g
Gwyn - Well, it's not really an aversion, I am not one of these people who find same-sex relationships repulsive or something. I have quite a few gay friends, and they're all wonderful and highly entertaining people. It's just that I can't see Tolkien (as a devoted Catholic) intending any of his characters to ... well, be homosexual. Except for Sam and Frodo all his other characters are rather straight. Well, yes, there ARE Maedhros and Fingon. Hmm, and also Túrin and that little episode with Saeros. And of course Túrin and Beleg, and Turgon and Finrod, AND... g Well, maybe I was wrong. If you like Erestor: He'll be in this chapter and the next, so read on!
Radbooks - Uhm, yes, Glorfindel is in physical AND emotional pain, poor him. huggles unconscious elf lord I might actually write a "How Legolas and Aragorn met story", maybe after my next one. We'll see. About that floor/ground thing: I looked it up in my faithful dictionary (huggles dictionary), and it said that it could also mean, and I quote, "The ground on which people and animals move about". So, does that only count when you say "forest floor"? I honestly don't know, so please tell me! Maybe it IS an American-British English thing, I have no idea. But I will try to remember to use "ground" in the future. Thanks for telling me!
Vampy2k - Yeah, they SHOULD have learned by now. I think they never will, stupid elves that they are. g Oh, Legolas will find Aragorn. Eventually. Not entirely in one piece maybe, but... evil grin
Lynn-G - Yup, this takes place before AEFAE. Let me check my A/N ... ah yes, it takes place in III, 2952, meaning about 16 months before AEFAE. It's great that you like it so far. We aim to please. g It would be nice if the two of them actually made it back home in one piece one day, you're right! Oh no, now another plot bunny is clinging to my leg... evil glare Thanks a lot. g
Elvendancer - LOL, the answer to that question is rather simple: I'd be dead. I think Elrond would kill me on the spot, or Hithrawyn or Thranduil, depending on who's faster. It's a rather scary thought now that you mention it... g
Tychen - LOL, yes, poor Legolas. And poor Elrond. Poor everyone, I think. g And Aragorn really needs a bell, a big one. A cowbell, if somehow possible. Elrond needs at least a dozen valium if you ask me, btw. Or someone who restrains him. g Celylith and Elvynd might indeed have a lot to talk about. Maybe I'll let them meet in the next story... Elvynd and Celylith wince What? Don't you want to be in my stories? shakes head I don't get them, really...
Cosmic Castaway - g You want to do what? Call Glorfindel Garfunkel? Somehow I really don't think our favourite golden haired elf lord would appreciate that in the slightest... g I have to admit there won't be any Legolas torture in here, 'cause trolls don't really TORTURE people. They just bang them up a little. evil grin And my balrog can beat your wizard, since it's a genetically modified one! Mhahahaha!
MIKI! - Ha! I recognised you on the spot! huggles How are you? Where have you been? Did the sharks get you? (You do have them in Florida, don't you?) I hope not. I don't like sharks, not at all. And I may take you up on that! takes wet noodle and brandishes it threateningly Don't you dare vanish again! Maybe you should sleep first, though? Just a suggestion... g Great to 'see' you again! huggles again
Just Jordy - hides evil grin I am NOT wearing an evil grin! Honestly! I would never mock my readers like that... evil grin Well, maybe I would. g I hope the ending wasn't TOO bad? shrugs This one is worse anyway. g
Nietta - Yeah, that's what I thought, too. I really think I will write that "How they met story" someday. And I would REALLY not advise you to try anything at Glorfindel, least of all blackberry tarts. I think you might lose some ... limbs. g But yes, Aragorn IS a stupid, reckless ranger. Very much so, actually. g
LOTRFaith - Hmm, this one was the first review I got. Perhaps ate it? It does that kind of thing all the time, so I wouldn't be surprised... Oh, this time they will definitely drag themselves back to Imladris, considering that it's only a few hourse aways and Mirkwood about a week. They're not THAT stupid, after all - at leats I think so. g
Celebdil-Galad And Tinlaure - Oh dear, I think I forgot to reply to one of your emails. Please believe me that I didn't do it on purpose, but I've really been quite busy lately, with college and all that. At the moment it's really hard to concentrate on anything that's not taking place between 1150 and 1300. g Forgive me? It's quite nice to hear that you're enjoying this nevertheless, even though I have to admit that I have no idea who Michelle Branch is. Should I know her? LOL, and you're right. NO ONE listens to Elrond, EVER. Poor elf. pats his head
Bailey - Hmm, the cliffy wasn't really "evil". I think the word you're looking for is "wicked". It's not really evil, the poor thing. g But you're right of course, Aragorn's and Glorfindel's wounds ARE quite bad. Poor them. evil grin
CrazyLOTRfan - Aha! You're back! huggles Great to 'see' you! I missed you, really! At last, someone who likes cliffies just as much as I do... I hope the mosquitoes didn't suck out all your blood. They can be vicious little beasts... glares at imaginary mosquito LOL, cliff-o-rama. I like that. g And why did I just see? Are you kidnapping a certain grey-eyed, blond elf? Nah, I must have been mistaken ... you wouldn't do that, would you? g Poor Nólad! huggles again Great to see you again! And I wrote this cliffy just for you - honestly! nods fervently Really! Well, okay, I did it because of my evil alter ego, but still...

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! Since I am currently spending all my time in the library, it's wonderful to come home and find a few review alerts in my inbox! Thanks! huggles reviewers