Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or any of the characters I use in this story. This fanfiction was written for pure fun and no money was/is made with it. I don't own the songtext 'Don't try so hard' either.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/Angst
Summary: A simple hunting trip turns into a disaster as Elladan and Elrohir are attacked by orcs. With Elrohir being seriously hurt, their only chance lies now in the hands of Aragorn and Legolas....but will they meet in time? Main Characters: Elladan, Elrohir, Aragorn, and Legolas.
E-mail: kaeera@yahoo.de
Feedback: Always appreciated, and constructive criticism is very welcome.
That was fast, huh? Well, I had some time and so I wrote...Now I don't want to hear any complaints, people! For me, this was really fast! *gg* And it has more Elrohir torture, plus a small cliffhanger at the end, although I don't think that it's bad. Still no big action, just a tad more angsting and stuff, but I can't help myself. It seems to be my nature to torture my favourite characters! Anyway, have fun and don't forget to review!
by Kaeera
Chapter Eight: Caught between dream and reality
The silence of the woods was bothering him, although Glorfindel didn't want to
admit it. He rather preferred nature in the spring, or summer, when everything
was full of life. Although winter usually had its own appeal, it's own magic,
right now he couldn't enjoy it at all. Every time he looked at the snow, he
thought about Aragorn, Legolas and the twins, who were probably out there hurt,
alone and freezing, and of the twins.
It was strange how much he had adapted to the presence of first, the twins, then
the human and finally the prince of Mirkwood. Due to his close friendship with
Elrond, he had always spent much of his time with the twins, even when they had
been children. He had felt like an uncle and had enjoyed taking the little
elflings on trips into the woods.
Those times had been great; the twins had dearly loved him, and they had showed
him that love very openly. Glorfindel never wanted to admit it, but it had been
a pleasant feeling when Elladan and Elrohir ran to greet him each time he
returned to Imladris, followed by a smiling Elrond, hand in hand with Celebrian.
Alas, Celebrian. Glorfindel sighed sadly as he remembered the beautiful Lady of
Imladris. She had always been very kind to him, and he had admired her skills in
handling those two whirlwinds she called her children. She had been a special
lady, and Glorfindel knew how much Elrond had loved his wife and still did.
When she had been hurt by the orcs, those foul beasts, it had seemed as if every
bit of joy had been drained out of Imladris. The twins, usually cheerful and
energetic, wore grim expressions of sadness and anger. Only when they visited
their mother they did make an effort to smile, although everybody could see that
the smiles were strained and false. Arwen hadn't stopped crying during those
days, and Elrond…he had feared for Elrond most of all.
After Celebrian had sailed to the west, the Lord of Imladris had changed, and it
took Glorfindel great effort to get Elrond to smile again. His own heart had
ached as he had watched the departure and the anger in his heart had burnt even
deeper, hatred for those foul creatures who took everything elves loved.
Each time he had looked into the face of the twins and Arwen, he had sworn to
himself that he would protect them no matter what, that he would keep them from
any further emotional harm. Of course, he had known how irrational such a
promise was, but he had been unable to help himself.
They had managed, the Peredhils. Over the years, they had managed to deal with
their mother's departure and gradually, joy and laughter had returned to
Imladris. The twins had started to play pranks again, Arwen had smiled and
flirted with the guards and Elrond had recovered his old sense of humour.
But Glorfindel knew that this peace could be shattered very easily and he didn't
want that. This was the main reason why he was searching desperately for any
sign of the four people they cared for.
A shout from one of the guards brought him out of his reverie and he quickly
looked up. Two elves had gathered around something on the floor, and Glorfindel
swiftly walked over to them, the white snow glittering beneath his feet.
There, barely visible, were some small red spots on the white powder. He kneeled
down to inspect them further and brushed some of the snow away. The spots became
bigger and darker, and the blonde elf grimly realised that it was blood – elven
blood. Both relief and fear hit him at the same moment; relief that they –
finally – had found a trace, and fear that they might have come too late.
"In which direction are they heading?" he wanted to know, standing up and
brushing the snow from his knees.
"We don't know exactly," a dark-haired elf admitted, "It seems that they aren't
following a definite direction. It could be that they have lost their way in the
snow.
Glorfindel rubbed his chin. "So they are walking in circles?"
"Probably, yes."
"But now, since the storm is over, they may get their sense of direction back,
so maybe they are heading back towards Imladris?"
The soldier nodded. "However, if they are hurt, they may never manage it before
nightfall, and you know what will happen to young Aragorn if…" His voice trailed
off, but Glorfindel didn't need to hear the rest – he knew it all too well.
"And they probably don't know how close – or how far away – they are from
Imladris, so they're most likely lost." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "We
must hurry and find them so that we can bring them back home before the night
falls."
But this was quite unlikely to happen, since they had no idea where to search,
and to make things even more difficult, they were searching for two groups
instead of one – a seemingly impossible task. Yet Glorfindel refused to give up;
wearily, he rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath.
"I swear, I can't understand what some people have against a dull, boring and
perfectly *safe* life!"
"Eleven…Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen…Fifteen – no, I've already counted this one – ah, there's fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…where's…ah, eighteen…."
The monotone counting was – besides the screaming of the gulls and the waves, of course – the only sound audible on the wide, colourless beach. He was counting the gulls, or at least trying to. It was proving to be quite an impossible task since they were always flying away and shoving each other off the rock.
"Hey, keep still!" he shouted, but the birds didn't seem to care. Frustrated, he leaned back against the rock, his long hair blowing in the salty breeze.
"Well, what else shall I do?" He told them indignantly. "I mean, there's nothing to do in this place, and believe me, if I knew where to go, I would gladly leave. Unfortunately my memory has left me and I'm as a newborn child – I remember nothing, that's why I am staying here."
One gull stared at him, the black eyes betraying none of its emotions. It was like looking into two black orbs – they seemed to see everything, but he was unable to listen to the feelings behind them. Oddly detached, he realised that the bird had grey spots on its left wing and that the end of its tail was coloured black.
Since it was the only audience the elf had, he continued talking. "You see, I don't want to admit it to myself, but I am frightened. This is scary; I know that this isn't the place I used to live in. Somehow I can…feel that I live somewhere else, in a place where's there's not as much water, but more trees, an abundance of green trees…"
He closed his eyes as blurry pictures flashed in front of his eyes. "There were trees, many of them. And waterfalls. Not like this huge water, but small rivers where one could see the other side. And everything was full of life, little animals, many different birds…birds which were singing, not squawking like you!"
If possible, the gull looked insulted for a moment, but he wasn't sure. He paused for a second – and then shook his head. "I must be going crazy; I'm talking to birds, and even worse, I'm imagining they understand everything I say!"
The elf covered his eyes and listened to the waves. The steady rhythm was enough to put his mind at ease, and he felt sleep tugging at the edges of his awareness. Some part of his mind told him that this wasn't the place to fall asleep, but he didn't care. Staying up and worrying hadn't brought him any answers, maybe his dreams would help him to solve the mystery of his past and his name.
Can't you help me?
The black water is devouring my soul
Can't you see me?
I'm right there besides you
His thoughts drifted off, as it often happens when one is close to falling
asleep, and he found himself thinking about less important things. He wondered
about the gulls, and about what they were doing. He listened to their cries and
the water, and he watched the images that appeared in front of his eyes.
Those images were only vague shadows of his past, and he barely recognised
anything, but at least they were a hint. He tried to keep them in his mind as
long as possible.
…a room with a carved ceiling and a nice view out of the windows…
…a rider on a horse, dark hair flying in the wind, looking strangely familiar
and yet different…
…a beautiful woman smiling at him, her long blond hair glittering in the evening
sun…
Although he sensed – no, knew – that these were images from his past, he felt no
connection to them. It was like watching pictures of a different life; a world
he had once belonged to, but which was now unimportant.
…some children, playing by the river and fighting with each other…
…a carved bow, on a table, with arrows lying carelessly around it. Some signs
were etched into the wood of the arrows, signs of a name…somebody had obviously
felt the need to mark the arrows…
He concentrated harder, for he felt that this name had a significant meaning,
but the image only became blurrier. He groaned in desperate frustration but
refused to let the memory slip away.
...there were letters engraved, in a childish fashion, big and written by a hand
unused to writing. The first letter formed an 'E', and the second…
The image disappeared as if it had never existed and he felt the sudden urge to
slam his head against the stone.
"No!" He cursed in frustration. "I was so close!"
The elf blinked at the sky, noticing for the first time how odd it looked. Now
that he was lying flat on his back, it was easy to watch the clouds without
craning his neck, and so he found himself absorbed in the slow, fluid movements
of the grey, heavy mass of clouds. He could neither see the sun nor the blue
sky, another thing to add to the list of why he didn't like this place at all.
Can't you tell me my name?
I don't know who I am.
Can't you chase the clouds away?
I want to see the sun again…
The sun…when he about of it, he was reminded of warm light, of golden sunrays
falling through big windows, painting beautiful images on a wooden floor. It
reminded him of summer and of the smell of the flowers, of the children playing
at the rivers and a feeling of joy…
It certainly was a different atmosphere from the one on this beach, and he found
himself longing for that peace and warmth.
The mournful cries of the gulls interrupted his thoughts and he blinked,
surprised as several of the birds flapped their wings and flew off the rock,
riding on the breeze above them. He could see the underside of their wings,
white against the grey sky, and their cries became softer and softer.
"Thank you, leave me alone, as if I weren't lonely enough already," he muttered
sarcastically. "I just wish I could fall asleep and wake up in a totally
different place."
But falling asleep wasn't an option anymore; his mind was far too alert and the
rough surface of the stone wasn't as comfortable as a bed. If he wanted to
sleep, he would have to lie in the sand. And so the elf leaned on his elbows,
watching the now empty rock with an expression of sadness on his face. As
annoying and unhelpful as those gulls had been, they had at least provided him
with the feeling of not being totally alone.
Now that they were flying high above him, he felt so small on the beach and he
desperately wished he had some wings so that he could dive through the clouds as
well.
But since he didn't, he had no other chance than to rely on his own body. With
another sigh, he climbed off the rock, jumped into the water and waded towards
the beach. The water was cold against his skin, and it swirled around his feet
as if it wanted to engulf him. It seemed black, and he quickly hurried to reach
the dry sand, for he didn't like this at all.
"I. Don't. Like. It." He pronounced each word carefully as he had finally
reached the shore and turned around to watch the threatening sea. Water was
dripping down his soaked trousers, and he found the feeling of the wet cloth
clinging to him quite annoying.
Slowly he turned his head, unsure of what to do. "Well, now I have three
possibilities – either walk up the beach, walk down, or leave the sea behind me
and walk into this wasteland."
With those words, he turned once again, facing
the large, dry desert which seemed to be stretching endlessly over the horizon.
The ground was dry, and only a few bushes here and then dotted the scenery.
Please help me out of here
Because I fear I might be going crazy
Please show me the path to the light
Or my soul will be eaten by the darkness
He shuddered; nay, the beach was far better than this wasteland. At least here
he had the gulls to accompany him; the only living creatures which seemed to
exist – besides him – in this lonely, cursed land.
Am I going mad?
This question lingered in his head a little bit longer. Was he crazy? Had he
lost his mind? Was that the reason why he was on this beach?
Maybe he had gone mad and killed all his family members…and then the others of
his race had brought him to this lonely island so he could starve to death.
Somehow he doubted that had really happened, but one could never be sure. He
didn't have the impression he was mad, but then again, most insane people were
convinced that they weren't insane, only the rest of the world.
One thing was certain: he *would* go mad if he didn't find a solution for his
dilemma, and quickly. The constant questions, the uncertainty, the nagging
feeling in the back of his mind, all ofthis was driving him insane, slowly, but
steadily.
I am not insane, but I will be if I stay any longer.
* * *
"Damn!" For the fourth time in a row, Aragorn stumbled, and for the fourth time Legolas caught his arm, only barely preventing the ranger from falling flat on his face.
"Be careful, Strider," the elf advised, worry evident in his voice. He didn't like the flushed look in his friend's voice, and he knew that it wouldn't take long until the human had reached his limits.
"I'm trying to be," Aragorn hissed between gritted teeth and stood up again, swaying a little. His face was pale, the dark circles under his eyes and his blue lips the only patches of colour in all the whiteness. Although the man was obviously freezing, sweat was glittering on his brow, telling everyone who had at least a little bit of knowledge of illnesses, that Aragorn was really sick and that something needed to be done.
Legolas was painfully aware of that fact, yet he found himself watching helplessly as his best friend became weaker and weaker. The annoying thing was that he couldn't even help Aragorn by carrying him, since the large gash on his leg was giving him trouble.
His gaze wandered over to Elladan, who was walking in front of them, with the other cause of their worries over his shoulder. Elrohir was deadly pale, with exception of the bloody bandage and the small stream of blood that was trickling down his face. Legolas could tell that Elladan was exhausted and that they needed to take a break. Still, he was unsure; if they took a break, it would cost time, but if they continued walking, one of them would break down.
One quick glance at Aragorn told him what to do. "Elladan," he called softly. "I think it is time to rest a bit. It will be of no use if we drain ourselves."
The older twin stopped and turned around, his face weary. At first he wanted to object, but then he realised how tired he was, and he noticed – for the first time – how sick Aragorn looked. "…Yes," he replied curtly. "but we cannot stay for long."
"I know." Legolas nodded gravely and leaned against a tree, feeling the sudden urge to close his eyes.
Aragorn plopped down in the snow, his back against a tree, not caring that the snow was cold and wet. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, allowing his mind to drift off for a few minutes. He knew that he couldn't let his guard down - it would be sure death to fall asleep here in the snow – but the ranger felt that a few minutes didn't count.
"Don't sit in the snow, Estel." Legolas' voice interrupted his dream-like state, sounding much like a frightened mother-hen. "You will get sick, you know that."
"I'm already wet and cold," grumbled the human, "and I am already sick too, so it doesn't matter. I want to sit down, for my legs are killing me – maybe you haven't noticed, but I have to do twice the work as you since I must wade through the snow and not on top of it." He sounded irritated and snappy, another sign that he wasn't in his best form.
"But sitting in the freezing snow will only worsen your condition." Legolas pointed out.
"Legolas, don't be annoying, it's only for a few minutes!" Aragorn growled and made no effort to get up.
The blonde elf sighed, knowing that there was no way to deal with the ranger when he was like that. He briefly wondered why Elladan hadn't taken part in this conversation (usually he would be the first one to fret and worry), but when he looked over, he saw that the older twin was sitting on the snow too, clutching the lifeless form of his brother to his body.
Legolas felt pity at this sight; he knew how close the two were, and losing Elrohir…that would destroy Elladan. Still, they couldn't allow the warrior to let himself get overwhelmed by his feelings; it wouldn't help their situation. A panicked Elladan would only make matters worse.
But as he opened his mouth to speak, he found that he didn't know what to say. How could words help amidst the despair Elladan must be feeling? How could anyone possibly understand what was going on in the older twin's head?
Legolas only knew that a bond between twins was very special; much more special than normal friends or siblings. And the bond between Elrohir and Elladan had been an especially close one. Everything he may have said would only come out wrong, for he could not even begin to understand what Elladan was feeling.
The prince of Mirkwood could still remember the year he had met the twins for the first time. Since twins – especially identical ones – were rare among elves, Legolas had been caught off guard as he seemingly saw double.
At first he firmly believed that he had probably drank too much of his father's wine (accidentally, of course). But then Lord Elrond introduced his sons, and to the astonishment of the young prince, he learned that there were two elves who looked exactly alike.
After he had gotten over the initial shock, he had quickly taken to Elladan and Elrohir, since they were so much like himself, mischievous. They'd become friends very quickly, and their friendship had remained through the countless years.
He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing desperately for this to end. The silence was suffocating, since nobody was speaking and the forest was still and calm. The brightness of the snow-covered trees made everything so…uncomfortable.
It was unusual for an elf to feel uncomfortable outside, but most elves preferred spring and summer, since everything was green and full of life. Winter was like death; they knew that it was necessary and they attended it with the same respect as the other seasons, but that didn't mean they had to like it.
Opening his eyes again, he found himself blinded by the brightness of the light around him. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, sending her warming rays on the small group and raising their spirits a little. The snow started to glitter in the soft light and the forest soon looked like a picture out of a fairytale.
He was just about to tell the others that it was time to leave when a small noise caught his attention. Legolas froze, his eyes darting nervously around. The attack from the wolves caused him to be overly cautious.
The elf concentrated. There! There was the noise again! He had a cold feeling of dread in his stomach – what if they were attacked again? That would mean certain death – they were all too exhausted to win a fight, no matter how weak the enemy proved to be.
If this were orcs, or wolves…
No, life couldn't be that unfair! Legolas stood up, every muscle tense. "There's something…" he whispered, causing Elladan to widen his eyes in horror.
Aragorn groaned. "No. No, please tell me that you are kidding! Not again!"
"Shht!" Legolas advised him to be silent, while he continued listening closely. "Those aren't the noises of wolves…Elladan?"
"I know…" the older twin stood up, Elrohir still hugged close to him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it's the sound of someone approaching…"
"But that can't be, we are too far away from Imladris to meet a guard or any other elf." The blonde elf looked around nervously.
"Actually, I'm not that sure." Elladan confessed tiredly, a trace of hope lingering in his voice. "It was difficult to find the correct direction in the snow-storm, so it might be that I misjudged it a little…"
"But we can't count on that."
"No, we can't."
"So what do we do?" Aragorn entered the conversation while standing up, slowly, because the world was kind of swirling around him. "We can't fight, and we can't run."
"Well, I guess we will just have to wait." Legolas smiled grimly. "And be patient."
Elladan adjusted the dead weight of his brother's body. A small grin flickered over his face. "Ah, and we know that we are all so good at being patient, are we not?"
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Sure."
They stood in the snow, tense and rigid, waiting for whatever was approaching them and desperately hoping that it wouldn't kill them. The sun still continued to shine, and the whole forest looked very peaceful and pretty.
Legolas found it quite ironic. In this forest they had been attacked by wolves, had nearly frozen to death in a snow storm, the twins had been attacked by orcs, and now stood awaiting Illuvitar knew what to attack them.
"It's the sound of footsteps."
"I know." Legolas' mood rose a little – maybe they weren't doomed after all. Footsteps, that meant either humans, elves – or orcs. Well, he doubted that it was the last one, so he could just hope…
He exchanged a glance with Elladan, who had the same sparkle of hope in his eyes, and then looked at Aragorn, whose eyes were fever glazed. This whole situation was very tense; in a few minutes they would either be rescued, or dead. Legolas didn't want to die, but if he had to, he wanted to die as a warrior…
The blond elf shook his heard viciously. No, he would not allow himself to think like that. They needed a positive attitude to find a way out of this mess…
"Please…please let it be someone who can help us…please, Illuvitar, and I promise that I will never sneak away from one of my father's meetings again…"
* * *
His feet walked in a steady rhythm, and he was entranced by the monotony of the situation he was in. The beach never changed; it was always water with occasional black rocks, the greyish sand and the gulls following him everywhere he went.
Actually he was quite glad about the birds for then he wasn't alone, and their sound provided at least a little bit comfort.
I'm walking into nothingness…
He shuddered as another breeze blew past him. The wind had steadily been growing
stronger over the last hour, making it uncomfortable to walk in the open, but he
had not found shelter.
"I just hope it doesn't rain," he grumbled while continuing to walk along the
beach.
I'm walking in the shadows, and I can't find a way out.
I'm caught in the wrath of my confusion, and nobody's there to help me…
The lower parts of his trousers were still soaked, and now that it was becoming
colder, the feeling grew more and more uncomfortable.
What am I doing here? There are questions are in my head, but I can't find the
answers…
It's like being caught in a maze where I don't even know if an exit exists!
There's nobody here to help me and I must rely on myself – but how can I do that
if I don't know who I am?
I'm nothing without my memory. I'm nothing! I don't have a name, a home, a place
to go…I don't even know who cared for me, or who hated me…
I could meet my worst enemy and wouldn't recognise him! …Which probably won't
happen, because here is nobody to talk to, be it friend or enemy.
Damn. I want this to end. I want to get away. I don't want to stay here anymore.
If this is a stupid dream, I really want to leave.
But I don't think it is a dream. It's way too real for that. No, it must be
reality. So how can I leave? How can I find out more about myself?
How can I escape this nightmare?
To be continued...
andrea – Hey, you have the same name as me! *lol* I mean 'real' name…but shhh! Nobody should know…*looks around suspiciously* Only kidding! Oh yes, I adore the twins of Elrond, especially Elrohir, as one can easily see in this story. I don't know why, I just read so many nice stories about them…
Celestra – Oh yes, indeed, it IS much fun to write Elrohirs parts; although it
tends to get boring with the time because he simply stays at the beach and
doesn't do anything. But it's angsty, and that counts, right? Anyway, I admire
people who can combine humour and angst – I can't do that. Somehow, I either
write really angsty or funny, but a middle-thing doesn't exist in my own world.
*sighs*
Gwyn – Ahh, two weeks away? Then you'll have a surprise when you come back…*g*
Your comment made me blush; I don't think that my fanfics in German are any
different. It's easier to write and I can write more psychological stuff, but
the rest…*shrugs* I don't know.
xsilicax – Oh yes, poor Elrond is DEFINITELY biting his fingernails…I bet he has
started biting his toenails by now….eww, now that's a gross idea!
Angel of Death – Oh yes, such a class would be funny to teach…sometimes we must
read 'old' German in history class, because we have to decipher historical
documents. That's quite amusing, especially because the spelling and the words
were different…
Elyrianna – Well, I'm glad that you decided to review! I hope you'll do it
again, because they inspire me to write!
Carrie – I personally thought that the Elrohir dream scenes are a bit weird. But
most of my stories have such weird dreams, so it shouldn't be a surprise…In one
story the main chara is imprisoned in a grey room, in another one a boy walks
over an endless path over the ocean and so on…I guess a weird person can only
write weird dreams, huh? *snickers* But I guess we will get more of those dreams
in this story, just because I love writing them! *lol*
Lady Jaina – Snow shoes, huh? Well, I certainly can imagine that…would be a
funny sight to see Aragorn on snow shoes, trying to race the elves…*laughs*
Iawen Londea – Yeah, poor 'Ro doesn't remember anything….that must be quite an
annoying feeling, don't you think? I would hate it; not knowing my own name.
*shudders*
friendofholebanger – Thanks for the praise…it really makes me feel special when
people say that my chapter is not stupid. *blushes*
Nili – Ich weiß schon, die Traumszenen sind einfach zu krass…ich könnte sie
selber ja stundenlang verarschen (Mensch, mich könnte eine Parodie meiner
eigenen Geschichte schreiben!), aber meine Finger haben mal wieder schneller
geschrieben als mein Gehirn gedacht hat. *gg*
Elrohir: D-Die Möwen…sie lassen mich alleine! Nein! Mein einziges Publikum!
*anfang zu heulen*
Kaeera:*tröst* Nanana, ist doch alles in Ordnung…
Elladan: Nichts ist in Ordnung! Was tust du meinem Bruder an?
Kaeera: Ich? Nichts! Das hat er sich alles selbst zu verschulden…*davonschleich*
Elrohir: Möwen! Möwen! Möwen! *macht jauchzend flatternde Bewegungen mit den
Händen *
Elladan: Ähm….Elrohir?
Elrohir: Ich kann fliiiiegen!! *vom Felsen spring*
PLATSCH!
Kaeera: *sweatdrop*
Aragorn: *trocken* Mein Bruder, der Zwerg.