sorry for the long delay but my muse decided to go on strike, and partially she still is. I do not know what I did to her. LOL

Should anybody of you know how I can lure her back to work, let me know. She is really a lazy beast.

Thanks to all my faithfull and wonderful reviewers and many hugs. Without your support I would not write a single word.

Moonlight and Shadow

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to the Tolkien Estates.

I only borrow them for a short time.

The story and the characters you do not know from the books are mine, please do not use them without permission. Thank you.

Spoiler: for my other stories "Glorfindel's Fall", "To be a father" and the hopefully one day finished "Alone" LOL

Feedback and constructive critics are always welcome.

So tell me if you like it or not.

Chapter 9

Waiting.

Waiting was all they had done for the past days and what they were still doing.

Waiting for a message from Aragorn.

Waiting for Glorfindel to wake up.

It was not all they had done of course, but it felt like they did nothing else.

They had searched through the library for some kind of information about Morchaintdur, but had found nothing. However, there were still piles of books and scrolls to look through.

They had sent a messenger bird to Lorien to ask Glorfindel's family to return home without adding details. They only had written that he had been wounded in a fight.

It had surprised them when the bird returned, that it carried a message from the Lady herself, which told them that Yáviëwen and the children had already left Lorien two weeks ago and that they should arrive much earlier than expected. They were not looking forward to telling Glorfindel's wife and children what had happened.

The warrior had been awake briefly over the last two days, but until now he had not uttered a word. He had only looked at them with so much pain in his eyes that they had not known what to say or do besides tending to his wounds. They had talked to him, yes, but he refused to listen to their pleas. All they could hope now was that his family would be able to draw him back from his path to death.

It seemed that the warrior wanted to die, no matter what they would tell him and what or whom he would leave behind.

They had a long talk with Erestor about what they should do now and what they should tell the people of Imladris. For, this was much harder than looking after Glorfindel.

At long last, they had talked to the people and it still bothered both of them that they had to lie to their friends. Well, not exactly lie, but stretching the truth as far as possible by leaving out a few things.

They had hesitated to do it this way, but Erestor had assured them that it would be better then telling the cruel truth.

The people would be agitated enough with the news of Elrond's disappearance and Morchaintdur's return. To tell them right now that Elrond was Morchaintdur would have been the final blow for the inhabitants.

The rumours had started the moment the twins had arrived with the wounded warrior. Then they had spread like a wildfire and by the moment the twins stepped out of the door to face the gathered elves the whole of Imladris hummed like a bee hive.

They both had waited in silent until the murmurs died down.

When all the faces had turned to them, Elladan had taken a deep breath and started to speak, while Elrohir stood by his side supporting his brother with his silent presence. Both had noticed the curiosity and sorrow in the other elves' eyes, yet they could still find hope in the depth of the orbs as well. Hope that all would be well and that all what they had heard were only rumours and not reality.

Elrohir had heard a few gasps when Elladan mentioned Morchaintdur.

/So there are still some elves here who know him. Maybe they would be helpful./

Elrohir had thought, making a mental note to contact them later.

When Elladan had reached the point in his speech he had feared most, telling the people of the abduction of Elrond, screams of rage and fear filled the air around them. Elladan had waited patiently until the elves had calmed down a little before he had continued.

He had told them that they would do anything to bring back their father and that Estel was on his way to Mirkwood in search for help.

This was six days ago.

Now, Elladan stood in front of the large windows of his father's study glancing out to the courtyard, hands clasped behind his back while subconsciously mirroring Elrond's posture, watching the life that took place as usual. The mood in Imladris was still dull and tense but life had to go on and the elves went about their daily work.

The sound of hoofs clattering on the pebbled ground drew his gaze towards the gates. It was a small party of elves who entered the courtyard, led by one of the most seasoned warriors of Imladris.

Elladan smiled when he noticed that. Glorfindel always made sure that only the best guard watched over his family when he could not travel with them. The small group dismounted and Elladan watched as one of the travellers reached up and shoved back the hood of the cloak that had covered her features.

Yáviëwen, Glorfindel's wife, looked up and for a short time their eyes met, before the lady nodded with a little, sad smile and turned her attention back to her children. Yet this short eye contact was enough to let Elladan know that she knew that something was wrong with Glorfindel. He should have known, for the bond between man and wife was very strong.

Elladan watched them from above. He had never expected that he would see the day when Glorfindel would have a family. None of them had, to be honest. But here he stood watching them as they walked towards the house.

Yáviëwen, the charming mirthful lady with the fiery red hair matching her temper.

Elladan smiled when he thought back to the day 41 years ago when he and his brothers had unknowingly been the matchmakers, and he still blushed when he remembered the day 2 years later when he and Elrohir had been at the receiving end of a prank that both Yáviëwen and Glorfindel had placed on them as a revenge for what they had done.

He shifted his gaze from Yáviëwen to Tindómë. The girl would reach maturity in nine years but he could clearly see the beauty that lay hidden beneath the still childish features, waiting to come out in a short time. One day, not so far in the future her parents would have a lot of trouble to hold all the suitors at bay.

Elladan thought back fondly of the many times meddlesome young men already had tried to be near her, only to be thwarted away by the combined forces of Yáviëwen's and Glorfindel's icy glares. Elladan could swear that he had heard Glorfindel muttering something about caponizing some of the men as a warning to the others.No one would touch her and survive, that was for sure.

Even Thranduil had received one glare last year, when he had shot the girl a calculating look, fully aware that Glorfindel would notice it. Thranduil was always in the mood to tease his old friend. The Woodland king knew that the girl was like a little sister to them all, but he could not resist the tease.

It had earned him a vicious kick under the table and a scowl from his son too. As for the twins and Estel, it was too much fun to tease Legolas, and so for weeks they had pestered the poor elf relentlessly with the question of when he would start to court her.

Elladan shifted his attention to the boy walking on the left side of Yáviëwen. Where Tindómë was a mixture of both of her parents, with the incredible green eyes and the blond hair with the red shimmer in it, Galadan was the mirror image of his father.

He was very tall for a boy of his age, only 36 years old, taller by a head than his mother and still growing. The boy had started his warrior training 6 years before and he showed a remarkable talent with the long double handed sword. Not much elves chose this weapon nowadays. The last time it was used in battle was in the Last Alliance, but Galadan wanted to use it and he used it very well. He had not only inherited the skills of his father but also the hot temper of his mother.

Sometimes it seemed that the boy could not control this temper but time would show how good he would handle it. Elladan was sure that the years would cool down the boy as they had cooled down himself and his brother long ago.

Both children had not decided yet, what profession they would choose one day. But Yáviëwen was sure that Tindómë would want to work in the library. Since the day her lessons had started, the girl spent more time in the library than any other elfling before her. Erestor was very pleased to have someone who would listen to all of his stories and would not run away bored to oblivion.

Maybe one day Tindómë would watch over the library of Imladris like Erestor did now. The elf was very pleased with the girl's interest in the books and scrolls and did everything to support and feed her curiosity.

Galadan probably would follow into his father's footsteps one day but that still was not clear. As much as Yáviëwen wished that one of her children would choose her own profession and become a black-smith, she would accept every other choice they would make.

Elladan watched the family until they reached the door and entered the house before he left his place at the window and went down to greet them in the hall. He still did not know how he should tell them what had happened, but one thing was for sure: they had to know the whole, ugly truth.

Tindómë was the first one who noticed him descending down from the stairs.

"Uncle Elladan!" she shouted out before she ran laughing across the hall, her brother, with the same happy expression on his face, on her heels. Both wrapped their arms around Elladan in a hug that threw him back a step before he could regain his footing.

"Welcome home little ones. Did you enjoy your time in Lorien?" He asked smiling. It was so good to hear someone laugh again. Over the children's' shoulders he watched Yáviëwen coming closer, while Galadan and Tindómë started simultaneously talking about their different activities during their time in the Golden Woods.

The words reached his ears but he could not grasp a single meaning. He would later talk to them and listen to their adventures

Elladan freed himself out of the hug of them both so that he would be able to breathe a bit better and bowed his head to great the lady who was now in front of him.

"Welcome home Yáviëwen, I hope you had a pleasant journey." He felt the children tense a little under his hands due to the formal greeting.

"Thank you Elladan. Yes, it was wonderful to see Lorien again, but it is good to be home again." Yáviëwen answered him. "Can you tell me where I can find Glorfindel? Usually he would greet us in the courtyard, but he was not there today."

Elladan dropped his gaze to the floor, no longer able to look into her eyes. He had seen in their depths that she knew something. Possibly, she had felt Glorfindel's injury the moment he had endured it.

"Elladan? What happened here? What happened to Glorfindel? I know that something is wrong with him." Her voice was calm as usual but she could not hide the tremor in it.

Elladan took a deep breath before he dared to lift his head. "Yáviëwen, would you please come with me. I have something to tell you, but this is not the place to do it."

"Uncle, what happened? Where is Ada?" Galadan's deep voice cut through the silence. The boy had wrapped a protecting arm around his sister's shoulder and held her close.

Tindóm's eyes were wide with fear; all the joy vanished and replaced with sorrow as she held on Galadan for dear life.

Yáviëwen walked up to her children and embraced them both. She would be strong for them, she had to be. She knew that Glorfindel was alive, for their bond was still intact and strong, and that was the only thing that mattered right now. Once they had heard what Elladan has to tell them she would deal with it.

She had known that something happened to her husband from the moment she had felt the immense pain in the middle of the night of the lunar eclipse one week ago, but she had held up her usual cheery façade for her children's sake. Now they would hear what had occurred that night.

She had noticed the dark shadows under Elladan's eyes the moment she had seen him in plain view, and his whole posture spoke of sleepless nights and something she could not grasp.

As much as she wished to run to her husband's side, she had to hear first what the reason was for all this tragedy. She knew that she would not be able to think properly after she was by Glorfindel's side in the healing chamber. For some reason, she just knew he was there.

She had sensed that something was wrong with Imladris, not only with Glorfindel, the moment they had entered the valley. The elves, the nature and even the buildings seemed to be darker and sombre. The whole atmosphere has changed drastically: it was as if the valley has lost a vital part of itself.

First she could not grasp what it was but now, in the confines of the last homely house facing a tired and desperate Elladan, it hit her.

"Elladan, where is your father? Where is Elrond?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Darkness and Pain.

Never ending darkness surrounded not only his body but also his soul. He was trapped in it.

And he did not know how he could get out of it. The only thing that told him that he was still alive was the constant pain, which had been his only companion over the last days. Or had it been weeks? Or even months?

He did not know how long he could continue to endure their cruelties. They had flogged him countless time since the day he had been brought to this place. Every time, they had tended to his wounds.

They had allowed him to build up his strength to a certain amount before they had beaten him again. They had broken his bones and now they gave them time to mend.

Before they could have their fun with him again?

He did not know.

He did not know how long he was now at this place and in their hands.

He had lost track of time long ago.

He did not know if it was day or night outside his prison. The cell had no windows, not even the tiniest gap in the dark walls to allow the light to enter this enclosed space.

The wounds he had received during his fight were nearly healed. Only the wound at the back of his head where they had cut out a piece of his skin the size of a palm needed some more time to mend.

How long?

How long could he endure their cruelties?

How much longer could he exist in this darkness, cut from the light of the sun and the stars, from life itself?

He slept when he was tired and ate when they brought him food and water.

The first days they had forced the food down his throat, for he had not been able to eat while the fever had raged through his body, leaving him helpless in their hands.

In his fevered dreams he sometimes had heard a strange voice singing old songs to him, songs he had not heard since his childhood. Somehow, even this strange raspy voice had calmed him into sleep, not troubled with nightmares but filled with pleasant thoughts of wide, green forests and plains.

He had not been able to hold anything down in his stomach, except of water and even that had been sometimes too much for his weak body. But every time he had thrown up what they had fed him, they had cleaned him and fed him again: Sometimes tea, often broth and now and then soft bread.

The blood loss and the infection had demanded their toll and he had not been able to fight the humiliating treatment. But one day the fever had broken and he had no longer felt the burning heat. Later, he had become aware of his surroundings for the first time.

A single torch illuminated the room, no the cell, he was in. He could not make out any openings in the wall no door, no windows, nothing. The only way to enter and leave the cell was through a trapdoor in the ceiling. He was lying on a pile of straw covered with blankets and furs of various animals, too weak to move more than his head and even that left him dizzy and sweating. Whenever he had heard the trapdoor creaking, he had closed his eyes and had pretended to be still unconscious.

But he had not been able to fool his capturers, not for a single moment at all. "Ah, look our little elf is awake. The master will be very pleased to hear that." The snarling voice had held an amused tone. A callused hand had touched his face and he had struggled not to flinch away from the touch while remaining motionless.

"I know that you are awake, so open your eyes before I have to force you to look at me," the voice continued.

He still refused to obey, but he had realized only moments later that this had been a mistake. A whiff had been the only warning he had, before the hand once again touched his face, but this time not as gentle as before. Now followed a forceful slap that nearly drove him back into oblivion.

His headache, which had dulled down to a dull pounding, had returned with a vengeance.

Still he had refused to open his eyes and he had waited for the next blow, but it never came. Instead he had heard the being, whatever it may be sniggering above him.

Moments later he had forced his reluctant eyelids to open, his vision blurred, and he could only make out faint outlines of the creature's face hovering above his own. After blinking a few times to clear his vision he had been finally able to see his captor more clearly. As he had expected it had been an orc, but something was different with this one.

"So, you finally decided to grace us with your attention. That is good. It seems that we do not have to wait much longer until we can have our fun with you." The cruel laughter had made his headache worse than before, but what disturbed him more, was that he had been able to understand the creature even if he did not use the common Westron, which they sometimes used to speak.

So why did he understand the black speech? His sluggish mind had needed some time to work through that riddle before it hit him. This orc did not use the black speech. This orc used his own language, an ancient form of it but it was undoubtedly Quenya.

What did it mean?

Usually the dark creatures abhorred everything elvish, but here stood one, speaking a fluent Quenya which nobody had used during the last ages.

"What is it elf?" The orc had spoken up again. "Did I surprise you? Don't worry, you will know all about it in time. But now let me see how you fare. The others want to have their fun with you, but the master has ordered that he will not allow it until you have gathered enough strength to survive it. And believe me, you will survive." He had not known what this talk about a master could mean and how this master would be able to force his fëa to stay in his body when he did not want to.

"It is my decision to fade or not." He had mustered all his strength to speak out this few words sternly.

"Oh, our master has told us that you are stubborn and now I see that he is right." With a lighting fast movement the orc grabbed his chin, claws digging into his skin while he sneered in his face.

"Try and you will see what will happen!"

That had been the first time that he had noticed how tall this orc was; nearly as tall as Glorfindel or Erestor. The orcs he knew only reached up to his chest, but this one would be more than half a head taller than himself, should they stand side by side.

One more riddle to torture his muddled mind with.

The orc had released his hold on him and had tended to the numerous cuts and bruises all over his body as well as the large wound on his head, with more gentleness than he had expected after those harsh words.

Shortly after that he had been alone again in the dark, drifting in and out of the much needed healing sleep. Thinking about the strange events and beings. None of his captors had touched him with the intension to hurt him, not a single one. All they had done for the next days was caring for his heath and well being.

It had wrecked his brain, trying to figure out why they should do that and when they would kill him in the near future. No matter what this strange orc told him, he was sure that he would die in this dark place.

One day they had decided that he was well enough and had forced him to climb up the ladder and out of a door and when he had seen the bunch of orcs which had awaited him outside he had known that they would have their fun with him now.

He had not known what they had expected but definitely not that he would attack them the moment his feet touched the ground. Yet he had no hesitated to do so.

Two orcs had grabbed him under the armpits the moment his shoulders had appeared in the opening to haul him out of the cell. The hold they had on him had not been so tight, so he had been able to move his arms. He had caught them by surprise when he had lifted his arms to grab both at their upper arms and had pulled with all his might.

Their heads had clashed together and both had released him and had tumbled against each other before they had fallen to the ground. He had not waited to see the result of his attack, the moment he had felt their grip lessened he had whirled around and had jumped over to the trap door to grab it and slam it down, where it made solid contact with the head of the creature which had climbed up the ladder after him.

Using their confusion for his advantage, he had tackled two other orcs to the ground grabbing one of the scimitars at one's belt. The feeling of the hilt in his hand, as unfamiliar the weight had been, had given him some confidence and strength, finally he had had a weapon again to defeat himself.

He had tightened the grip and had attacked more ferocious than before. He had stabbed one of the orcs through the chest, ripped the blade free dodged a blow from the right while he drew the scimitar through another orc who had crept up from behind, before he had whirled around to behead the one who had attacked from the right.

He had known that he could not fight for much longer, he still had been not completely healed and his strength was more ore less gone. So he had tried his best to make a sally and break through the surrounding crowd slashing and stabbing as best as he had been able. Using every thing he had as a weapon, his legs, and his elbows. More than one nose had been broken under the force of his blows, and he had been sure that he had killed some of them by driving their facial bones up into their brains, to break free.

Finally he had managed to open up a gap in the wall of bodies surrounding him. Seeing his only chance to escape he had urged one last blow against the head of one orc that had come in reach of his scimitar, before he had forced his tired legs to run.

He had only managed a few steps when something had hit him in the back. The force of the arrow had sent him to his knees, but he still had refused to give up. He had stumbled back on his feet only to be sent back down again from a kick into the hollow of his knees. They had watched his struggling attempts to stand up, only to kick him back to the ground the moment he had regained his balance.

They had toyed with him until their patience had grown too thin and then they had started to beat and kick him merciless. He had lain on the ground curled up to protect his ribs and stomach not making a single sound.

He had endured everything without screaming until the time a rough hand had gripped the shaft of the arrow which had been still embedded in his upper back, twisting it inside the wound before ripping it out without caring if the barbs would leave a gaping hole in his back.

That pain had been too much and he had screamed until one blow against his head had sent him into peaceful oblivion. When he had returned to awareness, he had been back in his cell, his wounds tended and bound.

Since that day, they always had allowed him to heal before they had dragged him to another room to have their fun with him. Last time they had broken his fingers one by one. But when had that been? Two days ago? Three? Or even more? Ha did not know.

Now he looked down to his splinted digits and wondered if he would be ever able to handle a bow or a knife again. It looked like they were broken over four days ago. He tried to move one finger and was rewarded with a sharp pain that shot up over his arm to his shoulder.

He bit back a scream he would not show them any weakness.

No more.

He had no clue what these strange orcs and their ominous master had in mind for him and right now he did not care. The only thing he wanted was to get out of this Valar forsaken place, wherever this may be.

He wanted to see the sun and the stars.

He wanted to breathe the fresh air and not this stinking foul air inside this cell and fortress.

He wanted to see his family and friends, not those foul creatures.

He would get out of here: He only needed some kind of plan to escape and he would spend every single moment to think about one.

That he swore to himself before he allowed his body to succumb to the tiredness and his thoughts slipped into a deep healing slumber.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Aragorn sat beside the small campfire and tried in vain to warm up his hands.

Winter had finally caught up with them and it became colder every passing moment.

For four days they had walked through snow and mud, leading the horses over the slippery treacherous surface.

All that time, they had followed the path that would lead them out of Mirkwood and into the grey mountains, with still no sign of their missing friend besides the obvious signs of the battle that had taken place 2 weeks ago.

From that place on they had to search for tracks and found them.

Aragorn looked up from the dancing flames and watched his companions when a silent song reached his ear.

It was a small party, with only four elves that accompanied him. He would have rather left the palace alone but Thranduil had been adamant. He would leave Mirkwood either with some elves or he would not leave at all.

Aragorn remembered the day now nearly two weeks ago, when he had arrived at the palace. He shivered with the memories of what he had seen and heard on this first day.

When the first pain had faded to a dull ache he had been finally able to gather his whit again.

He had talked long with Thranduil.

He had tried everything to make it clear that he did not believe his friend was dead.

He had used all his strength and willpower to talk some sense into the mourning king.

He had it at last achieved with one single question. In hindsight he could have slapped himself for not coming up with that one earlier.

He had asked Thranduil if he could still feel his son.

The king had held the rangers gaze for what seemed like an eternity. Involuntarily Aragorn shivered when he thought of the emptiness in the Elf's eyes, before he had hesitantly closed his eyes and reached out deep into his heart and soul with all his sense, searching for the tiniest evidence that he was wrong.

First Thranduil could find nothing, but when he had turned away from the broken bond he suddenly could sense something. It was not much; only a tiny sparkle of what he would usually feel, but for the king it had been the brightest beacon breaking through the surrounding darkness, just like the sun would brake through the dark clouds of a passing thunderstorm.

Aragorn had watched the king closely, for he had noticed every motion that had scampered over the pale face. First a frown appeared, an expression that deepened with concentration.

After a few moments the concentration had faltered when helplessness and despair had returned. But only a blink of an eye later, all these emotions had been replaced by a smile that grew brighter every moment. When Thranduil had opened his eyes moments later he had been greeted by the widest grin he had ever seen on the ranger's face.

"I can feel him!"

That had been all what Thranduil had said, but nothing more had been necessary.

Hope had returned to the Woodland king.

And that was why Aragorn sat now on the edge of Mirkwood forest, beside a small campfire.

Hope to find his friend.

Hope that he could bring back him alive.

He had not dared to tell Thranduil what had happened in Imladris. Even now, he still did not know why he had done so. They had talked about Morchaintdur and how he could be defeated but those talks had brought nothing more to the light of day but the things he already knew from his father's letter.

Thranduil had promised to look through the old journals and reports of Oropher while Aragorn would go and search for Legolas. It had been a hard effort to persuade Thranduil that he should stay in Mirkwood, but Aragorn had managed to do so.

First, Thranduil had not listened to Aragorn's arguments, for the king had been eager to ride out and search for his son and rip out the heart of the one who had dared to kidnap and injure his precious child, with bare hands.

What first had been grief later turned into burning rage and hatred.

Thranduil would not allow this cruel being to live any longer than the moment he would have it in reach of his blade. Maybe that was why Aragorn did not tell the king the truth. The ranger wanted his father back. He did not want to retrieve him to become an unwilling witness of how Thranduil would kill him.

The searing cold shook Aragorn out of his memories and he returned to the present where Mîron had already taken care of the horses. Now they stood huddled together to share their body warmth and munched on the crops that they had brought with them.

Londdil had volunteered to take the first watch and he had already disappeared in the trees. The silent elf was always the first to take guard and when he would return he would have another poem to share with them, singing softly some of the old songs until it was time to go to sleep.

The smell of food tickled Aragorn's nose and his grumbling stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since the morning. From the smell of it, it looked like Baldôr had again shown his remarkable talent with pans and field rations.

The ranger had never before met someone like Baldôr, who could make a delicious meal out of dried fruits, meat and some Lembas. Even the hobbits would be glad to have some of his receipts but Aragorn doubted that there where receipts at all. During their journey he had thought sometimes that he would love to take this elf back to Imladris, so that he would not longer have to endure Elladan's cooking during their trips.

Silent steps behind him reminded Aragorn of the last of their group: Randur. He was one of Thranduil's most trusted warriors and he had, like the others, volunteered to accompany Aragorn on this trip. Still Aragorn did not know what to think about him, for he was a silent companion. They had not talked more then a few words during their trip but Aragorn had found out the Randur had a sharp mind and his tracking skills were unmatched. Even Aragorn had been flabbergasted in which places the elf had been able to find tracks which would them lead on.

Now Randur approached the ranger and sat down beside him. After some moments of silence where they watched Baldôr stirring in the pan and adding some of his herbs, Randur spoke up for the first time this day.

"Aragorn, I followed the tracks some further on, but they do not lead to the grey mountains." Randur paused, not sure how he could tell the ranger that their search had been in vain and that they had no chance to bring Legolas back.

With a deep breath he straightened his back and looked into the ranger's eyes.

"They make a turn before they reach the mountains. They turned north-west, straight to Mount Gundabad. But I'm sure that their final destination is .... Angmar."

Aragorn started to shiver again, but this time not from the cold that surrounded them but from the cold that he felt inside.

From all of the places of Middle Earth it has to be Angmar.

TBC