Author's Note: I have now lost count of how many months it has taken me to update, but I think correspondence education is a good enough excuse. Well, that plus a mouse plague of epic proportions; the, er, heated escapades of our "friendly" neighbourhood pyromaniac; me having to reconfigure my entire system due to a little computer virus called "Jane Cleaning Up The Hard-disk" (a.k.a "Me Playing With Technology I Shouldn't" ); my muses going on a "vacation" which now has me wondering whether they'll ever contact earth again; problems of scary proportions with correspondence education; other problems with education in general; and my inspiration taking a back-seat and later falling out of my stalling vehicle. Think of this as my "Sorry-for-being-so-slack" amendment chapter, and thank you for your patience and reviews! Hope you enjoy .

The Enigmatic Timekeeper

Chapter 4: Fate is the Wheel of the World

Rating: PG-13

Sean sighed. First, Jenny had given him a thorough yelling at when he had come home late due to capricious traffic and the usual unreliability of public transport. Next, she had collapsed. He had called an ambulance. On regaining consciousness she had cursed and flailed at the paramedic, insisting she was fine, and would they just let her go home? Then he had tried to placate her while she muttered angrily from behind an oxygen mask.

On arrival, the doctor had berated him for allowing her to get so excited when she should have been resting. The medical staff had subsequently decided her concussion was slightly worse than they had at first thought, and for an hour he had been sitting in the waiting room while they 'ran some tests'. A little girl with her arm in a plaster cast had stared at him for the duration of that time, and when he eventually returned her gaze she whimpered and he had received a nasty glare from the rotund woman beside her. And after that he had been waiting for at least another half hour while Jenny signed various documents and was commissioned a pair of crutches.

Now he was leaning on a trolley suffering from severe boredom while Jenny limped up and down the aisles like, in his opinion, a hawk with a broken leg: she insisted on reading every label of everything that was on the list she had formulated.

And then she entered their lane.

Dressed impeccably, as usual, in an elegant black suit that perhaps revealed a little more of her chest than was appropriate, Lily flashed her beautiful set of bleached teeth and sailed towards them on stiletto heels: the shark closing in on the prey. Sean shielded himself with the trolley as Jenny greeted her colleague genially.

'Oh, darling, what have you done to yourself?' Lily exclaimed in her ridiculous squeal, one hand flying to perch melodramatically on her breast. 'I heard a few rumours running around but -- dear me Jenny!'

'Had a little accident,' Jenny said, casually waving the matter aside, along with her tangled hair. 'So, how are things?'

'Oh, not much to say, been doing a little of this, a little of that,' said Lily matter-of-factly. 'Hello Sean.' The fluorescent lights illuminated the transient flash of derision as she turned a forced smile upon him.

'Lily,' he acknowledged, nodding grimly, contemplating escaping to the frozen foods section. Needless to say, he held a great dislike for the foppish 'bitch' who, again in his opinion, had the appearance of a mannequin animated by possessive demons in the deepest pits of hell. Lily tittered trivially and glared at him. 'Nice to see you're still alive,' she said.

'Nice to see the botox hasn't killed all the nerve endings in your face. And do I detect a hint of collagen?' he replied pleasantly, and earned a sound cuff from his sister. 'Sean!' Jenny rebuked, mortified.

'Whatever. I'm gone,' he said flatly and hastily departed the cereal aisle.

'I'm sorry Lily, he's in a bit of a mood today,' Jenny apologized profusely. Lily waved it aside with a perfectly manicured hand. 'Oh, boys will be boys,' she said dismissively.

'Indeed,' said Jenny dryly, staring after her brother, and fervently wishing that she could go with him.

'Oh well, darl; here, I'll take the cart, we'll get this done so much faster,' Lily offered, promptly taking Sean's place behind the trolley. 'Sandy's meeting me for lunch at a quarter past, would you like to tag along? You would be more than welcome; she wasn't sure if you would be well enough to leave the apartment.'

'Oh, thanks but I can't. I've got things to do, and Sean wants help with his, uh, university thingy. Assignment, that's it,' Jenny improvised quickly and baulked at how unbelievable it sounded even to her ears. She had never had much tact for finding sudden inspiration for quick excuses. And she had never had enough patience to stand in Sandy's proximity and not think about wrapping her hands around the woman's throat.

'Okay, that's fine. I'll tell Sandy you said hi, shall I?' said Lily, one eyebrow raised sceptically. 'Ah, and another thing: I ran into Graham today, he sends his condolences, etcetera etcetera. He's got Chelsea sitting in for you, you know. I would have gone in but it's been quite busy in admin. There's a lot of business coming in now. Investors looking for advice, and there's been a fair few international offices phoning in for things.'

Chelsea, that airhead?! Good grief, now we're all spiralling into the Apocalypse if Graham thinks she knows what to do.

'Well, I'll be back in soon, so maybe if Graham could just put my stuff aside and I'll catch up when I get back?' Jenny suggested hastily.

Lily laughed. 'I know Chelsea's a bit – well – blonde, not meaning to be nasty, but I think she'll manage for a little while Jen. She hasn't blacked us out yet, so we're counting that as a good thing.'

Jenny hunched her shoulders over her crutches and vaguely wondered if it were possible for one woman a little lacking in the intellect department, to cause a cataclysm on such a scale as to wipe out the city.

A black out isn't the worst of my worries – if she does manage to set off an epic disaster, as highly possible as that is, we'll be lucky if the human race is still in existence at the end of it…

With Lily's parochial chatter as pleasant as a mosquito's whine by her ear, Jenny cast a furtive glance at her watch; unable to leave it at home, she had kept it in her pocket. It indicated five past noon. A dizzy sensation of déjà vu swept over her; a vague recollection of an obscure memory - like she was forgetting something. But what? And where?

And who?

She was dimly aware of Lily's horrified shriek and Sean's sudden reappearance as he sprinted towards her, his face a tableau of horror, before her head hit the edge of one shelf as she staggered. Sharp pain erupted in her skull, and she could feel something warm trickling steadily down her brow as the floor rushed up to meet her and she spiralled off into darkness.

Taure glanced upwards at the clock-face on the central council building. Ten past noon.

Late. Again.

The sun slowly progressed past its zenith as he took a seat on a worn bench and tapped his heels impatiently. One by one the enervated hours drifted by. Inquisitive pigeons sauntered awkwardly towards him, cocking their grey heads to regard him with sharp orange stares. A few considered his worn Reeboks and pecked idly at the laces. Seeming to have reached the conclusion that he had no victuals to share, they hopped away to join the flock that had alighted in the centre of the square. In their midst a little boy ran, laughing at they fluttered from him and then drifted back to the cobbled stone. Crouching, the child strewed a handful of grain for them; in a disorderly fashion, the birds clustered to it. They did not seem at all disturbed as the boy gently picked them up, and stroked their soft neck feathers, holding them as he might a precious treasure.

Taure regarded the child curiously. As though comprehending, the boy glanced upwards at him, his stormy grey eyes well masked. Rising slowly, his wide stare still affixed on Taure, he brushed down his clothing and stood motionless for a moment. The beckoning cadence of a woman's voice caused him to turn slightly, but for a while longer he appeared transfixed. Mysteriously drawn, Taure held out a hand to the young Otherworlder.

The boy blinked, and shook his head. With the shadow of a smile, that of a child who harbours a great secret, he bounded away into the arms of his mother. Peering over her shoulder as she bore him away, with one small hand he made a slight gesture of farewell. Taure returned the motion and found himself wondering. It was seldom that he perceived such quality in a being not of his own. The prospect disquieted him as much as it incited an interest. The question of "what if" found many strange forms these days, he reflected idly.

'Tardy as usual, Haldir,' he said in good-natured reproval. The man beside him gave a soft laugh as he corrected the collar of his jacket. 'But for my efforts to be on time, you should commend me,' he retorted smiling. 'Elladan is overly acute and keen of wit, not an easy one to escape from. Valar only knows what trouble you've had me cause.'

'How is Legolas?'

'He is alive, if little else. Fortunately he was found before he was pulled too far.' Haldir's tone darkened as he looked across at his still companion. 'He only wants to please you, Taure; you have not been very tolerant of late and he is becoming concerned. And erratic, which concerns everyone else for he has already caused himself grievous harm.'

Lines of sorrow crossed his brow. 'You know how great a love he has for you; methinks it is in his mind that your work has severed your bond,' he confided softly, averting his gaze. 'He fears he may lose you, as we all fear. You try too hard; what if there comes a time when you cannot escape it?'

Taure gazed listlessly into his cupped hands, wherein shadow pooled as the cobalt cloak of night swept across the bleeding heavens. 'What do you want me to say?' he asked softly. 'What do you expect me to do? It is not my will that he does these things, nor is it to my knowledge when he does. I don't want him hurt or killed. But I cannot enforce constraints upon him; that I fear would only worsen it considering his aptitude for bending rules.'

'You mean your aptitude,' Haldir murmured, the ghost of a smile dawning on his lean face. 'You have to admit Taure, you've never had much patience for rules; refused to resign yourself to such superficial fetters, I believe you said once. You have landed him in as much trouble as he has landed himself and you in on many occasions.'

'You believe I judge him too harshly.'

'Yes. I do. But forget that, time enough for idle discussion later. Are you certain?' The slight waver in his voice belied his façade of confidence. Taure lifted his sunglasses and offered Haldir a wry grin. 'Of course,' he said, and lowered his dark shades. 'We go tonight.'

The tower chimed out the hour: six times it struck and fell silent, the echoes fading into the darkling eve. Startled, the pigeons took flight. The westering sun presented its fiery crown above the black heads of the distant hills. Taure turned his head towards the brick apartments, staring up at a particular curtained window.

What will come of this?

The weather's ire was unremitting. White knives slit the belly of the macabre clouds in transient flashes, and the rumble as of myriad celestial soldiers marching in belligerent cavalcade shook the very crowns of the mountains. Rain volleyed like a hail of silver darts sprung from the bows of unseen archers, and the sibilant vehemence of the wind prowled without the walls, an amorphous hunter.

A slender hand alighted upon a misted quatrefoil window, to gaze out over the machicolations and regard the night's acrimony with a furrowed brow. 'Such misery,' Eldarion muttered, withdrawing his touch as the glass was cold a pane hewn of ice. 'I thought them to be home by now.'

'As thought I,' concurred Elessar ponderously, and shook his dark head, waxing concerned. 'No missive, no messenger; not a word have I received. A presentiment stirs in me; but perhaps I worry overmuch.'

'Llynnewl fears an augury,' the prince said quietly, and crossed to stand before the blazing hearth, resting a hand on the mantle. 'He was unusually taciturn yesterday. He says he needs to ensure that I am readied for my trials. I have never seen him in so fey a mood.'

Elessar gave a quiet laugh, his vague amusement fluttering to the high-vaulted ceiling of the cavernous chamber. 'Llynnewl I fear is finding his good sense depleted as his shoulders bow beneath his years,' he said, and poured an amber liquid from a carafe into a waiting goblet. He lifted it to his son who gazed at him in bemusement. 'To thy good health, Eldarion,' he said, and took a deep draft.

'Father?' the prince questioned gently. 'Are you hale?'

'Hale as I can be,' the king answered earnestly, and set his drink down. Impatiently he folded back the dagged sleeves that dripped in emerald brocade from his arms; Eldarion had noted that it was a gesture often made when he was agitated. Like the crystalline chime of a spoon against the rim of a silver chalice, realisation struck him.

'You do intend to ride out on the morrow,' he said softly, a cold thrill of horror seeming to chill his blood. 'Father – but, you cannot! The way is much too long and perilous, especially in such uncertain times.'

'I have made the journey many times before,' Elessar hedged. 'My strength has not waned: I am no less the man I used to be. Have some faith in your father, Eldarion; he is not yet wasted by his age.'

'I meant it not that way, Father,' the prince assured him, and crossed to grasp Elessar's hands; he noted that they trembled, and his father's storm-hued eyes fluttered erratically as though uncertain of where to look. 'Are you certain you are well?' he asked, concerned.

'I am fine Eldarion, I simply – I am lost.' The king heaved a weary sigh, his strong countenance suddenly seeming ashen as the lightning stabbed at the clouds again, and the thunder rolled. 'I want not for your mother to be affrighted, for she worries enough. And since Legolas rode northwards on some obscure summons, I've sorely missed his counsel; and Faramir being fettered by his own duties… Oh, Eldarion, you are young. Your shoulders should not be encumbered by politics that are a king's concern.'

'I want to help you,' Eldarion insisted bluntly. Elessar, looking into the youthful face of his son, recognised a spirit reminiscent of his own stripling years, and smiled. 'I know that,' he murmured. 'You've been very helpful, Elf, and for that I am grateful; but I must ride tomorrow. It is a matter of necessity, not desire.'

'But you will not have to ride.' Determination burgeoned within the young man and fortified his resolve. He looked at his father with clear eyes, and declared, 'I will go in your stead.'

Propped against the headboard, Jenny held the cold compress to her aching head, wincing as the ponderous movement of her pulse thumped against the sizeable lump she now had. Milo was curled contentedly in his favoured wicker chair, the tip of his tail twitching as he wandered through feline dreams. Jenny glanced at him with envy, wishing she could simply sink into the pleasant numbness of repose. Feeling bitter, she tried to stretch out. Her outflung hand alighted upon the smooth cover of a book discarded on the blankets; hoping she might find reprieve among its pages, she lifted it and found the page she had last been reading.

The sliding door rasped open as Sean returned inside, having been hanging out the washing on the balcony. Milo was promptly up and out the door, the muted patter of his paws receding in the direction of the kitchen as he mewed piteously. 'Hold on, fuzz ball, watch it!' Sean reprimanded him as the tomcat twined himself affectionately about the young man's legs, most helpfully as he was poised in mid-step, sending him staggering with the empty basket into the bench. 'Right, eat that and keep out of my way,' he advised irascibly, pouring a generous helping of dry cat-food into Milo's empty bowl.

'Jen! Hey, Jen!' Sighing, Jenny set her thumb between the pages she was reading and placed the book in her lap. 'What?' she called.

'Where's the tea-towels?'

'Where they usually are, Sean. In the drawer. The one under the cutlery – or do I need to give you directions to that one as well?'

'They're not in the drawer, Jenny.' Sean did not appear to be in the mood to weather her mordant remarks with good humour.

'Well, look in the cupboard then,' Jenny suggested, exasperated. She decided that for the sake of her peace of mind, she should buy a labeller and clearly mark where everything was located. But then, not everything was located where it should be; the majority of the furniture was still waiting to be removed from the spare-room.

Ah, Sean's skinny enough to squeeze between it all. Or he can just sleep in the lounge I'm not moving it.

Mellow shafts of late afternoon light spilt through the thin slits that spaced the partly closed venetian blinds, painting the austere white walls a warm peach hue. Jenny limped awkwardly from her bed and twisted the blinds open, relishing the last touch of the dying sunlight. The tall silhouettes of high rise buildings obstructed her view, but she could spy a sliver of the brilliant sunset between them, the extended rays of the sinking sun strung between their dark forms like iridescent gossamer threads, hung with ribbons of fire and laced with soft lavender velvet.

'It's okay, they're all in the washing,' Sean informed her loudly, slamming the cupboard door. The tranquillity of gazing from the window bathed in evening's gentle glow was abruptly shattered, rippling away into the approaching night like the remnants of a stone's passage through still waters. Piqued, Jenny perched on the edge of her bed and fussily adjusted her spectacles. The face of her antique watch winked at her from its place on her beside table, the light scintillating across its smooth surface; eldritch lamps dancing across the glass. She realised she had forgotten to buy a replacement band and cursed herself inwardly, having missed its cool weight pressing into her wrist, as though it contained a part of her, the presence of which she had not realised until her arm was bare, and the feeling that something was missing had begun to trouble her.

Self-consciously she lifted a hand to the back of her neck and cast a surreptitious glance about the room. She had not felt it as acutely for a while, but the sensation that secret eyes were watching her had not completely abated. It even disturbed her sleep, haunting her subconscious mind like a predator biding its time, waiting for the opportune moment to make her its prey. She pulled at the muscles in her shoulders, her uncertainty and confusion having drawn them painfully taut. 'Sean, I'm going to take a shower,' she shouted, setting her crutches beneath her arms and leaving her warm tangle of blankets. Milo sauntered past her as she hopped through the door, having satiated his hunger, and leapt into the soft hollow he had imprinted in the wicker chair's feather cushion. For a moment he turned, and then settled with his tail curled about his paws, staring at the window, ears held aloft in attentiveness.

With a muffled thump, a book fell from its haphazard perch on the edge of the bed. Startled, Milo baulked and made a hasty exit, hissing. A negligent breeze drifted through the window, ruffling the tome's pages:

Little of all this, of course, reached the ears of ordinary hobbits. But even the deafest and most stay-at-home began to hear queer tales; and those whose business took them to the borders saw strange things…

The languid flame flickered fitfully in its glass cage, taunted by an errant wind that, cold and sinister as the slithering gait of a serpent, wove its way throughout the town. Attempting to shield the lamp from the weather's assault as the ether stirred with dark presentiment, Merry strode down the lane, muttering at the inconvenience of the disturbance. Heavy clouds were massing in the east, marching on the back of a westward wind, their dark folds redolent of threat as they advanced.

'All right, what's all this fuss concerning?' Merry inquired irascibly as he stepped into the dimness of the Shiriff housings. Twisting the hem of his shirt nervously, Robin Smallburrow accosted the Master of Buckland with a weak greeting. 'W-well, sir, you see,' he stammered, staring abashedly at his hairy feet. 'There's, well, there's arrived a messenger…'

Manifesting from the shadows of one corner, a tall figure swathed in cloak and hood bowed its head and gestured for the timid shirriff to be silent. Robin stuttered to a halt and promptly dropped into a chair, pressing his hands to his cheeks in which a tinge of scarlet had risen.

'Good evening, Master Meriadoc,' the stranger greeted the hobbit. 'As your friend in here was attempting to explain, I have come to your fair land as a messenger.' The inflection of the voice was mellifluous and gentle, doubtlessly a young man's. Merry narrowed his eyes circumspectly as a gloved hand closed ponderously over the deep hood and drew it away. Tousled hair, flaxen in hue, fell unbound and unkempt to broad shoulders. Clear eyes like sun-bleached forget-me-nots gazed down on the hobbit from a lean countenance, betraying no expression or emotion.

'I am Dale Heather, come from the province of Bree,' the messenger expounded, inclining his head. 'And if you would hear it I've important information to impart, if Master Robin here would be so kind as to remove himself.'

'Very well. Robin, if you would, please,' Merry said. The anxious shirriff rose slowly and shuffled from the entrance chamber, mumbling inaudibly. Dale turned his attention back to the Master and motioned for him to be seated. Wary, Merry lowered himself into a chair, uncertain of how much trust it was wise to place in this man. In a moment's appraisal he had noted many strange things, foremost among them Dale's physical aspect: although he claimed to have come from Bree, it was plain in his strong features, warrior's build and fair-coloured hair that he had no blood-ties with that land: the mark of the Rohirrim was irrevocably branded into his appearance.

'I am afraid I have nothing good to tell you,' the young man said heavily, clasping his hands on the table. 'Meriadoc, before I tell you, I want you to give me your honest word that this evening, when the shadows are lengthened, you will wind the horn and send out the warning cry. No, do not ask any questions. Promise me first.'

'How can I trust that your intentions are favourable, Master Heather?' Merry hedged. 'How can I trust that you do indeed come from Bree when you've the look of a man of Rohan?' The ghost of a smile drifted across the young man's austere face. 'You are a shrewd judge, I see,' he remarked quietly. 'You are correct, my origins are in Rohan, but my feet have been planted in Bree for some time now. On my honour I assure you that I have spoken only truth; in good sooth, I've nothing to gain by deception.'

'I will not question your honour,' Merry acceded earnestly. 'And I can see that there is good reason behind your strange request, so yea, I will do as you ask.'

'Good,' Dale said in approval, and sat back in his chair; his brow furrowed seriously as he lapsed into a pensive silence. Then he drew forward again, his arms folded on the scratched wood. Curious at his behaviour, Merry leant towards him. 'I've been a ranger in these regions for some years now,' the man confided lowly. 'I know them well. But recently I've been witness to some disturbing spectacles. You know there's talk of a new darkness to the south and east; it provides an explanation for much of what I have seen. I am aware this has not occurred for over a hundred years, but I pray you listen with open ears, because packs of wolves are descending from the hills in Angmar, and they are nigh on your borders.'

'Are you certain?' Merry hissed.

'I've beheld them with my own eyes, and I've felt their teeth and claws with my own flesh – they are no eldritch incarnations sprung forth from some lingering devilry; they are true animals. From what I have seen of their behaviour, I believe them to be driven by some calling. Evil things are stirring again, Meriadoc. I caution you to be vigilant – there are bloody times ahead of you.'

Merry leapt to his feet in dismay. 'This is terrible!' he cried. Dale thrust a warning hand in his face as he pressed a finger to his lips. 'Tell no one!' he murmured, and the glimmer in his stony eyes flickered out as he drew his hood forth again. His dark cloak swirled about his boots as he stood and regarded the distressed Master.

'Farewell Meriadoc. Keep yourself and your family safe, and I wish you luck,' he said, and left the hobbit standing alone in the chamber. Merry sank back into the chair as the steady rhythm of pounding hooves faded away, dropping his head despondently in his hands. Wolves had returned to the Shire – dire times beckoned.

Oh, please come back soon!

The creature stared at him with lambent eyes, mouth open in a silent hiss. A sinuous shadow framed in the dark doorway, he urgently waved a hand at it. 'Go, bramble-foot,' he bade it. 'I'm no enemy.' The orange tabby sat back on its haunches and regarded him in circumspect appraisal. Seemingly sated, it inclined its head and then returned to its nest amid the feather cushions.

The acrid reek of recently dried paint assaulting his nose, Taure coughed in disgust and held a sleeve to his mouth. 'All is well, hurry up,' he whispered as his silhouetted companion arrived at his side. 'See to the boy, I will attend to our quarry.'

'Ack, what a bitter stench!' Haldir exclaimed in a low hiss, and laughed in quiet amusement. 'Valya's crown, but it makes me light-headed – in good sooth, it's worse than miruvor!'

'Then hold your breath,' Taure advised impatiently. Shadows crept across the walls and ceiling, recoiling from the cold touch of the moonlight. As Haldir melded with the darkness, soundless as he searched, Taure crept forward. The connection was so strong he felt he could run it through his fingers, and its source was behind the dark door down the far end of the passageway.

He winced as the door creaked, yielding to his light touch. Lithely he slid into the room and pressed himself against the wall, half-crouching in readiness to flee should he be accosted by anything hostile. Enveloped in fitful slumber, she tossed amid tousled sheets, her hair hanging across her face.

Cautiously, Taure approached her. Anticipation became satisfaction as he reached for her. Suddenly, her mouth opened, a guttural cry issuing forth. 'Stop it!' she cried fervently. Startled, Taure withdrew his hand and fell backwards. His back met the door; with a loud noise, it crashed into the frame. Terrified, he sprang to his feet and placed a hand across the woman's mouth, praying that she would be silent.

Her eyes flew open. For a moment they were suspended, staring at one another, and then she flung her arm towards the table by her bed, her fingers frantically searching. Abruptly, her panic abated; reassured, he removed his hand. Her quiet uncertainty was only ephemeral; unexpectedly she threw herself from the bed, stumbled and then collapsed, screaming a name in the throes of blind desperation.

He felt it, like a gentle stirring in the ether; it drifted around them, whispering words of reassurance. Too weak to resist such influence, the woman collapsed, her hands gripping her voluminous hair as paroxysms shook her. 'Make it stop!' she begged, sobbing. 'Make it go away! I can't take it anymore, just make it go away!'

Her plaintive plea invoked compassion from her assailant; kneeling, Taure carefully drew his arms about her trembling form. 'Shh, Jenny,' he murmured soothingly. I will not hurt you.'

Her lids were shut tight; she drew a shuddering breath, and eased them open, gazing with bemusement in his hidden face. 'Who are you? Where are you taking me?' she whispered.

'Who I am is not important. I am taking you home,' he answered softly. She was still in his grasp. Carefully arranging her, he rose with Jenny secured in his arms. Catching the sidereal light, something glimmered in the dimness. A timepiece glimmered, veins of emerald infusing the impervious darkness of jet.

Lathed in the orange glow of a street lamp, warily he glanced upwards at the building. There is no time! Be quick! his mind hissed in agitation. The pavement was empty at this hour, all traffic concentrated at the heart of the city, nightlife and neon pumping through its indefatigable veins.

The door swung open and three figures stepped out: the first held the door open to admit the second, in whose arms the third dangled limply. The watcher hastened forward to meet them. 'Hasten, we've no time!' he urged.

Instead of heeding his warning, Taure and Haldir stared at him in astonishment. 'Legolas?' Taure said slowly. 'Why are you here?'

'Elrohir leant me enough strength to traverse here and back one more time,' the prince explained, pulling his collar higher about his neck. 'But no more questions, we must go now. The Guardian is awake, and the hunter is aware of our venture this night.'

'The Guardian?' Haldir cried in horror, but Legolas offered him no more explanation, brusquely shoving him in the back to make him move.

'If the hunter knows, and the Guardian has roused – then it is not safe to be out here,' Taure said worriedly, glancing down at his unconscious burden. Jenny made no sound or movement, completely oblivious.

'So this is the one,' Legolas mused thoughtfully, and swiftly became severe again. 'Haldir, place a hand on Taure's shoulder,' he instructed, searching anxiously for something concealed within a pocket of his long black coat.

'But – why?' Haldir questioned, bemused.

'Trust me. Just do as I say.' Hesitantly, Haldir slid a hand onto his companion's shoulder. Imbued with an ethereal glow, a golden band like interwoven sunlight rested in the prince's palm as he drew out his hand. After a moment's indecision, with an uncertain movement he slipped it upon his right forefinger, closing the fingers of his left hand firmly on Taure's other shoulder.

The world dissolved into a nebulous haze as together they transcended below material reality, fading into a sequestered flow. Walking unseen, they hastened down the vacant path, a sinuous shadow skulking unheeded in their wake…

Now is your chance! Redeem yourself! Get them NOW!

Second note: I am hoping to be much less tardy with updates in the future – now that I have acquired the inspiration to turn the wheel, perhaps I can finally keep it moving! Thank you to all kind reviewers, and much gratitude to Melintalle for her plea, which is what prompted me to sit down for four hours and find my way out of the rut I'd jammed the story in. I will also be changing the title of the story, most likely to "The Way Between"; the current title seems a little predictable.