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Author's Note: 'Adar' means 'father', and 'elleth' means 'she-elf'. Just letting you know since they're the only things not translated in this chapter.
Responses to Reviewers: tkmoore, thanks, dear, you're the best! :P morphed, you liked it! you really liked it! (swoons) I feel so special! lol Daeomae, thank you, and sorry it took so long! Sunn-Kissed, I've gathered the Elvish from all over the place, lol. Goddess Of the Fallen, thanks! hope you like this one, too! kel, thanks, and as you wish! Psi, well, I didn't stop 'Unexpected', now did I? lol :) satangurl41, thanks so much! glad you do! Setrinan, thank you!!!! short arse, the 'Encyclopedia of Arda' is good, and so are the 'Annals of Arda'. Just google 'em, lol. :) Melannen Halfelven, thank you! and I think there were too many names in that pairing for my poor, over-used brain to handle right now. check back later, lol. tonianne, thank you so much!! scotty-lass, wow, thanks! hope you like this part as well! harry-fanfic-reader, glad I didn't give you reason to revolt then, lol! VirginGoddess, me and you, my dear, think a whole lot alike. (smooches to you) lgstarbaby07, thank you!! legosgurl, I'm updating, I'm updating! lol Jaylen, thanks, I'm glad you liked it! I love L/twins, too, as you can tell, lol.
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Arwen picked her way through the thick underbrush by the good-sized stream that she'd found, convinced that the Valar was out to get her after the third deep scratch bloomed across her cheek. As if wrestling her makeshift bowls through the brambles with her wasn't daunting enough. She sincerely hoped there was another way to leave the creek, or she'd never get her water out without spilling it all. About a second away from screaming in a very unelleth-like way, she growled and unsheathed her sword. She loved the earth, she loved plants, but these thorns were about to die. Hacking at them brutally, she felt her weariness catching up with her.
She hadn't slept at all since Legolas had been wounded, her every thought on him most of the time. He was one of her very best friends, her sworn brother and kin through his ties with the twins, and she loved him enough that she knew she would fade if he died, for she had no bonded of her own to keep her in her spirit's shell. Only Legolas and the twins had saved her after her mother's departure, and there would be no twins to save her from his, because they would follow him faster than she would. And they were not the only ones that would fade with his passing, fade or sail for Valinor, because he was loved widely and by many.
She doubted that his farewells would tide over his family, and such a tragic loss might drive Thranduil to lead his people to the sea and beyond the western horizon to the promised lands. They would be lucky if his brother didn't fade, as well as all of his guards, who were tied to him as all the guards of royalty are bound to those that they serve. Then there were Haldir and his brothers, each of whom adored Legolas and none of which had yet been bonded, as well as all of his other friends scattered throughout the Realms. And then, for each who faded or passed for love of him, more would follow for love of them until few were left to dot these cursed shores.
If only the twins had been with us, she thought morosely. They were as strong at healing as their father, and they could call Legolas back from shadow if anyone could, especially being bonded to him. Then, thoughts of binding swirling through her head, she nearly lost a hold of her sword. Sweet Valar, what if Legolas did become a wraith? What would become of her darling brothers then? Would it change them, too? Would she lose all three to evil? No! No, I will not! She screamed internally, and a final, savage swing had her breaking through the last of the stabbing vines, revealing that she'd stepped out onto a rocky beach.
And right into a group of sleeping orcs.
Oh, this truly cannot be happening, she thought in a distant, shocked way. It all became too much, much too much, and she started laughing. It was mildly quiet at first, then grew louder and louder until the orcs were leaping to their feet only to stop and stare at her in shock of their own. Apparently, they weren't awoken by hysterical elf maidens very often. Putting one hand against a tree, her bowls falling to the gravel, she clutched at her stomach, laughter shaking her willowy frame. What in Arda's name was wrong with her? There were orcs, five of them, less than ten feet from her, and there she was, giggling insanely.
Her father would have a stroke if he could see it.
"Well, well." One of the orcs started after shaking its head, jarring its small amount of wits around into some sort of order that only it understood. "Lookie what we—"
"Got here, boys." She finished for him, having heard that line so many times from one or another of the foul things that it was ingrained into memory. "A pretty little elf-girl all alone in the big, bad woods."
Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore as her mother's face flashed through her mind. And she knew then, that if she saw that she couldn't win, she would make them kill her. She wouldn't become like them. She refused to. And it dawned on her how Legolas must feel. Something shifted within her then, some sense of understanding, and fury followed it. A boot dagger was in her hand and being thrown the short distance a moment later, and before the orcs could so much as shout, it was stuck deep into the face of the one closest. Then, knowing hand-to-hand combat with them would be unwise, she took to the trees, sheathing her sword and stringing her bow with long practice as she did so.
The twins and Legolas's voices ran through her mind as she notched her first arrow, for they had trained her and it always seemed like they were still right there, just behind her shoulder, even when they were leagues away. 'Slow your breathing…good, good…Now seek the quiet place inside you, sight and aim, and if you believe it will hit, it will hit by the Valar's grace…' The twang of the bowstring seemed impossibly loud, and the small missile struck true, finding the far left creature's heart. She got another before the last two started swarming up the tree after her, and she climbed ever higher, knowing that if she jumped right then, they would as well.
And they would hit the ground first.
So she climbed, her bow slung across her back and still strung, and she swallowed the pride that rose within her when she saw how much faster than them she was. They climbed awkwardly while she flew up the trunk with the easy grace of all her kindred, but she didn't have time for boastful arrogance. Finally reaching the top, she took a deep breath and did the only thing she could. She jumped. But not down, no, because a fall from so high just might kill her, or at the very least hurt her badly. So she leapt to the side, springing like a mountain lion, for the closest tree. It was almost a twenty-foot jump, and she lost some height, but she did make it.
Spinning as soon as she was safely perched on a thick branch, she had her bow drawn and another arrow flying within seconds, while the orcs were still looking up, as if they thought that she'd just disappeared. Her arrow embedded itself in one orc's forehead, but she wished that she could shoot two at a time like her brothers, or three like the prince, because the other apparently had more sense than she'd given it credit for, and it moved to the other side of the trunk quickly, using the gnarly wood as a shield. Cursing, she started a rapid descent, branches whipping past her and scratching at her, and she hit the ground hard enough to snap her teeth together.
She reached for another arrow only to find her quiver empty, and she turned to stare at it. What…Oh Elbereth, they had to have fallen out when she'd jumped, or during the climb down…Feet hitting the earth had her head flying back around, and she drew her sword as the large orc came at her slowly, warily. She had killed its comrades, and it was cautious, but not scared enough to flee. No, Elf-flesh was too much of a temptation for it, and she blocked the first swing, surprised when she could barely lift her arm. Her exhaustion was overwhelming her, and she knew, with a sick dread, that it was time. She would not be taken alive.
Gathering her courage, she waited for the next swing, and when it came, she made to drop her blade and step into it. And that's exactly what she did. But the blow never landed as a vicious snarl sounded a second before an enormous, growling ball of gray fur had the thing on the ground, ripping out its throat in a wide spray of blood. The orc never even had time to scream. Akso looked up with a bloody, grinning muzzle, thick black drops splattering on the gravel as he came towards her. She'd completely forgotten about the wolf. Kneeling beside him, she hugged him furiously, thanking him profusely for saving her life.
It took almost twenty minutes before she could gather the last of her strength and stand, collecting her bowls and filling each one diligently before finding a long pole and tying them each to it with a few strands of her hair. Testing it to make sure they would hold, although she knew they would considering how many times she'd made her own bowstrings as most warriors did, she carefully placed the pole across her shoulders and looked for a different way out. Half a mile down the creek, she found an old deer trail, and she thanked everyone she could name, from the maids at her father's house to obscure historical figures.
It took three hours, three long, agonizing hours, to reach the cave again, when it had only taken one on the trip out. She only barely got the water stored in a cool corner of the barren rock room, before she hit the ground hard and didn't get back up. Only very, very vaguely did she register Akso dragging her gently over to where Legolas lay on a pallet made of leaves and their cloaks, the crunching and rustling the only thing that gave it away. Then a warm, furry body curled up around hers, and she knew the other against her was her prince, because that body felt feverish, then freezing, feverish, then freezing.
But then blackness ate everything, and she knew no more.
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The twins had not stopped in two days, their feet not even touching the ground when they switched horses, and it was beginning to catch up with them that night. Not that they cared. Moriára stayed swift and strong, and since their own steeds didn't have to carry them all the time, and were by no means weak themselves, they quickly recovered from the wear of that first day out. They made good time, excellent time really, so Elladan supposed it was only inevitable that they ran into some sort of trouble. Why it had to be a pack of skin-changers, he didn't know. Beorn and his ilk were all right, but many of their kind were wild, more animal than human.
And these were not bears, but bats, huge bats that were anything but friendly. They'd felt their approach only seconds before one had swooped down and knocked Elrohir from his horse. His brother had been back on his feet in seconds, twin swords in his hands, and Elladan had been beside him a moment later. At first, they hadn't known what they were, they'd just known they were hostile and hideous, and that the high-pitched noises they made were almost deafening, grating through their skulls like broken crystal. The first one to die startled them so badly when it changed into a Man that they nearly got themselves killed.
It took a lot to break their concentration, but that did it.
Even over twenty-eight hundred years of training hadn't prepared them for their swords sliding in to a beast's heart and out of a Man's. So it had taken a second or two to adjust. That's when the others had attacked, and there had been almost thirteen to begin with, but now they were down to four. They told the horses to run long before, so it was only them and the large, ugly bats under the thick, bare branches of the trees experiencing the first true brushes of winter. The mountaintops were already packed with snow, but it hadn't spread so far down, not yet. But they could smell it coming, fast and hard, and this fight had to end soon or they would be caught in it later.
They were back-to-back, a stance they had long favored, but they didn't need to see one another's faces or speak to know what the other was thinking. The next bat creature attacked, using its wings to bring it a bit off the ground and increase its speed, and Elladan raised a blade already long-coated in the creatures' blood. A very hairy, very disgusting head left that body, and a moment later, it was a longhaired, brown-eyed Man's. It just didn't seem right, somehow. Not that it mattered. They had attacked them, not the other way around. They were keeping them from their bonded, not the other way around.
And to reach Legolas, they would kill anything that stood in their way. Anything.
Or anyone. But those were not productive thoughts, seeing as how Elrohir was slashing away at another of the things, so graceful and deadly that it made one stop and stare for a moment. Or maybe that was just Elladan. But no, that couldn't be, he argued with himself as one of the other's went airborne, higher than the last one. Because Legolas looks at him the same. If the thing had known anything about Elves, it never would have gone into the air like that, but it didn't, and the few seconds that it was up so high was just enough for Elladan to drop one sword, grab his bow, and let two arrows fly. Both lodged in the thing's chest, it screeched so loudly that Elladan was sure his head would explode, and the last one came for them.
Elrohir had already killed the one he'd been fighting, and he gave his twin a look that clearly said, 'Thisone's mine. You already got seven.' The last was made more potent by a small glare, and Elladan sighed. Legolas had started the counting game, and they'd laughed at first, but it really was quite addicting. They'd told him it was childish in the beginning, and he'd told them that they were just boring, stuffy Rivendell Elves that wouldn't know what fun was if it bit them in the arse. Elladan could remember every second of that meeting, and suddenly he was seeing it as if he were there again, as if he were dreaming it while awake.
He was next to Elrohir, his body stiff and held regally just as Erestor had drilled into him, and he and his twin had been anything but happy. Because it was their first time in Greenwood the Great, they were little more than seventy-five, they hadn't wanted to come, and now they might have angered the prince. They hadn't wanted to meet the mighty King Thranduil, the king who held his lands, just like his father before him, without any Ring of Power, so great was his innate magic and his warriors' skill. The Greenwood had only just started to really repopulate itself, new elflings being born and older Elves moving from the Golden Wood or Imladris or from out in the wild, as some chose to live.
They had expected dreary lands still weighed down by grief and heartache, but they'd come upon a vivid, ancient forest so full of life and light that it had brought laughter bubbling from their throats before they'd checked themselves and donned neutral masks once more. Greenwood spanned miles upon miles of the oldest trees they had ever encountered, many so majestic and huge that twenty Elves couldn't have stood in a circle around one and clasped hands. Then they'd come to the palace, and met the feared Thranduil. And he had been just as scary as predicted. It wasn't that he was impolite or loud or insulting, but…
He reminded them of their grandmother.
The power around him had been suffocating, his eyes had been so very, very old, older even than they should have been, and with one glance, they'd known he'd seen into their fëas. Thranduil was indeed mighty; even mightier than Glorfindel, and that had impressed them as few things could, even then. But he had played the word games with them, the practiced court games, and it had made talking to him easier. But then…then they'd met his only son at the time, the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm, the famed Greenleaf that had fought and killed scores at his father's side in the Battle of Dagorlad, and impressed just wasn't the right word.
His beauty had positively stunned them. Elrohir had very nearly fallen over, Elladan's not-so-steady hand the only thing keeping him upright, and the elder twin's other hand on the wall had been all that kept both of them from hitting the floor in a most undignified way. They hadn't been used to seeing many light-haired Elves to begin with, having only been to Lothlórien once, but they had never seen an Elf more radiant or ethereal before or after, and knew they never would. He was perfect even among their kind, his face finely sculpted as if with infinite divine care, his namesake green eyes brighter than any emeralds could hope to be, his body lithe and lean and strong.
He carried himself with such effortless grace that it made even the old Elves of the court look clumsy, and his hair, which hit his waist and was braided through with green ribbons, was mostly gold the color of spun sunlight. But it shone with streaks of silver, Teleri silver, silver the color of the waves after sunset when so many stars shine upon them that they glow, or so the legends said. But they did not think of sunlight or starlight when they saw that multi-hued hair, they thought of the Light of the Valar, of Eru's eyes. They thought of everlasting love and eternal friendship.
And it had been utterly insane.
Because the fiery-spirited prince that had stormed into the room hadn't even glanced at them as he'd passed by, storming up to his father with barely-concealed rage flowing off of him like a physical wave. The nobles of the court had scattered out of his way, Elves much, much older than him retreating before those dangerous malachite eyes, and they'd been beyond entranced. He'd stopped before the throne, demanded to know why his sister was being banned from weapon's practice, and had looked nearly hostile enough to tackle his father out of that giant gold chair when he was told that she was too 'delicate and fragile'.
His voice going low and quiet, serious and very princely, he'd calmly told his father that if he didn't lift the ban, then he would teach her himself. Out in the forest. Without a guard. In the middle of the night on the bloody full moons if he didn't grow some sense. Appalled and slightly awed as the angelic, androgynous Elf-prince had spoken so threateningly to one that no one else would dare to, not a bit of fear evident anywhere about him, they'd waited for Thranduil to explode with that famous temper of his. And he'd looked, for a moment, as if he were going to, but the prince's eyes had narrowed into furious slits, the slightest hint of a glow beginning within them.
Then Thranduil had sighed deeply, relaxing once more, and had shaken his head wearily, his tawny hair rustling like a lion's mane around him. The prince had grinned then, knowing his father was beaten, and he'd turned, his eyes almost instantly meeting theirs. He looked stunned himself for a moment, before a brilliant smile had bloomed across those rose-red lips, and Elladan had been sure that he was going to faint. Because that bewitching smile somehow made him even more magnetic and dazzling, and that really shouldn't have been possible. It just wasn't fair. They'd never stood a chance against that so-rare smile.
"Elladan and Elrohir, I presume?" He'd asked formally, bowing his head for the brief amount of time that befit his station. "The renowned twins of Elrond Peredhil?" They'd frozen. Of course. He'd looked at them like that for the same reason that everyone else did. Because they were mirror images, nothing more.
"Yes, your highness." Elladan had replied, bowing low with his brother, his voice and tone and words the picture of etiquette, showing none of his disappointment.
"So…Do you want to come riding with us?" They hadn't known who 'us' was, and they hadn't known if spending time with the alluring prince was a very wise idea. But to refuse seemed impossible, the words dying before they'd made it past their lips. Instead, Elladan had barely managed to stall.
"Riding, your highness?" He'd asked as if he hadn't understood, and then Legolas had broken apart their molded views on propriety and civilized behavior. Elrond would later rue sending them to the Greenwood.
"Oh, do stop calling me that. I'm Legolas Greenleaf, Crown Prince of all you see, but you, you are the sons of Elrond, he who could have been High King, and are princes yourselves to our people whether your adar took the title or not. We are equals in my eyes, and I see no reason for courtly subterfuge. It is a game for the elders anyway, and I assure you that my home has more to offer than what is inside the palace walls." Then he'd tilted his head to the side, studied them with those beguiling eyes, and changed their world irrevocably. "And I wish to spend more time with you. I find you beautiful."
And they were trapped, caught, as easily as that, and Legolas didn't even know it. He was one of those spellbinding few that were vaguely aware of how magnificent they were, but not consciously, not really. He didn't see the heads turn everywhere he went, or hear the strangled exclamations when he'd pour a pitcher of water over his head to ward off the stifling summer heat just like everyone else did, causing his shirt to mold to him most appealingly. They'd only been there a week, but they fell harder each day for the sunlit, golden-skinned deity that had, for some blessed reason, decided to spend most of his time with them.
And it was that seventh day that he brought up the game that he and his friends had started playing when they patrolled the borders and came across orcs. He'd slowly, but surely, been drawing the twins from a world of scrolls and books and herbs to one of horses and hunting and heady wine, slowly been showing them that protocol and court weren't everything, slowly been showing them how different the wood-elves truly were from the rest of their kind on Arda. Everyday was an adventure, a glorious gift not to be wasted, and if there was nothing else to do on long, endless days, than nature was always there to remind of you of the simple beauty in things.
In Greenwood, the twins were learning what it truly meant to be of the Eldar, of Elvin kind. A whole new world opened up for them outside of their father and Erestor's strict, formal eyes, a world of colors and animals and constant new discoveries that made their hearts so light with joy at seeing the simple life within it all that tears of happiness and sadness had coursed down their faces when they'd realized what they'd been missing. They were learning to fully use their senses, to accept the fact that they were more than Half-elven and therefore very nearly true Elves, and they each had their own magic beyond healing, magic that Legolas awakened.
But this game…It had seemed so silly, so immature and inelegant, something that their father would disapprove of heartily. Really, counting your kills? It was barbaric, and oddly like a child keeping tally of all the bugs it could squash in one day. And since Legolas had some strange power to make them say what they thought when they were around him instead of what they should say, they'd told him so. That's when he'd called them stuffy and boring. And now, in this weird dream-vision-memory, Elladan watched him standing before them, worried they'd angered him, and wished he could take the words back even though he knew he couldn't.
"Hmph." Turning up his nose and dusting off immaculate court robes, Legolas pointed in the direction of the library and said with a smirk, "The dust and elleths are in there. Have a grand time, but I'm going on the half-naked hunt."
Now that was one way to get their full attention. "What!?" Both twins exclaimed, images of Legolas half-naked dancing behind their eyelids.
"The half-naked hunt." Legolas repeated, his smirk turning into a full-on grin. "And I'd really rather you came. I've been trying to get you out of your clothes all week."
The twins simply didn't know what to say to that, not really being able to form anything, even a thought, coherently in the first place, not to mention that their jaws were resting comfortably on the floor. Had the prince really just said that? If Erestor heard royalty talking like that, he would fall dead right then and there. Glorfindel would laugh, but Erestor would just die. Valar, so would most Elves, except those of the woodland Realm, apparently. They were as silver-tongued and eloquent as anyone when they wished to be, but most saw no need within the borders of their kingdom, because they were a wild, fierce people and always had been.
"Elladan!" Who was that? It sounded like Elrohir, but his lips weren't moving, and…"Elladan, saes!" Snapping suddenly back to reality, Elladan found himself on the ground with his head pillowed in his frantic brother's bloody lap, the last of the skin-changers dead next to them, one of his twin's swords still in the Man's chest. ((please))
"Elrohir?" He choked out softly, and his twin sobbed raggedly.
"Oh, thank Manwë. You stopped breathing, El. You just stopped, and fell, and I had to kill that thing before I knew what was wrong, and…I thought you were dying!" That beloved voice was filled with panic, and Elladan pushed himself up and reversed their positions, cradling his brother to him tightly, rocking back and forth.
"It's alright, glassen, it's alright." He soothed, waiting for the other's shaking to subside. And he was shaking, too, memories of Legolas thick in his skull, and that didn't help Elrohir due to their twin-bond. "I was just remembering, though I've never had it happen like that before." ((my joy))
"We have to get moving again, muindor." Elrohir said after a moment, rising to his knees and looking at his twin through locks of raven hair. Those gray eyes were full of sorrow, such sorrow, and he knew that Elrohir saw the same in his. ((/blood/ brother))
"Maer." Elladan agreed, and took the outstretched hand that Elrohir offered once he'd gotten to his own feet. ((Yes))
"Something still bothers you." His twin stated once they were both up and dusted off, though they were still sticky and flaky with drying blood. Elladan glanced briefly up at the sky before answering.
"It is the same thing that bothers you, dear elf-knight." He said, whistling for the horses. Then his eyes met his twin's, and they spoke together, for both knew what he meant.
"Unad nuithana i nîre-guren nalú aderthad vín." No truer words had ever been spoken by Elf or Man, and the stars seemed to shine brighter for just a moment, one in particular shining brighter than all. ((Nothing will stop the weeping of my heart until our reunion.))
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I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to get up, but I've been insanely busy, what with 'Unexpected' and this thing called 'a job' that I'm experimenting with. And I did warn you it might be awhile, so please forgive me and REVIEW! Pretty, pretty please? (bats eyelashes and begs)