Disclaimer: Tolkien owns it all.
A/N: There is something linking to Twilight of Stars in this chapter. Remember what I said in the A/N?
Escape Into Fate.
The metal plates rubbed over his body. His skin was sticky with sweat and his heart was racing so hard it was actually painful.
Tomorrow. Language barriers there were, but he still had been told. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he would be sent out in a mad fight for his life.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
Galadriel sighed. Over at last.
Today had been far too long- an unusual feeling, in an immortal. But then, who had ever heard of an Elf being a slave?
"Nivida," she murmured, looking up at the sky.
Alarm overcame her suddenly, sweeping throughout her soul and leaving her dizzy with fear. There was no visible reason, it just came.
"Celeborn!" she cried, turning towards the apparent origin of the feeling. It must have come from her husband, it had to, there was no reason for her to have such an emotion...
Probing at his thoughts, she found-
No! They must not fight, they cannot! Ai, ai, why can we not be left in peace? Elrond, Elrohir, why? Why must they be sent out, into this INSANITY?!
Artanis withdrew in shock. Her son-in-law and grandson, being sent into the arena? Why? She could think of no reason why...
Wait, yes, she could. Amusement. They set human on human for their disgusting entertainment, why not Elf on human? Although, to them, The Eldar were just another group of humans, so why should they care? Even if they knew they were Firstborn, they would not treat them with respect. Far from it, they would be put on show.
Galadriel dropped her bucket and ran.
Need gave her wings. With a single tremendous bound, she leaped to the top of the wall, and then off it, speeding away down the lane, heading for the amphitheatre.
People tried to stop her, but she dodged them, flying on to Rome, heedless of the shouts and cries behind her.
Her bare feet hammered at the dusty road. Dusk was falling, and as Galadriel came onto a clear stretch of the path, she began to glow, faintly.
There was no-one else in sight. The Lady was alone, choosing her own path, going to meet and comfort those she might never see again.
Olive trees had decorated one side of the road for a time, but now she was clear of them, and the sun was setting, and a glowing figure in white crested the hilltop and pounded down the winding road to the city.
She dodged the officials. Feinting to the right, she switched suddenly to the left, then cleared the first man's shoulder with a jump, kicked herself over the gate, and landed in Rome.
She vaguely remembered the direction they had gone in the first time, but that had been through a different entrance, so now she merely followed the line of emotion.
Or rather, she went for the origin of the alarm.
Turning silently through the streets, she grabbed at the occasional mind for directions to her destination. There wasn't any trouble in getting them to think about the place. Everyone was eager to see the 'show' the next day. Far too eager. The Lady frowned. There was something wrong with a race this bloodthirsty.
Very wrong.
At last, she reached it.
The amphitheatre towered over her. It loomed against the last dying rays of the sun. It was a squat giant, glaring at her, hating her.
Well, she hated it.
Soft as a feather, she ran toward a barred door in the side of the wall. Looking for a tunnel. Not just any tunnel, but a specific tunnel.
There.
Galadriel gently slid through it and slipped into the murky passage below.
The floor was damp, and the walls were decorated with wooden doors, yet the Lady knew instinctively that nobody lay behind them. She was standing beside storerooms; the cells were further down the corridor.
So she went further down the corridor.
Rats. They skittered on the corners, feeding on old food and the cockroaches that frequented the place. This entire underground system was infested. It was a disgusting area to put any sentinant being in.
Artanis shuddered.
Eventually, she came to a branch in the passage. Taking the left, she walked on.
And then she found Celeborn.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
The Elf-Lord sat in the corner of the tiny chamber. He was somewhat in shock. And why should he not be? Two Elves dear to him could well be dead by sundown the next day. Quite likely he was never going to see them again. He would eat after they did- for those that were due to battle ate earlier than normal. He would be kept inside while they fought. They were both excellent fighters, but if, by some horrible, horrible mishap, one or both of them died, he did not know if he could take it.
And then she came.
Galadriel knelt by the bars of his cell. She was clad all in white, and, although she was filthy, she somehow exuded an aura of hope and love and serenity to all around her. Her face creased in sorrow, she reached out to him, and Celeborn leaned over, half walking, half crawling to the door.
When he touched her, he knew she was real.
And then he was crying, gripping her wrists, his tears falling unchecked to the rough stone floor, while his wife cried with him.
"Meleth-nin," he whispered, somehow reaching through the bars to embrace her. She pulled him closer, and then they held each other tightly, heedless of the metal bars between them.
"Meleth-nin," she gasped, sobbing quietly, "Meleth-nin, I wish...I wish it were not...oh, love, how can they? How can they?!"
"I know not, my love, but I would not sit idle and not speak to them, yet I cannot! I shall not see them until the fight is over- and maybe then only their dead bodies! Oh, Galadriel..."
"Hush," she murmured against his hair. "Hush, love, I shall...what would you say to them?"
"I would tell them that I love them- I would tell Elrohir to be strong...I would tell Elrond that Luthien and Beren themselves would be proud of what he has done...I would tell them- I am not sure- I would- tell them to be careful. Please, Artanis..."
"Anything, meleth-nin, anything! Shh, now, they will know."
Gently removing herself from his arms, she straightened up, raising a hand slightly, and vanished down the tunnel.
He watched her go with a small smile.
He had seen his wife.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
Galadriel walked lightly down the passage.
She was listening.
Most of the cells contained humans, who did not hear her. Even the sleeping Elves did not hear her footfall.
Eventually, she found Elrond's cell.
The Peredhil was slumped on the ground, his face pale. He looked as though he had been praying to the Valar when he had fallen asleep. His dark hair was spread over the floor.
She regarded him for a small time, and then gently tapped the wall.
"Lord Elrond! Brother of Elros, awaken!"
The half-Elf stirred, and then glanced up, clearly wondering who would wake him in this Valar-forsaken hour, especially since they knew his true name- and his brother's. Then his eyes lit on her, and he froze.
"Lady Galadriel," he said softly, inclining his head.
"Son of Elwing," she responded, bowing hers.
"What brings you to this place at this time of the night?"
"The knowledge that you and my grandson may soon depart this world." She looked at him shrewdly. "Never underestimate the bond between husband and wife. Celeborn knew, and accidentally told me. I have lost none of my feelings for him, and can still feel his mind." She knelt to his level. "He bids you know that he cares for you, and that Luthien and Beren themselves would be proud."
Elrond was silent for a while, then- "I thank you for bringing me this news, mother of Celebrian. Are you going to my son?"
"I am."
"Please," he almost choked, "tell him I love him, and Celebrian loves him...and that- that- that he is to be careful. Lady, please..."
"I shall tell him." She stood, looking sad. "Fight well, son of Earendil. May the Valar grant you victory. Namarie."
She was gone before he could reply.
She found Elladan's chamber before she found his brother's. The Elf was lying propped against the wall. He was awake, but unresponsive. The Lady passed him by, and went to his twin.
"Elrondion!"
Elrohir snapped out of sleep as if he had been slapped. His head jerked up, and he looked around wildly, seemingly searching for someone. When he saw her, however, he frowned.
"Grandmother. What are you doing here?"
"Is that any way to greet your mother's mother?"
"Oh, er, I am sorry, Lady, it's just that-."
"I know. Quiet, Elrohir- I did not come all this way to be caught by the guard at the end of this passage! Why do you start at the name of Elrondion?"
She could sense it in his mind- hope and longing, longing for something he had seen once and desired to see again...
...the light of the Two Trees.
"I...Grandmother, they..."
Artanis held up a hand. "Your father and mother love you, Elrohir, as do your grandfather and I. Be strong, little star lord, be careful. Fight well."
She did not have much time.
"Namarie."
She turned and fled.
The stone cut at her bare feet. She was running toward the light at the end of the tunnel. She had to get there before the next guard arrived. It was split-second timing- she needed to leave the passage just after the first man had left, and as the second was rounding the corner. It was the slimmest of gaps, and she needed to meet it dead on. If she didn't, she'd be caught.
She nearly didn't make it.
The second man was just around the corner when she flew out. He rubbed his eyes, not sure what he had seen, and when he looked again she was gone.
Galadriel ran as if Morgoth was after her. She bounded over handcarts and frightened horses. She hurtled up a half- built shop and raced along the roofs. She caused chaos in the streets and panic in the market. She knocked down stalls and tripped up bystanders.
She darted through Rome's now-open gates and pounded up the hill. She was racing the sundial now, trying to get back to the farm before anyone noticed her absence.
Too late.
Her 'master' caught her, as, exhausted, she trailed through the arch in the wall that served as an entrance.
The Lady was soon wishing she'd gone faster.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
"Elwing the Protector,
And Earendil the Mariner,"
Elrond was singing softly, trying to keep his spirit up.
"Star Spray and Star Dome,
The children they bore.
Mortal and immortal,
Defender of the Simaril,"
The sun hammered down on the stone colossus that was the place where he would fight for his life.
"Sailor of the Morning Star,
A loving family.
Undomiel the Evenstar,
Estel the King of Gondor,
Mortal life from immortal,
The fate Arwen chose."
Was it his fate to die out there, or to live?
"Daughter of Celebrian,
Child of Vilya's bearer,"
Only he did not bear Vilya any more, she had been taken from him.
"Bound herself to Hope of Men,
And passed from Elven mind."
But she hadn't. They still remembered her, mourned her. Better to say mortal mind then Elven, because these humans had clearly forgotten her.
The gate swung open.
Elrond was thrust out.
And bit back a cry of horror.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
Elrohir gazed at his father in despair. What now? Was he expected to attack his Ada? Because he couldn't do that, no he could not...
It was the cruellest thing the Romans had done so far.
Elrond walked towards him.
Elrohir strode toward his father.
The two stopped in the centre of the arena, facing one another. Grey eyes met, and both knew that to do what was wanted of them would be to betray every scrap of sanity and virtue that they still possessed.
The older Elf's eyes slid sideways, resting on the men around the edge of the ring.
The guards were carrying Elven weapons.
The two moved too quickly for an arrow to hit or blow to land. They twisted at the wall, and dodged behind the one bearing Elrond's sword.
A chipped, but undeniably sharp blade was held to his throat.
"Give it back," the Elf-Lord hissed in the man's ear. "Now."
With trembling fingers, the guard undid the sword-belt and held it behind his back.
"Thank you." Elrond buckled it about his waist, then took the blade he had been issued, jabbed the tip into a crack in the stonework, and snapped it.
"Bad metalwork," Elrohir commented.
Turning so that he was still shielded by the human's body, yet facing into the arena, he indicated the one carrying his sword. He held out his hand.
The man carrying it crossed the sandy floor and placed it in his palm before backing off hurriedly.
Elrohir treated the gladiator blade the same way his father had.
Elrond looked out at the spectators and guards.
"Homo venit?" he called out, "homo mortuus." (Translation: Man come? Man dead. Literally, if anyone follows, I'll kill them. Excuse my mangled Latin grammar, I've only taken it for two years, and one of my teachers was more concerned with myths.)
Then, like a cat, he released his captive and had cleared the wall before any could stop him, his son following after.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
In the camp, Tindome leapt to her feet.
"Run, Ada!" she shouted, dashing out of the lean-to before Legolas' startled eyes. "Run, Ada, run! Hurry! We're here! WE'RE HERE!"
Part laughing, part crying, she splashed across the stream and ran halfway up the hill before she collapsed, gasping, and sobbing with joy and pain and relief.
"Valar guide you!" she cried, and then simply lay on the hillside, black hair strewn out over the ground, panting slightly, and gazing up at the blue sky.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
Thranduil started.
For a moment, Iluvatar's song had seemed to swell, filling him with triumph and exultation. Something had happened, something good, he was sure of it. He didn't care what it was, all that mattered was that it had happened.
And whatever it was, he looked forward to seeing its results.
"By Elbereth and Manwe," he said softly, hoping that, if the disturbance was caused by a sentinant being, his prayer would somehow get through, "let your path be clear, and your will be strong!"
He turned and strode toward the settlement.
Everywhere was evidence of the change in the song. Vanya and Teleri were talking amongst themselves excitedly, Noldor were staring around in confusion, the Sindar were dashing about picking things up and making strange patterns, and the Silvian folk had burst into song. The Nandar were simply sitting there, smiling at nothing in particular.
Thranduil felt tears fill his own eyes at the sight.
All of a sudden, his son and daughter came pelting out of the shelter that they were living in.
"Elrond's escaped!"
"Elrohir is free!"
"What? How do you know this?"
Haruial had succumbed to giggles, so the king of Mirkwood turned to his son.
Legolas was grinning broadly.
"It makes sense, does it not? Iluvatar hates for his children to be imprisoned. Surely he would be jubilant if two of them were to escape! Besides..." He looked up at his father solemnly. "A few minutes ago, Tindome left the shelter, extremely excited. We heard her shouting to...her father." He took a deep breath. "She was telling him to run. But she was laughing as she did so. Father, she might be young, but I think- Ninquedil tells me she can often know if we, her grandparents, or her great-grandparents are visiting- before she's been told."
Thranduil was slightly sceptical of this.
"Legolas, Ninquedil is often sarcastic. She might not have meant what she said."
"I know that. Adar, she was not being sarcastic, I am certain. Besides, it was after one of those times when her brother got her highly drunk and she took out her anger at having a hangover on me. She's never sarcastic then- I think it's because she doesn't have any more energy for sarcasm."
Thranduil considered that. It did make sense...but...
"You say she was calling to her father. What of Lord Elrond?"
"Gandalf was on the hill she stopped on. She wasn't sure what she'd seen, but he worked it out. Very fast. Then he came running into the cawning looking for you. He said it was important, told us what had happened, then went to find you."
"Indeed I did, young Sinda," said an amused voice behind the Elf. "And now it appears that I have. King Thranduil, if you and your son wish to depart now, then the Maiar and your wife have no objection to holding the camp together until your return."
The Elven-King was not too surprised.
"Very well, Olorin, we shall leave as soon as possible. Time is crucial, and I do not wish to linger when we may find two of our companions. Know you where they are?"
Mithrandir shook his head sadly.
"Nay, I do not. But I do know that you will find them near a city, travelling south. More than that- no."
"It is a start, at any rate. We shall be gone within the day. Until we meet again...hopefully with two Noldor!"
"Until we meet again. King Thranduil- if you do not find them within the month, then turn back! For they know which road we took, and if you do not meet them, then they have been retaken- or killed."
The king gave a short laugh.
"I shall heed your advice."
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Elrond's feet beat at the dry, hard earth.
Get away from the city.
They must be several miles out already, yet still they ran. Adrenaline was surging through their bodies, pushing them to an almost unbelievable speed, considering that they had already come fifteen miles. They were still going strong.
They had to move, that was all he knew. They had to leave this terrible place of death and hate, had to get away while it's possible...
They could stand no more of those people.
" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
A/N: Yes, chapter over. Yes, I updated abnormally fast. I know. Sooooo...two of our Eldar have escaped, Galadriel decided to go meet her husband, and Thranduil's set off! Here's to hoping he finds our half-Elves before the Romans do...although I'm not making any promises. PLEASE review, it takes less than a minute.