AN: I don't know when Andúril was originally forged, though I know that in the books Aragorn had it when the fellowship began, so I am presuming Aragorn had the sword reforged when he received it, and found out about his heritage. This is probably wrong.
-
AN2: Due to a lack of enthusiasm though the reviewers, I've decided that the story's going to take a turn it wouldn't have originally. Because I'm mean like that. Thanks as always to Sesshy for beta and encouragement.
-
-
-
-
-
-
Aragorn, Heir of Isildur, daydreamed. His thoughts dallied on the window seat of his room at Rivendell, which was kept for him while he travelled long and far across the countries in the service of the Rangers of the North, once proud defenders of the land of Arnor long bereft its King. Though he had risen quickly through the ranks of the Rangers, Strider - as he had been dubbed - was still young; and as a young Ranger he was subject to the elder's rule. So Strider was only allowed five months in the ranks before he was gifted an enforced month's leave in which to return home. For most Rangers, this was a chance to return home to help with harvest or lambing season, depending on their family's trade. For Aragorn, it meant returning to the elven haven of Imladris to take lessons from the elven masters in medicine, history and law.
And here alone, though only once before had it happened, did he have a chance to see the ethereal Daughter of Imladris - Arwen Undómiel. So the Heir of Isildur dreamed of sitting upon his favourite seat in the house with the only one that he would ever wish to have for company. He let his long legs guide him along the long paths of the valley on his way North to the Old Ford. There he could cross the Anduin and then head East over the Misty Mountains once more, and into home.
Though it might have seemed rude to others to daydream whilst travelling in the company of another, a tall figure walked alongside the man, for the most part ignored. This was Mithrandir, one of the Istari—a wizard, called Gandalf by men—and he was not offended in the least with the man's preoccupation. The two had often travelled together in quiet contemplation of very different topics and this noon was nothing unusual.
Or at least it had not been, until two horses that the two wanderers knew very well bolted past them, seemingly taking the same path towards Rivendell. With a call from the wizard, the two horses slowed and pranced to a stop, turning to face him impatiently, eager to be away once more. He moved quickly to their sides, soothing them as their breathing slowed. Scrambling quickly to the top of a nearby boulder, Aragorn looked out across the valley, but saw no pursuit.
"Two more horses head back into Mirkwood on the Old Forest Road, they are also riderless, and moving in haste." He called back to the wizard.
"I see." Mithrandir mused, calming the two horses of Imladris with his hands and his voice. "Then there has been trouble in Mirkwood." The Istar absently examined the speck of blood on Carangil's nose, rubbing it between his fingers. "Aragorn, what think you to a little more adventuring before you turn for home" Aragorn longed for the chance to rest from the fraught and sparse existence that was a Ranger's life, in truth, but Ranging was in his soul. He knew the slow moving life of the elves would quickly seem tiring to him after so long in the wilds. Besides which, he knew that the twins who he considered to be brothers were mostly likely in trouble if their horses appeared without them, and in so panicked a state no less.
"Home will still be there in a few days more."
"Then you take Cúdîn back to Mirkwood where he will show you the source of their panic, and I shall ride Carangil to Imladris and bring Elrond's aid to the Elven-Kings halls where you should await us."
"Good luck, and all speed go with you, should we need Lord Elrond's aid."
"Stay safe, young Aragorn. Dark deeds are afoot this day." So saying, the grey garbed wizard leapt with flexibility belying his many years onto the back of Elladan's horse. He was far out of sight by the time Aragorn had arranged himself on Cúdîn's back and turned him back towards the darkling wood.
-
-
Cúdîn danced uncertainly as Aragorn urged him back into the shadow of the woods only a single day later. As soon as they had passed the boundary the horses' pace increased, sensing that as soon as his task was done here he would be free to leave this terrifying place once more. Soothing the horse as much as he could with experienced hands, Aragorn looked around them for some sign of the abandoned riders. He hadn't even known this path had existed; certainly it was on no map of the area that he had seen. But then little of Mirkwood had been properly charted, so perilous as it was. Only the Elven-King had full maps, and these were many hundreds of years old and probably near obsolete with the actions of the Necromancer in the South. It took only a few hours to reach the place where Carangil had left the path and here Cúdîn stopped, waiting for his rider to realise he needed to dismount.
Aragorn slid from his back obediently, and followed as he began to make his cautious way into the trees once again. Aragorn blanched as they found the carcass of Seregon, now well on its way to returning to the ground that had long nurtured its life. The stench of orc was beginning to dissipate, but Aragorn knew it and began to regret separating from the wizard. Though still young, already he had learned much of the Ranger's trade, and soon his eyes were fixed to the ground, searching for those traces that would allow him to find which direction his friends had been taken in. It was now obvious that it was more than just Elrohir and Elladan he was looking for. A second pair of hoof-prints led him to another carcass, and from there on to three more, but these said nothing of where the orcs had gone. He returned to Seregon, where there was most sign of orcs on the ground. Cúdîn still stood there, watching him uncertainly.
"You may return home now, Cúdîn. You have led me here, that is enough." The horse snorted, but made no move to go. "There will be little room for someone your size in this forest, do you intend to follow me all the way" Aragorn insisted impatiently. The horse took a few steps closer to the man and nudged him along the trail a little way. "Very well, but Elrohir will be very upset if you were to get hurt." Cúdîn whinnied shortly, now even more eager to be off. "No doubt you would hate to see him hurt too. Let us be off then."
-
-
The sight that greeted him was one Aragorn would not easily forget.
Elladan sat upon the ground, tears streaking his face and both his hands buried in a wadded cloth held to a wound much greater than its make-shift bandage in his twins back. Elrohir lay deathly still, his eyes wide open to the skies and yet absent as though in sleep. Both wore nothing but the riding leggings they favoured. Two more still forms lay not far away, both fair-haired and one wearing breeches in Mirkwood colours, though the other lay in the clothes he had been born in. He wondered - too lost in shock to think to seek answers - if either of them were Legolas. It seemed likely, since often where the twins went he was not far behind. No breath stirred either body, no movement or sigh.
The moment was strangely surreal. No noise disturbed the clearing; even Elladan's tears were silent. And none responded to his arrival. Elladan seemed too focused on the blood seeping between his fingers. He didn't even look up as Aragorn dropped to his knees beside him.
"Valar, Elladan. Is he…" There was no reply, Elladan continued staring blankly down at his hands. Gingerly Aragorn reached out and lay two fingers on Elrohir's neck. He almost whooped for joy when a flutter beneath his hand revealed his foster brother's continued existence.
"Elladan, you must move." He spoke, spurred into immediate action. "I have bandages in my pack, if we bind this wound he might have a chance." He was already moving back towards Cúdîn, who still carried his pack. He gathered the supplies and returned to the two's side, and yet still Elladan had not moved or responded. Beginning to worry, Aragorn grasped hold of his hands, hoping to pull him out of his trance. It worked, although not quite the way the ranger was hoping for. Elladan leapt to his feet, drawing his sword in one swift movement and forcing Aragorn to take several steps back to keep his head.
"You cannot take him from me." He spoke at last, the words strangely hesitant. "He is the last, the only other. I will not be parted from him." His eyes sought wildly around the clearing as though Aragorn was invisible to him.
"Elladan" Aragorn asked, shocked at the drastic reaction. "Do you not see me? Do you not recognise my voice" There came no reply, only a swift swing of Elladan's sword - wild and off-target.
Making a quick decision, Aragorn drew Andúril and hesitated for only a heartbeat before spinning the blade in his hand and offering the hilt to Elladan's hand. The elf span away, but Aragorn had predicted the swing that came next and manoeuvred out of reach. The second time Aragorn touched the hilt to the elf's hand he held it there and allowed Elladan to take the sword from him. It was a leap of faith, for if Elladan's attitude towards him did not change he was now unarmed, save for the knife in his belt.
"Estel." Elladan breathed at last, recognising the sword in his hand and offering it back. Aragorn clasped his shoulder as he took it from him, breathing a sigh of relief that he would not have to resort to his second plan and knock the elf out.
"I'm glad you know me Elladan, but I fear you neither hear me nor see me, so I pray you realise that I need an explanation, and there are no others here to give me one." He spoke, turning his attentions quickly back to Elrohir.
"Someone's bleeding Estel, you have to help them" Elladan seemed to come back to himself after his relief at the discovery of the stranger's identity, seeking about himself once more for Aragorn who had already moved away and was knelt at Elrohir's side.
He stared in shock for a moment at Elrohir's wound as it was revealed to him. Though he had assumed they had simply been attacked, Elrohir's skin showed signs of torture - heavy lash marks across his shoulders and back, the mottled scars of a branding. Whatever had befallen the twins and their company, it had been no momentary meeting. It had been capture and torment.
He turned his attentions to the wound as his hands began cleansing it automatically. Blood flowed from it sluggishly, though it was big enough to encompass his whole fist. He needed to work fast. Swiping the drying blood away, Aragorn sought the source of the bleeding. Finding the severed vein expertly he quickly tied it off, hoping he would get to help before the restricted blood flow began to cause damage in itself. Rinsing out the blood once more with water from his canteen to make sure there was no other prolific source of bleeding, Aragorn flinched as he realised white bone was exposed within the gash. Whatever had cut into him had cut deep enough to reach his spine. He had never heard of a paralysed elf, yet he had no idea if any serious wound to the elf's spine could be healed.
Offering a prayer to the Valar and knowing there was nothing more he could do, he put a couple of quick stitches into the edges of the wound to encourage it to close and began bandaging, returning his attention to Elladan as the other elf began explaining.
"I pray that it is Elrohir for if it is not he is lost in this forsaken forest with one of the others. We began in a long chain together, but fate seemed determined to separate us. Either that or… or the others are dead. The one who was leading us fell… to poison I think. He dropped this elf, his burden - I think it was this that reopened the wound, for I am sure he would not have risked carrying an elf with such a wound without binding it. The one I was carrying seemed already dead, and so I left him to tend to this one. I could not stop the bleeding and…" A hand caught his and pulled him back towards where the other lay. A soft tug brought him down to his knees and placed his hand in soft hair, trailing it from the crown of Elrohir's head to the back of his neck where an elaborate set of knots caught it back away from his face. These were not the warrior braids of Mirkwood. Elladan sighed in relief, finding Elrohir's hand and bringing it to his lips.
The wound properly bound and the bleeding slowed, Aragorn turned his attentions to the Mirkwood warriors behind them. They would have to be buried out here, for he would not be able to carry them both as far as the Elven-King's domain, and Cúdîn would be needed to carry Elrohir. He stood, leaving the twins together for a moment, and made his way over.
He had drawn up alongside the first elf - a bluish tinge marring his features where the last breath had left his body - when he caught a glimpse of the face of the second. He dropped to his knees with a cry of grief.
Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, lay motionless on the ground where Elladan had left him.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
So there. Review. Or else.
