Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY!!!!!! hugs

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

Surprise! You have no idea the trouble I went through to get this to you!

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Part Thirteen A Reason to Go On

Farlest had about a thousand different terms in mind for what had gone on that afternoon. Most of them do not bear repeating in decent company. But most of all he was rather disappointed in himself, for, even weary as he had been, and worn down by nearly an hour of fighting the minions that had allied themselves with his brother, he should have been prepared, he should have…

Well, it was not use arguing with himself now. He had to go after his brother and most especially, the two he held prisoner. If nothing else he had to get the ranger free. He didn't even want to think what the Valar would have to say to him if he didn't do this right. The punishment might not only fall on him, but on 'Ros as well. And he valued his friend above all other things. Well, there had been another, but he had failed miserably where she was concerned, and he was determined that no such dark fate would befall 'Ros. Not beautiful, free-spirited 'Ros, the son of the very embodiment of Elven stubbornness himself. Not to mention Farlest's best friend and confidante. The two had found that though they were entirely different, they worked well as a team, and even better as friends. The red-haired elf's brother, whom they called 'Lor, was also a part of their close-knit group.

'Ros had other siblings, but though there was love and a fierce, clannish loyalty, they did not agree with one another, which caused no end of difficulty. So, unless called to battle, they lived their lives apart; content to be so. But the family was definitely a bit 'twisted', their morals skewed and their priorities severely damaged. They were not evil, but 'Ros and 'Lor had been the best of them. Recognizing the sad state that they found themselves in, but being fairly helpless to change any of it. Farlest had been running from his father and other enemies and had but barely managed to escape being slain by Morgoth's minions when 'Ros had found him. The younger elf had been awed by the red-haired Noldo, who was something of a legend. When Farlest had asked him about some of the tales told of his deeds, he had laughed, a sound which had been mirthless and bitter, and admitted that it had been nothing but horrors, and that no one should have to live through that which he had suffered. No one but he. For in some way, the proud elf had come to the conclusion that he had deserved his fate. He was cursed.

But not for one minute had Farlest believed that his friend was anything but good. Rash, and occasionally misguided perhaps, but never evil. He was one of those of whom ballads and lays were composed that lasted for ages, and whom orcs spoke his name with fear. And when he and 'Lor had departed for what would be their final mission, Farlest had begged to go, but 'Ros had forbid it. "You do not wish to sully your name with such as we must do." Saying this, he had gone, and Farlest had never seen him again. That is, until now. He had been miraculously returned to him. He was in a wolf's body, true, but that same unquenchable spirit burned bright in the blue eyes that were eerily elven. The raven-haired Noldo thanked the Valar for his return, he had been so alone since then. No, there had been one time…one time in which he had felt safe and loved, not like a hunted animal or a wanted criminal, but as a true son.

Alas, it was not meant to be, his past had caught up with him. He was who he was, with secrets so dark hidden in his soul and mind that should any of his kind know them, they would surely shun him, cast him out…perhaps exterminate him simply to cleanse the world of the threat that was Farlest. His instincts had been so ingrained into him, that he had nearly killed one who was dearer to his foster-father than a brother. The only people Farlest had ever loved…he had betrayed them all. He had nearly killed Glorfindel's dearest friend, he had cursed the love of his life to a horrible fate, and he had not been there to save 'Ros. And now, he had let the Heir of Isildur fall into the hands of his brother. In short, he was a failure.

He sat cross-legged on the edge of the forest; looking at the hills beyond. The weight of years of guilt weighed heavily on him. He briefly entertained the thought of ending it all. The idea of throwing himself on his sword did not seem so bad at this moment. Especially as how his shoulder throbbed painfully, he forced himself not to look at it, as he knew that it would only cause him to hurt worse. He wasn't interested in his own welfare. He truly didn't care.

Then, as if he had simply appeared out of the air, 'Ros was by his side, the wolf's stare accusing. The elf dropped his gaze; he couldn't take it from his friend. His guilt was almost too great to be borne. He fingered his dagger nervously, playing with the gold and silver designs on the hilt. "I'm sorry, mellon-nin. I could not save them."

You save yourself too well from the looks of things, either. the wolf's sending sounded incredibly sardonic in the elf's head.

"I tried. I think he must had used a spell to enhance his speed." Farqwen was devious, and the more skilled of the two brothers in the use of the dark arts which their father had learned and devised, with practices long forbidden. Farlest had forsaken those which used anything other than his own innately elven powers, as the others were of a sinister and hideous nature.

I know you tried, Farlest. But it was not hard enough to prevent their capture and injury to yourself. there was no emotion in 'Ros sending. Farlest wanted to weep. His only friend now saw him as a failure. He wondered if 'Ros would mind should he drive the dagger into the heart that Farlest's own brother had so narrowly missed.

He was so lost in his own thoughts, that he barely registered the fact that he had raised the dagger to his chest, its point resting lightly against his tunic. Why not? He wondered, 'Ros hated him, Glorfindel hated him, Silmarwen hated him, and he was a failure. His fingers tightened on the hilt.

There came a low growl from beside him, What are you doing, you fool! Put that knife away!

Farlest came back to reality with a jolt, the knife dropping from nerveless fingers. Turning to the wolf, he wrapped his arms around the animal's neck, and burying his face in the soft fur, he wept, while 'Ros made a low, soothing rumble in his throat. It's not all that bad, penneth. the wolf sent softly. I'm still here. I have not long enough in this body as it is, for the Valar have deigned it so, but the little time they have given me…there is much to be accomplished in it. And I cannot do it alone. Do not waste your life. You are as dear to me as a brother. Dearer perhaps in some cases he chuckled, You have always thought too little of yourself.

A derisive snort was the only answer he received.

Farlest, thou knowest I love thee as a brother. The wolf slipped into old speech as he let vent to his feelings, Dost thou think so little of me that thou wouldst throw away thy life on such folly? There is still much for us left to do, thee and I, and whilst there is purpose, there is hope, and while there is hope, there is life. Life. It is a gift to us, Farlest. And we alone of all peoples in this Middle-Earth, have a chance to live it too its utmost. Thou need to understand this. We canst not simply throw away our lives only because we no longer wish to endure here any longer. Now, see to thy wound. I wouldst have us leave before the sun has sunk beyond the horizon. he got up and trotted forward a few paces toward the outskirts of the forest, turning back for a moment, he told Farlest, And hurry about it will you? his speech became contemporary again as he went on his way.

The raven-haired elf ran a hand through his hair, "All right, Farlest old boy, you have a friend to be loyal too, a cause to fight for, a ranger to save and a shoulder to fix. Let's get at it."

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They marched. And marched…and marched a little bit more. Aragorn could have sworn he had the most comfortable boots in Arda a few hours before, but was now lamenting that he had feet at all. The orcs and foul-looking men did not venture near him, as Farqwen stayed close and the ranger had evidently been declared 'off limits'. But Legolas was a different matter entirely. The orcs were free with their fists, and the men with their whips for what appeared to Strider to be imagined faults. The elf's eyes smoldered. He was trying to remain calm and in control it was clear, but the ranger could see that he was on the verge of lashing out violently, and since his treatment was already rough, at best, Aragorn did not wish to know what might befall his friend should he try anything so foolish.

The dark elf was quiet, dangerous. He made Aragorn feel decidedly uncomfortable. He was much like Farlest, but unlike his brother, Farqwen seemed to have a much darker aura, but he was without the experience and sorrow that the ranger had seen in Farlest's eyes. And that, he thought, was all the difference. He knew that this was the younger of the two brothers, and though that was something to go on, the man knew nothing of the age difference. He wished now he had had more of a chance to question Farlest about his past. Perhaps there might have been something there that would be of use now.

There was no time to lament what has not however, for his weary legs failed him, and he stumbled. With his arms bound behind his back there was no way to catch himself, and he fell onto the ground, which was increasingly becoming more rocky as the circumvented Dale and went towards the hill beyond. His head struck a rock and pain sliced through his temple. He tried desperately to stave off the pain and remain conscious, attempting to get to his feet, but found that, although he greatly wished too, his body belied his valiant efforts and he remained on his knees.

He felt a boot nudge his leg, "Get up, Dunedain." He recognized Farqwen's voice, but as much as he wanted to comply, his legs simple would not support him. The boot came again, harder this time, "I said UP!" The ranger shook his head numbly, he simply could not.

When Farqwen lost his temper and kicked the man in the ribs, knocking him back to the ground, it was the last straw for Legolas. He suddenly leapt forward, barreling his guards over and coming to stand before Aragorn protectively. "Don't touch him! Can't you see he cannot obey you? Leave him be!" the elf prince gave a challenging glare to the midnight-clad elf before him.

The dark elf's eyes burned, "You push things too far, little elf." He said softly, his voice hard as steel. Pushing Legolas towards where a hill above them dropped off, creating a cliff, he drew his dagger. "It's the last mistake you're ever going to make."

Two men moved forward, grabbing the prince's arms and shoving him roughly against the side of the cliff. Farqwen approached him slowly, the anger in his deep green orbs the only sign that belied the calm and composed exterior, the cool elven mask which he had nearly perfected. He was furious, and the insignificant Wood-Elf was going to pay dearly.

To be continued…

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