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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In a Heart Beat

Erestor shook his head in sorrow and regret as he walked among the Elves and Elf-maidens in the crowded corridors of the Last Homely House. A good deal of homes had been simply wiped out by the sweeping torrent of mud and fallen timber. It was a miracle that there was not more damage and that the landslide had stopped when it had. If it hadn't he could almost bet that he would be dead and all of Rivendell demolished.

Puling out a piece of parchment and a quill he took down the name of an Elf that had lost his home and everything in it. "I will get back with you as soon as I can," Erestor promised. "But I am more than occupied at the moment." He rubbed the quill's tip nervously with his thumb, a bad habit he had thought he had broken himself of years ago.

The Elf gave a dry cough and then said dismally, "if you want to get back with me then you must seek me at the Havens for thither I am going." Then the immortal sighed heavily and said, "I can't stay here any longer. I can't see anything left." Erestor nodded and winced as the quill's sharp tip pricked his finger and he felt hot blood leak out.

"I understand. But here is still hope we can rebuild. What is Rivendell without the Elves?" he asked as he applied pressure to his stabbed finger by pressing it against his palm in an attempt to stop the meager trickling of his blood. It was stinging just as his heart was at the moment. "I need all the help I can get."

"My apologies Lord Erestor, but you shall have to find it elsewhere," declared the Elf. "I am going home." He his fingers through his silvery hair in bewilderment and emotional pain. His sea-grey eyes had a sick look in them and his face took on a green shade, Erestor noted with a churning feeling of worry and grief in the pit of his own stomach.

"But Rivendell is your home!" protested the counselor adamantly. "It will all be well. Have patience until Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel return. They shall set things right but until then we must make due. That is how civilizations survive."

"Lord Erestor then maybe Rivendell wasn't meant to last," the immortal continued to argue bitterly. He looked at his feet, layered with mud, caked on them, making his feet seem oddly clunky and awkward.

"Isil-" Erestor began before he was rudely cut off by the silver-haired Elf.

"My lord, I am finished here," Isil stated flatly. "I am leaving as soon as I am able." He gave a curt bow. "I am sorry Lord Erestor."

Erestor shook his head mournfully and then said to Isil, "It is well. I understand. But may I inquire something of you?" he asked quietly as he looked down at his pricked finger with disdain.

Isil looked at his lord curiously. "Indeed, but I may or may not be able to answer it." He crinkled his forehead, wondering if Erestor had finally gone completely off the deep end. He frowned and watched as Erestor blinked and then drew a long and heavy breath.

"How many others are of the same mind as yourself?" Erestor's voice was quiet and his eyes looked deep and crestfallen. He had let Lord Elrond down. Glorfindel would have never let this happen!

Isil looked uncomfortable. "Nearly all, my lord. They wish to depart." He was frightened as to what his lord's reaction would be. He didn't want to hurt Erestor any more than the counselor was already hurting and certainly didn't want to only enhance the problems Imladris was having.

Erestor nodded slowly and he rocked back on his heels. "Oh," was all he said and it was so low hardly any could catch it. His steel-grey eyes closed as he fought the urge to weep for his homeland that was crumbling away. Logically he knew it wasn't his fault, not hardly. For who can stop a landslide or create it other than the Valar themselves? But his heart and emotion said he could have stopped it if he had tried hard enough. Opening his eyes slowly, the counselor said thickly, "thank you. That is all."

It seemed to Erestor as he walked further through the over crowded corridors it seemed to him that the Elves were all feeling sick. They had come here for refuge and security and now in one fateful day it was taken away. The candles in the walls were meant to make the night less dark but the dark-haired counselor didn't think they made any difference.

As he walked along, taking down names he stopped where he saw an Elf on a stretcher. His leg was bloodied and his face was white. Helinyetillë was pressing a tea soaked cloth to the wound meant to have some convalescent effect and Erestor clenched his hand around his quill in stinging sympathy as he heard the other Elf hiss in pain. His face seemed to go a shade whiter and his golden hair looked nearly as dark as Erestor's own against his translucent face. The healer-maiden looked up at Erestor and her face was grave. "He was unable to escape a stone in time, it sliced clean through his legging and tore a gash in his leg. It might have done more damage, I cannot say, I have not yet checked. I need stitches, but I dare not leave him alone for fear he will bleed out."

Erestor felt his stomach turn but he said reluctantly, "I shall hold the cloth until you return with stitches." He carefully placed his paper and quill on the ground then pulled his sleeves up to get them clear of any blood that may get onto them.

"Are you sure you can handle this?" she asked calculatingly. "Are you capable of seeing so much blood and not…not… passing out?" She continued to hold her hand over the bandage, compressing the leg wound.

Erestor smiled thinly, "I have been around wounds before, my good lady. I can see to him until you return." He watched as she removed her hand from the bandage and then he quickly placed his hand on the cloth. But he noticed that it trembled.

"Thank you so much, Lord Erestor," she thanked him with full gratitude. Standing up gracefully, she brushed her skirt off where her knees had been pressed against the earth as she knelt by the injured. Then, straightening her clothes, she gave him a friendly and relieved smile as she began to walk quickly away.

As soon as she left, Erestor heard the injured moan and he looked at the bleeding Elf with pity. Blood came on the Elf's lips and bubbled there. Erestor felt the colors drain from his own face as he watched the other's breathing become more labored. This Elf had separate injuries that were apparently more urgent than his leg wound. Taking his free hand, Erestor quickly undid the buttons on the Elf's sage tunic and saw that his chest was marred and bruised from where a stone must have come in contact with it.

"Lord E-E-Erestor…" he wheezed round his pain and arduous breathing.

Erestor grabbed the other's hand and said, "I am here. I am listening." The dark-haired counselor carefully held the Elf's hand close. He could tell that this Elf was drawing his dying breaths.

"D-D-Don't let…R-R-Rivendell f-f-f-f-a…fade."

"I am afraid that is not my choice, but I shall do what I can. Now relax," he soothed the dying immortal that was soon to meet Mandos. Yes, he would do what he could, but he was unable to do all that much. The only thing he could do was try and hold all the Elves together. And that was going to be task enough.

Suddenly the adviser heard the wounded being cough and gag on his own blood. Erestor released the leg wound and carefully slipped his arms beneath the other's head and upper body, hoping to ease his breathing. But the hurt Elf only wheezed more and he noticed that everything was growing dark.

The immortal struggled to speak but Erestor shook his head. "Save your strength. You don't have much," he commanded. The dying Elf began to grow cold and his eyes had trouble focusing on the face of the adviser of the Lord of Rivendell. Erestor shook him extremely gently, hoping to keep his eyes focused to try and prevent him from slipping away. "Pen-neth, stay calm."

Even though Erestor wasn't the one dying he felt a strong sense of detachment and sickness as he felt his charge sliding further into the realm of death. The wounded Elf trembled in his arms as he felt his blood growing chill with doom. He knew he was doomed and being immortal he had no experience with death. His eyes searched Erestor's with a look of pure terror and he trembled now from fear as much as cold.

For some reason Erestor felt a sense of calm melt over him as he held the fading being. Erestor watched as the other's face went even whiter and his eyes glazed over as death's tendril reached out to claim him and steal him away. Erestor watched as his mouth opened to speak and then suddenly he went completely still.

He was dead. An immortal had died. Erestor shivered as he felt the dead Elf's fëa exit the body and go to stay with Mandos for a time. Thoughtfully the counselor set the body down and closed the Elf's blind eyes then taking a cloth; he shrouded the lifeless face. Without trembling, Erestor picked up his paper and quill before standing up. "I am sorry, young one."

The snow began to fall again outdoors.

O0O0O0O

Legolas stopped as he felt strangely dizzy and he felt his eyes close of their own accord. He felt so weary that if he didn't have purpose or any vague reason to continue he might have fallen asleep where he stood and cared less whether he ever woke again. Blinking stupidly he pushed back a yawn and asked Aragorn in a whisper, "how are you holding up?"

"I could be better," grumbled the ranger as he caught up with the Elf and nearly stumbled in his weariness. Legolas could hear his heavy breathing. He wouldn't be at all surprised if the Elf had fallen asleep on his feet and was having delightful dreams about feasting and getting drunk. Aragorn was always told getting intoxicated was not good for you and then his brothers went ahead and got drunker than hobbits and Legolas usually followed. If it were a really 'lucky' night Glorfindel would get thoroughly drunk as well and start doing his own renditions of Lord Erestor. "Are you still awake?" Aragorn dared to venture.

He felt a light, quick and harmless smack on the back of his head and an insulted voice asked irritably, "does that answer your question, human?"

"In no uncertain terms." As Aragorn stood contemplating how Legolas had known where his head was in the dark he began to wonder if the Elf had slightly better vision than he was letting on. Still feeling curious he asked incredulously, "how did you know where my head was?"

Legolas grinned in the dark. "It must be my infinite wisdom." Smiling at his own jest, the Elf began to walk some more through the tunnel, which thus far had not presented any real trouble. Legolas knew the water was cold, he just couldn't feel how cold exactly. His legs had gone completely numb from it some hours ago. If hunks of ice in his boots did not surround his toes he would be pleasantly surprised.

"Did I just hear you correctly?" asked the ranger with a raised brow. "'Infinite wisdom'?"

"I didn't expect you to know what I was talking about, filthy human," Legolas continued with his merciless teasing. His smile broadened and a twinkle came into his eyes, though it was wasted on the heavy darkness that hung about them. His feet made quiet splashes as they entered and exited the water in the process of his slow walking. He stiffened as he heard the more noisy splashes coming from Aragorn's feet tramping through the small underground stream. Why he had to make so much racket the Elf would never understand.

"Very funny, you prissy Elf," retorted Aragorn. "If 'infinite wisdom' is anything akin to sanity you are lacking it miserably." He stopped as he heard his friend's footsteps come an abrupt halt. "Do you hear something?" The man asked with anxiety beginning to rise into his voice, wondering what to expect.

"Other than a loud-mouth ranger who won't shut up? No," replied the prince as he took another cautious step forward. He shivered as he felt like thousands of eyes were on him, watching his every move with a hidden malice. It could be little spiders….

"You think you are so smart, don't you?" Aragorn inquired as he trailed once more after his friend and nearly tripped flat on his face in exhaustion. "All you are is an obstinate idiot. Nothing more, nothing less." Aragorn suddenly felt his knees began to bend of their own will, as his body demanded a brief rest and reprieve.

Bats, Legolas decided darkly as he continued to feel the presence of some other creatures. This just figured…

Aragorn fell forward, his hand grabbing Legolas' arm. The prince jumped in surprise and gave a startled yelp before catching the man as he fell. He immediately was full of grave concern that he had pushed Aragorn much too hard after their escape from Dorrag's inhumane accommodations. "Estel, I am so sorry. I didn't think…"

Legolas slapped himself inwardly for being such an arrogant fool. He had taken Aragorn's unnatural strength for granted far too often but this time he really blew it. He could feel Aragorn's heart against his hand beating quickly and erratically as it struggled to pump blood through his weary system. Aragorn put his head against Legolas' chest for comfort as he rested, sagging against the prince. "You didn't mean to, stupid." Then he said reassuringly, "it's alight. I simply need rest, as do you."

Legolas shook his head and said, "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard when you are so weak." He couldn't believe he had actually done this to the person he cared for most. Aragorn was all he had left at the moment.

Aragorn laughed slightly and said, "no. I know you hate this darkness. It has been two days. You need to see some light, my friend." He felt Legolas shiver and pulled away, standing on his own wobbling legs. "Let's get a little further and then we can rest."

"And you called me the 'obstinate idiot'," Legolas felt a chuckle in his throat but it didn't reach past his lips and so his comment lost its spark and the darkness seemed to creep in closer. Aragorn laughed quietly and he pushed Legolas forward gently so he wouldn't upset any new injuries.

Legolas glared but walked forward a few paces. He suddenly stopped and asked the question that had been bothering him most. "Do you not feel as though there are millions of eyes on you?"

Aragorn snorted. "I feel like I do when I travel through the darker portions of Mirkwood."

"Strange, is it not?" the Elf stated calmly as he spun around in the dark. "I think they are bats. I never heard of giant spiders living in these parts." He felt a sudden spark of anger stab him and he growled, "Darcíl…this is his doing. He has sent us to our deaths in here!"

"Pardon me?" Aragorn asked as he stopped walking and cocked his head to the side. He was completely bewildered. He had taken it for granted they were where they were and never once thought to think of how they had gotten here. He just figured that Legolas' devious little mind had come up with a miraculous way of escape.

"It's a long story," Legolas warded the human's curiosity off as he stepped forward once more, trying to gather up his courage again.

"Seems we have enough time," Aragorn confronted his friend, whom he hard walking ahead again. Remaining where he was he gave Legolas two choices: to stay and tell him, or leave him behind.

Legolas knew this and hated his loyalty for it. He couldn't leave Aragorn behind and knew the human was too damn stubborn to come forward another inch until he had been told most of the story. But Legolas really didn't want him to know that he had nearly killed himself to save Aragorn's life. Aragorn didn't take kindly to hearing those sorts of things and he didn't feel like setting off the man's vicious temper. He also didn't want to tell Aragorn how close he had come to being killed. Sighing, as he knew there was nothing else for him to do the Elf said simply, "I struck a bargain with Darcíl and he helped us get free." It wasn't the entire truth, but he hoped to the Valar that it would be enough.

Aragorn glared in the dark. "You what? What did you promise to do or what didn't you do?" He narrowed his eyes and Legolas could have sworn he heard the grey orbs catch fire. If he was able to see through the night of the duct he was certain he would see molten silver in the man's eyes.

"You are nosey, do you know that?" Legolas said lightly, choosing to keep the rest a secret.

"And you are stubborn!" Aragorn retorted gloomily.

"So I have been told."

"I just want to know if you sold your life away like you always seem to be more than willing to do!" growled the ranger, still standing where he had been for the past two and a half minutes.

"Nosey!"

"Fine have it your way you mule-headed Wood-Elf!" snapped Aragorn as he took a step forward. He was now feeling rather irritated, tired and very, very grumpy. He was grateful that he didn't have his bow otherwise he might have seriously considered shooting Legolas in the foot. Chuckling insanely inside himself, Aragorn could just picture Legolas dancing around on one foot.A cruel idea, yes, but it appealed to him nonetheless.

Suddenly Aragorn realized something. It was deathly quiet and not even the water was sloshing or making so much as a quiet churning sound. Where was Legolas? Fear spiked up in his heart and he began to stumble forward frantically, hoping that he was not going to step on his friend's mutilated body.

His head felt strangely light, he realized slowly, not sure if it was his imagination. If he had been able to see he was certain everything would be swirling. Colors came before his eyes mingled with black spots that were pulsing from small to large and large to small. He felt his chest growing tight and in desperation he coughed, only to draw in more of something that was making him feel violently ill.

Aragorn gagged and stumbled on a few more paces until he felt his knees wobbling and his senses reeling. He smelled nothing that should be causing him this sort of high and floating feeling followed by the taste of vomit in his throat that was slowly rising. As all forms of clarity left this mind the man finally fell, tripping over something, but his hands caught on something else. A step. There was a step! Where were they then?

Wheezing he groped in the dark along the step and discovered someone else was lying collapsed on it as well. Aragorn instinctively jerked back and then he choked out in a panicked voice, "Legolas!" When he heard no reply coming from the body he reached his hands out and felt the face, it was stone cold but on his palm he felt the slight breeze of a sleeper's breath. But it was erratic and he knew Legolas was suffocating.

The colors danced wildly before his eyes and the dots turned yellow followed by bright flashes and a blinding headache that robbed him of the rest of his senses. All he knew as his mind slipped away and his breathing labored was that they had found steps of some sort, they appeared to be wooden. He also knew that the was with Legolas and with that he plunged into utter darkness where there was no feeling, no breathing, just the sound of his heart beating and soon that was gone as well.

O0O0O0O0O

Darcíl stared hard at Cortanyar as they jogged back up the steps, trying to decide what the other man was thinking. It wasn't that he truly wanted to know, but more because he felt he had to. Pushing aside Cortanyar he reached the top step first and fled into the throne room from there.

Dorrag gave them both curious looks. Unless the Elf had suddenly grown fangs and become a beast he saw no reason to run from the blonde being at all. Smiling in slight amusement and then frowning with irritant and scorn as he realized that something must have gone wrong, the man asked gruffly, "what are you both fleeing from like a couple of cowards?"

Darcíl slowed his pace and said, "my lord, they have escaped." He could hardly believe that he had just said those words so quickly. Dorrag would catch on for certain. Sarchel glared form the corner where he must have been taking counsel with the prince. His scowl of disapproval was evident and Darcíl gave him a glare that told him clearly to mind his place or suffer the consequences.

Dorrag's face turned red then white then red again as his wrath struggled to control itself. "Did I hear you correctly? I thought I just heard you say that the Elf and ranger have escaped? How is this possible?" he asked as his hands clenched at his side and his lips pressed into a thin white line of anger.

"If I knew I would tell you, my lord," answered Darcíl as calmly as he could. "The fact is they have left. We do not have the means to track them-"

"I shall be the judge of that, captain!" rebuked Dorrag as he began to pace across the lavishly decorated rug with a high amount of anger bubbling and seething. "How long do you think they have been gone?"

"I am not exactly sure. No more than a day, maybe two," Darcíl answered truthfully. He was surprised that they had not been asked to torture them these past days when the Elf was ready to break. He knew his lord was sick but he didn't think that he enjoyed torturing the Elf and ranger enough to let them reprieve and then go at them again just for the sake of prolonging their agony.

"A day or two? Why did we not know this until now?" fumed the Haradrim prince, now thoroughly angered, his dark eyes flashed venom as he glared Darcíl up and down like he was staring at the Steward of Gondor.

"You apparently wanted to give the prisoner s a rest," Darcíl unwisely second guessed his liege. "No one fed them and we didn't think a guard was necessary." He winced visibly as Dorrag got his face inches away from his and he could see red in the other's eye.

"You are an idiot, Captain. A blatant idiot!" he snapped. "I want the hounds out and I want the villages scoured. With their injuries they couldn't have gotten far. And when you find them, kill the ranger and I want that Elf's legs broken!" He began to pace again. "Neither of them will ever run again, I will make sure of that."

Cortanyar smiled coldly and quickly hid it when Dorrag turned his gaze upon the ex-healer. "And after he has told me everything I want to know and screamed as much as I want him to see if you cant extract his cursed vocal cords! That Elf is one of the mouthiest creatures I have ever had the misfortune of capturing!" The black-haired man's smile returned.

"That I will, my lord. It will be my pleasure," he purred as he thought of carving out that Elf's throat. He could fairly see the Elf squirming under his knife…

"It had better be as long as he is alive afterwards!" the Haradrim prince snarled as he stopped pacing. He turned to Cortanyar with a cold light in his eyes. "And to make sure the ranger is dead, bring me back his head and heart."

"Excellent, your Highness," purred the other as he cast a look Darcíl, who tried his best to look at ease with the situation.

"Find them by any means necessary, Captain Darcíl," Dorrag ordered gruffly. "Burn the villages if you have to. My people will learn to fear me!"

"Yes, your Majesty," Darcíl said rather appropriately and calmly. Inside he was feeling sick to his stomach and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking in anger and disgust. Sarchel looked smugly at Darcíl and the captain let his glare deepen as his looked at the junior officer.

"Sarchel will accompany you." Dorrag glanced back at the grinning lieutenant. "Cortanyar," he addressed the ex-healer. "Someone shall take your place at the prison camps."

Moments later Cortanyar, Darcíl and Sarchel were all walking down one of the more lengthy and darker corridors of the palace to see about supplies and the hounds. Darcíl felt a great weight, as though he was carrying a heavy burden across his shoulders with no way possible to relieve it. And the frightening thing was that he felt the burden of anxiety growing greater by the minute.

He didn't feel he belonged here, but then again where else could his loyalties lie? After all, he was born and bred here in Harad. But Harad wasn't his problem. It was the men who were governing her that his quarrel was with. He really didn't feel comfortable at all with Cortanyar. He could handle Sarchel. Sarchel was below him in status and mind. But the ex-healer was his equal in status and he wasn't stupid either though Darcíl wasn't sure if he was sane. But that didn't really matter now, the point was that Darcíl had precious little power over the man and it made him nervous.

He had never considered himself to be power hungry but he couldn't deny that he was far more comfortable when he was in charge. He didn't have to explain everything to anyone and everyone and he didn't have to do something if he didn't feel it was the correct thing to do unless it came from Dorrag or an adviser of the prince. But since Dorrag had seen it fit to put all his advisers to death he really had no fear of them. But when he was Cortanyar he had to discuss things with him and they had to work together when they were of two different minds. Cortanyar would readily cause more pain to anyone contrary to orders or not and he would be sneaky about doing to if he had to.

That was another thing that didn't sit too well with Darcíl.

He simply could not trust this man! Not that the feeling was new and he had no idea how to deal with it. He had lived with this sort of thing nearly all his life. But this moment was so critical that he wished he had someone to confide in. But he was on his own, but that feeling wasn't new either so he really didn't know why he felt a sense of dread working its way into his system and making him feel like someone was ready to stab him in the back .

Cortanyar watched as Sarchel pressed eagerly ahead, seeming not to heed anyone or anything. He was like a horse with blinders on, decided Cortanyar as he fell back with Darcíl. "So what are your thoughts on capturing the Elf and ranger?" He asked quietly so Sarchel wouldn't hear. His dark eyes narrowed and he starred hard at Darcíl for moment before blinking.

Darcíl worked to shake off his feeling of suspicion and said with a nonchalant shrug, "I haven't really much of an idea. But Elves fear the dark, or so I am told, so therefore I do not think that he would be anywhere underground or in dim places. He hasn't seen the sun in so long he would probably go to it first thing." Darcíl winced as he thought all he had said was too much and sounded like he was purposefully leading them astray so as not to make the desired capture.

If Cortanyar noticed he did a good job of pretending not to. "I see. Well I can't wait to get my hands on that Firstborn. He sounds interesting."

The way the man talked about the Elf as though he was a specimen of science made Darcíl's stomach do a cartwheel or two. A man who enjoyed experimenting on others was sick, nearly as sick as Sarchel. Unfortunately they also had to possess an insane and unrealistic intelligence for their sort of mind. Cortanyar definitely had his own devote personality, Darcíl gave the ex-healer credit for originality. Nobody could say that the man was not "creative".

"Well," Darcíl forced himself to speak. "He is different."

"That he seems to be," answered Cortanyar thoughtfully. He stopped and placed a hand on Darcíl's arm, holding it tight until the other man stopped and looked him in the eye. "You are grieved or frustrated. Come, come! Why?" he demanded.

Darcíl pulled away roughly if not abruptly and said quickly, "well I have just let my lord down. These feelings should be expected."

"Oh get real!" Cortanyar sneered and spat on the floor in visible anger. "You really don't care about him! You care about something he is holding against you! You fear him! That's what it is!" He spoke in a lowered voice still. "As for myself, I think he is an insane ruler but he gets me where I want to be and so I am fine with him as long as he stays out of my way."

Darcíl looked puzzled as much as he tried not to. "You want the throne?" he asked before he could shut his mouth.

"No," Cortanyar stated quietly after some thought. "I don't want that much responsibility. I only want to get what I need and then I am gone. Do you honestly expect me to stay here under his rule?" Shaking his head he said, "unless I see some profit in it for me soon beyond getting that Elf and ranger for experiments and such I am gone."

Darcíl frowned and said, "why did you murder those men so long ago?" He knitted his brows and stared at the other in angered thought. Those men had been part of his unit long ago.

"They knew too much about me and I am a very secretive person. But don't worry, you don't know the half of what they did," he assured Darcíl in a whisper. "I think we could be allies."

Darcíl looked at Sarchel who was already far ahead and smiled falsely. "I think we could as well."

He couldn't stand this man and even the fact that he had shown him no hostility so far was not making him any harder to loathe. But Darcíl knew Cortanyar was trying to intimidate him into following him unconditionally. Fear was power indeed. But he did not fear this man, however he would play his game for as far as it would get him.

O0O0O0O0O

"As I have told you before now!" seethed Glorfindel as he pulled Asfaloth quickly to a stop and reined the frothing animal in, patting the sweat lathered neck reassuringly. "Those twin curses you call 'sons', never make travel easy. If there was a rabid warg somewhere, I can promise you without fearing that I lie, it would find us and someone would die only to be revived just in time for an onset by the orcs, which were coincidentally and rather inconveniently drawn to us as well!" The look of frustration and annoyance on the Gondolin Elf's face was comical, decided Elrond as he leaped nimbly down from his horse. He wanted to smile, but he couldn't quite remember what a smile was exactly…It had something to do with a strange feeling of mirth, which he hadn't felt very often nowadays. Maybe there was his problem, he mused as he straightened his cloak.

"Glorfindel I always thought you were the optimistic one…especially after being raised from the dead," reasoned Elrond as he gazed up at the golden-haired Elf, who snorted indignantly.

"Glorfindel? Optimistic?" asked Elladan's incredulous voice as he rode his horse along side the Balrog-Slayer's simply to annoy the older Elf. "I think Elladan and I need to-"

"Explain how things really-"

"Work around here."

"Exactly," finished Elrohir with a nod at his older brother to egg Elladan on. However, the younger of the identical brothers made sure that something was between himself and Glorfindel, that something mainly being Elladan, who was unwisely not moving.

Elrond shook his head as he looked around for his horse and Glorfindel split his baleful glare between Elrohir and Elladan. "You two are already getting on my last nerve, do you realize that?" he growled between grit teeth. "I daresay that either one of you would find it amusing if I went to Lorien with a broken arm-even a broken neck-and had to have the Lady Galadriel herself heal me!" His righteously angry look, with his narrowed blue eyes that seethed with irritation was enough to make Elrohir smile from behind the safety of Elladan.

Elladan shook his head and said with a frown, "why would we want that?"

Giving his brother a skeptic look, Elrohir said, "Elladan, do try to remember who we are holding this conversation with." He nodded at the scowling golden-haired Elf.

"That's why I am wisely keeping my mouth shut, Elrohir!" retorted Elladan as he cast a glower at his brother. "And if you are such an expert, why don't you put your energy where your mouth seems to be this night?" If it hadn't been dark, Elrohir might have seen that Elladan was a bit more serious than his voice let on. Missing Aragorn deeply, Elladan was not quite in the correct frame of mind to have a teasing match with his younger brother. He also found it incredibly annoying that Elrohir was in such a mood.

Glorfindel watched the exchange between the two brothers for a moment then totally ignored them. Turning to Elrond he looked down from his horse. "So where exactly is your faithful steed?"

Elrond glared up at his friend and completely out of character snapped, "if I knew would I be standing down here thus?"

Startled, Glorfindel quickly attributed Elrond's disposition's change to Estel's missing. Asfaloth snorted and Glorfindel stroked the creature's neck some more as he sat in quiet thought. He didn't know how he had gotten here to begin with. He remembered vaguely that he had been assigned a simple trip to Lorien, by himself. But an annoying little voice told him, you idiot! You invited trouble the minute you opened your mouth to the twins by that pond! Yes, he had invited trouble, perhaps he was addicted to trouble. That would explain a lot, he decided at length. Otherwise he probably wouldn't have attacked a Balrog…Normal people didn't do things like that as Erestor often pointed out.

Ah, Erestor. What was that poor excuse for a counselor doing now? Staying alive he hoped, because once he got back he intended to choke the life from that sneaky, miserable idiot! If this avalanche had been because of Vilya, then he shivered to think of Rivendell's conditions. Erestor could very easily be dead and he wouldn't know until he returned, Valar only knowing when that would be.

He was torn from his thoughts by a soft curse and he looked over to see Elrond waiting impatiently as his horse trotted up. It was covered in foam and shaking considerably. Smiling, Glorfindel pulled his horse along side his friend's as Elrond mounted. In the dark, Elrond glare seemed to be even deeper and actually sinister to some degree.

Elladan looked sidelong at Elrohir, changing glances with his brother. Glorfindel scowled once more at them both before turning to Lord Elrond. "Now perhaps you will sympathize with me more when I say I don't want to go anywhere with them."

"Not likely," Elrond muttered as he straightened in the saddle and gathered the reins. "How can I say you are not the one who gathers the trouble and they aren't simply the ones who manage to catch it?"

"Well that would be true, except when they are accompanied by Estel or Prince Legolas it gets a few degrees worse," Glorfindel defended his honor carefully. He smiled thinly at the Lord of Rivendell and said, "I think it is an inherited characteristic."

Elrond didn't say anything but spurred his horse forward into the dark.

TBC...Ah, the return of evil cliffies! Life is good, very good. LOL Te-he.

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