Author's Notes:

This story takes place around 6 years after the War of the Ring. Translations for the Sindarin are at the end of the chapter, and I apologise beforehand for grammatical errors- this will be the first time I'll be using Sindarin in any significant amount.

Chapter One: Early Warnings

Rain fell ceaselessly through the dark night, bathing leaf and stone as the world slept. Yet even the cacophony of a thousand raindrops at a time hitting Arda could not drown out the thunderous passage of two dozen horses over the barren plains, nor sate the haste of their two dozen and one riders.

Night had fallen hours ago, and the King of Rohan idly contemplated repeating his request for a brief rest for the horses and his men. But experience told him that the diminutive being bouncing on the saddle behind him would grant him a similar answer as he had been receiving since they had set out from Rohan -. which were numerous variations on the word 'No'- and tried to content himself with silently praying that his horse would not step into a rabbit hole in the darkness and break its neck (or its riders'). If he had learned anything over the past three days, it would be that the dwarven reputation for single-minded persistence was well justified. What bothered him most- and thus what he had avoided thinking about to any great depth- was the notion that he was being dragged the length of the White Mountains, and so far he hadn't been told why.

"Gimli," he began again, determined to get an answer this time, and not give up until he did.Dwarves were not the only ones who can be persistent "Will you not at least-"

"Nay, I will not," the dwarf muttered, abruptly cutting Eomer off. Very unlike the usual Gimli he knew.

"I feel I have a right to know-"

"You will learn in due time." The dwarf's newfound skill in avoiding questions, Eomer decided, was proof that Gimli had most definitely been spending far too much time around elves. One of the dwarf's many criticisms of Legolas (and he had many) involved the impossibility of getting an answer out of the elf that Legolas did not want to give. "Ride, good King. You will see."

He supposed he could blame Aragorn for his present situation. Ever since meeting the man who would later become the King of the Reunified Kingdoms on the open fields of Rohan during the War of the Ring with his unlikely companions, Eomer had come to realise that his new friends had awoken a sense of curiosity in him that had been pressed into dormancy by the duties of a Knight of the Riddermark upon his father's death. And it was this curiousity that had somehow convinced him to take a sudden leave of his wife and hall. In his mind he went over the strange event.

~*~

Three days earlier…

The King of Rohan was enjoying breakfast with his wife in their private dining room when a small but formidable figure stormed in unannounced. He very nearly drew his sword before he recognised the unkempt and wild-looking person to be the Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond. Gimli was a frequent visitor to Edoras, and thus was widely recognised as the King's friend. The guards had seen no reason to stop him, and the look in the dwarf's intense eyes would have stemmed any questions from even forming.

"My King," the dwarf made a clumsy bow. This alerted Eomer that something was amiss, for his relations with the dwarves of Aglarond have taught him that dwarves were sticklers to propriety and civility (though they seemed to bend this rule when elves are concerned). Also, Gimli's garments were in disarray and bore evidence of travelling to Edoras in great haste. All these details Eomer observed in a second (being in the company of Aragorn had taught him something useful, at least), before giving his own formal bow.

"Gimli, my friend," he said, concerned. "Has something happened? You look as if a clan of Wargs chased you here."

Eomer's tone had been gentle, bordering on jest, but the Lord of Algarond was not in the mood for their usual friendly banter. "Eomer, we must ride to Minas Tirith immediately."

The King of Rohan blinked, wondering if he had missed something. "Your pardon, Gimli, but might I inquire as to the reason for this?"

Gimli shifted uncomfortably, muttering something under his breath. If Eomer hadn't known any better, he would have said that Gimli looked… embarrassed. But he could not think of any reason for this, and so waited patiently for the dwarf to speak.

"I… I have had… strange dreams of late." The son of Eomund barely caught the muttered words, but Gimli continued in a rush. "And last night… something evil has befallen our friends in Minas Tirith, though I fear they will know naught about it until it is too late."

He would say no more, despite Eomer's urgings, aside from stating that all will be explained once they got to the White City. Now, the King of Rohan would still reminisce at times of the carefree days of his youth, when he could saddle his horse at a whim to ride flat-out over the wide fields of his home just for the sheer joy of freedom. But as orc-threat grew, such excursions became less and less frequent, and when the throne unexpectedly landed on his young shoulders, he had thought that such days were far behind him. Who had ever heard of a King suddenly abandoning his kingdom to go on a wild goose-chase over the hills?

~*~

Of course, he thought ruefully, I have done exactly that. And at the bidding of a dwarf! I wonder what Eowyn would say of this.

Thus he had found himself haring south with a company of three and two score of his personal guard, including his most trusted captain and friend, Farhall, and the Lord of Aglarond clinging to his back. He supposed several factors influenced him into finally agreeing to accompany Gimli - who had insisted, for some reason, that Eomer's presence was crucial. First and foremost was the haste and anxiety in the dwarf's eyes and voice, for it took a great deal to ruffle the dwarven representative to the Fellowship of the Ring and closest friend of a son of Thranduil. The fact that Gimli felt he needed to ask for help also alarmed Eomer, for his people loathed admitting they needed aid. He remembered one of his first visits to the dwarven colony in the Glittering Caves, in which he had inquired about a sudden rush of activity. Gimli casually explained that some of the dwarves had 'come upon' a sudden opening near the end of one of the tunnels, and at that moment were awaiting to be rescued after dropping the length of twenty paces deeper into Arda. Eomer's incredulous stare and offer for aid had only been greeted by a shrug and a "My thanks for your offer, but they should be out by nightfall".

Another factor was Gimli's mention of dreams. Elves dream. Aragorn and Imrahil dream. During the years of enduring Grima Wormtongue's omnipresent eyes, even Eomer dreamt uneasy dreams of the shadow falling over his King and people. And as far as Eomer had been concerned, dwarves dreamt of jewels and vast mansions of stone and wealth, if they dreamed at all, but little of significance besides. After thinking about it, Eomer resorted to his usual tactic of blaming this irregularity in the natural order of things on the Gimli's prolonged exposure to a certain lord of Ithilien. In any case, the significance was still there: if a dwarf dreamt of it, it must be something of great importance indeed. It was unfortunate, however, that because it was most unusual, Gimli was unlikely to share the contents of this dream with anyone besides Legolas and Aragorn. And even less chance of anyone forcing it out of him.

Strangely enough, it was another minor yet life-changing factor that had finally convinced Eomer to see Gimli safely to Gondor, if only to check with Aragorn that the dwarf was mentally healthy. When he was seeing to brisk preparations for their journey, Eomer wondered how the dwarf could have come to Edoras so quickly from the Caves if he had only left that morning, and he idly asked the dwarf about it.

"I set out at dawn, and it seems that you named Swift well."

Eomer had just opened his mouth to call to give the order to mount when the full implications of Gimli's words hit him. For a moment he stood there, gaping at the dwarf.

"You…" he said in disbelief. "You… you rode Swift?"

At the dwarf's short nod, Eomer realised that gaping was not very kingly looking, and instead shouted for his men to hurry. Still, anything that could convince Gimli to even mount a horse (Swift was actually a large pony, but Gimli had insisted on calling her a horse) was worth worrying over. A dwarf dreaming, riding a horse, then convincing a King to ride with him… Eomer was sure that even the return of Sauron and the dark powers of old would have elicited such behaviour.

Now, soaked to the bone with doubts growing in his mind with every league, he wondered if he himself hadn't gone mad. He was sure his men thought so, but they would follow him to the pits of Orodruin if he let them. He concluded that he would leave the business of explaining their sudden appearance to Aragorn to Gimli.

To his relief, the White City finally came to view in the distance.

~*~

"Open the Gate!" Unfortunately, the rain took a lot of volume out of his full-body bellow, but Eomer's slight cringe told him that it was loud enough to carry to the watching guards and gate-wardens. If not, Gimli son of Gloin had designed and supervised the building of the new Gate, and knew a spot where one can tap softly on the mithril surface, and the sound reverberated enough to be heard by all within half a league's proximity. And he was intending on hammering his fists on it.

To his great surprise, a lithe figure detached himself from the knot of guards huddled beneath one of the watch-towers, sheltering from the rain. For a moment, he thought that it was Legolas, for the figure moved with the signature grace of the elves, but his hopes were dashed when he saw that the hair poking out from beneath the figure's cloak was dark. It took another moment for him to determine it was one of the sons of Elrond, from their countenance and the way they moved. And as Elrohir rarely carried a sword…

"Elladan," he said in greeting as he unceremoniously let gravity remove him from Eomer's steed. Normally he and the sons of Elrond would partake in some light banter (which would continue for the duration of their time together), but tonight was very different. So much so that he barely thought on how strange it was that Elladan had been at the Gate. It was unsettlingly convenient, for Gimli had expected to have to force his way to the Citadel to get an answer to his simple question. "Where is Aragorn?"

The Lord of Imladris froze for a moment, and Gimli felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. What little he could see of the elf's face under the hood in the flickering torchlight from the guards was unreadable. The grey gaze regarded Gimli for a moment before travelling to Gimli's companions. The elf's eyes widened as he recognised the King of Rohan.

"It is well! They are the Rohirrim!" he shouted to the wary and sodden guards before returning his attention to Gimli. "Well met, Master Dwarf, though I must say the circumstances are-"

"My apologies, Lord Elladan, but where is Aragorn?"

The Lord of Imladris' eyes became troubled. "He has gone for a state visit to Ithilien. We are expecting him back tomorrow."

Upon hearing those words, Gimli decided to exercise the verbal creativity of his race with launching into a whole new repertoire of dwarven curses. Trying to ignore the cold bite of fear in his heart, he turned his gaze to Eomer with a silent plea. The King of Rohan understood and groaned audibly, but he dismounted to help Gimli back up onto his war-horse.

A slender hand seized his shoulder. "Gimli, why have you come?"

Unable to meet Elladan's eyes, Gimli only answered with "'Tis a matter concerning Aragorn, and I would not speak of it to any but him."

As he spoke, images from his recurring dream rose unbidden in his mind. Not for the first time, he wished for his elven friend's presence so that he could have someone to share this alien experience with. Dwarves never had premonitions, nor did they pay much heed to those experienced by others. His people were practical, if to a fault, and such associations with forces undetected by the physical senses were considered the domain of elves. A dreamer had no place in the unstable world beneath tree and sun, and Gimli was anything but a dreamer. He shuddered to think of what his father would think of his actions over the past few days. But though he was convinced that he was as much a dwarf as he had been 6 years ago, he had encountered forces that dealt with the heart and mind rather than the physical body, and could no longer ignore the fact that there were powers in Arda that existed beyond the physical realm. It was yet another subtle yet significant change in Gimli, and he was sure Legolas was to be blamed for it.

Aye, but if I do not move from this place, fouler things than my recriminations will fall upon that foolish creature.

"Gimli."

Obviously Elladan would not let go of him until Gimli explained himself sufficiently. "I have received warning of fell things about to befall your brother, Elladan. Now let me get to them so I may warn them!"

The elf's eyes widened, and surprise showed on his face. "Gernich in oltha?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Reluctant to reveal this (as he still did not know for sure about his feelings in regard to such an un-dwarvish experience) but painfully aware that there was little time for denial and arguments, Gimli nodded. His long association with Legolas enabled him to read the wonder, suspicion, alarm and dread that flitted in rapid succession on the elf-lord's face. He dearly wanted to find out how Elladan had known he could understand a bit of Sindarin (he made a mental note to himself to thank the elf later for understanding his discomfort at others knowing of his dreams, and thus asking Gimli about it in the elven tongue), but the need in his heart to be elsewhere only doubled upon thinking of the one who had taught him the language, and his curiosity was forgotten in the wake of that need.

"Noro, elvellon," Elladan said shakily, directing his elven gaze at the direction of Ithilien. "I will follow when I can. Ride!"

The urgency in the fair elven voice only doubled the knot of fear in his heart, and before he knew it he was back on the steed of Rohan, his arms tight around Eomer's waist. The doubt in the King of Rohan's eyes was gone, replaced by anxiety and wariness, as they set out into the night again. The rest of the Rohirrim followed; Eomer had given no order, but it was their solemn duty to protect their King and captain, and for this duty they would ignore the weariness of their bodies and the complaints of the horses they held as dear as kin.

Into the empty night they raced, to be swiftly joined by an elven steed as they traveled beyond the sight of the outer wall of the Tower of the Guard.

~*~

Dawn broke.

Long sleepless nights were taking their toll on him. He felt as if the whole Misty Mountains' worth of fog and precipitation had decided to take up residence within his mind, and he was painfully aware of the decreasing fluidity of his movements. Doubtless his twin would have much to say to him about his inability to care for himself, but at that moment Elrohir was somewhere south of the Shire, and with luck would not know of how close Elladan was pushing himself to exhaustion.

Nevertheless, he was sure that Gimli, at least, would notice his less-than-perfect state, and for this reason he was careful to keep his horse behind the dwarf. Fortunately, Gimli was too intent on getting to Estel (or else dwelling on something troubling his mind) to look behind him.

He would have smiled at the thought of the strange beingif his body hadn't been so weary. Imladris had more of a dealing with the various races of Middle-Earth than any of the other elven realms, and Elladan had seen firsthand that as much hostility as his people held against the dwarves were returned in kind by the children of Aulë. His first encounter with Legolas and Gimli together, along with Aragorn and Boromir, (curiously enough, the hobbits and Mithrandir stood between all of them) as the Fellowship set out from Rivendell, had made him wonder if, as well as carrying the hope of Middle-earth, the representative of the elves, dwarves and men also bore the grievances of their respective races. Elrohir had commented on this also, adding that even Mithrandir would be hard-pressed to prevent a minitiaure re-enactment of the Five Battles of Beleriand.

And yet, when they next saw the remainders of the Fellowship as they caught up with them in Rohan with Halbarad and the Rangers, he was astonished to see how at ease Legolas and Gimli had become with each other. They had been arguing, which Elladan had expected. But then they suddenly burst into laughter clapping each other on the arm, which Elladan had not expected. Then Legolas had spotted the confusion and bewilderment on the son of Elrond's face, pointed it out to Gimli, and they burst out laughing again, before sauntering off and immersing into another seemingly heated debate.

And it has been that way since. He allowed himself a small smile. A miracle more wondrous I did not expect to find in the midst of war and the fading of the Eldar.

He wondered if he should tell Gimli of the time he had come upon the pair in Minas Tirith after the War of the Ring 6 years ago. He had been critically examining his foster-brother and sister's future home when he happened to hear their voices coming from one of the gardens. Careful so as not to be seen, he had taken a peek, and watched in wonderment as Gimli recited a list of Sindarin conjugations under Legolas' tutelage. Fortunately for the dwarf, Elladan knew him well enough then and knew to keep his discovery between him and Elrohir.

So deep in thought was he that it took him some time to even register the fact that they had entered the once-prosperous land of Ithilien. The garden of Gondor was beginning to bloom once more, under the loving care of the elves, and the ever-present scent of herbs cheered Elladan's heart, reminding him of distant Rivendell. So weary was he that he spent long minutes in a semblance of elven sleep, his tranquil surroundings helping him to briefly enter the world of waking dreams.

But he did not wish for the men to notice his deteriorating wellbeing, so before long he regretfully pulled himself back into consciousness. Before he could fully come to waking, however, he felt the horses stop, and beneath him Carn stopped in response, not needing his rider's directions.

He blinked. Slightly ahead of him, Gimli and Eomer had dismounted, and the dwarf was standing completely still, with his eyes closed, seeming to be listening to something. Then his eyes flew open. Guided by a sense beyond sight, sense, scent, touch or hearing (or so it seemed to Elladan), Gimli raced to one side of the path, disappearing beneath the resinous trees. At the same time, Elladan's mind finally supplied him with the realisation that the reason his surroundings had looked unfamiliar was because they had taken one of the many less-used routes to Emyn Arnen..

Nimbly leaping off Carn, he joined Eomer in following the dwarf. So unexpectedly did Gimli stop that they both collided with the stocky being, nearly ending up on the ground had Gimli not been as stiff as stone. Then they saw it.

Carnage.

Elladan had seen firsthand the handiwork of orcs upon their living victims. He still remembered finding his mother after she had been taken captive. He himself had been subject before to the twisted amusements of orcs, goblins, and men. He was no stranger to death and torture, though he would never get used to such horrors of battle.

But that morning the breakfast, lunch and dinner of the past week announced an urgent desire to retrace their steps into the outside world. He felt his face pale, and his eyes involuntarily averted.

Yet the image would haunt him for the rest of his days

There was barely a place he could rest his eyes that was not stained by blood. So much blood. His keen senses were reeling with the smell of death, and the very trees whispered violently of the evil that had been done here. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eomer lean heavily against a tree, pale and trembling, his eyes closed.

Mutilated bodies filled a small clearing in the trees. Very few of them were whole. Horses and men had died together here. At least, the elf hoped there had been enough mercy in the world for them to have been dead before their bodies had been ruined so. Not all were on the ground, either. Blood was splattered on the barks of surrounding trees. A few bodies were actually amongst the branches. Then Elladan saw recognised the White Tree of Gondor on what little remained of the uniform on one of the bodies. Unwillingly his eyes soon determined that most of the men, if not all, had been wearing the livery of the Guard. And to his everlasting horror, he saw the banner of Elendil, the White Tree with Seven Stars, torn and fluttering upon the branch to which it had been pinned with a dagger.

Estel's retinue.

Fear and unbelieving shock hit him. He couldn't breathe. He heard some of the Rohirrim, who had arrived shortly after them, lose the battle with their semi-digested food. He couldn't bear to see any more lifeless eyes, some of which he was beginning to recognise. But he could not leave without knowing if the man he considered his younger brother had fallen beside his men.

He forced his thoughts into a semblance of coherency, allowing his military mind free reign to analyse the grounds.

It was only another battle. Only another battle. He had seen many in his life. Too many. It was during times like these when he understood better his father's decision to put down his sword and seek instead to heal the hurts of war. Forcing himself to face to massacre, his mind eventually began the analytical process.

He blinked. Either he was far too tired, or his eyes were beginning to discern a pattern in the dead.

The men had fought in a ring, and the highest concentration of bodies was in the centre. Like a last stand. They gave their lives up to protect something, or in this case, someone. The bodies up in the trees looked as if they had been thrown there, instead of attempting to flee (though Elladan wouldn't have fault any man for wanting to run from whatever horror had done this). The blood on the bark of the trees indicated that even more had been flung at the trees. Fearing what he might find, Elladan sought the centre of the ring. Where the one they had been protecting would be.

He caught a glimmer of something green. Gingerly pushing several bodies aside, and offering a small prayer for the souls of such dedicated men, he picked up the object from the bloody ground.

It was a green stone.

Elessar did not fall here, the logical part of his mind told him, and he believed it, if only for the sake of his sanity. Secure in a sort of reverie, he managed to check the faces of the men in the two inner-most rings before feeling sick again.

During his days as a Ranger of the North, Estel had been counted as one of the best trackers in Middle-Earth. Yet Elladan had been his teacher. The scout in the eldest son of Elrond continued to read and analyse the physical evidence around him to get a better picture of what had transpired. The moisture on the tree barks, the soil, and the way the blood had spread told him that it had been drizzling just before the attack occurred. The smell alone told him that this had taken place the night before. The space in the centre of the ring made it conceivable that someone else stood beside Estel, but whether he was amongst the dead or had also been taken could not be ascertained. For, just then, a sharp cry of rage and grief broke the eerie calm of the red dawn, and he turned in time to see Gimli run towards one of the bodies draped on two branches.

The limp figure had had his hood up, as had most of the men, and any skin showing through the tattered garments was covered in dried blood. Very little of his cloak, save the upper section with the hood, remained. Elladan's keen eyes automatically checked the sleeves of what had once been a tunic; it was a habit any elven scout learned on his first decade of training, for that was where most elves put the emblems of their House and realm.

His breath caught when he made out the devices of South Ithilien, Gondor and the House of Oropher from Greenwood the Great. A strong gust of wind blew back the hood for a moment, revealing the fair but bloody elven face beneath.

Legolas' eyes were closed.

~*~*~

"Gernig in oltha?" –"You have had dreams?"

"Noro, elvellon!" – "Ride, elf-friend!"

Author's Notes:

Taking a bit of a gamble as I try my hand at a slightly more serious style of writing. Reviews (including constructive criticism) are much appreciated (and needed, come to think of it). Please feel free to point out my mistakes, and I'll try my best to correct them.