Chapter Four: Old Grief

"Mightier than Estë is Nienna, sister of the Fëanturi; she dwells alone. She is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the marring of Melkor… But she does not weep for herself; and those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope. Her halls are west of West, upon the borders of the world; and she comes seldom to the city of Valimar where all is glad. She goes rather to the Halls of Mandos, which are near to her own, and all those who wait it Mandos cry for her, for she brings strength to the spirit and turns sorrow to wisdom."
– Valaquenta

Derinsul was feeling quite frustrated.

The Lady Undómiel had disappeared after leading them back to the Citadel, and Lord Elladan – he supposed he would have to get used to considering him a Lord, now that Lord Elrond had passed over the Sea – had spent the day avoiding him. Not that they were obvious about it- the day the children of Elrond became obvious about anything would be the day dwarves took up singing as a national pastime. The next time he saw both was over dinner, which had been a rather silent and tense affair. His careful questions and close observation told him that they were keeping something from him, but anything more was guesswork.

So he decided to have a look around.

After telling Thavron and Caulaen that he was going to his rooms, of course.

Without any specific destination in mind, he set off in a slow walk down the main hallway of the Citadel. In a flash of mischief, he had taken off his light shoes and was enjoying the feel of cool stone beneath his feet. The various Guards either on guard duty or on their way to somewhere else stared at him, and he was sure his bare feet attracted some attention as well. No one questioned him, for their Queen had made known that he was an honored guest of the royal couple, though he was yet to meet Aragorn.

He shook his head. He still had a hard time imagining the man as a King. He had met him before, under the name of Estel, adopted son of Lord Elrond. Legolas had befriended him, which meant that Derinsul had had to make an effort to be civil to the oft-scruffy human. Eventually, 'Estel' had changed some of his prejudiced views about humans, to the extent that he trusted the man to some extent. But not all his views had changed, and despite his relaxed appearance, Derinsul walked more tensely than he would normally.

A lone Guard respectfully inclined his head in greeting, and Derinsul nodded in turn, feeling slightly surprised at himself for doing so. Before coming here, his contact with men had been limited to the men of Dale. They were courteous, but roguish and slightly uncouth, in Derinsul's opinion. He thought of them as children, ready to run rampant at the slightest provocation. The Men of Gondor, however, seemed almost a completely different Race. Even the son of Thranduil had to admire their discipline and inert nobility. There was a grimness to their faces, borne of being under the shadow of Mordor for years uncounted, but at the same time he could sense the youth and strength of the second children of Iluvatar. Whereas the men of Dale were children, the Gondorions were their fathers, stern but wise.

Even Minas Tirith was not as bad as he had expected it to be. His critical elven eye noted the lack of trees and greenery, and less than aesthetically pleasing stone walls, but his military mind approved of its solid foundations and good defensive layout. In his father's realm, Derinsul had the reputation for being an excellent tactician, and his overall conclusion was that he would not relish the prospect of attacking the White City.

Still, he looked forward to getting out of the stone walls and back into the trees. His father's palace had been made of stone, with a section of it underground, so he wasn't completely uneasy in this city, yet the Silvan blood in his veins yearned to be amongst trees again. And admittedly, he was anxious to see his youngest brother.

Legolas. The last elf Derinsul would have thought to accept a place in the Fellowship of the Ring. The Legolas Derinsul knew was a quiet, solitary being, with few friends outside his family, and comfortable with that fact. He could remember his disbelief at the message the Mirkwood delegation brought to his father upon returning from Rivendell and the Council of Elrond. He had immediately urged his father to let him ride to Rivendell and bodily extract his brother. But Thranduil had said no, they should trust the wisdom of Elrond and Mithrandir. This decision still puzzled Derinsul, for his father had always been loathed to let his youngest son into any sort of danger – a sentiment that had caused no small amount of grief when the Captains of Mirkwood had had to convince Thranduil to let Legolas fulfill his duty as a warrior of the realm.

The children of Thranduil learned that day that elves who took up war as their craft tended to not have diplomatic methods of persuasion.

In the end, Derinsul was glad he had stayed in Mirkwood, for before the year was over the tides of war had swept them up, and he and his brother and sisters fought day and night to keep the forces of darkness at bay. In those dark days, when even Thranduil had not been sure they would see another sunrise, he was glad that his mother had passed over the Sea, and that his youngest brother was far from home.

Yet he wondered what Legolas had gone through. Despite the joy at the victory of the Free Peoples, Derinsul knew all too well the costs of war, and he had wept in joy when Legolas sent word that he was alive and well. But when his brother finally returned home, three months later, it was a very different elf from the one that had left Mirkwood. And in the company of a dwarf!* Derinsul had disapproved of Legolas' friendship with Aragorn the Ranger – Legolas had asked their father to keep Aragorn's identity as the Heir of Isildur from anyone else, but Derinsul had found out in the end – he had never imagined a son of Thranduil befriending one of the Naugrim.

But that had been four years ago, perhaps more, and in that time Derinsul thought he had overcome the shock. Mostly, anyway. As it was, Legolas had not stayed home long. After several months – in which he had accompanied his dwarf friend to the Lonely Mountain – Legolas left, leading a good number of their people to Gondor.

And now he is a Lord of his own people. Lord of Southern Ithilien. Derinsul had to admit to himself that he was quite proud of his brother, though he could not understand why Legolas would seek to befriend mortals and stay away from kin and home.

Derinsul sighed. Amongst his siblings, he had been the one closest to Legolas, yet even he could never fully understand his brother's heart. He knew Legolas' hopes and nightmare, had cared for him when their mother left, had tended to his first arrow-wound. As eldest, he saw it his duty to watch over the youngest, especially when Legolas also chose a warrior's path as well. Yet, Legolas had always been… different. A conversation with the elf was usually enough to set him apart from everyone else. The only physical evidence of this difference was the light in Legolas' eyes; all elves had the light of immortality in their eyes, but with Legolas, it was different- keener, older, as if there was a hidden depth to the elf's soul. It was a part of his brother that he had always yearned to understand, and, he was sure, part of the reason he had been chosen to be in the Fellowship, and a key to why Legolas preferred the company of mortals. He wished he had been able to ask Mithrandir about it- the wizard had always had a special interest in Derinsul's brother, and in hindsight, Derinsul was sure he had seen that different light also, and had understood it. In a way, the Crown Prince hoped that meeting his brother's friends and seeing his world would help him achieve the latter.

With a start he realised that he was pacing. Shaking his head, he turned to make his way to his room when he ran into Elladan.

"Deep thoughts tonight, kinsman**?" the half-elf said with a smile, amused eyes glancing down at Derinsul's bare feet.

"Aye," he admitted, silently rebuking himself for getting so distracted. "I will be leaving for Ithilien tomorrow morning, if that is well with you and the Lady Arwen?"

"It is," Elladan wore an unreadable expression, smile and mirth gone. "Will you walk with me, Derinsul?"

The invitation surprised Derinsul, considering the elf's evasiveness the whole day. "Of course."

"How fares Eryn Lasgalen?" asked the Lord of Imladris as they made descended a set of stairs, their light steps making no sound on the stone floor.

"Well, for the most part. The re-construction of Dale and our own dwellings will soon be coming to an end. Orcs still ravage the land outside our forests, though, and the wood will be slow to heal." He could have gone into more detail, but a close look at Elladan's face told him that the half-elf was not really paying attention.

Perhaps I will find out why he has been avoiding me all day.

"The young think that war ends with either a glorious victory or a humble defeat. But life will teach that in the years repairing the aftermath of war, one is faced with memories of the horrors day after day," Elladan said suddenly. Derinsul raised an eyebrow.

"Is that one of Lord Elrond's sayings?"

Though Derinsul's words were said with a hint of jest, sadness enveloped the half-elf for a moment, and his eyes looked very distant indeed. "Yes, it is."

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, and wondering if he should apologise for his comment, Derinsul politely cleared his throat. "You have words to say to me, kinsman?"

"Have you ever lost family, Derinsul?"

Taken aback, it took Derinsul a moment to gather himself and quell a surge of outrage at the half-elf for such a question. Seeming to sense his reaction, Elladan looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Derinsul. I did not mean to be so blunt, or bring up old griefs."

"I will survive, Elladan," he replied, taking a deep calming breath. "And I, for one, cannot reprimand you for being blunt. As for your question, yes, I have. My mother passed over the Sea just two centuries after Legolas was born, and I lost my sister seven centuries ago when her patrol unit was ambushed by orcs."

"I'm sorry," Elladan said quietly. "My mother passed over the Sea also."

"Now, would you do me the courtesy of explaining your purpose for re-surfacing these memoties?" Derinsul said, not too kindly. His stiff tone masked the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He could see, in his mind's eye, the warm face of his mother, whose ringing laughter he still looked to hear every morning in the palace. His sister, named one of the fairest maidens in Mirkwood, who had eyes that reminded him of the night sky, and whose hair he would tie in a tangle when she was a child, out of mischief. She had always accredited me for the fact that no living creature could catch her unawares.

Except that a band of orcs had. Why did that accursed peredhel have to bring this up now? He was actually quite startled at his strong reaction; the centuries had taught him to bring up a protective steel mask for when such topics came up. But he couldn't seem to get a hold on his emotions now. Aramenel, what I would give just to see your face again!

"Legolas is injured, Derinsul. Gravely."

No! He froze mid-step, fearing that some higher Power had taken his thought seriously. Not Legolas! My life, everything I have ever owned or will ever own, but please, not my brother!

"Where is he now?" he finally managed to ask, though his heart felt as if it was being squeezed by a troll. "And why was I not told?"

Elladan only quickened his pace, and Derinsul realised with a start that they were on the main road; he hadn't been aware of them leaving the Citadel. What was wrong with him lately?

"You were not told because we feared to tell you anything until his situation was clear. The healer informed me before dinner that Legolas is now relatively stable. I will bring you to him now, for there is something you must see."

~*~

"How fares the Shire, Master Peregrin?"

Pippin nearly jumped at the sudden break in the silence they had traveled in for the past few hours. He found that the elf was walking beside him, one stride the length of three of his, and ahead of them was Merry with the ponies.

"Oh, as good as it always has, I guess." He proceeded to give a detailed account of the general going-ons in his homeland; the weather had been kind, the crop and wine good, and so far a total of 15 marriages, all in the space of three months. He also described at length Sam's growing family, and his plans for extending Bag End. But all the while Pippin's eyes remained on Merry, and a quick glance at Elrohir told him that the elf shared his concerns.

"How long has Merry been like this?" Elrohir asked, when Pippin finally ran out of things to say and had settled into silence again. He was careful to keep his voice down, but Merry looked to be in such deep thought that Pippin doubted he could hear them shouting.

"Ever since we left the Shire, four days ago," Pippin replied. "He had been restless all year, you know, looking at old maps, bringing up Moria, or Lothlórien, or Minas Tirith, at the oddest times. When we go walking, he would always look distant-like. I heard his mother mention to my uncle once that some nights he would disappear, and I'm mighty suspicious of that 'secret hedge' the Brandybucks have that go into the Old Forest. He isn't so afraid of the Old Forest anymore, not like the old times, and after meeting Treebeard and all those Huorns, I shouldn't wonder. But I worry too, because it's fear that makes us careful, and a careless hobbit can get hurt wandering about the woods, even in peaceful days."

"I see that the years have brought you wisdom, my dear hobbit," Elrohir remarked with a sad smile. "Though at what price, I wonder?"

If the atmosphere hadn't been so uneasy, Pippin would have laughed. "I'm afraid 'wisdom' and 'Took' don't go well together, Master Elrohir. But as for price… I wouldn't call it a price, but a blessing, if you get my meaning. I know what you mean, though. At home, I would talk about the places I've been, and the people I've met, but to the folks back home, they're only names. Most of 'em sort of know of Frodo's quest, but it's just a story for them. They know about the Elves, but they are a distant legend to them. I'm blessed to have seen what I have, to know people like you, Master Elrohir, but sad that no one else understands just what they are missing."

"But that is why the Shire endures, Pippin," Elrohir said kindly. "I have been to your land several times, you know, before even Master Bilbo was born, and I deemed that hobbits are happier and safer, shut away from the world. Why do you think the Dunédain guarded your borders so vigilantly? They saw you living a life they could not have, and were strengthened to see that there was a fruit to their long labours. Elves and men alike make grand halls and realms worth of song, yet even I have envied the simple life of your kind at times."

"It doesn't make it any less sadder, though." Pippin was surprised to discover that tears ran down his cheek. Grief had welled up in him again, an old grief he had thought to be long buried. Perhaps the price was heavier than he pretended it to be. "Sometimes, though, I wish that the hobbits back home knew the price for their freedom."

"I sought to learn of Merry's troubles, yet now I see that you carry a wound also, young Pippin," said Elrohir, lying a comforting hand on Pippin's shoulder. "Knowledge is a burden we must bear, Pippin. Be joyful that your people are free, and happy, though they may be ignorant. Would you have it any other way?"

"No," Pippin answered after a moment, wiping his cheeks with a kerchief. "I guess not." He sighed. "It's part of the reason I suggested this trip- yes, it was my idea, though I reckon Merry would have said something before long, or gone off on his own. I love the Shire, no mistake about that, but… even I can't stay there for very long without thinking about the outside world. Sam's lucky; he's got a family and all to keep him together, but Merry and I… Even after the Battle of Bywater, people expected things to go 'back to normal', like nothing ever happened, but we can't do that. Not with what we've been through."

Elrohir only shook his head ruefully. "Alas, that even innocence cannot escape the Shadow. I would have had it so that no hobbit would ever have been involved in the War, and it is no comfort to think that only a hobbit could have destroyed the One."

But I do not regret it, thought Pippin as the grief eventually subsided. For all the pains we went through, I don't regret it.

They fell into silence again. Merry still walked with his head down, oblivious to the world. Finally, Pippin worked up the courage to ask Elrohir something that he had both dreaded and desperately wanted to know.

"Elrohir, if it's not too personal a thing to ask, will you be going over the Sea soon?"

A shadow of grief passed the elf's face, but was gone so quickly Pippin wondered if it had been there at all. His eyes were locked to the west, and Pippin wondered what he was seeing. "That question I have not yet answered myself, son of Paladin. But the two choices I have require a price I do not think I have the strength to pay."

~*~

They had stopped for the night, and had made camp in a somewhat protected area on the open plains. The hobbits' lack of fervor for their meal was a clear indication of the strange mood that had befallen the two little beings. Elrohir, though significantly less of a politician than his twin, still had the training of Elrond and Galadriel in reading the hearts and minds of mortals. He saw that a shadow hung over Merry that made the hobbit's less desirable characteristics - impatience, and anger, for example – more pronounced, more dominant. The change in countenance alarmed Merry, and the hobbit was instinctively fighting this shadow. The shadow itself was… strange was the first word to come to mind, but unusual would describe it better. Instead of a foreign influence, the shadow in Merry was, as far as Elrohir could sense, actually a part of Merry, coming from within instead of outside, and he did not dare do anything until he was sure of its exact nature. And how it had come about. Which probably meant waiting until he could consult with Estel or Arwen.

Pippin also carried a shadow, and also one of his own making. His was less unusual, but far more profound, and Elrohir was glad for their earlier conversation. Otherwise he would not have detected the slow build-up of grief in the hobbit, yearning for release because Pippin refused to acknowledge it, until it was too late to help him. He felt that Pippin would he fine for the time being, though the grief was still there.

I spoke truly about a price, and I doubt that the grief would ever fully leave him.

Almost ritualistically his eyes rose to the night sky as the stars began appearing. One of the first to become visible was Gil-Estel, and Elrohir smiled at his grandfather.

"I pray that I have your strength, Mariner. The time for my choice lessens, yet a thousand years have not cleared my thoughts any further." He had also spoken truly about the emergence of wisdom in the young Took. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on Pippin, during their stay at Rivendell, and he would not have thought that hobbit to be the same as the one gathering up their cooking utensils, if it weren't for his physical features. Pippin was taller now, of course, but sorrow was in his face, and loss, and his eyes bore the grimness of one who had seen too much death.

The eyes of a hobbit are not meant to carry grief.

Elrohir shook his head. Over the years he had come to understand Mithrandir's fascination with the little folk. Hobbits were, at first glance, simple, and content with being simple. Dig a little deeper, however, and one would discover that the harmless-seeming race had endurance that made Dwarves seem like butter, nobility enough to make Men weep, and perceptiveness to rival an Elf.

Volunteering to take the first watch, Elrohir settled on a large rock where he could relax and watch all of the camp at the same time. It was unlikely that a watch was even needed, but Elrohir doubted he could sleep that night, and he desperately needed to think. He sat thus, as motionless as the rock, until the first light of the new day began creeping over the horizon.

"Son of my son, your brother needs you."

Elrohir looked around, startled. Nothing else stirred; he and the hobbits were alone on the plain. Feeling incredulous, yet unable to come to a better conclusion, his eyes gazed back up towards distant Eärendil. Was it his imagination, or did the star twinkle in acknowledgement?

Perhaps I should have gotten some sleep.

He shrugged and began waking a gently snoring Pippin, but in his mind and heart a deep dread was growing.

~*~

Merry blinked.

One minute, he had been staring at the various constellations in the clear night sky as he bedded down for the night. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Elrohir's graceful figure pace anxiously, then sit on a rock as he took the first watch. The next, he found himself standing on a crystal bridge, eerily similar to the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. A mile or so beneath him he could make out a seething river of molten rock, but strangely enough the heat did not touch him. He actually felt quite cool. On one side of the bridge was the entrance to a cave or dark tunnel, but he could not see further inside. The other…

He had to blink several times before he managed to actually see what it was. It was a huge dome, made of crystal that seemed so delicate that a good sneeze would shatter it. It was impossible to tell what colour it was, for the crystal surface was a swirling rainbow. At first, Merry thought it was smooth, but once his eyes adjusted to the almost nauseating colour-shifting, he saw that the surface was actually composed of thousands of flat segments the size of his hand. He wondered if it was safe to get closer, but something told him that there was someone else there with him, and though nothing bad had happened yet, one shouldn't tempt fate.

"Is anyone here?" He said softly, and cringed when his voice reverberated through the vast cavern. He felt that unseen presence again, and knew that it was aware of him, watching him.

"I do not wish you any harm," he tried again. It occurred to him that the Merry the Irritable Hobbit was gone, and he felt strangely relieved. Hobbit sense also told him that he was in a potentially dangerous situation, and that the first order of business was to find a way out. "I don't know how I got here, but I'll just be finding my way out now, if you don't mind."

Who are you?

The voice reverberated through the chamber, through his entire being, and echoed within his own mind. His eyes were suddenly drawn to the crystal dome, and he thought that the colours were swirling faster, mixing and melding in endless patterns. Watching it made him feel dizzy.

"My name's Merry. Meriadoc, son of Saradoc. And who are you sir, if I may ask?"

Meriadoc. He didn't know how, but he felt the presence's scrutiny grow keener, studying him. Are you one of the Secondborn?

What? Merry frowned. Fortunately, before the Fellowship departed from Rivendell, he had prepared himself for the journey south by studying maps and politely interrogating Lord Elrond. Though he was mostly interested in learning about the places they were going to and the road they were taking, he had picked up some bits of the history of Middle-Earth along the way. "No, I'm not a Man. I'm a Hobbit."

A Hobbit? Merry got the distinct impression that this presence was both curious and suspicious of him. He also caught how his question regarding the being's identity was smoothly evaded. He wondered if he had fallen into trouble again.

"Yes, sir. We're also known as Halflings, or Periannath."

A moment of silence followed, in which Merry shuffled uneasily as far from the edges of the bridge as he could. You tell the truth, dreamer, yet I must confess I do not know your kind.

"That's all right, few people do." Merry looked around for something that looked like an exit, but the only opening he could see was the dark cave entrance, and unpleasant memories of Moria made that a last resort. "And what did you mean by 'dreamer'?"

The presence seemed surprised at his question. You are not here in flesh, little one. Your mind is here in a dream-body, and so is another, but you are not here.

So he was dreaming. "Are you saying I only need to wake, and I'll leave this place?"

Of course. The voice suddenly sounded old and tired. Do not seek this place, little one. I know not how your mind found it, but those who enter in flesh can never leave.

Merry heard something in the being's tone. "Does that include you?"

A moment of surprised silence passed. Yes, I am imprisoned here.

Now, more worldly beings often mistook hobbits to be slow of thought due to their resistance to change and their quiet lifestyles, but several days in a hobbits' company often dispelled such views. Hobbits could think very fast and very shrewdly when the opportunity to presented itself, and none more so than Brandybucks, particularly certain Brandybucks whose lifetime objective seemed to be to get out of trouble. Thus it only took a moment of thought for Merry to reach a very horrifying conclusion.

"You're an elf, aren't you?" Of course, there could have been any number of possibilities regarding the being's Race, for the Quendi were by no means the only race untouched by time. However, as it just so happened, in this instance he was correct.

The swirling patterns froze mid-dance. Merry wondered if his fool mouth had landed him in deep water again, but when the voice spoke, it was filled with quiet admiration.

Your people must be accounted very wise indeed, young Meriadoc. None before had even thought of that, and many have spent a long time here trying to escape, cursing me for imprisoning them. The voice sounded very old indeed. Eventually they throw themselves into the fires below.

A wave of sympathy rose in the Merry's heart at the thought of an elf, imprisoned for all of time. As the dome was the only obvious structure in the cavern, the elf must be in there. A wiser being than he would probably stand back and consider the difficulties and dangers involved in tampering with something that one did not fully understand, but his simple hobbit heart only knew of a strong desire to free this imprisoned soul.

"Merry?"

He recognised Pippin's voice, and whipped around to see if the younger hobbit had also drifted into this dream, but he still stood alone on the bridge.

"Master Brandybuck, you will miss breakfast if you do not wake soon!"

That was Elrohir. The voices sounded distant, as if the speakers were yelling from afar, but were growing louder with each passing second. At the same time, the chamber was becoming less distinct, and Merry had the strangest sensation that he was being pulled away, though he wasn't moving.

You wake in the outside world.

The world spun, becoming dimmer, until he could no longer see even the crystal bridge beneath his feet.

"Will I speak with you again?"

The being took a moment to reply. You should not have been able to come here in the first place, little one. Yet I deem that we will speak again.

~*~*~

*I'm working on another short story for Legolas' homecoming, so if you're curious about what this refers to, please be patient and I'll have the story up soon.

**I'm not very sure about this, but I've imagined a chart of hierarchy for the elves, and with Elladan as the Lord of Imladris (being the eldest son, and Elrond gone over the Sea) and Derinsul as the Crown Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, it looked like Elladan is higher in status. However, Derinsul is a good bit older, which makes it awkward for him to address Elladan as 'Lord' (though he may think it). Besides, I think that they would view each other as equals, for a compromise between age and hierarchy. So I decided to use the word 'kinsman', not in the sense that they are related, but to imply 'of the same status'.

Author's Notes

Well, some new POVs there. Hope Merry, Pippin and Elrohir turned out all right, as they're the ones I've spent the least time on. Derinsul is another interesting one, but unfortunately all the background work I've done on him is in another story; I'm actually working on a vignette of Thranduil deciding to let Legolas go on the Fellowship (which I mention in this chapter). We'll be seeing quite a lot of Derinsul later.

By the way, Arwen was in the library that Derinsul almost stumbled into. If he had gone in, he would have spotted her with a pile of scrolls and documents concerning Sauron.

Response to Reviewers

Wow, you guys have motivated me to write more and revise more! Thanks to all my readers, and a special thanks to my reviewers for giving their say.

Kazaera- thanks, and I have noticed also that just about everyone sees the twins as pranksters. We'll see a more serious side to them both in this story, though. Concerning our mystery elf, I had originally intended for him to be an OC, but he's now officially a Silmarillion character. As for where he comes from… we'll have to wait and see, won't we? grins evilly

leiasky- thanks; the story's set around 6 years after the War of the Ring, 5 years after the end of ROTK.

Cyberwing- thanks, glad you like it!

Hai- thanks for the good luck, will definitely need it!

Isabeau of Greenlea- thank you, will have more Gimli/Legolas in the next chapter, though it won't be in the way you may think! It'll be interesting if you are able to guess who the elf is, 'cuz he's a very obscure character in the Silm.

e- will an Elladan/Derinsul confrontation do instead? I think I'll have an Arwen/Derinsul squabble later, but it's not a definite event.

acacia- oh dear, I REALLY have to revise this at some point. Thanks for spotting that! And thanks for the good luck- you guys are the ones motivating me to update!

Silian- thanks; you can take it easy on your poor nails now.

The Amazing Maurice- many thanks, you've just made my month. I can assure you that we'll be seeing a much more serious side to Merry and Pippin (where would Middle-Earth be without hobbits?)

iverson- thank u; well, Legolas won't be waking up for a bit (some things have to happen first), we've seen a bit of Merry in this chapter, and hopefully Elladan will have a bit of spotlight in the next chapter!

And thanks to Thundera Tiger for advertising (is that the right word for it?) my story! To anyone who hasn't checked, Fear No Darkness Chapter 24 is up!!