'He will not wake again,' said Denethor. 'Battle is vain. Why should we wish to live longer? Why should we not go to death side-by-side?'
- The Pyre of Denethor, Book V of the Red Book of Westmarch

Call of Moon...

It was the first time Derinsul had seen the eldest son of Elrond employ the legendary Peredhil political skill. As Thranduil's Heir he had journeyed to Rivendell a number of times as an ambassador to his father, and had been repeatedly impressed by the way Lord Elrond could manipulate a difficult and complex situation to achieve the best results without provoking anyone to anger.

It must be something to do with the eyes, he thought distantly. All of Elrond's children had inherited his intense storm-grey eyes- even King Elessar, which had led to some confusion about the boy's parentage, or so the tales said- and the gaze did not so much as penetrate as insinuate itself into a person's mental capacities. Thus, one had a feeling that those eyes could see and sympathize with one's situation, and therefore any decision made must be for the best.

In the wrong hands, such an attribute could easily persuade men into doing evil with the utter conviction that it was right. Or perhaps not; there was also an inherent kindness and wisdom in that gaze that further improved the effect, which evil would surely harden and sour into arrogance..

However, skill or no, Derinsul's keen Elven eyes could see that Elladan was still quite weak. His stood stiffly, and moved as little as possible without arousing suspiscion. Derinsul got the impression that he was focusing all of his energy into his eyes, voice, and general power of persuasion.

"We understand, of course, that the King deserves some rest," said one advisor. In an Elven court Derinsul would not have been so careless as to neglect memorising their names, but a lingering disbelief at having Elladan not merely alive but up and walking had caused him to focus so much attention on the Half-Elf that he hadn't been listening at the start of the meeting. "In fact, a number of us have suggested for him to take a brief period of respite from his duties. But should he not have spoken to us personally first?"

They are suspicious. Not surprising, really, and Derinsul would have thought less of them if they had not noticed the glaringly obvious absence of Arwen. Perhaps they suspectan Elven coup, he thought with some amusement, barely managing to keep a small smile off his face. He was careful not to look directly at Elladan, however. He was certain enough of the Peredhel's skill to know that Elladan would not need his help in this arena, and their suspicions would not be allayed by shared glances between the two in the room with Elven blood. He wondered how Elladan would talk his way out of it, though. The advisers, hardened by years of experience at court as they were, had been surprisingly placate so far due to being caught off-balance by the sudden news and Elladan's diplomatic charisma, something which he had evidently not employed on them to its full extent, until now. Despite the late hour, there had only been minimal grumbling, and all eyes were wide awake and fixed on the son of Elrond.

Elladan merely smiled, and took a piece of folded parchment out from the thick garments (in the Rivendell colours often favoured by his father, fittingly enough) that he had donned for the meeting. Derinsul supposed it was both to hide any tremblings or weaknesses of movement, and for the warmth. He passed the document to the man on his immediate right, who held it up for all to see the personal seal of the King before breaking it. As he unfolded it, a smaller piece of parchment slipped out, which he picked up and read aloud first.

"''The bearer of this is Elladan Peredhil, Captain of the King's Guard and my brother. To him falls the guardianship of Minas Tirith should I and my Queen Undomiel be absent for any reason. I entrust this charge upon him in the confidence that he will keep the White City safe until my, or my heirs', return.'"

This incited some murmuring and drawn heads amongst the advisers, the most activity the Mirkwood Elf had seen in them thus far. Derinsul gave into temptation and cast a scrutinizing gaze at Elladan, but the Half-Elf's face was carefully expressionless. The same man picked up the main sheet of parchment, and read,

"Hail, my illustrious Ministers and faithful Advisers,

I know that my actions are inexcusable, but I fear that the burdens of office have become considerably great, of late. I have gone for a brief time to rest. I have made arrangements for the guardianship of the City in my absence. Please forgive my sudden departure, and my abandonment of thee without prior warning. But I am only a man, and as one do I appeal to you."

"It is written and signed in his hand, with his personal seal at the bottom," ended the advisor, carefully folding the parchment up again. The tension in the room decreased somewhat, though the letter was passed around until every man had seen it and confirmed that it was, indeed, the Elessar's writing.

"I hope you forgive our initial suspicion, Lord Elladan," said another adviser, who looked to be the oldest man in the room. "But Gondor has not had a King for a long while, and-"

"And you say that Queen Arwen has gone to him?" interrupted another adviser. Derinsul could see Elladan gathering himself for a prolonged debate. And they were only buying time, though the Valar only know how the current situation was going to be resolved. Yet they had no choice; anything else would put Minas Tirith at risk. At least during the reign of the Stewards, it was clear who held the rule. Familial relations to the King nonewithstanding, Elladan was the best person remaining to be in charge of the City. He had stood by his brother's side for a great part of the time since the Elessar's coronation, and before that had served under his father, a member of the Wise Council itself. They would have entrusted the advisors with the truth, but there were some present who were not as discreet with their tongues as a matter of such import required for them to be.

"I suppose they are in Ithilien, then?" said one man near Derinsul.

"I'm afraid he does not wish for his whereabouts to be known," said Elladan, then added with a small smile, "At the behest of Lord Faramir."

Encourage their suspiscions without explicitely confirming them, the Sindar prince thought approvingly. And in the same stroke, drop in a name that still inspires more confidence in some areas of the City than Elessar's; some of these men had seen the Steward in his swaddling clothes.

It was then that Derinsul suffered a rare premonition. Or perhaps it shouldn't be called as such. But as the events of the day swept him along like a helpless fish in a strong river, at the back of his mind he had been working away at the confusing riddle that fate had landed them in. He was no closer to an answer, but a metaphorical verse had yielded a fragment of the answer.

Legolas.

With the legendary stealth of his kindred, he slipped out of the room and raced down the stone hallways of the Citadel. Fortunately, the unearthly hour meant that very few souls were awake, and he achieved the Houses of Healing a mere few minutes since leaving informal council. But even as he stepped into the silent building, he knew. He looked into the room, anyway, and confirmed that they were gone. He entered and touched the rumpled sheets. A slight trace of warmth, which meant that they had probably left within the half-hour.

They could not have gone far, his racing mind told him. They must have taken a horse, Legolas being in that state. And the Dwarf would not risk worsening the injuries by moving fast. Of course, taking someone who had just survived a brush with death out of a warm bed and into the cold night air, not to mention exposing him to what had nearly killed him in the first place, would probably qualify as risking him.

He barely noticed the rain as he walked out of the building. I should have simply stayed with him, he berated himself, oscillating between a rising rage at the accursed Dwarf and a near overwhelming fear for his brother. Whatever madness has befallen this City, I shall get my brother out of it!

He was about to head for the stables when he heard his name being called out. He frowned, just realising how heavily the rain was falling when he couldn't make out who the approaching figure was. "I am here!" he called. And my brother is out there. When I get my hands on that Naugrim! This downpour is enough carry Legolas off to the Halls of Mandos!

"Crown Prince Derinsul?" as the figure got nearer, Derinsul saw that it was one of the two Elves who had accompanied him to Minas Tirith. He had almost forgotten them, in the confusion of the day.

"Aye, Thavron, it is I," he replied in Sindarin. "Is anything amiss?"

"I am not sure, my Prince. But the Lord Elladan has just collapsed, my Lord, and he calls for you."

Derinsul inwardly groaned. His duty was to his kin, first, and his brother was out there, somewhere- Valar only knew why- but Elladan needed him to stay in the City. Maybe he should have stopped Éomer from leaving, but back then he had not anticipated having to chase down a Dwarf who had spirited his brother away. But could he, in good conscience, abandon Elladan? For a moment, he simply stood there, staring out into the darkness. In his mind he replayed the sequence of events that had led to this moment, and took comfort in the knowledge that, even in hindsight, he could not have done anything any differently. Now he had a choice.

In his battles against the Shadow in his father's realm in Mirkwood, it was a common fear amongst the Elves that they would be forced to choose between saving loved ones and the greater good of the people. That Shadow had gone, but it seemed that another had taken its place, and fate was requiring such a decision from Derinsul now.

It was easy, really. The Men of Gondor were not his people, Minas Tirith was not his City. His only ties to it were his brother's love of the King. Legolas was his youngest brother, whom he had sworn to protect with his life even before the babe had been old enough to understand his oath. This did not even take into account his emotions in the matter. He could still remember Legolas as a young elfling- his first steps, his first shy song on a winter solstice, his tears after his first orc-slaying. He looked around him, and wondered what he was doing there, a Wood-Elf in a city of cold stone, whose people he could not care a whit about in the face of the loss of his brother.

In his darkest hours during the War of the Ring, he had conjured worse scenarios than this, worse choices for fate to demand of him. He wondered why the Valar chose to test him now.

Nodding to Thavron, he did as his heart bid him.

What am I doing? said a voice

Thank you, Éowyn, for being braver than I could ever be, said another.

Estel! cried a third.

The spattering rain suited her mood perfectly. She cared little for the growing weariness of the horses, or the treacherous darkness that hid rabbit-holes or other obstacles that could cause their mounts to throw them off. Dimly she heard Éowyn's continuous pleas to stop.

"Arwen! The horses are getting tired! We cannot see the ground below us in this darkness! Whatever your intentions may have been, I for one do not wish to go willingly into the arms of death!"

She worries about death. Arwen wanted to laugh. Death! To be mortal is to die; why does it matter so much?

The blow came out of nowhere. Such was the force of it that Arwen felt herself slide dangerously to one side of her saddle, which was already slippery from the rain. Her hands loosened their death-grip on the reins; she felt her steed slow down under the skilful handling of the shieldmaiden of Rohan. For several heartbeats she could see white sparks in her vision; she laughed wildly at the thought of the stars themselves descending to berate her.

She thought she could hear them chanting. Death.

Éowyn winced as she rubbed her fist. It was really not appropriate for ladies to engage in such rough activities, but growing up in an almost exclusively male household and patriarchal society had imparted onto her a partiality for a more physical method of bringing sense to people when sweet verbal diplomacy was not having the desired effect. After all, there was no time on a battlefield to coddle a warrior's mental crisis. Of course, the only people who she had ever dared perform such ministrations on had been her brother and cousin. Yet Faramir's indulgence of her desire for sword-play had kept her arms strong, so she had had to pull the punch a little lest she sent the Queen of Gondor out of her saddle.

She gazed worriedly at said Queen, who was looking and behaving as anything but. Arwen was giggling insensibly, staring into the darkness with the gaze of one watching an entertaining show. It was an eerie sight that sent shivers down Éowyn's spine. As a great part of the men-folk of Rohan and Ithilien were in the country's fighting force, Éowyn had had extensive experience with consoling widows and orphans after the arrival of the latest tidings from the battle-front. But she was at a loss as to how one could begin addressing Arwen's half-grief. What could she say that the daughter of Elrond would not have said to herself already? She had conceded to this reckless journey out of the protective City walls out of fear that constraining Arwen would cause even more harm, but with every passing moment the Lady of Emyn Arnen regretted her choice even more.

Yet now that they had escaped the City, now that they were free to roam the open lands before them… her Rohirric blood sang with anticipation. A horse needed only good, authoritative direction- there were no politics, no masquerading required here.

She frowned up at the sky. The rain was increasing in intensity by the heartbeat. It had been dangerous enough for two able riders to come out here in the dark, but add rain and one of the riders recently becoming incapacitated, the risks for injury or even worse trouble grew too great. She shook her head heavily, knowing that she would have to face a very angry brother on their return and she would deserve eacn word of rebuke.

You took advantage of Arwen's instability, an inner voice whispered. You thought you were saving her from coming out here on her own, but isn't that just an excuse to do what you've been longing to do? A real friend would have kept her in the City, where she would be safe.

"That's not true," she whispered, hands trembling. Unheeded, her horse skittered nervously beneath her. "Confining her would have destroyed her!"

Your doubt betrays you, the malicious voice continued. And now you're in even greater danger. You have delivered her to the darkness.

"Éowyn!"

She let out a breath, part relief and part dread, at the familiar albeit understandably agitated voice of her brother. Whatever madness had driven her thus far had retreated at the realization of how much she was endangering them both. Even Éowyn the Shield-maiden understood limits; she simply chose not to be cumbered by them if the danger was only to herself.

"Éowyn!"

Despite the dark and rain, Éowyn had no trouble pinpointing the direction of the horse-hooves. The reins of Arwen's steed firmly in hand, she considered going to meet her brother, but decided that it was probably safer to stay where they were and have Éomer come to them. She frowned at the horses; they radiated nervousness like the Sun. Whilst a measure of it could be attributed to the dark and the rain, both the horses were Rohan-bred, gifts from her brother for their respective weddings, and the rolling plains of the Riddermark endured far worse weather than this. As skittish as they were now, she knew with her birth people's blood that it was only their strict training and her façade of calm that was preventing them from bolting back the way they came.

If you deign to ride a horse, little one, floated Theoden's fatherly voice across the decades. You must show yourself to be calm at all times. Be calm, and the steed will be calm; be certain, and the steed will be certain. Show courage, and the horse will have no fear. That is the lore of your forefathers, o daughter of the Eorlingas!

"Éomer!" she called out in response. "Éomer, we are here!"

The hooves came. But instead of being comforted by the approach of familiar company, their steeds seemed to become even more fearful. Arwen's condition hardly aided her horse in remaining calm, yet Eowyn's own steed began dancing about uncertainly.

"Hush, dear Thalion," she smiled briefly, both at the irony of the name at the moment and the memory of Faramir naming the colt. She leaned forward slightly to stroke the horse's elegant neck.

Several things happened at once.

Arwen's horse seemed to sense her distraction, and seized the opportunity to suddenly pull back, causing Eowyn to lose hold of its reins. At the same time, Eomer and his party located them, though so focused was Éowyn on Arwen's runaway steed that she hardly noticed them.

Nor did she notice the other new arrival, whose stench reminded the horses of the evil that their ancient ancestors in the North had fled from, back when their race was young. Though such a thing had not shadowed their pastures for two Ages, their blood remembered better than memory ever could, and sped through their bodies in terror.

The King of Rohan cried out "Éowyn!" at the same time as Arwen screamed.

Éowyn's head spun around, first at her brother's call, then at the sound of her companion's fear. Only, Arwen was no longer within her visibility range, though she thought she could hear the other's panicked horse. Her own steed was dancing about, defying years of strict instruction and training. The rain made everything slippery, and she shivered, though she wasn't entirely sure it was from the cold. Her breathing was rushed and harsh, though not as much as her heart. A deep fear welled up within her, an unnamed dread that struck her primal core. It would have overwhelmed her, had she not felt it before...

"I am not a man!"

... Éowyn- all of Éowyn, this time- struck out, driving the fear that seemed to had enveloped the world out of her mind. She suddenly knew where Arwen was, where her brother and his eored were... and that which stood in their midst. A predator of the old world. Unseen, unknown- unseeable and unknowable, save for eyes that had gazed at a similar evil before. Like hers.

Thus it languidly stalked towards the mounted Riders, not heeding the powerful legs of the horses, for though the beasts could not see it, they knew the scent of a predator. To their credit, the Rohirrim were not so quick to dismiss their horses' fear. Many a Rider owed his life to the bond between him and his horse, and these men, all of whom were , were appointed so for being the best in all the Mark. So they were extremely wary, with half having drawn their weapons and the other with their hands on the hilts. At the centre was Eomer, whose eyes were darting about, trying to find the threat in the darkness. Eowyn was sure that the creature would target him. She doubted it understood the superficial markings of rank that her brother wore on his person, but there were other ways of determining who was the leader of a group. And as most predators would seek out the weakest of the herd, this one, she was sure, the ultimate predator, would not be contented with anything less than the leader, with the possibility of taking down the entire herd with him.

Yet at the same instant as the full weight of her gaze fell upon it and perceived it in truth, the creature paused, and turned to gaze at her in turn. It seemed to regard her uncertainly.

"Leave them be," floated the whisper past her numb lips. It could not have heard her- the rain was pouring in a vertical torrent now, and her words could not have carried past an arm's length had it been a clear day with the wind going in the right direction- but mayhaps it understood her defiance. A defiance that had no base, for she quaked both in heart and body, and never had she been more aware of being a weak, defenseless mortal woman than in that moment when a nightmare from another age hesitated to determine if she was a threat.

A heartbeat of stillness. And then it sped off. But not away, though Éowyn did not register it until it was too late.

"Arwen!" she screamed, but no sound issued from the darkness where she had seen the Queen of Gondor last. Until frantic hoofbeats gave a moment's warning before Arwen's steed galloped past her.

You gave her to Death on a silver plate.

On instinct, she urged her reluctant steed forwards, using the horse's fear as direction. She was only vaguely aware of Éomer calling after her, following her though he was similarly troubled by his own horse. Eventually they reached a point where the horse steadfastedly refused to take another step further, though Éowyn had even deigned to sharply slap its rear. Making a mental note to apologise to her faithful steed for her ill treatment of him even though he was going againt all instincts to aid her, she quickly dismounted and attempted to make out her surroundings in the near pitch-black.

She was in a patch of wood. She could not be entirely certain of their location, but they had been en route to Emyn Arnen, intending to find the place where the massacre of the Guards had taken place. The idea seemed inifinitely more absurd without the sorrowful and fear-filled eyes of Arwen holding her responsible for their husbands remaining lost. Now that she felt quite certain about what had killed the Guards, she wondered if something was exerting a negative influence on the White City. Certainly, things had been far from normal of late, though as far as she knew it was still confined to certain inhabitants of the Citadel; the everyday lives of the people did not seem to have been disrupted.

But if that creature got into the City...

Something broke beneath her feet.

Despite his apparent convertion to Elfdom- as some of his more polite Dwarf-miners put it- Gimli still retained some measure of Dwarven distrust towards things that could not be fully confirmed by the senses. Dreams had an elusive quality that he could come to accept; apparitions that he alone could see started up the sound of the traditional warning bells- from his youth in the deep mines- that alerted all of gas being found. He suspected that there was another force at work, influencing him into uncharacteristic trustfulness. Or maybe he was just an aging Dwarf who had suddenly found that a Dragon had invaded his halls and was being asked by a rickety old man to put his faith in a Hobbit that, whatever the man might claim, had obviously never step foot outside of his Shire. Gimli found the analogy amusing, and even mustered up a half-smile. Though he is by no means a rickety old man, he thought bemusedly. Certainly not a Man, and who had ever heard of a rickety Elf? Yet I wager that he is old. Very old.

The Hobbit, in this case, was Legolas. That sobered Gimli up once more; at this moment, he would trust Bilbo Baggins thrice more than Legolas in his current condition. And it was not as if Thorin had been fond of Baggins at the start!

He sighed, realising that he really was in need of sleep. Beneath them, Arod seemed uneasy. At least that made him more acquiescant towards Gimli than usual, though the horse must be wondering why it was his master's incompetent friend who was steering him. He was also being good-natured at having to pull a small cart, a task that, in Gimli's experience, trained warhorses seemed to resent. Then again, Gimli had made sure that Arod glimpsed the ashen face of Legolas in the cart before pulling the Elf's hood up. He wondered if the horse had assumed that he was taking Legolas to help, and thus had decided to trust him. It made Gimli feel more wretched, for with every passing moment the sense grew that he was doing the worst thing possible.

Common sense alone said so. Legolas had had a brush with death so near that in some moments Gimli still wondered at his being alive at all. He had barely had time to recover, and hadn't even regained full use of his limbs yet. He was warm and as safe as he could be anywhere in Middle-Earth. And what had the brash Dwarf done? Heeded a phantom into taking him out of the Houses of Healing and into a night that may well still contain whatever it was that had nearly sent Legolas to his death in the first place!

"On the other hand," he muttered under his breath. "Dwarves neither dream as Elves do, nor converse with the dead of other Races. What are the chances that Legolas' faithful steed would get a stone in his shoe on the eve of their departure for Ithilien and thus be left behind? If it were not for that, Arod would be lying dead with the rest of the Guard, for he would never have abandoned Legolas. A chill made its way down the Dwarf's spine as he considered that he would not have trusted any other horse with what he was doing now; if it had not been for his trust and experience with Arod, Gimli's worries would have prevented him from making it out of the White City. Yet surely coincidence only went so far?

The rain hardly eased his anxieties. At least the stolen cart, having come from the special stables of the Houses of Healing, came with a tarp which he had quickly pulled over the opening and secured. A small covered lantern was the only light, but Gimli wondered if he might as well extinguish it, for it hardly illuminated anything through the curtain of rain and would more likely lead trouble to them.

"Even in these days of peace, I'd never thought I would travel east thus, with only my axe and a sick Elf for protection," he said aloud.

He heard a soft chuckle, and saw a glimmer of that golden hair. "Now I see the Dwarf! Forgive me, I had wondered if your friend has driven all of the Naugrim out of you, Master Gimli. But your distrust is also wise, for one should never follow another blindly, save when there is no other choice."

"That is my worry- that I have another choice besides this and I am too blinded by my grief and fear to see it."

"Perhaps there is, but not one which you would wish to take. Even now, Feredir is hunting. There is not much time. Yet I daresay you are more at risk than the Sindar prince; the poison has changed his scent and marked him as one of the Shadow, or at least something that Feredir should not concern himself with."

Gimli felt his hands go cold. "We are not looking for the Mirrors, are we?"

"You are," the voice had become quieter. "But it is more likely that Feredir will find you first. And it is something that you should hope for; it will get you to the Mirrors faster than looking for one of the entrances on this side of the Ephel Duath."

"But... it will kill me..."

"It may not. There is more to being elvellon than the name, though in these fading days they matter little. But remember that you face a contraption of the First Age, and the creatures of the Shadow then could detect the presence of a wandering Elf a week after the Elf's passing. From their entrance into the living world, Morgoth's creatures detested all that is Elven, or has been graced by the powers in the West. It did not kill Legolas, though it could have easily done so. It may not kill you."

Gimli looked back the way they came, but realised that returning was futile. He could not be certain of the way, and chances are that the creature was already on their trail. He wanted to be angry at the voice, but found that his heart was filling with fear. He struggled to calm his breathing, but the roar of the rain and the black of the night deprived him of anything to anchor himself to. Then, a phantom hand rested on his shoulder, applying a feather's weight of pressure.

"It may not kill you. But... are you willing to die for him?"

Author's Notes:

There is no reason good enough to justify my not updating this chapter for so long. It's mostly due to a lack of organisational ability, procrastination, the occasional writing block, and this being my last year of secondary school. I have had a lot of things on my plate recently, and despite my great love of writing, have had to push it down to the bottom of my priorities. Finally an e-mail from Lita of Jupiter (hugs) reminded me that I have an obligation to finish this story, which is taking far longer than I had ever expected it to. For my part, I'm extremely sorry. I hope that y'all have had a good Christmas vacation, and a belated Happy New Year 2005! huggles galore

I've edited the previous chapter a little, after finding a few typos (cringe) and irregularities in the sentence structures. More action coming up next! And I know... I'm writing, I'm writing!

PS- An especially big HUG to Lita of Jupiter for poking me back into writing.

IceAngel7- Thanks sweets glomps I had been intending to have a scene with the three of them in this chapter, but it was getting rather long, and I thought it'd make a good finishing scene for the next chapter. So hope you're still around then g

Lirenel- Not so much action yet, but there's a big one coming up in the next chapter. If you mean a fight scene, however, I assure you that there will be some, once they're a little further into the caverns and meet the nastier thing inside. Thanks!

kiss316- pats Yes, can get rather silly sometimes Thank you so much for your heartening words; I'm a great lover of the twins, myself, and was strangely heartbroken when I made that choice concerning Elrohir. But don't despair yet, for even I'm not sure of what really has become of him. I love Legolas and Gimli too, and I'm looking forward to writing some fluffier scenes between them soon. Thank you very much!!

unplugged32- Aaaw, thanks sweets, I hope you're still there!

Cosmic Castaway- Initial intentions nonewithstanding, I'm sorry that it took such a long time for me to update. Thank you for taking the time to tell me you like it!

Thundera Tiger- glomptacklehugs Considering the fact that I absolutely idolize you and your fics, your review very nearly made me cry! I had to pause and breathe every other sentence! THANK YOU SOOO MUCH, you fanfic-writing genius you! If I blush any harder I'll turn into a tomato. Many sincere, extreme apologies for my very slow pace. I really do try, but life conspires to get in the way g. I really hope that I manage to maintain the standard and quality that you've come to expect (though I certainly don't see it :-P). Anyways, I was mostly maneuvering everyone into position, though I am also building up to something, but it's in the next chapter! evil snicker Once again, thank you so very, very much for being so supportive and a constant reader and reviewer. The hope of reading more of your work can be the only reason I get up on my darker days, and to have you like my writing so is truly one of the high points of my life. Thank you!

Jordy- Glad to hear it, sweets! Thank you! Yes, this is turning into a mystery/ supernatural fic, which is certainly not something I had intended when I started writing it. g

aimless-37- I love Elrohir too, though that may not bode well for his prospects ;-) Thank you for your kind words, I am worried that I'll lose the enthusiasim for this fic (as I have before in other fics guilty grin) but so long as I've got wonderful readers like you wanting to read more, I'll keep writing!

Nightwing6- Yay, the characters are indeed being moved into position, which is why I'm strangely having everyone on the move all the sudden. After all, most of the action will be taking place inside the caverns. Thank you, and I hope you keep reading!

Mystwing- To be honest, I myself am not sure about Elrohir ;-) I hope that he's OK too, as I love the twins. It was always my intent to keep everyone guessing, though, so if you're confused, then you're right where you should be ;-) Thanks for reviewing!

KaliedescopeCat- I am quite fond of Faramir and Aragorn as characters, and I look forward to exploring their relationship in the midst of all this very strange stuff happening to them. Thank you, and I hope you'll keep reading!