Hey all, guess what? I am typing this chapter on my wonderful, amazing, fantastic, beautiful…awesome new laptop! Ah, pretty! I'm sorry, am a tad excited you see. Anyways, we are opening today with a letter from Godead to his brother.
My dear brother,
I owe you an explanation, I am sorry. So sorry. You deserve to know why I despise elves so much, why I hate them with every fiber of my body. Aye, you deserve that.
It started when I met Baisael. She was fifteen at the time and I fell instantly in love with the daughter (her) of the Lord I was staying with. Oh, she was beautiful, with green eyes and dark hair. Her skin might have been pale at some point but she was now tanned. She clearly was considered a good catch by her people. So good a catch that I had no hope of being the one her father chose for her.
I knew she loved me too, Baisael and I, we had a love that was true. True as a blazing fire, and eternal flame. Oh, I adored her. So, to keep her love, and keep her suitors away I used my money and power to dissuade the others. I bribed them, threatened them. And soon I was the only one asking for her fair hand.
Her father could not turn me away, even if I was taking his daughter out to the depths of Rhûn, he needed the money. I felt no regret as we were wed and we returned to our family home. You are nineteen now. That was nineteen years ago.
Mother set me word that she had had a new child, the babe was you. I was surprised. Our mother was nearing fifty at the time. She had no business birthing children anymore. I was almost angry at father, and I demanded their return to the family estate, where we now live.
They returned, or she did. Father had sent her on alone, without protection. I was livid, but father was killed in an 'accidental' raid on the village he was in. With him was a young mistress. I set about getting mother remarried, I picked Baisael's father, and the marriage was completed.
He loved mother, despite her graying hair and rebellious attitude. He didn't mind that she chose to remain here with Baisael and me.
I was woken one night when Baisael leaned over and whispered something to me. She said, "Will you light my candle?"
I did not understand but I obeyed her without complaint. I loved her. Oh…I loved her. She lay my hand on her stomach and whispered to me that she was pregnant. I was ecstatic.
The baby was born nine months later, a year younger then you. We named her Hannas, for she appeared beautiful and intelligent.
She was. She was everything I wanted, and even when I saw her directly after her birth I knew she would resemble Baisael.
Oh, my daughter. She was your best friend, she never called you uncle. She hung on your every word, do you remember those days?
You were eight when mother died of a weak illness. She just died, there was no warning. I was angry, angry at you, at father, at everyone who had anything to do with her being weak.
I changed your name, Lôneth you were, but Naerdor you became. Mother had wanted you named in elvish, so I used my limited resources to name you 'pitiful brother' I ended up with 'pitiable' brother.
Which in the end is true, you deserve to be pitied. I changed who you were, made you dark, like my heart was to become.
I kept you away from my daughter, till she forgot you. You were ten before you met her again, and for you both it was the first time. She took an instant dislike to you.
You were tan, weak where she was strong. She didn't like that. You were boring.
She was the most beautiful nine year old, with ebony hair. She was pale, unlike her mother. Yet she appeared tan if you caught her from a distance. Her eyes were her own, neither me nor my wife had them. They were made green or grey in paintings, but she had the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen. They were almost aqua in their beauty.
She was fourteen that winter. Yes, she was fourteen. You were fifteen.
Baisael was walking in the garden. A light snow was falling and she had on the most beautiful pink dress. I remember it, it was pale, the softest rose, and made her cheeks appear a light pink. She raised her hand to catch a snowflake, her arm stretching upwards. She appeared angelic. She lowered her hand slowly, and it landed gently upon her breast. She lifted her eyes to the heavens and crumpled to the ground.
A light crimson stain was blanketing the silver snow.
I ran down. Down to my love. Her green eyes were still glancing upwards, her pink dress a dramatic red. Her elegant h--- excuse me, my vision blurred for a moment. Her eleant hand was wrapped around the shaft of an arrow, and elven arrow. I looked up to see a flash of hair, a called apology. And an elf jumped beside me, I was lvid. Lôneth, lividthis being had taken my wife from me. My Baisael. I yelled at him, I threatened him.
"I am sorry, sir," he said again and again. I know he was. But I couldn't accept. He had killed my love! MY LOVE! I raised my blade to kill him, but he told me that my wife would not have wanted it, that she had bade him kill a woman who looked like her. He told me he knew my wife. That he had three sons! That my wife had asked him. MY WIFE would never do that. I did not kill him, but I did a fair deal of damage. When I find a member of his family they will die by my hand, and my hand alone. I hate him, I hate him with a passion. I hate him.
Naerdor, Lôneth. My little brother, I love you deeply. Perhaps now you understand me a bit better. Perhaps.
Do not join them in their fight, they know no pity, they lie to me. I despise them. You must understand brother, they took my life away. My hope. My fair and wise, my Baisael.
Forever your Lord and brother
-
Naerdor clutched the letter in his trembling hand. He had come to speak with the elf, for he trusted the elf. He wanted to ask if he knew this elf with three sons, this elf who had disappeared from his home for a short time four years ago.
But his brother had not mentioned how Hannas met her end, the girl who h had once known. But that was not something he wished to dwell on.
His name was Lôneth! He had a name! He was not the pitiable brother only, but a human as well. It was new to him, to have a name, one his mother had bestowed on him, one she had chosen with love.
He walked to the thick door and opened it, but the elf was not alone. He could not help the angry, harsh words tat escaped his lips in a snide voice.
"Well, well. What have we here?"
The man who was with the elf spun around an look of surprise darting across his fair face for a moment before utter contempt replaced it.
"Who are you to enter unannounced on my 'talk' with the elf?" he whispered dangerously.
"Your torture session?"
"I would never- Yes."
"A slip of the tongue, Strider? Tsk, tsk, tsk. You never were one to keep your words to yourself."
"Naerdor," Aragorn began, a lie forming on his lips.
The younger human shook his head in disgust, what was he doing? He smiled reassuringly at Aragorn. "Nay, I am not here to challenge you. If Legolas trusts you so do I, for has Legolas not told you? I am helping you now," the younger man spoke softly he was afraid a spy of is brother might hear. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I think for the plans to go smoothly he must be with the others, do you not agree?"
"I do agree," Aragorn said slowly, a frown forming on his features.
"Strider," Legolas said, "help me up please."
The ranger knelt down and supported the elf, helping him gently to his feet. The prince nodded gratefully to him and stood on shaky legs.
Naerdor watched the casual way the man reached out and put a hand on Legolas' shoulder to steady him, the way he did it made it look like Aragorn was the one who needed steadying. Naerdor smiled appreciatively, the man was decidedly trustworthy.
"I formally order you to send him to the healing wing and then he is to be immediately sent to the residence area," Naerdor said with a nod. Yes, that was a good plan of action, he thought to himself.
He waited quietly until the human and elf had left the room. He then stood alone, alone and useless.
What if there was some truth in the claim the elf made? What if…what if Baisael did ask to be killed? He shook the thought off nearly as quickly as it had come, thoughts like those were treason in his home.
And he had no wish to die.
---&---
"I have a horrible feeling," Randir said quietly, his eyes drifting from the small fire to the queen who sat across from him.
A small rolling plain blanketed in brown brush was their chosen campsite. The night was particularly lovely, with bright stars and a full, silver moon.
"About what?"
"I fear someone will die tomorrow. I fear it is someone we shall miss greatly," he spoke quietly. He was in no way, shape, or form able to tell the future.
"I live each moment as my last, if it is I who dies I shall he had a very full life," Morwen spoke.
"I hope it is not you!" Randir protested.
"Oh?"
"Aye, I would hate to explain it to your husband…" he said sheepishly. Morwen chuckled.
"A very good reason, elf, a very good reason," the queen answered with a small smile. She thought of her husband, he surely must be wondering where she was these days, She hoped he was well.
"Morwen, I…I thank you. For coming with me I mean, I would not have thought as you did. I would still be where we arrived, or possibly captured. I thank you. I…and my kin are in your debt."
"I would be grateful, were there a debt to be paid. For there is none, I do not consider help a debt, and I would not have you bind your kin to a promise they might not be able to keep. I beg of you…please, do not vow yourself into my service."
"Even if our countries were at war, I would stand by you…"
"NO! Randir. Oh Randir, nay. That cannot be done. I trust you fully, Randir, I do. But do not betray your country; do not betray Legolas in this way…"
He simply looked at her, as though he did not understand.
---&---
The flag is flapping in the breeze
An empty ship sails empty seas
And empty shell lies awake
And on the shore the black waves break
In the sky the black gulls cry
In the ruins another will dies
In thy heart you trust no other
Follow only thy sworn brother
Aragorn awoke his brow bathed in sweat; the memory of the dream still fresh in his mind. His father had told him that he had foresight when he was very young, he hoped that this was just a dream. And in the ruins one shall die.
If that didn't sound ominous then he was a warg in a pink dress.
And he dearly hoped he wasn't a warg in a pink dress.
He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. He had a headache.
Wait…a headache? I shouldn't have a headache…that's not good. Hm, where is Legolas? Oh, I'm not at home. I'm in Rhûn. In the healing wing, because I have been sleeping here lately…that's right. As soon as his half dead mind had processed all necessary information he sat up and looked around him.
Next to him, looking frighteningly pale on the plain white chair, his golden hair spread out like a halo, sat Legolas.
"Aragorn?" the small voice that belonged to the elf started Aragorn and he focused on the elf. The prince was rubbing his arm in soothing motions.
"Legolas?" he said quietly, almost in confusion.
-
Cairdor watched the scene with eyes glittering with glee, he was ecstatic, in his own, cruel way. For many nights he had been trying to trip the ranger up, and now he had the chance to do t, and do it well.
Oh yes, the ranger would pay.
---&---
Elrohir sat on the riverside. One hand idly plucked at strands of bright green grass while the other trailed in the river. The blue water bubbled merrily along beside him, seemingly unaware of the turmoil it's companion faced. The elf's eyes were locked on the rippling surface, allowing himself to be transfixed as he sat deep n thought.
The feeling had started only days ago, it was a painful feeling. At first it had been a slight stinging in his heart, akin to, perhaps, a paper cut.
But the feeling ad grown, till, three days later, it felt like a giant hollow in his heart.
The young elf knew that it was not a feeling of his own, but one belonging to his twin, they could feel the very strongest of emotions, and to Elrohir this felt deadly. He couldn't help but wonder how it felt to his brother, who was surely in as much or more pain, knowing their luck, it was more.
He had had a dream, two nights ago. He had been standing on an open, brown grassed plain with a small weed near his feet. Things had flashed before his eyes. A featureless face with pain radiating from the body.
But the most disturbing image had been that of his brother, his little brother doubled over. Clutching his stomach as he whispered something.
"Leave….him…be.." the man had whispered, his face pained.
As Elrohir sat on the grass beside the river, twirling a moist pebble in between his fingers he wondered who the man was talking about.
Legolas?
Glorfindel?
Lamaeneth?
Or…or was he referring to Elladan, something horrible?
It could have been just a bad dream, a nightmare used to tell him what he most feared. But somehow he doubt it, he knew that something horrible was going to happen.
He wasn't sure if he got it from the quietness of the evening, or perhaps it was the feeling of dread that clung to Rivendell.
The fact that every breath the valley took screamed death?
That was a tad morbid. Okay, so some of you may have seen some of the lines here and thought…hey! I recognize those! Well, there is a reason. Laced throughout this chapter are lyrics from songs from a musical (one is a dead giveaway) get it right and you can contribute one line to the net chapter…!