tadaa one found Elrond for you mercury! If your review was random, then I like random reviews! Unfortunately Bellmaethorion has not told me yet what he is up to 

No, I've submitted to LoM but so far my stories have never been update. I've posted some stories on Mirrormere but only RPSlash and under another name.

You are right Arian, I love being evil! It makes the stories so much more interesting.

hugs both of you thanks again!

Chapter 12

Thranduil's eyes widened as the wolf stopped with a deep growl. The hairs on the animal's neck had risen, indicating that danger lay ahead. Breathing shallowly Thranduil slowly made his way through the thicket, listening for any unusual sound. The quiet was eerie. No bird nor any other creature of the wild was to be heard.

"What is it, mellon-amin?" he whispered as the wolf's growl deepened. The bushes opened and Thranduil's stomach did a few turns as he stared incredulously at the sight before him.

Blood seemed to be everywhere and the Mirkwood king was almost sure that there were some bits of torn-off skin on the grass. In the middle of the mess lay the battered remnants of an elf. He was tall and slender and bloody dark hair fanned out around him.

Thranduil quelled the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and forced his gaze to travel over the elf's body. His back was ripped to pieces and where claws seemed to have dug extremely deep bits of skin were missing and in some places even bones were showing.

"What creature does such a thing?" Thranduil whispered to himself as he stepped onto the blood sullied ground, "And who are you?"

Bile rose in his throat once more as the elf's back shuddered, a torn mass of flesh moving with a labouring breath. The elf was still alive.

He knew he should have rested but the soft glow of the dawning day found him still wide awake and staring off into the forest, He had spent all night reading the journal, sometimes pausing for quite some time, unable to take yet more of the horror concealed within the pages.

"Glorfindel?" he did not turn around. "We have to ride soon?"

"And ride where, Bellmaethorion?" Glorfindel asked, slowly rising from the ground, shaking leaves and twigs out of his cloak, "We have no trail, we have no idea where the creature may have gone to and we do not even know if Elrond is still alive."

"It's not like you to give up so easily," Bellmaethorion said quietly, "The twins placed their trust in you."

"You are right," Glorfindel smiled sadly, "We should go on."

Bellmaethorion hid his smile with a bow. "Did you read the journal?"

"Aye, I did."

"And?"

"It seems to have been written by an adult though the memories mentioned seem to be those of an elfling."

"Is there anything useful in there?"

"Yes, but it's quite horrible."

"What kind of memories?" Bellmaethorion asked suddenly.

"Memories from the time when Melkor was twisting elves into the first orcs… and other things," Glorfindel shook his head, "And no, I will nit give you details. They are too… awful."

Bellmaethorion blanched. "And Sadjan? Was there more information about him."

"Yes."

"You are not exactly talkative."

"It seems that the writer of the journal knew Sadjan personally before he was turned. He wrote that Sadjan feeds on magic and,"

"Wasn't Elrond wearing Vilya when he managed?"

"Is really quite strong," Glorfindel continued, ignoring Bellmaethorion's interruption, "His strength may very well rival that of a Nazgûl and he is also more intelligent than the other servants of the dark lord were."

"Then our foe is formidable indeed." Bellmaethorion mumbled, turning to ready his horse.

"Aye, he must be." Glorfindel mumbled, tucking the book into his tunic. He needed some time to think a few things through but now was not the time for contemplation. In the meantime it was imperative that he did not lose the book.

"Erestor?" Elladan gently placed his hand on the advisor's, "Is everything alright? You seem to be quite distracted."

"'tis nothing, pen-neth" Erestor forced himself to smile, "I am merely hoping for Glorfindel to return safely."

"Do not worry, meldir," Elrohir smiled at the two around a mouthful of cheese, "Glorfindel is a more than capable warrior. He will return."

Lindir lowered his gaze, staring at his plate in silence.

"Lindir?" Elrohir frowned, "Will you accompany me to the Bruinen today?"

"The Bruinen, my lord?" Lindir sputtered, almost choking on his breakfast, "But why?"

"I have to visit a certain place there," Elrohir quickly glanced at his twin before turning his attention back to the minstrel, "And I thought that you might be of assistance to me."

"Of course, my lord," Lindir bowed his head again, "As you wish."

Erestor's frown at this answer mirrored the twins'. Lindir was acting very strangely lately.

Erestor sighed with obvious relief as the door to his library closed and Elladan was finally gone. A muffled knock echoed through the corridors of bookshelves as he let his head fall onto the table. He was getting too old for this. Sighing he sat up once more, pondering what to do.

Lindir and Elrohir had departed for the Bruinen immediately after breakfast, Elladan had just decided to spar with the guards and the other advisors and librarians had avoided his study ever since Elrond had disappeared. He had to know that Glorfindel was safe but there was always the possibility of Barak intercepting him if he gave in to the other.

"Ai, Elbereth," he grumbled, "What am I to do?"

Agitatedly he paced through the room, every now and then pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh very well!" he muttered, throwing his hands up in defeat as he talked to himself. An occasional "I must be crazy" interrupted the string of dwarfish curses that poured from him.

Slowly he sank to his knees in front of the fireplace, digging his fingers deep into the furs beneath him. It was dangerous but he had to do something.

The walls of Imladris flew past him and soon gave way to the surrounding forests. He morphed into mist once more as he ghosted through the thicket, for the first time in over an age deciding to use his power. It was easy to follow the tracks left by the seneschals and the archers and he soon caught up with them, lingering nearby as he finally decided on a course of action.

As long as he was in mist form his true body remained in Imladris, but as soon as he took on a more solid form the library in the Last Homely House would be empty. As mist, however, he was incapable of making sure that Glorfindel and the others chose the right path.

With a resigned sigh he floated a few paces away so that the rescue party would not notice him. Groaning inwardly Erestor took on solid form.

Glorfindel frowned, reining his horse as the air around him changed. Within seconds the temperature had dropped several degrees.

"What is this?" whispered Bellmaethorion, shivers running down his spine.

"I don't know." Glorfindel hissed back, his sword glittering in the morning sun as he rode around the group of archers.

"Lord Glorfindel?" the youngest of the archers whispered, "Over there!"

Mist hovered between the trees, blocking out the still damp morning sun. A figure took shape in the fog, slowly stepping from the grey clouds. Leathery wings brushed over whispering leaves as the creature seemed to glide towards them, the mist clinging to its black skin as though it was loath to part from the figure.

"What?" gasped Bellmaethorion but Glorfindel had recognised the creature at once. His left hand wandered to the book under his tunic. Only yesterday evening had he seen exactly this creature, drawn with watercolours.

He slumped forward with a pained sigh as he projected his body back into the library, forcing himself to let go of the other form. Wings and talons slowly vanished, replaced with slender elven shoulders and hands. For some moments he stood still, shivering and almost translucent, neither here nor there. He was back. Back home.

Galadriel kept on glancing around nervously every now and then as she descended the steps to her mirror. She knew that Celeborn would not approve but she had the uncanny feeling that the mirror was trying to tell her something. Something important. She had to know. With trembling hands she poured water into the silver bowl, waiting for the ripples on the water to vanish before leaning over it. Mist rose from the clear liquid, obscuring the bowl but quickly clearing away, leaving her to stare helplessly at the images in the mirror.

Legolas and Gimli were sitting on a battlefield, laughing and joking amidst fallen orcs.

The scene changed and now she saw the two riding towards Minas Tirith, hands entangled as if they were trying to draw strength from one another. Celeborn greeted the two and she frowned, wondering if she would see herself as well.

Suddenly she saw Aragorn giving a speech, obviously to start some celebrations or a feast.

Galadriel gasped as the scene changed once more, her face now only centimetres from the water. She saw the great hall of the White City; Aragorn was sitting on the Steward's throne and one could almost believe that he was sleeping if it had not been for the blood. He was deathly pale, drained with blood loss, as were the others in the room. Galadriel groaned as faces flashed over the water. Arwen. Celeborn. Faramir. Elladan and Elrohir. Glorfindel. Thranduil and his seneschal.

"All dead…" she whispered, eyes widening as a new picture appeared. Legolas and Gimli huddling into a corner of the room where the corpses lay. Their eyes were wide and their hands and weapons covered with blood.

"No…" her voice was no more than a breath, "No…"

The water in the bowl rippled once more. Showing her yet another image. An elf, bruised and battered, lying on the ground, seeming more dead than alive. She covered her mouth in shock as the injured elf tried to lift his head. Elrond.

The next thing she saw was a black, winged creature carrying Elrond through the night and then the half elf tied to a tree, the creature's talons ripping into his prisoner.

The last thing she saw before the mirror turned blind again was Erestor in the library of Imladris, shining with an eerie glow and then changing forms. Black wings grew from his shoulders and his hands sharpened into talons.

Galadriel staggered backwards as red eyes suddenly seemed to glare right back at her. A strangled moan rose from her lips as she fell, the world around her fading.

It was so that Celeborn found her, curled up into a foetal position, hair fanned out around her and her face almost as white as her gown.