Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien, the only people I own are Alenor Talagand, Bréil, Sebastian and Victoria.
REVISED and EDITED Fate's Paths-Chap10-A Time to End Foolishness-
The tracks came to a sudden stop. Growling in frustration, Elrohir straightened, forcing a hand against the stiff muscles of his lower back. He hadn't known until a few days ago that Elves could get sore backs, he wished he still lacked that piece of knowledge. The rain had let up a few hours ago, allowing for at last, a small ray of hope to hit the travelers. Estel and Halbarad were both miserable, quietly expressing that they thought staying in Rivendell would have been a better idea. Elrohir had decided to ignore it, the burning desire to find his sister and forget Elladan's condition, overrode his caution.
"The tracks end." He heard an agitated sigh push past Halbarad's lips.
"Elrohir we're following ghosts. These tracks might not even belong to the Orcs that captured Alenor. Estel told us himself a thousand times that the Orcs are moving back into the Misty Mountains in increasing numbers. We're searching for a needle in a haystack."
Elrohir spun around, glaring at the Ranger before him. He barely saw Estel maneuver his horse a wise step backward. "Do you see any haystacks around here?" he snapped. Not even waiting for a response he continued "Well I don't! So until you find one I'll say that you're getting deluded from old age. Alenor is not a needle and neither are Orcs!"
Halbarad remained calm, letting Elrohir continue his rant. His facial expression hardly changed, but Estel winced, and his horse took another step back without his prompting.
"Do something!" Elrohir screamed, slamming a fist into Halbarad's stomach. The Ranger stumbled, but offered no form of defense. Instead he dismounted, trying to hide a wince. "Do something! Hit me!" Elrohir's screams trailed off into choking sobs as he fell from the saddle to his knees on the ground. Wrapping his arms around himself, he buried his face into his knees as he sobbed.
Halbarad stepped forward, kneeling in front of his friend. "Elrohir," he said gently. "Let's go home. There's nothing more we can do here. You're only hurting yourself; Elladan would want you to be there for him."
Elrohir nodded, although Halbarad's words washed right over him. "Alenor," his words came out ragged. "I can't give up on her."
Halbarad gave the Elf's shoulders a small shake. "Elrohir you're beginning to fade. You haven't eaten in days, nor have you slept. You can't keep this up. You may be an Elf, but you still need your rest. Elrohir, I will carry you away from here if I have to."
"No," Elrohir whispered, pulling away. "I won't. I can't."
"Umm...Halbarad, Elrohir," Estel's voice broke through into the argument. He sounded frightened. "We're being watched."
Elrohir lifted his head, looking around him. Something was definitely wrong. There was an unnatural quiet in the air, a heavy thickness he could almost feel. Staggering, he managed to climb to his feet, his hand going for weapons he carried at his side. Halbarad stopped him, grabbing his arms.
"You can't fight them Elrohir. You'll be of no help to Alenor if you get yourself killed," he reprimanded gently. "Estel, help me, I don't think he can stand much longer."
Estel rushed forward, catching the other half of Elrohir's weight as he collapsed toward the ground. "Elrohir hold yourself together. You're going to be alright."
Half in a daze, Elrohir let his head loll against Estel's shoulder. "Let me fight them. I can beat them." Almost unaware that he was being lifted, Elrohir saw the clearing fade away from view. "What are you doing!"
"Elrohir hush, you must be quiet," Estel urged, holding his hand consolingly. "Or they'll find us."
Complying with the underlying urgency, Elrohir let his head sink back against the waiting shoulder. He had thought it was Estel's but it could have been Halbarad's instead. "Please stop, I want to see them," he protested, feeling like he didn't have the strength to move. He wasn't aware of the look that passed between Estel and Halbarad but he felt himself being lowered to the ground. "Why do I feel like this?"
"Elrohir, you must eat something!" Halbarad exclaimed holding him upright. "You're fading out."
Elrohir looked up into the Ranger's face and for the first time registered the concern written there. For the first time he felt the uneasy wrongness inside him. He was fading out, dying in the Elven fashion of mourning. He almost felt too tired to rebel and fight, but he saw the morsel of food that Halbarad was holding out to him and tiredly accepted it.
He had barely finished before he heard a ruckus. Turning his head he lifted himself partly off the ground. "I can't see anything," he hissed lowly. "I should..." he stopped as the full realization of fading hit home. He was losing his Elven sight. Frightened he gripped Halbarad's tunic, breathing harshly.
"Elrohir quiet," Estel whispered in his ear. "They're close."
"I can't hear them well..." Elrohir panted, fear raging through him. How close had he been to dying without him realizing it? "I can't hear them...are they...?"
"They're frustrated," Estel supplied his voice low. He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to calm him. "I think they're leaving." He paused looking at Elrohir's face. "We're going back to Rivendell. No questions."
"No," Elrohir shook his head. "No, we must follow them. Please. If it is my last wish, we have to." He looked up, his eyes begging Halbarad to listen to him for once.
Halbarad looked away uncertainly. For a long moment he said nothing, then he sighed, hanging his head. "Alright, we'll follow them. Elrohir you're going to have to ride double with me. I don't trust you to ride alone."
Elrohir agreed, knowing that he was still too weak to stand. He knew that he was still fading, but now that he knew, perhaps he could find the strength to fight it. He wasn't too sure though, whether he wanted to or not. Perhaps it would be better to die, so he could be with Elladan, forever.
XxXxX
Waking had become an internal battle. A part of her urged her body to wake, to extend its needs but the part that was drowning in fright, in despair, struggled to keep her under. Alenor no longer knew the difference between the two, no longer knew the difference between waking and dreaming.
Though she stared up at a rough ceiling, she could not pick through the fog to know whether it was an illusion or truth. Her world had narrowed down to the simple facts of survival and fear, there was no room left for anything else.
Hearing footsteps drawing beside her, Alenor moved her eyes, toward the figure standing over her. The ever-ready well of fright surged upward, clawing at her throat. She merely stared, too tired, too afraid, too far gone to care. She was scared, but it no longer touched her as fiercely. A part of her was dead.
"Girl, can you hear me?" the man kneeled down next to her, touching her shoulder giving it a light shake.
A bolt of pain flashed through Alenor's body and she closed her eyes, moaning. Though everything else faded, the pain never did, no matter how she wished it would.
"Good, good," the stranger muttered, pulling a blanket from a pack that was set next to him. Leaning forward, he gently wrapped her in it, pretending not to notice her winces.
"Stop, please," Alenor begged, the words hardly passing through her dry, cracked lips. "Don't hurt me."
"Enough of that nonsense," the man snapped angrily, grabbing his water-skin, uncorking it in a jerking movement. "Drink."
Alenor choked, as she felt the water clog in her throat. Remembering that she had to swallow she closed her eyes, and let the water pass down. It hurt; it hurt as much as breathing. Was she really awake?
She felt herself being lifted up and knew only because lances of agony rushing down her back. Her eyes squeezed shut, the corners crinkling with the effort. She begged with her mind that this was only a nightmare that the pain was over and that he was not going to torture her anymore. There was no answer, only a black void that moved restlessly, impatient and read to consume her. Only faintly did her mind register that she was awake, that she was being rescued, but that part of her mind was drowned beneath the ceaseless torrent of pain, fright and despair.
The stranger looked down at her face, shifting the too-light burden in his arms. He knew that the time for his charade was over; the girl's health was of the utmost importance now. He hoped it wasn't too late.
XxXxX
Looking down at her, he whispered a quick prayer, thinking as he did; if I walk back into La Vallée, with the girl like this, her Grandmother is going to skin me alive. Realizing that he had said if he quickly changed it to when.