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-Chap11-The Brink of an Abyss-

It was the sun. Glorious, golden rays spilled across her face in warm tendrils. She could feel dappled shadows playing across her face where there was coolness instead of warmth. Wait...feel? Alenor forced her eyes open and for the first time realized that she was awake, truly awake. Fear haunted the corners of her mind but for the moment the world seemed, tranquil.

Above her was the spreading trunk of a popular. Its branches reached up as if they were trying to touch the stars and the leaves had turned to the brilliant oranges and reds of fall. A few broke loose from their branches, swirling in lazy patterns as they moved toward the ground. A few of them had fallen against her face, but she didn't bother to brush them away, the light yet cool breeze did that. It felt good against her skin, she knew she was feverish, knew because of the unnatural cold coursing through her.

Sighing she closed her eyes again, almost imagining she was safe. Almost able to picture her brothers in her mind, almost able to see her Father and feel his arms around her. A smile played across her face, it was the first in so long she could no longer remember when she had smiled last.

"You're recovering," a deep voice said beside her.

Instantly all the old fear rushed back in a surging tide through her. Alenor tensed, a wince splaying across her body as it ignited the pain of the wounds that, for a brief moment had lain dormant.

"No, no," the man said, a hand touching her shoulder. "Relax child, what is your name?"

Swallowing painfully, Alenor scrunched her eyes, feeling the hand on her shoulder. She knew, with sudden clarity that she couldn't move without causing severe pain. She didn't want to go back into that void of darkness. The pain lingering in her mind was almost too much for her to bear. "Alenor."

"That's a beautiful name," the man replied. "Mine is Bréil. I'm trying to help you."

Alenor bit back a retort, afraid that if she did the fragile peace would shatter and he would hurt her again. She could still remember the imprint of his boots on her ribs, on her broken leg. She realized her breathing was becoming panicked, but couldn't stop it. The hand gave a light squeeze.

"Settle down Alenor," Bréil urged. "It's alright. You're safe now."

Frightened, she twisted her head away; pushing the palm of her left hand against the ground, ready to use it as leverage to move. It hurt, she cried out, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She felt herself being lifted up, strong arms holding her close. The arms that held her did not touch her wounds, as if he knew where each one was and was taking precautions not to aggravate them. Some of her fear slipped away then, as if a part of her wanted to feel comforted, whole.

Hands gently smoothed down her hair. "It's alright," a voice soothed. "You've been through a lot; you're pretty brave you know that?"

Alenor shook her head, biting her lower lip. It hurt to sit; she shivered a bit as the wind brushed over her. Bréil's hand touched her forehead.

"You have a fever, but we have to move again soon. Do you think you can do it?"

She said nothing, closing her eyes as questions started to pound in her head. She almost wished she was insensible. Everything was muted when she was in that state. It was better then this confusion, fear, insecurity. Alenor flinched when his hand touched her forehead again.

"No, I think we had best wait for another day," he said softly. "We'll be in scouting territory in a few days; we can get better help then. Besides the Orcs will not follow us, they trust me as one of their Masters. If they try, we will continue." Bréil gently stroked her hair again, running his fingers gently through the knots.

Alenor winced, but leant closer though it caused her pain, she hungered for the comfort he was offering her. Weariness was creeping up into her bones, steeling over her. Her eyelids drooped as she struggled to keep them open. She didn't want sleep, what if she slept and his words were a lie? Alenor knew that she was in no position to fight but the uneasiness of madness still lurked in her veins. It wasn't going to die soon.

"Here, here," Bréil encouraged, as if not noticing he was carrying on a one-man conversation. He reached beside him, shifting Alenor back a bit in his arms. "Drink up."

Alenor pursed her lips, turning her head away, fear stiffening her limbs again. She felt the brim of a cup gently touch her lips, yet he did not force her to drink. She could feel the gentle lap of water against her lips. The need for it nearly drove her insane; she could barely keep her lips shut. Weariness was making her limbs tremble and her head spin. She felt colder now too, as if the fever were sneaking back up on her.

"You have to," he insisted. "I'm trying to help you. I know what you're going through Alenor, but you have to let someone help you."

"I'm too scared." As soon as she spoke she knew it was mistake. Before she could cry out, the water slipped down her throat, Bréil holding the cup forcefully against her lips, making it down. Spluttering she tried to swallow, her mind working furiously as swallowing was a task half-forgotten.

"There you go," Bréil soothed, taking the cup away. He eased her back down onto the comforting blankets she was lying on. "Close your eyes and sleep."

Alenor felt the world slipping beneath her fingers and tried to fight it but it was beyond her control. Life had changed so much for her in the past few weeks. In a part of her mind she wished she had never reacted on impulse and run away to find the secrets of her past. The last thing that came to her mind was the final day she had spent in Rivendell. She'd never had the chance to rat Elrohir out to Erestor and tell the Chief Advisor that the Elf had been the one to put the spiders in his hair. With the memory in her head, Alenor fell asleep smiling.

XxXxXx

Elrohir could feel the sun slipping over the horizon, bathing him in a golden glow. He flinched away. It didn't seem right to feel the sun; it was an embodiment of happiness. Happiness was wrong. He wished the night would come back, it suited his mood, comforted him. Elrohir knew the hopelessness of his words, but couldn't, wouldn't stop it.

Hearing footsteps, he hunched forward, wrapping his arms around his knees, bowing his head down. "Leave me alone." His words were muffled but he couldn't care less if the person heard them. Couldn't care about anything anymore, life was dull and pointless without Elladan. He felt like he was standing on the edge of an abyss and he didn't want to turn back.

A hand touched his shoulder, Elrohir jerked away sharply. "Unless you got a knife leave me alone."

"I'm not giving you a knife," Estel snapped irritably. "Get up Elrohir. You've been moping all night!"

Had it been all night? Elrohir didn't know, he didn't care. "Leave me alone."

"Elrohir you're fading again! You got to notice that!"

Growling Elrohir tried to ignore him. It wasn't hard; his hearing was becoming worse. Though he knew the problem was there, the memory of what he was actually facing had drifted into nothingness.

"Elrohir you're giving up on Alenor," Estel's voice had grown soft. "You have to try to pull yourself together."

"I don't care."

"I give up!" Estel suddenly shouted, as if the fury he had been carefully concealing erupted into a full-scale storm. "Elladan was my brother too! I understand that he was your twin but for Eru's sake you shouldn't abandon Alenor. Elladan wouldn't have wanted you to give up everything just because he's dead! You're acting like a spoilt, snobbish, half-wit brat!" Spinning on heel the angry, young Ranger stormed toward the horses and Halbarad, who was standing watching the encounter quietly.

Elrohir hunched forward again, Estel's words ringing in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to recall the darkness. It wouldn't come, Estel's words kept it at bay. Releasing his knees he let his hands drift along the ground. Life was pointless, what did Alenor matter now that Elladan was dead? Without Elladan there was no life.

Feeling his fingers brush against something, Elrohir lifted his head slightly, and saw that his fingers were touching a rock. A very sharp rock.