Disclaimer: (To the tune of Oscar Meyer Weiner)OH I WISH I owned the characters from Arda… Tolkien wouldn't give them up to me—ee—ee!
AN: Well… (hides from a sudden downpour of monkey wrenches, which appear quite suddenly and with no warning) Please do not hurt me. Ya'll are lucky that I didn't give up on this story completely. It is getting more and more difficult to write these dratted chappies… not to mention that I have sworn up and down never to give up on a story if there are people who are reading and enjoying it. Special thanks go to Alenor Peredhel, for giving me a writing tip that got rid of my writer's block!
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The torch flickered, and Elladan looked at it sharply. There was actually no danger of it going out, the flickering had been caused by Legolas's hand shaking. The light threw shadows against the rock, creating the illusion that many creatures were lurking, just out of sight.
For a split second, Elladan was annoyed; the weight of his twin in his arms was a constant reminder that time may have been running out, and Legolas was playing with the shadows. That opinion was changed quickly enough, as he regarded the wood-elf, he realized that his friend's hands were growing ever weaker.
They shook quite badly now, and in the light, Elladan could see that they had begun to swell again. The makeshift bandages had darkened with blood, and Elladan's sharp eyes could see the skin around the cloth blackening. The wood-elf was forced to use both hands to grasp the large torch, seeing as his hands would no longer clench tightly enough to hold it properly.
The Noldor sighed and stopped. He couldn't go on through these cursed tunnels while the stubborn wood-elf was in pain. It would eat at his conscience if the wounds turned out to be poisoned or infected, and besides, Legolas was the only defense they had against the creatures that might be lurking about. If he couldn't hold his bow or grasp his knives, they would all be killed.
"Legolas, wait."
The wood-elf started in surprise, leaping so high his hair brushed the tunnel roof. He was shushing Elladan before he even landed. Elladan looked at him confused for a second, then gently put Elrohir down. He would ask the flighty being later.
The 'flighty being' stooped and reached for Elrohir, assuming that the younger elf was the reason for their stop. Elladan intercepted him and pulled him to his feet, careful not to grasp his hands. He maneuvered Legolas over to the torch bracket, in order to have more light, and gently began to unwind the bandages.
Legolas resisted for several seconds, unwilling (as always) to submit to an inspection of his wounds, but Elladan quickly stifled his movements by looking purposely at his twin. Legolas knew then that Elladan would neither go on without looking at his hands, nor wait any longer than necessary for his twin to get worse. So, with much shuffling of the feet, and an elaborate but silent sigh, Legolas allowed his friend to inspect.
Elladan was gentle as he could, but he knew he was causing his friend pain. The bandages were sodden by this time, and stuck together, so that Elladan was forced to give tiny jerks in order to get the fabric apart. He finished one hand, and, without looking, immediately began to work on the left. This one came much easier, and it was off in seconds.
By this time, Legolas had taken a peek at his right hand and was staring with a shocked, sickened fascination. Elladan snatched it away and held the two side by side by the wrists. Legolas hissed in pain as his wounds flew through the air, but was distracted by the look on Elladan's face as he held the hands up to the light.
It was almost funny.
But his hands throbbed and his amusement was stolen quickly. They still bled freely, and the skin around them was bruising. His entire palms and undersides of his fingers were black and blue, and it was beginning to creep up his wrists and around to the back of the hands. The wounds, which had before only been scratches, now appeared to be gouged into his skin. They would need stitches, and soon. The blood-flow continued, dripping down his arms and to the floor as it reached his elbows. His slender hands were swollen painfully, making movement with them difficult.
And holding the torch had earned him a deep splinter. Before he could react, Elladan pinched the piece of wood and pulled it out. A tiny trickle of blood flowed from this new wound, but Elladan knew from painful experience that letting it sit there, especially with Legolas's hands so bruised, was just asking for trouble. And they certainly did not need to get in much more.
Legolas hissed but let his hand remain steady, keeping himself from pulling his hands away. Elladan looked up quickly, mouthing, "I'm sorry!" Legolas shook his head, denying the apology. He would rather have it out than have it infected later.
He tried to flex his hands, but they moved only half an inch or not at all, and the blood came faster.
Elladan shook his head and ripped more strips of cloth from his tunic. He bound then hands again, as gently and firmly as he possibly could and hoped that the elf would stop bleeding soon.
He glanced at the torch, still burning cheerily, and realized there was no way Legolas would be able to hold it. The wood-elf would carry Elrohir then, after all, one's arms did the carrying, leaving Legolas's hands relatively free of any weight on them. Elladan would take care of the torch. He helped rest his twin in Legolas's arms, and reached for the light, grimacing as he fumbled; the wood was wet from Legolas's blood.
He had not gotten more than three feet when he felt a tap on his calf. He turned, and saw Legolas balancing on one foot, having no other way to get the twin's attention, he had hopped forward and used his feet. Legolas bent slightly and turned to the side, offering Elladan a clear view of the white-handled knives he wore. Hand shaking slightly, Elladan reached forward and grasped one of the handles. Pulling it from its sheath, he allowed himself one or two seconds to admire the fine craftsmanship before turning again and walking on.
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Nethidal sat up slowly and uncomfortably. His side ached, but distantly so, and his arm throbbed. He wondered briefly whether or not to ask for a pain-relieving tea and decided against it: he would rather deal with the pain than drink that nasty stuff.
He would have loved to get out of bed and help look for the missing twins, but Elrond and Thranduil had both insisted on him remaining bed-ridden. The most he could do was sit against the pillows. He wished that he could be outside, or even down in the tunnels, fighting, tracking down the missing elves… anything but simply sitting like a wet rag.
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Legolas blew several strands of hair out of his eyes with a huff. How he wished they were out of these tunnels! His hands throbbed, and he wished for some sort of salve or tea to numb it. He would have taken the tea, even if it had tasted foul. Anything (almost) was better than this torture!
He thought enviously of Nethidal, who was probably lying in bed, against clean sheets, happy as a hobbit after a second breakfast.
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Elrond was frantic. He flew this way and that along the corridors, keeping well ahead of King Thranduil, who was trying to persuade him to come back to the hall.
"Elrond! Stop your worrying and come with me! There is nothing to worry about! I'm sure you sons will be found safe and sound! The—" the king turned as Elrond rushed back past him, "the report just came back, they have not gone through the gate! They—" he darted down a side corridor and caught hold of the elven lord's forearms as Elrond came back along the passage, "they are not out in the woods, and I assure you, there is nothing dangerous inside the gates."
He continued his soothing talk, steering Elrond back along the halls. "They will be found, mellon-nin." Elrond looked up, slightly stunned by the gentle familiarity with which Thranduil used the term. "I swear it."
They reached the high hall and Thranduil seated Elrond firmly in a chair with strict orders that he not move. Elrond, despite the current situation, could not help but be amused by the way the hot-tempered elven king switched from friendship to stern and kingly in the blink of an eye.
His mind, left out to wander, instantly returned to his sons' disappearance, gnawing at it like little mice at a hunk of cheese. He wondered how on Arda they could have disappeared so completely. He had missed it, and had only realized that they were actually gone after Legolas had inquired as to their whereabouts. The wood-elf had poked his head into Elrond's chambers and said, in a rather apologetic tone, "Lord Elrond, I'm sorry for interrupting your reading, but I was wondering if you know where the twins are. I've searched all over for them, but…"
And then everything had hit the chandelier. Upon learning that the twins had been missing overnight, Legolas immediately related the news to Thranduil, who had sent out elves to search for the wayward sons of Elrond.
All those scouts had returned now, reporting that a thorough search had turned up neither hide nor hair of the twins. All except Legolas. The young archer had volunteered for the tunnels, even against his Ada's will, and had left before the matter could be disputed further.
Thranduil re-entered the hall, mugs of tea in his hands. He set one in front of the elven lord and kept the other for himself. Settling down in a chair opposite Elrond, he answered the Noldor's unspoken question with a sigh. "Legolas has not returned."
Elrond's breath whooshed out of him, and he slumped.
"I have sent a patrol down to comb the tunnels. That is the only place they have not searched, and so logic states that that is where they are. If Legolas does find your sons, the patrol will. They are in good hands either way…"
Elrond looked up as the king as Thranduil trailed off. Although his worry over Elladan and Elrohir was wearing, his perceptiveness told him that something troubled the elven king. "Is something wrong?"
Thranduil shook his head slightly, but broke under the sharp gaze of Elrond. "I am concerned about Legolas. He does not like the tunnels… and yet he chose –nay, insisted- to search them. He has never been completely comfortable in dark, enclosed spaces. When he was younger, he was trapped in those tunnels for three days. He overcame his fear of them eventually, but I can't imagine him insisting to go back to them. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it."
Elrond considered this new information in some surprise. "Perhaps he knew somehow that Elladan and Elrohir had gone that way. I do not understand it any better than you. We will have to ask him when he returns."
Thranduil muttered something under his breath and Elrond turned on him suddenly. "What did you just say?"
Thranduil looked positively miserable as he repeated, "If he comes back."
The elven lord took Thranduil's shoulders in his hands. "What do you mean? If it is important I think it would be best for everyone involved if you would tell me."
Blue eyes, so much like Legolas's, closed in defeat. "The tunnels are dangerous. There are things that dwell in the deepest of them… Things that move on silent feet, creatures that would do the elves harm if they could get to us. But they cannot tolerate light of any sort, and so we are protected. But several times… elves have gone down into the tunnels and have not come back out. We can only assume that their torches were dropped or had been burned out, and the creatures descended on them then. If the twins and Legolas are deep enough, and something happens to their torch… I do not want to think of it."
He eyed Elrond, sizing up the other's stricken expression, and he wished suddenly that he had not said anything. Sure enough, Elrond leaped to his feet and headed out of the hall. "I am going to go and find my sons."
Thranduil coughed and waited for Elrond to turn. "It is that way," he said, pointing at a door, "and I am coming with you." He would not stand by and let Elrond go into danger, and he was as anxious to do something as the elven lord. Please let them keep the torch burning!
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Elladan stumbled on an upraised rock and uttered the first syllable of a curse before catching himself, reminding himself that the need for silence was of utmost importance. He glanced sheepishly at the prince, only to find Legolas standing silently, shoulders shaking in quiet mirth. Only then did he realize that Legolas had recognized that syllable. After all, Elladan had learned it from the prince, who had uttered it shortly after having an atlas drop onto his head.
They kept moving, but dared not look at each other, fearful that each other's expression would send them into a noisy giggling fit. There was precious little to be jovial about though, and they wanted to keep the energy that their mirth gave them.
Legolas slipped forward, tension leaving his shoulders as his snickers overtook him. For the first time since entering the dratted tunnel system, he felt loose, not tense. The tunnels still unnerved him, yes, but it was infinitely better to go through them with someone. Elladan was a constant presence, and Legolas knew that there was no reason to succumb to the blind panic that had overtaken him when he had been trapped in the tunnels years earlier.
Elrohir's weight was constant as well, he reflected with a muffled grunt as he stepped up onto a small ledge. His worry for the youngest twin was beginning to mount. Elrohir hadn't moved a muscle since Legolas had picked him up several hours ago. It was difficult to tell if he was even breathing. Legolas stopped short as a wave of fear rushed over him. Was he breathing?
Elladan had turned upon hearing the footfalls behind him cease, and upon seeing the terrified look upon Legolas's face dropped to his knees beside the prince and his brother. "What is wrong?" he hissed frantically, forgetting about the need for silence. "Is he all right?"
Legolas motioned for Elladan to place the flat of his knife near Elrohir's mouth, and the eldest twin, understanding immediately what Legolas feared, complied eagerly. His hands trembled as they waited, crouched in a tunnel hundreds of feet below the ground, to see if Elrohir still breathed. He couldn't believe that they had neglected to stop and check him before. Guilt began to gnaw at the back of his head and his breath hitched.
In the dim light of the torch, they saw the blade fog slightly. He lived.
Elladan's knees gave out and he sat heavily back, taking a deep breath of relief. "Ai Valar, thank you."
Legolas smiled briefly, white teeth flashing red in light of the torch. "Well… I feel a fool now."
"So do I." A short pause in which they eyed each other. "How are your hands?"
Legolas spared a glance at his hands and said casually, "All right. I still can't flex my fingers though."
Elladan set down the torch, intending to pin the stubborn prince down and forcibly check his wounds. The long wooden light wobbled for an instant in the poorly-made bracket, then fell.
"No!"
"No!"
They cried out in unison and dove for the torch, hands outstretched. Legolas had been closer, but he missed and fell heavily to his stomach. While their cries were still echoing out into the tunnels, Elladan made his bid and missed as well. He landed atop Mirkwood's prince with a thud, and the torch clattered to the ground, sparks flying as it flickered for the last time. In the last light, Legolas and Elladan made eye contact, each wearing a look of pure horror.
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Deep in the tunnels, a creature came awake. It raised its head and listened intently to the echoes that had disturbed its slumber. A slow smile spread across its ugly face and it heaved itself to its feet. Elves. Deep underground. Close.
The elves were the creature's greatest enemy. Elven sorcerers had driven it here, in the early First Age. The elves had given it no tolerance for light. The elves had crippled it, nearly killed it. The elves had destroyed its life.
But the elves had also given it a great gift, though most likely unintentional. The mixture of spells used to aid its attackers had combined and given it night vision. Even in the deepest night, it was bright as midday to the creature. Because of this, the beast survived, even thrived in its new environment. And when it came across other creatures like it in the deep bowels of the earth, it quickly made allies. No, actually not allies… but slaves. The other 'gift' that the elves had mistakenly bestowed onto the beast was the ability of telepathy. If the beast concentrated hard enough, it could bend the will of its enemies and turn them into willing slaves.
This ancient beast was called the radag-gor. And it took revenge on any elves that dared to enter its tunnels unprepared. It lumbered down the tunnel calling for its slaves. It would feast well tonight.
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AN: Sorry for this totally unappealing chappy… I couldn't stand not updating though, so I cranked it out. I apologize again for the extreme lateness of it. Thanks to those who reviewed! Alenor Peredhel, silverkonekotsukari, theo darkstar, Haldir's Heart and Soul, Aranna Undomiel, Aurehen, and Quel Marth. I live for your kind words!