A/N. I have returned with the next chapter!! Please R & R :)

Disclaimer- all belongs to J.R.R.Tolkien.

OoOoOo

"...shut up, Anphrid? I'm not in the mood for listening to your senseless blabbering right now."

Aranwë paused in the dark as he listened to the two guards arguing outside his door. They were posted outside the door to his room, to make sure no one went in, and more importantly, no one came out. The young elf grinned wickedly into the darkness that shrouded his bedroom and pulled his pack out from under his bed. Not able to see in the dark, he simply grabbed a handful of clothes from his wardrobe and stuffed them inside the pack. He pulled on a dark green cloak over his Silvan green tunic and leggings, and then strapped on his quiver and sword, and hid his daggers in his boots. Then he swung the pack over his shoulder, grabbed his bow and slipped out the window.

Once he had climbed down three stories of palace wall from his room, he carefully made his way through the pitch-black gardens. It would not be beneficial, not in his situation, to be caught by the guards, especially when he was supposed to be locked away in his chambers.

Then there was the gate. Two warriors stood nearby at their posts, conversing quietly with each other. Aranwë groaned inwardly. He had wished there would be only one on duty at the main gate. As he ducked from the garden and made his way along the wall of the courtyard, one of the warriors paused in whatever he was saying to the other and stared into the dark. Aranwë flattened himself against the wall, in the heavier shade of a leaning tree, and waited almost breathlessly as the guard's eyes rested on him, but without detecting anything unusual, and then passed around the rest of the courtyard.

After a moment the guards resumed their talk, and Aranwë slumped forward in relief. After a moment, he moved on, creeping closer to the wall with the gates. When he came to the corner, he held still, hardly seeming to breathe. The guards did not seem to have noticed anything, and Aranwë guessed they were weary, it being after midnight. They continued talking, in their slow, drawling, tired voices, and the young elf moved his hand along the wall, looking for the thick old rose vine that grew over it.

Suddenly his hand brushed it, and as silently as a cat hunting prey, he climbed up on top of the wall and into the giant oak tree that sat beside it. He was safe for the moment. He made his way down to the stables, running easily from tree to tree along branches that appeared too thin to hold his weight. He arrived at the stables ten minutes later, and dropped to the ground. This was the easy part. There was no guard posted here, and the stable master, young Almantar, slept like a log. Prince Aranwë slipped into the stables and hurried over to the stall his stallion was kept in.

The midnight-black stallion tossed his head and stomped a hoof, his large black eyes glittering with a fiery temper and wild spirit. Aranwë rubbed his nose. "Shhh, Draûgalakó." He entered the stall and jumped astride the horse. He leaned forward and whispered to the horse, "Live up to your name, Wolf-of-the-Wild-Wind! Noro lim!" /ride fast/

As if on cue, the huge, sleek stallion broke from the stables and tore into the forest, moving so fast Aranwë could hardly make sense of the blurs of black, brown and green as they streaked through the forest at top speed. Branches reached out to grab Draûgalakó's mane and the prince's hair, leaves slapping their faces. By the time the sun had set the next day, they had completed the 2-day journey in one and were headed into the mountains.

They were descending to the other side of the Misty Mountains when a terrible storm struck. Torrents of rain pounded down like knives on the cold, sodden prince and the sharp, biting wind tore at his clothes and hair, whipping it around.

"Hurry, Draûgalakó! We must hurry!" he shouted to the stallion, the wind making his voice small and hard to hear. "Noro lim! GO!" /ride fast/

A branch of the towering pine slapped the prince's face, giving him a few thin, long cuts along his cheekbone. There was a deafeningly loud clash of thunder, and a terribly bright flash of lightning suddenly hit a giant tree on the right side of the trail just ahead of the horse. With a sickening crack the huge tree split in half and the large part began to fall over the path. Aranwë's heart nearly stopped beating. Draûgalakó, terrified, reared suddenly, and threw his young rider. The horse reared again before streaking away into the dark, misty forest depths.

Aranwë stood up quickly, wiping mud from his face, looking around desperately for his stallion. "Wolf!" He shouted, his voice drowned out by the screams of the wind, the waving and creaking of the trees, and the thundering of the rain on the stone. "Wolf!"

But the horse was gone.

OoOoOo

Lord Nálarion looked up from his book as the king entered the Main Library. "Good Evening, Thranduil. It's a little late, don't you think?"

The king chuckled drily at his best friend. "Maybe for you," he said as he joined the Lore Master beside the roaring fire. "I have a mystery for you to solve."

"Oh?" Nálarion's eyes lit up. He loved cracking cases. "What is it?"

Thranduil sat down in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire-place and handed the paper over to Nálarion.

There were a few moments of silence as Nálarion read the paper, and then re-read it outloud.

"Walls have ears

Doors have eyes

Trees have voices

Beasts tell lies.

Beware the rain,

Beware the snow,

Beware the elf

You think you know.

For you my friend

On this dark eve

Of honor's end

This ring I leave,

Of dark and light,

Of strength and might,

Of deadly plight,

Beware! Beware! Beware the night!"

There was a few more minutes of silence before Lord Nárë looked up at his friend, his dark black eyes even darker than usual. "Where did you get this?" The tone of his voice was startlingly alarmed, and Thranduil got the distinct feeling something was wrong.

"Aranwë… You know that ring Calen always wore, the black one with the black and red stone..." He waited for Nálarion to nod. "This paper was with it, and after he put the ring on, it was impossible to remove. Aranwë says he started acting differently after that." Thranduil watched Nálarion's face, and was alarmed even more when his best friend's face darkened.

"What is it?" he asked, rather unnerved, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

Nálarion stared into the fire. "It means you can't trust anyone, anything, anytime, and to beware of all whom you know, because someone you are close to, whom you would trust with your life, has the wrong intentions. 'On this dark eve of honor's end this ring I leave'- that means that if you accept this ring, you accept me, the giver, as your master, and all of your will-power will vanish, and you will be subject to whatever I tell you to do… the ring of darkness, of light- fire, of strength, of power, of deadly plight, so the wearer of this ring is going to become dark, powerful, and through him, the giver of the ring will make decisions and become more deadly than he already is, and he must beware the night, in other words, his master, the creator of the ring."

Thranduil just stared at his friend, his face turning as white and cold as marble, and he froze in his chair.

It just so happened that at that moment Lindon, who was coming to return a long-due book he had borrowed, walked in. His eyes immediately rested on the dark-haired Lore Master sitting beside the fire and his father, stiff and as white as a statue across from him. Lindon frowned. Whenever the king was worried, mad, or anxious, he never acted like this. The prince ran up to his father, the book forgotten.

"Adar?"

Thranduil didn't speak.

Lindon frowned and turned to Nálarion. "Lord Nálarion, what's wrong with the king? What happened to him?"

Nálarion himself was rather stunned. "He just found out that your brother has been deceived and subjugated to the will of an evil being by the use of black magic."

OoOoOo

"I'm bored."

The statement was clear, expressionless, and completely true.

"Me too," said a second voice from a few feet above.

It was quiet again but for the singing of birds in the trees and the peaceful gurgling of the river as it cascaded over the falls not too far away.

"There's nothing to do," said the first voice.

No reply.

The first elf heaved a sigh and opened one eye. His world was upside-down. Literally.

He chuckled.

"The fountain looks so weird."

Again, no reply.

"So do the trees."

Silence.

"Hey, are you dead up there?"

He received a grunt for answer.

The two elapsed into silence once more.

"I'm bored," the first one finally said again.

Silence.

"Can you think of something we can do?"

"I can," replied Lord Elrond. He had been walking through the garden and happened to see Elrohir hanging upside down from a tree, his knees hooked around a relatively thin branch, and Elladan laying on the branch above him.

That he startled them was an understatement. Elrohir jumped, his knees loosed their hold on the branch and he crashed to the ground, Elladan on top of him.

When his sons had finally untangled themselves, they stood up. "Ada, that was a nasty trick," Elrohir whined.

Elladan chuckled, brushing grass, leaves and sticks from his clothes. "Well, you needed someone to get you back. You're just full of nasty tricks."

"Haha," Elrohir snorted.

Elrond raised a hand before the two startled a fight. "I have a job for you. Last night, the two warriors on duty at Araûkomallë Pass came home, both injured. They were in a tree when that storm suddenly came up and the tree was hit by lightning."

"Who are the warriors?" Elladan asked.

"Morhatar and Captain Guindor."

"Mora! Is he alright?" Elrohir exclaimed.

"Yes, they're both fine, but the point is, there is no one on duty at Araûkomallë Pass, and I want you two to go."

Elladan sighed and glared at his twin brother. "You just had to say you were bored, didn't you, Elrohir. I swear, by Círdan's beard, I'm gonna get you, you smelly, beetle-headed, clump of compost!"

"Mangy, snake-faced, troll-kisser!"

"Venomous, rock-brained, dim-wit!"

"Scrawny, lice-ridden, bag of bones!"

"Loathsome, spider-kissin', wretch!"

"Rabid, fungus-sniffing, goblin-lover!"

"Stop it!" Elrond roared, causing his twin sons to jump. "Go get ready for patrol! Now!"

Ten minutes later, the identical twin sons of Elrond were riding from the beautiful valley of Rivendell up into the mountains for their post at Araûkomallë Pass.

OoOoOo

Thanks for reading!!! Love you guys!!! Posting my next chapter soon :)

~Aërlinwë Greenleaf