Middle-Earth, the Valley of Horrowdale: T.A. 3019

'Calgacus, Calgacus, you must wake now or be left behind.'

Calgacus grunted at the melodious sound of the elf's voice, gods but couldn't he be given some peace…an extra second of sleep? Who knew how many hours they had left in this world before their bodies were burned and scorched on the funeral pier? And yet, a swift kick to the midsection told the boy that sleep, for now at least, was beyond the capabilities of his party.

He found himself pulled to his feet by callous archer's hands. His own found his shield and he found himself pulled towards the sound of horses.

The night air was cold, colder even than back home.

'Legolas, where are we gooin.'

'Over here,' the sound of horses again, there was always the sound of horses with the Strawheads…with the Rohan. Yet these sounded different, scared, the kind of scared you came to expect around animals made to walk near…paths of the dead.

Suddenly Calgacus did not feel quite so asleep anymore, he stood straight and looked ahead of him. He spotted Aragorn and Gimli, holding the reins of their steeds as the beasts fretted and pawed the ground. The creatures looked half mad with terror and Calgacus knew that look all too well.

'Nae, we canna go in aire... nae doon aat path Legolas. It'll be the death o us aa.'*

'We do not have a choice,' said Aragorn appearing at the side of the boy and elf as quietly as if he himself was a wraith. 'There are not enough men in Rohan left to fight for Gondor, and if the white city falls now then every free man, woman and child shall follow them into death…or worse. If you do not wish to come Aon-adharcach you do not have to, but I'd rather we four hunters go together and seek out the men of the Dunharrow.'

'The Dead Men of the Dunharrow…ye dinna ken the dead son o Gondor, they're nae tae be trusted and these ones hiv nae cause tae like ye, Aragorn. Ye go courting yer ain death if ye willingly seek them oot, an aat won't help anyone.' **

'They will not refuse me, but I take it this means you will not be coming with us.'

'Ach aye, ah'll cum ben aa richt, if naething else bit tae see myself proven richt fur eence. The dead are nae tae be trusted, an ah'll say it tae ma throat goes shilt fae the strain. Bit ah'll nae let ye wonder inta their depths alone with only these love-sick fools aat yer back.' ***

'I am not love sick, will you please stop saying that I am.' Said Gimli from somewhere behind the Elf's legs.

It was cold, all paths of the dead – and there were many in this world – were cold, it was just a fact of…well, life. It was a deep cold, a cold that not even Legolas in all his ethereal wisdom could block out. The Elf shivered and clutched the dwarf riding before him tighter to his chest.

Ha not love sick indeed.

It made Calgacus want to smile, despite everything else. But he didn't, instead allowing them their privacy the son of the Clans turned his head forward to where Aragorn, seemingly oblivious to the cold around them, led his horse. The future King of Gondor had dismounted almost the second they had crossed into this strange, twisting path. His horse was much too spooked to hold him reliably, really all of them were but there was no way in all the depths of the darkness beyond worlds that Calgacus would step his own foot on a path of the dead.

'Calm yourself my friend,' said Aragorn to the skittish beast. 'Not for much longer will you walk these paths without the aid of your kin.'

An idle thought, brief and passing in the cold of the path – made Calgacus consider that statement vaguely insulting to the other horses present. Particularly when from up ahead he heard the sharp, rhythmic beating of the feet of many more horses.

Suddenly they were surrounded, yet not by the spirits of the dead – nothing was ever that simple – but by men, hundreds of men all of Aragorn's build and bearing, all riding similarly highly spooked animals. They'd have a stampede if they were not careful.

'Hail kin of my house, Rangers of the North, too long has it been since we have seen one another last.'

The wave of men seemed to part, and two horses – proud and strong, like the elves who sat upon their backs, stepped forward.

The Sons of Elrond had returned.

'Hail brother, too long indeed.' Said Elladan, his twin said nothing for clearly his mind was too preoccupied with what he held tightly in his arms: a small, wriggling, wailing bundle. He looked up then, the sharp unearthly blue of his eyes meeting Calgacus' grey ones over the infant's head.

'Lord Calgacus, I bring grave tidings from your homeland. The Dead have claimed the fortress of Dunlich and swarmed most of the strong holds of the high chieftains – we were barely able to escape ourselves.'

Horror, cold, sharp and biting as the air around them filled Calgacus then – and so it was true, he had made this journey, made this quest for absolutely nothing. His land was gone, a vessel for the dead and his people…his mother…

'How many escaped?'

It was a fool's hope, but he'd be killing himself on the inside every day if he didn't ask.

'None. I am so very sorry, Calgacus, we were too. Your mother has passed beyond even our father's sight.'

The Baby gurgled unhappily in the Elf's arms and Calgacus' eyes were once again brought back down to her. So small…so tiny…could it be and yet it was almost too much to hope.

'Whose child is that, it cannae been mine for they must be back in Rivendell with Aine.'

The brother's looked at each other then, their faces heated with the strength of their guilt.

'Come,' said one of them at last. 'Dis-mount and sit with us for a while son of Mab, it is a tale best not told from horseback.'

'Neen o aat, ah'll nae be soothed by ye son o Elrond, noo tell me whose child aat is afore ah actually lose ma temper.' ****

The elf with the child sighed and moved her in his arms ever so slightly so that the four hunters could see her face properly. Calgacus blanched and turning his eyes away from…from the face of the child, he growled.

'Fit have ye done to her?' Whose bairne is that? Where is my wife?'

They had not been allowed to take many of their father's soldiers with them, the enemy was too strong, it's eye ever searching for the house of Elrond – thus only seven elves had followed them to the crooked cage that was the land of Dunland. Thank goodness they had run into the Rangers of the North, on their way to aid their king and kin - otherwise this story might have had a much bloodier ending.

'So,' said Elladan to the twitching brother by his side. 'How are we going to get in?'

The sons of Elrond knew but two things well in their life: killing orcs and what a forest should look like. For instance a forest should not look like a cage, limbs twisted and morphed until they resembled far more the iron bars of man then any living thing. They should also not curve upwards in a kind of overarching dome that blocked the sunlight from all that stood below it.

In fact, there was nothing natural about the forest that had sprung up around the land of Dunland nineteen years ago. This should have been obvious for anyone, given the forest's origins. But I feel it is important to note now that the sons of Elrond knew but two things well in their life, everything else just sort of floated by them.

The twins turned then and grinned at one another, they may not have been the brilliant tacticians like their father, or intellectual poets like their sister, but somethings simply did not require that. Elrohir turned and addressed the elves and men that had followed them, a smile on his face and a sword in his hand.

'Alright everyone, swords out, it looks like we'll be making some firewood for the poor souls who dare to follow our path.' And with that he swung his own sword at the sharp bark of the tree before him.

With a tremendous strike of thunder, the least intelligent child of Elrond Peredhel was thrown backwards, skirting across the ground until he hit the leg of his much handsomer brother – who'd known to stand as far back as possible and thus had not been caught up in the collision, leaving them both flopping on the ground in an embarrassing mesh of limbs.

That's when they heard it, a laugh, loud and joyful. Both brothers looked up to stare at the stranger that had come from behind them.

He was an elf much like themselves, but taller, and with loud vivacious red hair all twilled around his head like a matron of a fishing village. He stood with hands on his hips, his legs splayed wide apart, and a sword at his side.

'My,' said the strange elf. 'What a mighty thrust the sons of Elrond have…I must take care not to meet you in battle, less I lose a head.'

Elladan stood then and strode over, and with great grace gripped the stranger's outstretched hand.

'Good day, my good fellow, and who might you be?'

'Why…my name hardly should matter to the son of Elrond…for it is only my purpose which thy needs to know. And my purpose today is to help thee enter that forest, though for what reason I haven't an idea.'

Elrohir smiled at the stranger.

'If you know our father, then you should know his heart is larger than his mind, and he felt moved by the plight of the Dunlanders.'

The Elf laughed at that.

'So, you have been sent to aid them then? Strange, for there is not many of you, even with your ranger pets, and Dunland is a fearsome place, I would not enter there with less than four hundred swords at my back.'

'Well, we don't have that.'

'No, but you have me…and perhaps that shall be greater aid than were you to bring an entire army to fend them off.'

'Oh, sweet Valar,' said Aragorn, once again clearly unable to wait. 'Can we at least just ride on as you tell your story.'

The Elf that had been regailing them with the strange tale, turned and glared at the ranger.

'Just because a tale isn't about you, Ranger King, does not make it boring. I have worth too.'

The venom in the voice clearly unerved Aragorn more than he was willing to show his kin, and so he shrugged his shoulders and tried to pretend he found it funny.

'Have it your way brother, but clearly this is a trick of some kind. Elladan, please tell me you weren't stupid enough to accept his aid?'

'Shut up!'

'That is a forest of magic there, sweet Elf, you can't chop it down…to enter you have to place your hand on the bark and wish to be inside.'

'You're kidding, I mean Elrohir and I have seen a lot of fanciful things…including an elderly hobbit doing a jig while completely plastered, it sounds mundane but believe me it's not – but that is too much.'

The elf did not smile, or quirk a brow, in fact the elf did not react at all instead he marched over to the forest before them and laid his hand on the bark of the tree, where upon that strange elf disappeared.

Shall I tell you what happened then little brother? Shall I tell you what happened when we followed him, aye, you already know don't you, I can see it in your eyes. We were pulled into that forest by the fronts of our tunics and we landed in the dark.

I won't bore you with the details of what we saw next, because we saw nothing. No sky, no ground, no dead, no living, there was nothing there, nothing but the faint whisper of the wind in the distance.

I'm sorry Calgacus, there was nothing left.

Nothing but the twin sons of Elrond and their guide.

But you see their guide was not a guide at all…but a wraith. One that had been waiting so long, too long for a body of his own. You see he'd had to share the last one they found, and while that was fantastic…he'd loved that life…he longed for something of his own. A body much like he had been in his first life…his twin life.

That's the joke, for the twin sons had come to this place…this dark terrible place to save the people here. Well the people of Dunland were already dead…but their mission was not a complete failure. For you see they did save someone that day…in fact they saved quite a lot of someone's that day…they just weren't anyone living.

'What are you talking about, Elladan…your story stopped making sense the second you tried to describe Dunland.' Snarled Legolas, as he tried to control his horse around the unnerving sight of Elladan smirking.

'Oh, did I? I am sorry my living brethren, sometime after you takeover a body your mind starts to get fuzzy. So, I'm afraid I can't describe in detail how they all died. They were gone when I got back.'

'Fit ye talking aboot?'

'Ah, Calgacus, how can my brother and I explain it in a way you and the child will understand.'

'Well, brother there is always the obvious way.'

'Yes, but which one of us…we've never had to choose before, but it might upset him if we both did it. And I did carry the child for most of the journey.'

'Fine, just make it quick, we do have a schedule to keep.'

'Fit ye...'

And with that Elladan kissed Calgacus.

It was not clear who was more disappointed by the outcome, the angry youth who in a half-daze of horror shoved the elf warrior away with the name of 'Aine' on his lips. Or the King in waiting who realised that that wasn't his foster brother behind those eyes anymore. In fact, as he stood surrounded by warriors he had once called family, he realised that that family had died a long time ago and that these were not the eyes of kinsmen that look out at him now – they were the eyes of dead men.

His sword was in his hand before he could remember what to do with it and he swung, not even caring who he hit anymore.

And the battle began.

This wasn't real, this was a dream, a terrible, awful dream that he would wake up from any second now…any second now and he'd be back home. Back home, where the sky was always dark, the sun never came, and the light…didn't really exist.

He'd always wanted to see the sun, yet how hard did it burn him now, as Legolas pulled him backwards and away from…from…not Aine. And yet, it had been her that kissed him with the elf's mouth, hadn't it? He'd never kissed anyone else, maybe everyone kissed like that…maybe…maybe it was all a lie. Maybe she had never wanted him, loved him, maybe she had run away as soon as she saw the light on his face and everything else was only a dream.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…maybe…it seemed his whole life was maybes. Maybe he might live to see his child grow up, maybe he might see the sun one day, maybe the dead would not rise that night, maybe…maybe…maybe.

In his arms the child cried…and he…he couldn't even look down at her, because she was real…realer than he ever was and he couldn't bear to look. Because if he did, then he'd know what his wife had really been…and none of them, those wise chieftains and elders and warriors who had arranged their match…they'd all missed it. Aine was never Aine at all, she was something older…something very much not living…not living at all. And what could come from a union of the living and the dead?

He looked down at the child in his arms and he couldn't look away…because she was him and she was Aine at least on one half of her face. All pink and angry, her little features all twisted up to deliver a crying wail that even the dead flinched from. And yet on the other side of her face – of her body he realised, when one tiny gangrene arm flailed out from underneath her blanket and wacked her father weakly on the thumb – was dead. Or at least it seemed dead, if the skin wasn't green and crawling with something, that looked like a maggot than it was all purple and blue. One eye socket was hollow, the flesh scraped away to reveal the bone of his daughter's skull. And yet this side was him too wasn't it? He'd been born in the dark, alone with the dead…just as she had been born alone in the light.

Alone…forever alone.

Around them, the battle screamed – swords clashed, men of the living and the dead locked in combat that neither of them could really win. Not without fire anyway, and the torches they had carried from the Strawhead camp had gone out when some idiot had dropped them on the ground. And standing here amongst it all, with his crying daughter in his arms, he realised something that he had he never even considered before. It would never end, this fight between the living and the dead, it would just never end. Growing up under the cage, Calgacus has always imagined that when it came down – or when he escaped it – and everyone saw the sun again, that would be the end of the dead. The fight would be over, the fear, the horror, the revulsion – it would all end and everyone would live happily ever after. But such things did not exist in this world; the dead had escaped the cage. His mother was gone and Aine…Aine had never existed in the first place.

The only thing that still mattered, far above the fight for a land that would never know peace, was his daughter. His child who was still screaming, still screaming he realised because she was afraid. Afraid of the swords, and the loud noise, just afraid of everything. He tried to rock her against his body, concealing her from the terror around them – but it did not good.

His daughter, his little Hel, was not fooled.

She knew the truth, that neither of them would ever be safe or happy again.

There was only one option, the others wouldn't understand…they never did…but it was the only way out for either of them. He saw it all now, they didn't belong in the sun with the living clawing at them every day of their lives. The child would be hunted, would be killed by the living, and as for the dead…she was not one of them, they would not take his daughter as they had his wife. He wouldn't let them; he was her father and he would keep his daughter safe…at least he could do.

'Calgacus! Calgacus where are you…'

Legolas screamed but it was too late, Calgacus had taken off out of the battle, and towards the paths of the dead.

There was too many of them to fight…too many of them to even run from. In the past Legolas had long thought about what it would be like to die. Not fade away like his mother did, or sail across the sea like many of his brothers had…but to die as a mortal would. He imagined himself growing old, truly old, his hair white as snow on the mountain tops, and his face crinkled and stretched all wrong. He imagined closing his eyes one day and knowing no more, he imagined leaving the world – truly leaving it behind, and he imagined peace as only the second born could truly know.

He had not in fact imagined this as his death, to be surrounded by gnashing, snarling monsters in the guises of men…men he had known well …men he had almost called brothers. The Twin sons of Elrond had stepped back and away from the fight, but they were still visible over the snarling heads of the others, still visible as they clutched each other and laughed at their once friend's plight. No these were not the sons of Elrond at all, they were different…they were broken…the sons of Elrond would never be capable of such callous butchery.

And yet was that even true? For if he had been born a orc, had to fight the brother's in their crusade to butcher his kind from existence, would he think so kindly of them? Strange thoughts in deed, but perhaps those are the thoughts of the soon to be dead. Perhaps he really would know what came next.

And then, like a bird song in the distance the sounds of thundering hooves came over the horizon. The sounds of the riders of Rohan…. they were not alone. Their enemy turned startled at the noise a split second before the riders were upon them.

I could tell you of the battle, how great and glorious it was but that would be a lie, for no battles are great and glorious and this one less than most. All that matters is that the day was saved, and they at least, were not going to die right now. Legolas turned to call out to the boy who had fled. To tell him to come back, that the danger was gone but the entrance to the path of the dead was no longer there, it was nothing more than a pile of rubble: rocks and dirt …Calgacus and the babe were trapped on the other side.

The strange halfling Fool stood before that pile of dirt and stones where the path should have led, his arms outstretched as if reaching for something no one else could see. Reaching for something in the darkness beyond them all and a feeling overcame the elven prince upon that sight, a strange feeling like terror or something worse than that, that he could not name. And then the halfling stopped, and let his arms flop to his sides, and the over whelming pressure in the air died with it. The small creature turned then and smirked at Legolas.

'Prince Legolas, perhaps we should join the others in making their way back to camp, after all the pathways of dead men are no place for living folk.'

And just like that the last of his fear vanished, and it seemed even silly that it had existed at all. For what was there to fear in so small a creature as a hobbit? And this hobbit was so small that when he bent and lifted Calgacus' shield, the strange metal object was twice the size of the poor creature. Oh Calgacus, surely not trapped at all, he realised now that the fear had left him - but crushed and burried.

'If you'll excuse me, my Lord Eomer is going to be needing this very soon.' And with those strangely ominous words, the hobbit left.

It was an old saying of his father's people to weep not for the dead of mortal kind, for they are freer than any elf born …but Legolas had never been made of such hardy stuff, and weep he did that day and for many days to come.

For how could you do any less for the dead that had never lived at all?

*'No, we can't go in there…not down that path Legolas. It'll be the death of us all.'

**'The Dead Men of the Dunharrow…you don't know the dead son of Gondor, they're not to be trusted and these ones have no cause to like ye, Aragorn. You go courting your own death if you willingly seek them out, and that won't help anyone.'

*** 'Oh yes, I'll come all right, if nothing else but to see myself proven right for once. The dead are not to be trusted, and I'll say it to my throat goes horse from the strain. But I'll not let you wonder into their depths alone with only these love-sick fools at your back.'

**** 'None of that, I'll not be soothed by you son of Elrond, now tell me whose child that is before I actually lose my temper.'

Calgacus and his daughter will return.