Thanx reviewers. The long awaited-twelfth chapter! Dae- I am glad u like the revised story, and puppy-eyes work terribly well on me :)
The Paths of the Dead were dismal, and dark. The small group traveled without speaking, and their horses were becoming increasingly nervous. Elrohir had no idea how long they had been traveling through the black tunnels and chambers under the mountain; it felt like a day or so, but it could have been years and he never know it.
Elrohir's stepped into a large, underground hall, and something cracked beneath his boot.
"Do not look down." Said Aragorn from the head of the Company.
Elrond's youngest son held up his torch, and he had trouble keeping down his heaving gut. The skeletons of the Dead were scattered on the floor. Banners, old and torn, rested against the walls.
"The Dead are following." Murmured Legolas, glancing behind.
"Aye, they have been summoned." Elladan said, turning around and shining his torch down the path they had come from; the light did not penetrate the dark for more than a few yards.
Elrohir jumped when Irime's hand gripped his own. "Can you see them?" She whispered, moving closer to him.
Elrohir shook his head. "My eyes see only the darkness."
"I see shapes of men, and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night."
He gently rested his arm over her shoulders. Four hours later, they emerged from the Paths of the Dead. The Dunedain were shaken, but Aragorn seemed unaffected for the most part.
"Take some rest." He ordered, causing Elladan to grin. Finally, his little brother was becoming who he was born to be. "We leave at dawn."
Irime rested her hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Legolas . . ."
He turned and looked at her for a long time, then kissed her cheek lightly. "You are forgiven." His voice was cheery, but his sapphire eyes were haunted and brimmed with tears. He blinked them back stubbornly, and laughed. Then he removed the silver band on his finger and gave it to her. "Here, take this, it does not belong to me, but someone else." He glanced at Elrohir who sat with Halbarad and a few other Dunedain, warming their hands over a small fire. He wiped his eyes and laughed again.
Irime stood there, rooted to the spot, the magnitude of Legolas' action finally sinking in. She reached up and wiped his tears.
"This is ridiculous," he said, his deep voice beginning to crack. "I'm crying."
"A care titte nati alta melmenen, Legolas Thranduilion." she said, and hugged him.
He buried his face in her dark hair, taking comfort in the small things he had always taken for granted, and he knew then that he would never hold her again as a lover, but perhaps a friend. He pulled back slowly and kissed her cheek again.
"Namarie, meleth." He said, and as she walked over to Elrohir, Thranduilion knew that she was walking out of his life, forever. "Melinyel." He whispered, though she did not hear him.
Elrohir stopping talking when Irime came and sat down between himself and Halbarad, she looked disheartened somehow.
He covered her hand with his own. "Are you alright?" He whispered in her ear.
She nodded. "I am fine." For some reason, he doubted it.
He looked back up as Hallernil finished his tale about an orc ambush, gesturing wildly with his hands as he stabbed at invisible foes. With a rather rude gesture and obscene noise, he imitated the orc as it tripped on its own feet in an attempt to flee. The seven others roared with laughter, though Irime stayed quiet for a long time before standing abruptly and walking off.
After a tense few seconds of complete silence and expectant glances, Elrohir followed her. He wove his way through the thick underbrush and towering boulders until he came to where she sat with her back against a tall rock face. Her eyes were far-off and distant, and Elrohir knew that she did not see him as he walked up to her.
"Irime . . ." He knelt down beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly.
She jumped. "Elrohir – you – you frightened me."
"Irime," he repeated. "Are you unwell?"
She sighed, "No, and yes." He looked down as she placed something in his hand. "Legolas gave this back to me," she sniffed. "He said that it belongs to you."
Elrohir nodded slowly, now knowing why the Elf prince had seemed so aloof and quiet, more so than usual. His heart was broken. Taking a guess, Elrohir assumed it was more of a slow, torturing rip into a thousand pieces. No wonder she felt guilty.
"Does it?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
She nodded and kissed him. Her nails brushed across the back of his neck, and Elrohir shivered; it was sweet torture. He shrugged off his leather jerkin. When clothing no longer separated skin from skin, Elrohir leaned down and whispered in her ear.
"Melan le ve linde mela oma, ar ve lote mela i ulma. Lavalye im, ar teith anna coio med nin. I ur siruva lesse ar met nalluvar mi meneli arati."
"Tancave, si!" she breathed against his neck.
Elladan looked around and grumbled something inaudible before going back to his tent. He returned a few minutes later, looking smug. He refused to answer Halbarad's questions, only smiling oddly. It was getting late, he had asked, where was Elrohir? At that, Elladan had shrugged, but the ranger knew he was aware of more than he let on.
Just as the Dunedain were about to retire for the night, Elladan stood up and shouted. "Ai! My celibate brother! Where have you been?" He sounded overly cheerful.
Elrohir turned an unhealthy shade of crimson and ducked into his tent, leaving Elladan to laugh himself silly.