Sorry it's taken so long. I'm trying to come up with two stories for my Scripting class right now and having no luck, and that's been eating all my creative-writing abilities lately. Anyway, Happy Halloween!

Chapter Fourteen

Evening's shadows were deepening, casting thick darkness in heavy patches where the buildings overhung the dusty stone-paved streets. While the companions could hear the distant sounds of a city slowly settling down for—and in some parts awakening for—the night, the streets they traveled were empty or nearly so. The troop of guards whose presence they had fled were gone, turned down a different road.

The companions had moved quietly through the dusty streets. Three of them were nearly wraiths in cloaks that one minute seemed grey, then next pale white, then the color of the sky itself. The other two, while less ethereal, were nonetheless dusty enough that all five could slide past the old marble buildings like faint, half-seen shades. Stealth and secrecy were what these warriors' lives depended now upon—

But that did not stop any of them from keeping a hand on their blades.

…………

Stealth and secrecy were equally precious in Gondor. In stealth had Aragorn left the White City, and secret was his departure kept. With stealth had they snuck Beregond into the palace and bundled him into Aragorn's bedchamber, and in secret did they now tend to the guard rather than the king.

Elrohir glanced over at the man's sleeping form, swaddled in linen so white that the thin strip illuminated by the last rays of the sun as they spilled across the bed seemed to glow. The Elf sighed and rearranged himself in the chair for the fifteenth time in the past two hours. Elves are known by all for their patience, but Elrohir was not a patient Elf. He resisted the urge to pace although he knew that he would eventually give in. It was a habit inherited from his father and Elrohir had only grown better at it since Elrond had departed into the West, as had his twin. Arwen, who had long seemed to largely escape the nervous walking, looked as if she were starting to pick it up since she had been crowned.

The thought amused Elrohir, although he was mildly saddened that his sister should find a need to pace in the first place. But Elrohir was the eternally optimistic one, not to mention entirely irrepressible, and he focused more on the fact that he could now tease his sister for her new habit than he did upon the reasons behind her acquisition of it.

Right now, had Arwen been in the room and circling nervously he would have teased simply to release his nervous energy. The situation was tense enough as it was: keeping Beregond hidden from the citizens of Gondor while making them think that their king—off on a covert mission at the moment—was really the one lying ill, without worrying them too unduly, and pretending to be both twins so that no one would wonder where Elladan was and why he wasn't here, was more than enough for anyone to deal with.

But on top of all that, Elrohir had a strange unease floating just over his shoulder that he could not determine. He and Elladan had always been close, even for brothers; at times they could tell what the other was thinking down to the syntax of the phrasing of their thoughts. It was uncanny, even for Elves of their bloodline, even for twins. This near-telepathy had come in handy numerous times, both for simple events and more dire circumstances. Right now, their connection was whispering in Elrohir's ear that something was going to go wrong—or perhaps it already had.

The thought hovered unceasingly in the back of his mind and twisted anxiously like ice in his gut. Elrohir only managed to keep from giving in to distraction and riding straight after his brother due to his long experiences. A warrior cannot abandon one battle to race off to another, no matter how much he might desire to. And in Elrohir's opinion, not only was keeping the White City in the dark just as much a battle as Elladan's attempt to overtake the Lady Eowyn and the Lords Legolas and Gimli, it might very well be the more difficult of the two. Certainly it was the more infuriating. At least Elladan was out riding and there was always the possibility that he might be required to draw a sword or at least act important. All Elrohir could do was sit and wait, and that was not a task at which this particular Elf Lord excelled at.

The fact that a strong foreboding was wrapping itself tighter and tighter about his thoughts each moment did nothing to help.

Elladan, he thought in a whisper that tried not to sound as worried as he refused to admit he felt, Valar protect, my brother. Elrohir had the sinking feeling that Elladan was going to need it.

…………

Far from the bloody trail, past dust and hovels and wide, once-white walls lay the maze-like pathways of the Old City. Built long ago, it was far past its prime, now a crumbling relic of a memory that ought to have fled years past, yet stubbornly clinging to the notion that it was as proud and powerful as the day it was first built from smooth, shining marble and stone.

Many of those that lived in Old City—far better off than their counterparts on the other side of the Wall—were retiring for the night. A few torches were lit, but for the most part the city was dark, slowly falling under night's shadows. The inhabitants were closing shutters and drapes, retiring behind their aging grand doors as they prepared for sleep. Five of those that were doing nothing of the sort did not belong to the Old City, nor indeed to any part of Ostad, although the dust they carried seemed to mark their homes among the shabby tents and shacks that had grown long ago into the collection of hovels dubbed New City. But their homes were far away and scattered; from Gondor they came, and Rohan, from Eriador, Eryn Lasgallen, and Rivendell their paths had led.

Yet so far, none knew that but them. They were still secret, yet for how much longer their presence and identity would remain so was unknowable. The city searched for them, these strangers in their midst, the unnamed intruders.

Four of those intruders huddled clumped together as far under the shadows of one of the ancient buildings as they could manage, trying—and, they felt sure, failing—not to look suspicious as they waited. After a few moments, a slim figure almost invisible in the twilight dropped lightly from the roof to land beside them. He quickly pulled his hood back down, hiding pale moonlit hair and sharply pointed ears.

"You were right, Aragorn," the Elf whispered to the taller of the two Men. "They have lit torches and are organizing into a much more methodical search now." He hesitated a moment, a slight anxiety visible on his shadowed face. "They are even spreading the search into the Old City."

Aragorn's face grew grim and he nodded.

"Yet if they know—or at least think they know—that we have not passed their perimeter, why waste the manpower to search the Old City, my lords?" The shorter Ranger asked in a whisper.

The woman answered him with a grimace. "They must cover for all chances, and far better to be overly cautious than sorry later."

"I still feel that we have a better chance of escaping their notice in the Old City," Aragorn maintained in a low voice. "The searchers will no doubt feel as you do, Mallor. Their eyes will not be as keen nor their vigilance so detailed."

"It is true," the Elf confirmed. "I could see them grumbling about the pointlessness of their task as it was assigned."

"And you had to get that close for what precious reason, pray tell, Master Elf?" the shortest companion, a bearded Dwarf cloaked in Elvish grey, demanded with a scowl.

The Elf attempted to send him a supercilious glare but the Dwarf ignored it. "I was sent to observe, was I not? A fine scout would I make if I stayed so far from my target that I could not tell its actions."

"Legolas, Gimli, peace," Aragorn whispered with a frown. "Now is not the time."

Elf and Dwarf exchanged glances that promised one another that their argument was not over yet, but in truth they seemed to carry a perpetual discussion ever with them that was ready to be resumed at any moment. One more pause would make little difference in the ceaseless series of friendly banter and companionable insults.

Aragorn shook his head tiredly. He was not willing to admit that his wound combined with the long chase and lack of sleep was affecting him, but the others noticed a slightly more haggard look in the king's face than was usual, even for Aragorn. He more resembled Strider at his most run-down 'ere the War of the Ring had been fought than he did the miraculously returned King Elessar Telcontar of legend. Yet there was no help for it now; rest was not something currently on anyone's mind, least of all Aragorn's. He had endured much greater hardship than this. The proof of each one was etched in the lines in his face.

And while the king hid it well, his companions could see that this was wearing on him. Elf and Dwarf exchanged another glance, this time one of silent planning rather than promise of friendly retribution. Their method of silent communication had been perfected over the past few years, and now they had it down to an art form—one that Aragorn, in his distracted and tired state, did not notice.

"We ought to go to ground," Gimli suggested. "Find somewhere to hide the night while they search in vain."

Aragorn looked about to object, but he never got the chance. "Is this wisdom from a Dwarf?" Legolas exclaimed in surprise.

"Shocking that an Elf should recognize it, I agree," Gimli retorted quickly.

"Ay," Legolas shot back, "for it is an occurrence so rare one would doubt it were possible."

"I agree that Elves are unobservant creatures, ever watching the stars and filling their ears with mindless singing where they ought to rather look about them or listen, but I am not so uncharitable as to allow that it is impossible for one to notice something."

"Hardly surprising that the Elves find the stars and their own songs preferable things to look at or listen to when the alternative is a Dwarf!"

"Will you two hush?" Aragorn hissed at them with a ferocious scowl.

Éowyn, having caught Legolas's surreptitious wink, spoke before the king could continue his lecture. "Perhaps we ought to find somewhere to hide 'ere they bring the entire city's guard down upon our heads," she suggested wryly. Elf and Dwarf did a remarkable job of looking highly insulted.

Aragorn frowned, but Mallor, having caught Gimli's nudge, jumped in next. "We ought to find somewhere that 'twould be thought impossible for us to enter undetected. Perhaps closer to the center of the city?"

"I did see a large structure, almost a citadel, near the city's heart that might suit our purposes," Legolas chimed in, magnanimously choosing to ignore the earlier slight. "'Twould be all but impossible to gain by accepted means of entry."

"Then it is perfect," Éowyn said with satisfaction. "Do you not agree, my lord?" she asked Aragorn, as if wondering why he had not yet spoken.

"Well, yes," the king started to say, "that would be—"

"Then we had best hurry 'ere the flighty prince forgets where he saw it," Gimli said stoutly.

"Fortunately for us all, Elvish memories are not so frail as those of Dw—"

"Peace!" Aragorn hissed again, exasperated. "Let us be off before the two of you turn this into any more of a farce than you already have!" he exclaimed in a whisper before spinning on his heel and starting off at a fast pace. The others followed quickly, apparently not in the least taken aback. That, as well as the fact that both Legolas and Gimli subsided quietly, made Aragorn think that he had played right into their hands.

The King of Gondor had just been manipulated.

He sighed and shook his head. If it had been anyone else he would have been offended or at least surprised at how easily they had strung him along until he was the one to suggest the course of action he had been prepared to argue against…but this was Legolas and Gimli he was dealing with, and aiding them was the Lady Éowyn. And now apparently they had gotten Mallor on their side as well. Trust the Elf and the Dwarf to make everyone dance their tune. While usually more than willing to simply go along with things, when either of them wanted to, they could soon have an entire company of stubborn, battle-scarred soldiers obeying orders that they didn't even have to give.

Aragorn would have loved to blame Thranduil—for the Elven King to be responsible for the ease with which Aragorn found himself outmaneuvered would have been quite acceptable; Thranduil had, after all, been ruling his lands with no outside aide since the Third Age had begun. He would have loved to blame Thranduil and the diplomatic training the clever king had given his son, but he couldn't. The only ones to blame were Legolas and Gimli and the strange bond that existed between the two. Of course, the fact that they could at times read one another's thoughts almost as well as Elladan and Elrohir could didn't hurt in the least.

A worried frown furrowed the king's brow as he slunk quietly through the dark streets, the others right on his heels. Aragorn hoped his foster-brother was unharmed but knew he could not afford to worry about that now. Right now his priority was to keep Éowyn safe, rescue the prisoners, and get them all out of this cursed city. He would have to trust that Elladan could take care of himself. The Elf had been doing it for three thousand years; he ought to be able to handle another few hours on his own. Or so Aragorn hoped.

He was distracted from his anxious musings by a faint whisper. The sharp-eared Ranger glanced over his shoulder in mild alarm, wondering what was wrong. He relaxed when he saw that it was only Legolas and Gimli apparently continuing an argument of some kind. Those two were completely irrepressible. He glared at them and was rewarded with exceptionally innocent expressions beneath two shadowing hoods. Shaking his head, the king turned around and, a few moments later, heard another faint whisper just at the edge of his hearing.

He could not help but smile despite everything. Conspirers or no, he was glad they were with him.

…………

Elladan slipped and fell. Dust clung to his wet sword as he lurched less-than-gracefully back to his feet. He grimly shook his head, trying to clear the blood from his eyes; wiping them with his hand would only leave it worse, for his hands were as soaked in red as the thin sliver of steel they held. He could feel wetness trickling down the inside of his soft boots and pooling in his gauntlets, but there was nothing he could do now.

If it had not been for that first lucky shot with the arrow—

The Elf had been a blue of motion flashing towards the outskirts of the city, driving his attackers back as much with their fear of him as with his blade's actual bite. But more had continued to come, the guards from other areas of the outer walls abandoning their posts. Sloppy, the Elf had thought contemptuously. These men were obviously lacking in discipline. Many of them, however, were not lacking in skill. For an instant, he almost regretted sending Aragorn and Legolas away—but no. Estel must be kept safe. He had promised his sister he would watch over the Man, and he kept his word. Arwen had given up so much for her love of him; Elladan would not see his sister's joy taken so soon.

He redoubled the efforts of his attacks, feeling the guards start to waver before the merciless assault. Then there was a sudden stab of pain, and there was a flash of heat from his right arm, and it went numb. He swiftly transferred his sword to his uninjured hand, fighting as easily with his left as he had with his right. But his balance was off, and his rhythm was lost. He might have recovered from that and emerged with no other injury, but he was distracted enough that he did not notice the last man he felled was not quite dead. There was another stab of pain in his calf, and he looked down in shock to see a dagger embedded in his flesh. A quick slice of his sword and the man was no more, but the tip of another blade just caught his forehead. The warm blood filled his eyes, and the Elf moved completely on instinct.

In an eyeblink he had escaped from the battle, vaulting over a rickety wall, and paused only a moment to remove the dagger from his leg. He had no time to wrap the wound, for already another small group was running towards him from the other direction. A casual flip sent the captured dagger into the throat of an oncoming enemy, then the Elf lifted his sword again. Tightening his grip on his slippery blade, Elladan ran towards the guards, ignoring the protests from his injured calf. One-handed, he carved through them quickly, but by then the those he had left behind were climbing over the wall. Using words he would never have repeated around his sister, the Elf sprinted away from them. He had no time to seek for the direction Estel and Legolas had traveled in, and so he could only hope that he was leading pursuit away from his friends rather than back towards them.

If it had not been for that first arrow shot, he would have been easily able to handle the off-guard, startled men. He cursed his ill-luck, and wondered how he was going to get out of this one. Where was Elrohir when he needed him? Suddenly the Elf tripped, his leg giving way beneath him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced himself back to his feet. He could not stop. They would find him.

The red trail he left with every step meant that they would likely find him sooner or later anyway, but the thick twilight combined with the thirsty dust of the road meant that the blood was not as easily seen as it would otherwise be. When morning came, he was lost; they would simply follow the red liquid to him. He needed to get out of the city before then. If he could leave the city, he would be able to escape. Estel would know not to look for him. He would tend his wounds and lie in wait outside the sight of Men, ready to offer help to his companions. Perhaps he could even sneak back in the next night, if they had not left by then. If he could just get out of the city without running into any more trouble before morning, he would be fine.

Elladan turned the corner and saw a small company of armed men. They spun to face him, and the Elf grimly brought his blade up. So much for escaping by morning…

Reviewer Responses:

Deana – "finally" is right…and who said anything was wrong with the Elf? He tells me he's just fine…

Laiquendi – Poor Aragorn a second time, don't you think? Heh. He really ought to have given up, really. Er…torchforks and pitches? Oh dear…um…look, a distraction! Shiny! Woo!

lindahoyland – a pounding migraine for the king. Asprin, any one? lol

Jebb – Oh no, Legolas will be teased about that forever, I'm sure. And who says Éowyn is sane? Look who she hangs out with, after all…

Lil Pippin Padfoot – Huzzah for computer-resurrections! And many thanks, as always!

Slayer3 – oh, well, I can't argue with that. Good reason. HAPPY BIRTHDAY:D Gimli and Legolas will now sing you a birthday song. Erm, once they stop arguing about what it will be, at least…

Avalon Estel – Nooo, my mini-Balrog! Foul kidnapper, restore him to me! Preferably before you lose your hand, but whatever works. And…wow, I really don't know what else to say. What lovely praise! Glerfindle, you behave for the nice lady, you hear me? No burning her!

East Coastie 1500 – Yay, a pretty dance! And I may be a big fan of banter. Just possibly. Shh! Don't tell!

Cosmic Castaway – Umm….cue innocent whistling? Oh bugger, I forgot, I can't whistle…er, cue innocent look? No violence, no violence! Look, update goodness for Halloween! And thank you—and I'm sorry it isn't finished yet. (looks down guiltily) I have no excuse, I am shamed.

So yeah, sorry, really. I didn't mean for it to disappear again…it just kind of happened. I am shamed. And Happy Halloween; yay costumes and candy!

Crap, I'm late for class. More next update!