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It came towards him through the swirling sands and he thrust blindly for the wind had whipped up the desert to such a frenzy that it seemed that very air was made of sand. His blow struck nothing but air and he lunged again, but this time the monster took hold of his wrist. Coldly it wrenched Aragorn's wrist until he screamed and the knife fell from his aching hand. Only then did it release him. Afraid Aragorn looked up expecting to see his enemy over him. But there was nothing but sand and wind. The thing seemed to have disappeared in the storm. Cradling his wrist Aragorn struggled to his feet. He must get to Veren, get to shelter from the sand storm. But when he turned he knew he was in trouble. He could see nothing, for the sky had grown dark with sand and grit. He could see nothing ahead of him or anywhere he looked. He dropped to his hands and knees and with his head down began to feel his way along the desert floor, the rocks should be to his back shouldn't they?

Stone and sand whipped him as he crawled and soon he was forced to stop when he realised that he had drifted away from the rocks. He must have been turned around in that short battle. He was going into the desert lands. In misery he covered his bleeding face with his hands. Several times he had called out to his companions though he knew the wind would steal his voice. Finally he curled in on himself and pulled his knees in tightly to his chest, mayhap he could ride out this storm.

But the storm was unfeeling and was one of the worse of the season. It began to bury him under a sheet of scree. Aragorn cried as the sands flayed the naked skin of his hands and face. He could feel the wind pushing him, forcing him onto his side as it covered him with a blanket of sand.

Tariq had lifted Elrohir away from Aragorn perceiving the danger in her own way. He had quite a task convincing her that they were family, just as her younglings had been. By then the storm had worsened and try as he might he could not find his brother. Each of the others they had found and by Tariq's nose alone had found the hidden entrance to the Kingdom of Ak'tun, for it was not a hole in the ground as Ah'lief had believed but a cavern, the entrance of which was nigh invisible between two massive pillars of rock. They would never have found it. Each of them, from the still unconscious Veren to the screaming man whom he did not recognise, he had taken to the cavern. Now he and Tariq searched the almost black landscape for Aragorn. He held onto her rough fur for even he could not see in the gathering gloom. Together they searched for almost an hour more until Tariq turned and butted the elf with her head. It was time to get out of the storm, it was dangerous for him now.

"Please," he cried "just a little further."

But the bear-thing was adamant, she butted him again, hard and he stepped back involuntarily tripping over something soft in the sands. He fell, hitting his backside hard, but he quickly got to his knees and scrabbling around latched onto a foot.

"Help me Tariq!" he called.

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They pulled the young man from under a growing hill of scree. Elrohir could not see him but he felt a suspicious stickiness on his arms and face. Aragorn was also pliant and still.

"Oh Aragorn," gasped Elrohir.

Veren shook his head to clear away the fog from his mind. In the almost perfect darkness his companions were gathered closely about him. He could sense their unease.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Before any of them could frame a reply, a rasping, grating noise from the entrance startled them into silence. Eight eyes tuned to the source of the sound. The thing that had brought each of them to this place struggled in, a body clasped to its chest.

"Help me," it cried as they stared at it, "he is hurt!"

"Elrohir!" Veren exclaimed...

The fire they made from dried bush that had blown in through the mouth of the cave over the years. A ring of hard rock helped to keep in the heat. They fussed over Aragorn and Elrohir equally, unable to believe that he was actually there. Aragorn recovered quickly with the aid of cool water and warmth. Meanwhile Veren gently disrobed the younger elf taking in his starved, bruised body with sad eyes. His face was all hollows and bronzed by the sun and there was a dazedness in his eyes that gave the elder elf pause. Elrohir told a tale of hardship, captivity and of release; of days of madness and then purpose. He spoke of Tariq, the monster they had all seen in the gloom of the storm as a companion, a mother, a friend. Veren stroked his tangled hair as Elrohir leaned into him seeking comfort.

"I did not find him, I have searched everywhere and I could not find him." he said in a faint voice.

"We will find him pen'neth." Veren promised.

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Ak'tun tossed the knife to one side. Slowly he knelt at the elf's side savouring the sight of his naked limbs. His hands trembled as he slowly ran them down the elf's back and buttocks. He could take him like this, but it was his wont to look into the face of his conquests to see their emotions laid bare, to experience their surrender time and time again. To kiss their pleading, trembling lips gave him tremendous satisfaction. And thus he caught hold of the elf's shoulder and tuned him onto his back. The elf's eyes were closed and his face was bloody. Without much effort Ak'tun straddled his waist. Sitting there he longed to see those hazel eyes stare into his, so he leaned down to whisper harsh words into his slave's ear. He would awaken or be whipped with the blade of his sword.

The elf's eyes opened but they were not the eyes he wished to see. These were not the frightened eyes that he had grown so accustomed to. These eyes were cold, yet aflame with a deep burning anger. There was a weight around Ak'tun's neck, a pressure that threatened to stop his breath. Too late flew his hands to his neck. Too late did he try to pull away from from his intended victim.

His hands wrapped around Ak'tun's thick neck, Elladan squeezed as though from his enemy's flesh he would draw water. He did not hear the awful sounds the desert king made, for in his ear there was only an awful roar of empty sound. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed as hate flowed through him. He squeezed as he remembered his brother falling to the dry desert sands... There was a wet popping sound and suddenly Elladan let go.

Ak'tun fell to the ground heavily, his neck soft and mottled, his dark eyes half lidded. Elladan was grunting, his breath coming in heavy rasps as he recovered. In a sudden panic he kicked the desert man from his body going to a crouch as the body flopped over. Trembling he stared at the dead thing as though he expected it to rise and taunt him. But as the minutes passed and the dead thing did not move, his gasps turned to sobs and in the dark tunnel it was a heart wrenching sound. Minutes passed and and he found himself crawling, he did not know why until his hands encountered the cold flesh of his one time friend. The lantern still glowed and Elladan could see the wide pool of the man's blood congealing on the cave floor. Heedless he crawled to where Ah'med head lay. Cradling the old man's head he caressed his soft face.

"He is dead Ah'med, we are free." he said. He waited but there was no response.

"I will take you to my father," Elladan continued as a tear escaped his eyes and ran down his cheek, "you will live out your life in beauty and confort."

Then a sob escaped his throat, for the old man's eyes remained closed. "Yes sleep Ah'med, when you awaken I will take you to my father."

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Outside on the surface of the desert the sand storm raged. In the cavern the elves and men huddled together for warmth and comfort. Elrohir slept in Veren's arms as he had not done for the nine months since he had come to the desert lands. Celebrin covered him with his own cloak and carried the offensive smelling hide he had been wearing deeper into the cave.

The evening wore on and the cold air from the raging winds filtered into the cave. As the the temperature dropped, quiet conversation did too as one by one the elves and men were lulled into sleep. It must have been in the early hours of the morning that the sound eventually pulled Aragorn from sleep to wakefulness. Sitting up quietly he listened. It was a macabre sort of howling, faint yet steadily rising and falling as though the maker of the sound was in pain. Celebrin who was the closest to Aragorn also awoke,

"An animal?" he queried. But Aragorn shook his head slowly, he stared wide eyed at his companion for a moment.

"No, not an animal." he cried and scrambling to his feet began to look for the source of the sound. His frantic actions seemed mad to Celebrin and yet he joined the young man. Their movement woke the others...

A dark hole in the ground toward the very back of the cave.

"We need light." said Veren, for though the howling had ceased a sense of urgency gripped them all.

The climb was treacherous, a smooth staircase of fallen rock. Yet they all were eager to descend. At the very bottom, they stood in a passageway. A passageway that reeked of blood. Veren held the burning torch high. They saw the first corpse almost at their feet. The elves drew their swords, but Elrohir who had walked a bit ahead gave a great cry.

He was huddled against one wall of the cave the corpse of an old man clasped to his chest. His head was bowed, he was unclothe. Elrohir knelt in front of him as the others gathered behind. He placed a hands on his brother's arm and felt him shiver.

Elladan felt the cold hand of death upon his arm and raised his head, but it was not the risen shade of his enemy. It was his brother.

"You came for me." he whispered with a soft hiccup of laughter.

"Yes," Elrohir replied softly, seeing the madness in his brother's eyes. "will you come with me?"

"And my friend?" Elladan asked in a small voice.

"He as well." said Elrohir and he offered his arms for the dead man.

Very gingerly as if holding a new born, Elladan passed Ah'med into the waiting arms of his brother. Celebrin quietly stepped forward and took the old man's body from him. Elrohir now offered his arms to Elladan who hesitated just a moment. He had raised his eyes and looked past Elrohir. He saw there faces familiar to him. Then he turned to his brother and saw his burnt skin, his gaunt face.

"Will you take me home?" he asked.

"I will." said Elrohir.