SIX

Aleneth (Nameless)

Our path goes forever on,

Until, it parts and we are gone.

Thee to left and I to right,

Apart within the threat of night.

Forget me not I bid thee,

Thy name kept always dear to me.

Carry on I shall, I must!

Unbroken honor, unbroken trust.

The river was like ice; Legolas could feel the cold penetrating even his elven senses, and as he fought his way up to the surface once again, he struggled to make his way to the near shore. However, the current was swift and strong, stronger than any against which he remembered trying to swim.

There was a sharp crack, as the current dashed the helpless elf against a tree trunk also caught up in the flood currents, and Legolas knew that his bow was the likely casualty, as he himself had been spared from much hurt. However, in the next moment, the capricious current turned him about and drove him directly against a boulder jutting out from the riverbank. This time instead of a loud crack, there was simply a sickening thud as his head connected with the rock face. For a brief moment, Legolas was dazed enough to nearly slide beneath the swirling, icy waters as unconsciousness threatened, and then he regained his senses enough to clutch at the edges of the jagged rock.

It took some work, and nearly all the strength he could muster against the swiftly flowing river, but Legolas managed to climb up onto the boulder, and he clung to it while he regained his breath and wiped water from his face. He laid his head upon the cool stone surface, breathing hard. Closing his eyes, he fought the twin sensations of dizziness and nausea that rushed over him, but he held tightly to his new perch above the floodwaters.

Eventually he dared to open his eyes again, and lift his head. The boulder upon which he laid seemed almost to be a miniature island unto itself as the river flowed rapidly on either side. However, the distance between the riverbank and the boulder was close enough to make a jump for it. Legolas put his head back down and waited a handful of minutes more, gathering himself before mounting the effort for such a leap.

He landed hard, and awkwardly; Legolas felt his ankle give beneath him as he fell with a sharp cry onto his side. For several moments, he simply laid still, coughing out what river water he had managed to inhale, and shivering miserably as his damp clothing clung to him. Despite the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him, Legolas had a passing thought of regret for that lovely scent of lavender. After a moment, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and irritably shoved wet blonde hair from his face. He had no idea how far downstream he had been carried, but at least he was on the correct side of the riverbank now, and could continue the journey northward once Glorfindel caught up to him.

If Glorfindel caught up with him. For a brief moment, Legolas wondered anxiously how the balrog-slayer had fared in crossing the river. Sighing softly, Legolas started to get up. He sucked in a pained gasp as he realized that between his twisted ankle, and what was likely a concussion, he wasn't going anywhere soon. Falling back to sitting, he took a moment to survey his surroundings—and his situation. The bow wasn't broken, amazingly enough but it was cracked, which would render it highly inaccurate and susceptible to breaking during use. Which was just as well, as most of the arrows in his quiver had been swept away by the river; only two remained and neither of them were in any condition for shooting.

That left him with his knives; thank the Valar both were still with him, and neither appeared to have suffered any damage. Legolas sighed heavily; the bow had been a gift from his father to him on his begetting day just a few years ago, and he was disappointed to have it ruined already. Sapphire eyes scanned the area around him despite slightly blurred vision; daylight at least worked to his advantage. Orcs usually roamed at night, and it was early enough that if he had not far traveled downstream, Glorfindel should be able to locate him before nightfall.

Getting to his hands and knees, dragging the damaged foot behind him, Legolas climbed further up the bank and leaned against the broad bole of a large tree along the riverbank. Shivering lightly, the Silvan archer closed his eyes briefly and gathered his composure.

Glorfindel would find him soon. Settling that in his mind, Legolas opened his eyes once again and set himself to keep watch.

"Legolas!" Glorfindel's cry echoed desperately against the roaring rush of the floodwaters. The Silvan elf's blonde head had disappeared from sight almost immediately upon being pulled from his horse by the river. The balrog-slayer's own steed struggled to remain upright. Just a little further down, Lospód was awkwardly clambering up the riverbank just a few yards downstream, fortunately on the correct side of the river. A few minutes' more time and Glorfindel also had made the crossing. Calling Lospód to follow, Glorfindel hastened his mount downstream to search for the son of Thranduil.

Valar help me if he has come to harm. Glorfindel shook his head. He may have slain a balrog, may have faced Orcs, evils and dangers but he had no wish to face the king of Mirkwood with the news of his son's death. Senses on high alert, Glorfindel swept the riverbank, the river, a tide of worry in his heart rising each moment that passed with no sign of the Silvan archer. "Legolas!" He risked calling out, but there was no response.

Glancing past his shoulder, he noted that Lospód was still following along and that was well. Turning his keen eyes and ears back to the search, Glorfindel nudged his horse's flanks and urged him to continue. "Legolas!"

There was no answer.

The morning hours dragged on, Anor rising high in the sky, and there was neither sign nor sound of Thranduil's son; no answer to Glorfindel's repeated calls.

His throat tightening, Glorfindel pressed onward. It was not only Thranduil he dreaded facing if Legolas should have perished in the raging waters. Such news could only be deadly to Estel; so weakened he would not survive the loss of his sworn brother. Glorfindel's heart sank at the thought; he might press forward to seek Estel's cure on his own but the loss of Legolas would strike such a blow… The seneschal forcefully put that thought from his mind; he had to pay attention to finding the missing archer.

"Legolas!"

"Are you hurt?"

The soft voice startled Legolas, and that quickly his knife was at the ready for throwing until he realized it was not an enemy that addressed him as the slight figure before him flinched and cried out fearfully.

"Forgive me." He said softly, lowering the blade but his senses still on edge. "It is a rare thing indeed to startle an elf." Legolas jested lightly, to diffuse the tense moment, but in the same instant realized he must have been drifting dangerously close to sleep despite the pounding ache behind his eyes.

"Baw, goheno nin." No, forgive me. The grey tongue further startled Legolas as his unexpected visitor was cloaked and he could not totally see her features. Her voice was melodic and gentle, and Legolas relaxed in spite of the fact this woman was a total stranger to him. "Al thelo gedi le ego tirith." I did not mean to catch you off guard.

Legolas had to admit to being intrigued by this woman standing before him. She seemed to have coalesced into existence from the surrounding trees, clad in simple clothing and garbed over that with a somewhat abused, but voluminous, cloak. The hood hid her face nearly entirely; he could only catch a glimpse of a pale chin. But he had a good view of her hands, slender and delicate looking, but somewhat roughened with work and presumably the hardships of life.

"Will you not show me your face?" He asked at last, still speaking in the grey tongue. There was distinct hesitation on the part of the woman, and yet Legolas did not sense any malice or danger from her. A slight trembling of her hands was the only indication of distress, but her mellow voice finally answered him.

"Al presto le, hir nin." I would not disturb you, my lord.

At that, Legolas frowned. Disturb me…? He wondered briefly to himself, and following hard on the heels of that was the realization that she had addressed him formally.

"Iston le?" Do I know you?

"No, my lord." The soft-spoken woman switched back to the common tongue, and she shook her head a bit. "Are you hurt?" She repeated at last, a slight note of concern within her words. "You are soaked through…did you fall into the river?"

"Aye." Legolas finally satisfied her questions. "Sadly, both are true." The Silvan elf sighed a little. "My horse slipped attempting to ford the river and I was carried downstream. My ankle has been badly turned, and I'm afraid my head aches enough to have produced two of you." Legolas blinked a bit, trying to clear his vision. Slender hands moved instantly to examine the twisted ankle, and there was almost a healer-like quality to her motions. Legolas glanced upward; Anor had traveled a fair piece of its journey across the sky and the archer wagered it was close to the noon hour.

"It does not appear to be broken." She said at last. "Does it pain you much, my lord?"

"Please…" Legolas said softly, with just the barest hint of exasperation. "…lady, it is Legolas. Do me the favor of addressing me by my name and it will be well." The slender, cloaked figure froze for a moment, but at last dipped her head a little in agreement. Legolas favored her with a warm smile, and continued encouragingly. "May I have your name in return, my lady?" There was another pause, longer this time, and the soft voice answered.

"Once I had many names." She said sorrowfully. "The evil spreading out from Mordor has taken most of them from me." She shrugged a little, her head still down, and Legolas felt a sympathetic pang for her. "My lor—Legolas, your injuries need tending and even an elf should not sit in the cool air so drenched. Please, allow me to offer you aid." She drew closer and one gentle hand carefully swept blonde hair, heavy with water, away from the darkening bruise along the archer's temple where he'd made contact with the boulder to afford her a better look.

Legolas smiled softly; the offer was generous, and her demeanor kindly. Still, he did not know her name or from whence she had come. His hand had not left the hilt of the blade in his lap and he remained alert to his surroundings despite her gentle air.

"And where would you render such aid, my lady?" Legolas replied guardedly, yet politely.

The slender woman straightened away from him, one slim hand pointing just beyond a nearby rise.

"I dwell just over that hill." She answered truthfully.

"And what shall I call you in that place?" He pressed once again, hoping to get her name this time.

"Aleneth." She finally answered softly. "Al garin min." Nameless. I don't have one.

Legolas' brows knit together in a deep frown. The sadness with which she said the words seemed to tear at his heart and he could not help but wonder what terrors had overtaken her in order to bring on such despair.

"I have a companion." He said at last, and that seemed to startle her as much as the knife had, and Legolas hastened to explain. "We were separated when I was swept downstream. He will likely be searching for me, and I would not stray too far from the riverbank. He may miss me otherwise and think me lost."

The woman seemed to pause as if considering his statement. After a time, she inclined her head.

"Very well, my lord." She seemed to forget about calling him by his name briefly as she gazed upstream, as if expecting the appearance of Legolas' traveling companion any moment. "At least let me do you the kindness of caring for your injuries." With that, the slender woman set about tearing a pair of long strips of cloth from the hem of the thin overskirt she wore, revealing a silken blue skirt beneath it, and moved once again to the elf's injured foot.

Legolas nodded his assent, hissing only once as delicate hands removed the boot and carefully examined the sprain more closely. Faceless, nameless, the gentle hands wrapped the swollen ankle deftly as if she had been a healer all her life. Once satisfied with the work, she rose and retrieved a nearby fallen branch that was thick enough to employ as a footrest, and she carefully propped the damaged foot up.

"Hannon le, Miluiel." Legolas said softly, smiling when his benefactor hesitated. "Now you have a name…in thanks for your kindness."

"Thank you…" The woman murmured softly, and she rose a moment later as if she would take her leave.

"Wait." Legolas reached up toward her. "I fear I've taken too strong a blow to my head…I dare not risk falling asleep. Please, stay. Talk with me. I would be grateful for your continued company."

Hidden within the hood from the Silvan elf's sight, Miluiel smiled mirthlessly.

"And when Ada caught up to 'Ro and I…" Elladan paused in his storytelling to catch at the hand that flailed suddenly in the air as if Aragorn was trying to find his way, or grasp an object in his dreams. "Estel?" He murmured gently.

Elrohir, pouring fresh water into the basin used to keep Aragorn's fever at bay, looked up at Elladan's use of their brother's name. When a weakly whispered call for Legolas answered, the younger twin left his task and immediately knelt by Elladan at the side of Estel's bed. A wordless glance passed between the twins; both knew that in his current condition, Estel would not be able to bear the news of Legolas' departure, and yet the delirious murmuring for the blonde archer tore at their hearts.

Swallowing tightly, Elrohir placed his palm upon Aragorn's chest in a gesture of loyalty before whispering, "Na im, Legolas, mellon nín." It is I, Legolas, my friend. In their human brother's feverish confusion, the words were enough, the simple deception comforting his anxious mind. Beneath Elrohir's hand, Aragorn's breathing slowed, calmed from the whispers of panic drifting through his thoughts and he did not stir further.

Of his own accord, Elrohir began to sing as Legolas had done during Estel's fever-terrors, keeping his voice soft and gentle. Twice he faltered as tears threatened to overwhelm him, and both times Elladan took up the refrain, so seamlessly as to be the same voice. As with Legolas' singing before, it appeared to aid Estel's rest, and so they continued from one song into the next, this time singing together in gentle harmony.

"The light of Ilúvatar, given to Arda…" A third voice joined them, and the twins were briefly startled to silence as Elrond's warm baritone carried on with the melody as the Elf Lord entered the room. Elladan recovered first, picking up the familiar strains of harmony easily, and then Elrohir as well lent his voice to the quiet, gentle song.

The three Peredhil gathered protectively around their fallen brother and son; Elrohir's hand rested against Estel's face, Elladan still held the ranger's hand and Elrond, standing behind the twins, had a hand on each of their shoulders. The tender singing wove a thread of comfort around the three Elves as well as the human over whom they kept watch.

As the last notes drifted away into the darkening room, Elrond released his sons' shoulders and moved to light the candles scattered throughout the healing room. Some of the candles were scented with calming herbs, and a sweet smell drifted through the room, adding to the hard-won sense of peace.

"How has he fared in my absence?" Elrond asked as he knelt by the hearth and prepared to bank the fire against the early fall chill that would only deepen with the coming of night.

"He has been very still, Ada…" Elladan started.

"...he's getting weaker." Elrohir finished, and two sets of eyes watched their father anxiously. Elrond paused at that assessment briefly, swallowing down the heavy lump in his throat and calling Erestor's words back to the forefront of his mind. He must not despair; he had to care for his son.

Rising from the hearth once a good fire had been established, the Elf Lord came to the opposite side of the bed from where the twins kept watch and bent down over the pale, motionless ranger. A soft smile touched his features as could only grace a father watching his son sleep, despite the circumstances. So many nights he had watched Estel in just such a manner as a child and there was warmth in the memory. Placing his hand upon Estel's brow, he gauged the intensity of the fever, and then leaned closer to listen to the quality of the human's breathing as his fingers felt along Estel's neck and found the slow pulse.

"We need to do all we can to keep up his strength until Legolas returns." He said at length, before turning his attentions to the herb table and preparing more herbs for treating the fever. "Estel is becoming dehydrated and in need of nourishment…we need to replenish his reserves. Elladan…go to the kitchens and see about having some light broth made. Nothing too rich or heavy or his stomach will not take it well. 'Ro…he needs to be kept as comfortable as we can make him. Fetch some cool water for the fever."

Before Elrohir had even returned to his abandoned task of refilling the basin, Elladan had risen from the bedside and hurried from the room to obey his father's instruction. Elrond mixed the crushed herbs into a cup of water; normally he would have made the infusion with a mild tea, but he was both uncertain how the tea would settle on Estel's stomach and concerned that the need for simple water was far greater.

Sitting on the edge of the bed that Elladan had just vacated, Elrond brushed his hand gently along Estel's cheek. The touch was something more than simple affection; it was meant to rouse his mortal son as much as he was able. To Elrond's surprise, Aragorn turned his head toward the hand at his face, and the Elf Lord continued the gentle stroking along the high cheekbone. "Estel…ion nin…echuivo, saes." Estel…my son…wake up, please.

"Le…golas...?" Aragorn's whisper startled Elrond with its weakness, and he was hard pressed to hold back the tears he felt forming in his eyes.

"Estel…" Elrond began to respond, but Elrohir had returned with the basin now, and as he placed it on the nearby stand, the younger twin shook his head a bit.

"Ada…he thinks that I am Legolas." Swallowing once, Elrohir went on to explain pretending to be the absent archer to soothe Estel's restlessness. Elrond nodded, holding no fault with his middle son.

"Estel…" Elrond began again. "Legolas…went out for a time." It wasn't a lie; the archer certainly was out of the room. Just how far out of the room did not need disclosure. "Can you hear me, ion nin?" He again pressed his palm gently against his youngest son's cheek, and eventually the blue-grey eyes dazed with pain and confusion fluttered open, much to Elrond's relief. Estel had been so unresponsive through most of the previous night and into the day that Elrond was amazed at his waking.

"Ada?" The whisper was just as soft as before, and Elrond shifted his fingers to his son's lips just briefly.

"Shh, Estel. Do not spend yourself on words." The Elf Lord smoothed his hand against Aragorn's face again before sliding it beneath the lightly trembling shoulders and aiding the human to sit up partially. "Simply drink this for me, please. Slowly…you need this and I do not wish your stomach to reject it."

Carefully he brought the cup to Aragorn's lips and the coolness of the water was all the prompting the weakened human needed before he was swallowing thirstily at the liquid, scarcely noticing that it was laced with anything at all. "Easy…easy…take your time." Elrond pulled the cup back a bit, allowing the human's sensitive stomach to come to terms with the cool liquid being forced on it. As the Elf suspected he might, Aragorn choked a moment as if he might vomit, but then the moment passed and Elrond brought the cup back to his son's mouth after another few heartbeats. "Slower this time, ion nin." He instructed once again.

Aragorn resumed drinking the medication, a bit less eagerly than at first, until the cup was drained and Elrond set it aside. Cradling his son in his arms as he had the night before, Elrond reached with his other hand to rearrange the pillows to support Aragorn in a similar semi-sitting position. Easing the weakened ranger back into the soft mound, Elrond's hand returned to brush aside a few stray locks of dark hair damp from the fever and the water used to cool it. Again, to his pleasant surprise, Estel responded to his touch, opening his eyes again and this time he reached out toward his elven foster father.

"Ada…" Estel whispered again, an unreasoning fear behind the feverishly bright eyes. "We must…we must…"

"Shh, ion nin." Elrond hushed Estel once again, concerned that precious reserves of strength would be exhausted on the efforts to speak. "Rest, Estel…we will do all that needs to be done…I am here and your brothers are with me." The Elf Lord soothed softly. "Do not trouble yourself so…only rest."

"Morngil...guruthos teli..." The Black Star…the shadow of death comes... "Ha teli an Legolas!" It comes for Legolas! Elrond's brows gathered into a worried frown. Beyond fever-terrors or delirium, some part of Estel's mind had taken this for fact and there was true fear written in the sickly shine of his youngest son's eyes. There was more, weak pleading for Legolas to be warned, warned of the Black Star and the shadow of death.

"Peace, Estel." Elrond soothed, clasping the hand that had reached for him in both of his own, anxious over the increasing weakness evident in Aragorn's voice. "You must rest. The terrors will not touch you here."

Elrohir had returned with the water basin, and soon the cooling cloth once again traveled over feverish skin. Aragorn closed his eyes, a soft, almost frustrated whimper slipping from his lips. But the peace Elrond had entreated his son to take did not seem to settle upon him.

Elladan returned some little while later, bearing a small bowl of broth as instructed, the fragrant scent reaching them even before he stepped into the room. By this time, Aragorn had quieted somewhat, despite a lingering restlessness that seemed to plague him as if, Elrond thought, he was desperate to speak but could not find the words or the strength to do so.

"Ada?" Elladan said anxiously. Several questions were wrapped up in that single utterance; Elrond could see them in his oldest son's eyes. Elrond simply shook his head a little bit, his own puzzlement evident. He did not know what this Black Star was any more than the rest of them, nor understand the delirious warnings Estel seemed intent on delivering. Elladan approached the bedside now, handing his father the bowl and watching worriedly as Elrond placed his hand once again against Estel's cheek. Elrond found himself holding his breath, hoping that Estel would once again respond to the gentle, persistent palm against his face.

Again, Elrond was pleased to see the blue-grey eyes open, despite the slow struggle to focus, and he exhaled slowly. "Estel…ion nín…" He spoke now, as Aragorn's eyes seemed to lose their focus and began to slide shut once more. "Lasto na nin." Listen to me. "Edro hîn lín, saes." Open your eyes, please. A flutter of eyelashes and then, with some difficulty, Aragorn was looking at him once again. "Gerin tithen salph; boe mín heb am bellas lín." I have a little soup; we need to keep up your strength.

There seemed to be a bit more focus in Estel's eyes; Elrond could only hope that it meant a bit more clarity of mind, away from the delirium and hallucinations. He knew he was taking a risk in feeding Estel the broth; it was highly possible that the ailing ranger's stomach would reject it outright. However, he also knew it had been days since his son had taken any sustenance aside from a little water and it could only add to the danger of his growing weakness.

Speaking reassuringly in the grey tongue, Elrond encouraged his youngest to try a little of the broth and brought the first spoonful to his son's lips. Estel sipped slowly at the thin liquid, the warmth a welcome thing as he still trembled with feverish chills. Elrond paused a moment, gauging Aragorn's initial reaction, and encouraged by the first attempt; he dipped the spoon back into the bowl and brought it up again. Nearly half the bowl was finished before there was any indication of distress, and Elrond set it aside, pleased that he had gotten at least some of it into Estel without difficulty. "Be still now, Estel." He encouraged gently.

Aragorn's eyes slipped closed, and Elrond tenderly pulled the blanket up a little more and tucked it close to quell the tremors that still raced through his son's frame. The medication administered earlier was still running strongly through his mortal son's system and it did not take long for Aragorn to drift to sleep under its influence.

Whatever else destiny may call him or fortune bring him, he is still Estel. And you are his Ada. Erestor's words came back to Elrond, and he smiled softly as he simply slipped his hand beneath Estel's, feeling the warm fingers instinctively curl loosely around his palm.

"It's a good sign, is it not, Ada?" Elladan asked with hope as he settled into a nearby chair. "That Estel could take some of the broth without being ill?"

"The better sign is that he seemed to respond to his surroundings a little more. Perhaps that which pains his mind will begin to release him and allow him rest." Elrond replied; his voice also tinged with a slight hope. "But yes, ion nin…it is a good sign that he could eat a little. At least we know Estel still has it within him to fight."

Elrohir's expression mirrored his twin's, and he nodded just as emphatically as he leaned closer to his mortal brother. "Maetho, gwador nín. Maetho norn…tolo ad ammen lagor." Fight, my brother. Fight hard…come back to us swiftly.

The clatter of hooves below startled all three elves from their contemplations of Estel's illness, and Elrohir reacted first, straightening away from Estel's bed and moving to the balcony that lined the outside of the room.

"Ada…" Elrohir said as he hurried back into the room. "The riders from Mirkwood are here. Ran and Trey are with them!"

Dusk was beginning to settle around them, and Legolas was distinctly uncomfortable. Thanks to his mysterious benefactor's aid, the throbbing in his ankle had settled down into a tolerable ache, and she had been more than willing to share her lunch with him, some dried fruit and bread produced from a small satchel beneath her cloak. However, his head throbbed unmercifully despite a cool compress created from another strip of fabric dipped in some water. Worse, Anor had traveled the rest of the path across the sky without so much as a hint or sign of Glorfindel, and he began to be worried that perhaps the balrog-slayer had also been swept up in the rushing river.

They had built a small fire against the growing chill, as Legolas was still rather damp from his own plunge into the icy waters as well as to ward off those nocturnal creatures that hunted at night. Both knives remained out and ready for use should he have to fend off such hunters—or worse, Orcs. Although he had to admit, he was not entirely sure he could force himself to stand long enough to do so.

Legolas knew the sprain should heal fairly quickly, yet he still could not easily put weight upon his injured foot, as he discovered during an embarrassing moment of needing to answer a demand of nature and being unable to walk without aid. Miluiel had given him that aid graciously, without further embarrassment, and despite numerous failed attempts throughout the day to coax her into revealing her face, the Silvan prince had to admit he was grateful for her kindness. The obvious concussion, however, would be slower to heal, despite the fact his elven heritage guaranteed a much swifter healing than a human with the same hurts would.

Legolas' greatest concern, however was that he was failing in his charge to find out what had happened to Estel, and that burdened him far above all else. He knew that come morning he would have to press northward, whether or not Glorfindel had located him; he felt a horrible twinge at leaving the seneschal behind but he did not know what else he could do. It would be a much longer journey by foot and he knew that would take precious time away from Estel…time that Legolas could not spare to launch a search for Glorfindel.

"What troubles you, Legolas?" Miluiel finally inquired softly, despite still being slightly hesitant about addressing him by name. It had been some time since either had spoken; Legolas alternated between watching for Glorfindel's appearance, and inwardly weighing the painful choice he felt forced to make. His heart grieved between his responsibility to Estel and the worry he bore that Glorfindel might have come to harm.

The archer looked up at the hooded figure at length before replying,

"I fear that my traveling companion may not have made the river crossing either. Perhaps he also suffered injury, perhaps worse than I have. Yet I have not the means to search for him." Legolas replied quietly. That was a partial truth, to be certain; he also bore concern for his sworn brother, but he did not yet feel at such liberty to share his quest with Miluiel. She was yet too much a stranger and in these perilous days, it did not always turn out well to reveal too much to strangers.

"Night will have fallen soon." Miluiel said softly, poking at the embers of the fire with a stick, idly watching the sparks fly up into the air. "And another rainstorm approaches. I do not think this is a safe place to pass the night, so close to the river." Legolas exhaled slowly, knowing she was correct there; if the river rose again during the night, they would be too vulnerable here on the bank. Quietly he nodded his agreement but made no move to leave just yet. "It would be something of a walk…" Miluiel continued on. "…but my dwelling is just beyond that rise, and at least you would have a place to take some rest beyond the storm."

"My friend will be out in the storm." Legolas countered. He felt guilty enough without taking his ease in a warm bed while Glorfindel camped out alone and wet, and possibly hurt. "I will not ask you to endure it, Miluiel. All I will ask of you is to help me to a more suitable campsite and then you can return to your own bed. Hannon le for your assistance."

There were several more moments of silence before Miluiel said quietly, "Please, Legolas…it has been a long time since I have had the company of another soul."

Legolas paused at that statement; the request had the same sort of quality her earlier assertion that her face would somehow 'disturb' him. Gazing thoughtfully past her to the crackle of the fire, the Silvan archer wondered once again what could have happened to her to make her this way. At last, he sighed softly and his shoulders slumped; there was little good he could do for either Glorfindel or Estel like this, and he shifted his gaze toward his mysterious companion.

"All right." He agreed. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Come." Miluiel said, her voice betraying the smile Legolas could not see. "If we start now, before the night has fully fallen we should reach my home."

As Miluiel doused the fire, the Silvan prince could only pray the Valar that Glorfindel was safe.

The clouds gathering ominously on the horizon seemed to signal another downpour, and Glorfindel hunched his shoulders slightly in response, but the balrog-slayer's attentions were on other things weightier than the weather.

The shadows of dusk were gathering all about him, but there had been no sign of Legolas in his search for the Silvan prince. His heart sank heavily as he considered the possibility that Thranduil's son had drowned in the rushing waters, and his eyes once again scanned the nearby river area.

In his right hand, he carried two marred arrows, the fletching almost completely torn off, that had become lodged in the mud some distance downstream from where they'd started. Even in this condition, there was no mistaking these arrows for anyone's other than the Prince of Mirkwood. Glorfindel sighed softly. The only other possibility was that Legolas had been swept much farther downstream than he had originally estimated.

This presented another set of problems. Night was rapidly approaching, for one, and Glorfindel had no clue whether or not Legolas lived, and if he did…in what condition. Already it was quite apparent to the seneschal that even if the Silvan had managed to keep hold of his bow, that he likely had no arrows to fire, making it a useless weapon. If too badly injured, however…the elf would be in danger of predators. Wolves…or worse, wargs. So far, there had been no sign of either on the journey thus far, but even this close to Rivendell wargs sometimes ventured into the northern borders.

Then, there was Estel.

Glorfindel was fully aware that if Legolas had perished that the burden of their mission rested with him. He would have to press north, to the Dúnedain encampment and seek the answers they had come to find. The balrog-slayer's brow furled into a tight frown; an uneasiness filling him briefly at the idea of being solely responsible for Aragorn's survival. There was nothing he would not do for the house of Elrond, including forfeit his life if it ever became necessary. Without hesitation, he included Estel in his loyalties; as a small child, the young adan had squirmed his way into the hearts of more than just Elrond and the twins—and stayed. Glorfindel would not deny that now for the world.

Still, for all his warrior's skills and experience in battle, he carried an almost anxious foreboding about pressing on alone. Perhaps that had more to do with facing the others concerning the loss of Legolas than it did with actually retracing Estel's journeys with the Dúnedain. Either way, he dared not return to Imladris empty-handed. The future of the world of Men was in his hands; as time slipped away with no sign of Legolas Thranduilion, Glorfindel was becoming more and more convinced of it.

"Well, mellon nín…" The balrog-slayer murmured with a gentle pat against his horse's neck, a sad sigh escaping him. "I am at a loss." A grumble of thunder some distance away forced him to consider making shelter for the night, neither search fulfilled. Lightning crackled, and the rain would soon follow.

Glorfindel's decision would come with the dawn.

Elrohir hurried down the steps to the courtyard with Elladan close on his heels, to greet the arriving party from Mirkwood, as Elrond did not wish to leave Estel alone for even that short a time. As the twins came within sight, the small group dismounted and came to face them. Raniean and Trelan exchanged knowing glances; the twins' appearance bore witness to the urgent situation that they had expected to find in Imladris, given the haste with which Legolas had departed from Mirkwood according to Aran Thranduil. The only information the elven king had given them was that their friend and prince had been summoned to Imladris and that they were to accompany him there.

Only, by the time Raniean had formed the escort and Trelan had readied the horses, Legolas was long gone despite the haste with which they had carried out the tasks. So the riders had simply continued on to Rivendell, knowing that they would at least ride back with their prince once his task in Rivendell was completed.

Elladan and Elrohir offered their guests smiles of welcome, although Raniean noted that they both seemed exhausted with worry and carried a tight set to their shoulders, their expressions; as if the smiles were heartfelt and yet…overshadowed. Instantly worry pierced his own heart as well and he stepped forward, past Trelan and clasped Elladan's forearm in greeting.

"What happened?" He asked immediately, his eyes searching Elladan's face. Perhaps it was slightly rude to ignore a proper greeting, but the anxiety he felt seemed to warrant coming straight to the point. "Aran Thranduil told us nothing except to accompany the Prince to Rivendell. And your messenger did not know what was borne in his message to Legolas. Nor would he have spoken of it if he had."

"Estel…"

"…has fallen very ill." Elrohir finished, his gaze falling. "We thought…"

"…to summon Legolas here, for…"

"…they are gwador and the illness is desperate."

For a moment, there was a shocked silence that fell over the small group from Mirkwood. There was no doubt in any of their minds now why their prince's journey had been undertaken with such haste, nor why Thranduil had told them so little; nor was it a surprise to them now that Legolas was not outside to greet them.

"Ran…It is so good that you and Trey are here." Elladan finally said, coming to himself enough to give a somewhat proper greeting. "Come…we will see your horses to the stables and then see to getting you something more than lembas and fruit."

"Estel is our friend too." Trelan asserted, coming closer to place a hand upon Elrohir's shoulder. "Whatever you need from us, you have." Spoken firmly, the words were the sort of vow that was like bedrock.

"Hannon le." Elrohir murmured softly. He and Elladan were both well aware of the loyal nature of these two Silvan elves, and were grateful for it.

By the time, the horses were stabled and the guard seated around the table in the dining hall, Ran and Trey had heard part of the account of Aragorn's collapse from the twins, but they realized there must be much more to this than they had yet heard as they followed the twins up to the Healing Room.

They had fully expected to see Legolas at Aragorn's side when they entered, but there was a sort of pale shock that climbed into both their faces as they entered behind the twins and there was no sign of the Mirkwood prince anywhere.

"Where is--?" Trelan started, but his inquiry cut short when the twins suddenly hurried forward in an anxious rush toward Aragorn's sickbed.

"What is it?" Raniean exclaimed.

"Ada…?" Elrohir had reached Elrond first, having recognized the glazed sort of look that indicated one of his Adar's visions, and he knelt down in front of the Elf Lord, with Elladan standing just behind. Raniean and Trelan hesitated but did not move; they had known of Lord Elrond's gifts of foresight but had not had much experience in such matters. They watched silently as Elrond slowly returned to himself, blinking and looking down at his son.

At last, he placed a slightly trembling hand upon the crown of the younger twin's head. Elrohir leaned closer, his hand grasping Elrond's wrist. "What is it, Ada? What do you see?" For a moment, there was no response, and then the Elf Lord's expression grew distressed.

"I saw the houses of Mirkwood and Rivendell." The Elf Lord said faintly, his face draining of color. "They were in mourning."