The mossy stone was cold on his back. Weariness tugged on his limbs like sand, but he resisted it. The path had spat him out upon a wide green knoll that rolled down, and at its bottom lay the House of Elrond. The last homely house east of the sea matched every legend of its splendor. As his feet carried him down the slope, he marveled at how it had remained almost completely untouched, it's beauty undimmed by the forces of nature. It looked for all the world as though the Ellehdrim had departed only a few hours ago, leaving their refuge in pristine condition.

He let Smoke's reins slip through his fingers, and the horse wandered off to indulge in a bit of grass. The valley was wide and tall, split by a gorge through which the mighty Bruienen flowed endlessly down and out, towards the distant sea. A smaller stream ran down from the high moors above, feeding a pool in the courtyard, which in turn fed into another track that let it cascade back into its mother river.

A bridge spanned the raging waters as they crashed over the falls and down into still deeper canyons below. On the far bank lay the main path into Rivendell. It was a much easier route than the one he had taken; he suspected the narrow trail behind him was a more secret entrance, easily defended. As he looked back at it he saw two figures carefully and methodically working their way down it. Despite this, he was in no hurry. It would take them a while, he knew that much from personal experience, and he had no intention of running. That time was over. It did trouble him somewhat that there were only two of them. What about the others?

No matter. They were no match for him, dismounted and alone. Resisting the overpowering urge to explore, he moved back into the woods behind the elven settlement and looked for a suitable place to hide.

The surface of the elf's dreams roiled and foamed. The memories that bubbled up were pleasant ones, recollections of her childhood in Lothlórien. Laughing and singing, the wind in her hair, grass stains on her knees.

There was no worry, no question of why yet, no thought given to the fact that old matron Ránëwén took care of them all. Mothers and fathers were things that the other children had. It was only with time that she would learn what sacrifices had been made for her in blood spilt and lives shattered.

At first she had been unable to comprehend the idea, but as the years turned to decades, and the decades to centuries, she had seen firsthand the terrible price exacted for each hour of peace. But where others of her kind had allowed this thought to bring darkness to even the blissful days as they grew older, it had caused her to view each day as more special somehow. She was still very young as her race was concerned, and she intended to stay that way as long as possible, in mind as well as body. The elders might be wise, but they were also stern and rigid. Their spark had dimmed.

She could feel the outside world begin to press gently at her sleeping mind, each second growing more insistent, more real.

Then she heard the rustling noise and her eyes flicked open.

It was not the wind, it was too irregular. She slipped her legs out from underneath the thin coverlet and pulled her coat about her, for the Autumn was dragging on, and there was a chill in the air. As she walked to the balcony she allowed her finger to trail along the chest at the foot of the bed. It came away with a thin layer of dust.

How long was I asleep? She wondered.

It was getting hard to tell. With no one else to talk to, and no pressing events or duties to complicate her schedule, she often woke up and drifted off whenever and wherever she found herself. Lothlórien was her birthplace, but Imladris was where she felt the most at home. A powerful magic coursed through the roots of this place. It seeped into the water, twisted round the stalks and shoots of growing plants and danced along the polished stone. The air hummed with it, the earth sang with it, and on nights like this when the sun was just about to leave the horizon altogether, she could see it.

It was this powerful heartbeat, this echo, which helped her deduce that there was a horse down below her, gnawing on a walnut tree before she came to the balcony and saw it with her eyes. She could also deduce that it was not part of a wild herd that had wandered through, as its every movement was accompanied by the jangle of a bit as it lay slack in the reins. There was a saddle on its back.

She swung her legs over the railing and landed with a soft thump on the ground next to the creature. That was one of the benefits of living alone; there was no one to tell you to use the stairs …or that you had to be clothed all the time, for that matter.

The horse was not the least bit alarmed by her presence. She reached out a hand and placed it on the animal's muzzle, feeling its soft, warm skin twitch in her palm as it chewed. A brown eye turned to regard her amicably.

Greetings, gentle creature. Where is your master?

I have none.

Who placed the saddle on your back? Them? She said, gesturing behind her to the thin, rocky trail.

It was obscured by trees, but she could plainly sense a pair of humans and horses. The magic reverberated around them like a tidal eddy, leaving a clear imprint in her mind. There was something else too, a dark presence that she could not quite put her finger on. It put her ill at ease. She had not had visitors in a long time. She had not felt that presence… ever.

She left the horse to graze and went back into the House of Elrond. With her abnormally keen eyesight she watched, from a hidden place, as the two men grew closer and closer.

They were not men, not really, still boys. Despite the length of their travel their youthful exuberance was undimmed: she could hear it in their voices, see it in their steps. It reminded her of her own childhood, oh those many years ago. Instead of coming down the hill like most visitors did, they stopped, and began to make camp.

This was even more curious. She watched them for hours, until the sun went down, and still they made no attempt to leave the foot of the trail, almost as though they were waiting for someone. Her curiosity peaked; she moved stealthily into the wood beside them and climbed up into a tree to watch. Both had the mark of the Rohirrim on their shields.

"Do you think they'll find him, or do you think he'll try to come back this way?"

The other one shrugged.

"I wouldn't go back up that path for all the gold in the world. I almost fell twice."

"So does that mean you don't care?"

"No, Wynn, I don't really care. I don't care what happens to Elden, I don't care about that bloody trinket, and I couldn't give less of a damn about Vorath and his talk of oaths."

"Then why did you come?" Wynn said, the annoyance plain in his voice.

"Because it was either this or guard duty. At least we get to go camping under the stars while we stumble after this farm boy."

"He's not a farm boy, Theongal. Didn't you see the bodies?"

"Of course I did you oaf." Theongal replied, untying a stack of kindling from his pack and setting it on the ground.

"And don't you think justice should be done?"

"Justice for what? Whose justice? The Lord Regent's justice?"

"The law of the realm says murder is a crime." Wynn said reproachfully.

"Those hill-people didn't exactly look like the helpless farmer type. I bet they tried to rob him."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't, now will you please shut up?!"

Theongal's voice echoed off the canyon walls and Wynn was cowed into silence. After placing the sticks in a circle, leaning on one another, he got up. There was a small axe in his hand.

"I'm going to go find some more firewood. Don't leave the trail."

"I know how to keep watch you thickheaded weasel…"

Wynn trailed off into muttering, and the elf shifted her stance carefully, making sure not to move any branches as she watched the taller human crash off into the brush, looking for a sapling to hack down.

That was when she spotted the third figure.

His outline was strange, insubstantial. She had to rub her eyes and look again to make sure they were not lying to her. As Theongal trudged on, completely unaware, a second shadow fell into step behind him. It looked remarkably like a human, if humans went around wreathed in a dark flame.

Without warning the figure wrapped an arm around Theongal's throat, and placed another over his mouth. There was a brief period of choking and spluttering before the lack of air rendered him unconscious. Wynn had heard this. He jumped to his feet, sword in hand. Even the horses looked up from their grazing to take notice.

"Th-Thenogal?"

The shadow turned and moved silently through the brush, looping around behind the younger rider. She wanted to leap down and stop him, but something prevented her.

Wynn went down in similar fashion to Theongal. When his head was lying against the dirt, snoring loudly, the figure suddenly grew more substantial. It was another boy, about the same age as the two he had just dispatched. She was no expert on humans, be he looked to be only a few years beyond manhood.

The figure slipped something into his pocket, and then proceeded to tie up both of the Rohirrim. When this was done he dragged them both back into the garden beneath Elrond's house, looping the rope around one of the pillars and knotting it securely. The horses were fairly calm, and received similar treatment. The elf slid down from her perch and followed him, keeping out of sight as only the Elledhrim are able.

The boy, who she figured must have been the Elden they were referring to, slapped Theongal about the face smartly. He woke with a start, struggling against his bonds immediately.

"Wriggle all you want, little worm. There's nobody to come save you."

He placed the tip of his blade underneath the larger one's throat.

"Where are the rest of you? I counted twelve while you were disappearing in my dust cloud."

Theongal stopped moving, and looked his captor in the eye.

"Vorath is looping around to the main trail. He won't be here until first light tomorrow. If you leave now, you could make a clean getaway."

"That's awfully thoughtful of you, but no, I'm going to wait." Elden said. "You and I both want to see this come to a conclusion after all. You want to go back to Edoras, and I have no interest in returning there ever, alive or dead. When he gets here, we will see if two of your lives are worth one of mine.

He sheathed his sword, which she realized with a start was of elvish make.

…where on Middle Earth had he gotten that?

"Sleep tight now, and don't try anything with the ropes or I'll kill you."

Her heart racing, the elf slipped away from the pillar she had been hiding behind and went back upstairs to her room. She opened the chest at the foot of her bed and retrieved her own sword. Its pommel felt good in her hands, a familiar weight that she had drilled countless hours with. Drilled with, but never used.

Until now.

Elden reached into his pack and withdrew the slip of fabric he had used to separate the rabbits, two of which were now gone. He cut it in two and bound the mouths of the Eorlingas so they would not scream or otherwise draw attention to themselves.

"I guess you two will have to do without each others witty banter for a while. Is that alright with you?" He asked, false courteousness dripping from his voice.

Muffled curses issued from behind the burlap.

"Splendid."

He walked back toward the cover of the elven hall, seating himself on the bench. Briefly, he considered hunting, but he discounted it. There were several coneys left in the pack, each carrying enough meat for a ball twice the size of his fist, it was just a matter of cooking them, and he was dead tired. The hours of running seemed to wipe away the hours of rest he had managed to steal while on the move. Stopping underneath those trees to read had been a grave mistake, and he had almost paid dearly for it.

He leaned over, pulling his legs in and lying down flat on the bench. The night was fairly cold, and he wished he had gotten the time to save his blanket and mattress roll, but it had not come to pass. The though of it moldering somewhere up on the high moors made him more than a little grumpy, but he consoled himself with the fact that the two Eorlingas were going to have a much rougher night than he was, lashed to the stone as they were. As sleep weighed heavier and heavier on his eyelids, he wondered in passing where Smoke was.

No matter. The horse seemed to have a mind of its own anyway. It was less his beast of burden and more his traveling companion and confidant. He fought the sandman until he thought he could hear both of his captives breathing more heavily, and then he drifted off into a fitful, troubled slumber, filled with dreams of fire and stockades.

He was woken before first light at dawn by hot, stinky breath on his face. The first sight that greeted his eyes was a disproportionately large set of nostrils. He shot upright in surprise, before seeing that it was Smoke.

"Damn! Don't do that!"

The horse gave a whinny that sounded suspiciously mirthful.

"You're in an odd mood. What's gotten into you, huh?"

Elden patted the horses' flank, wishing he had a piece of apple to feed it with. It wandered off once more, its hooves clacking smartly on the polished stone floors of the courtyard. The leading edge of the sun broke over the horizon, dispelling the last wisps of a fog that had crept down from the moors sometime during the night. The captives were starting to stir as well. He pulled his pack on and made sure he had everything he needed to continue running if this went wrong.

He half expected it would, but he was confident he could escape alone as long as he had the ring. Its reassuring weight on his breast made him almost ambivalent to the outcome. If they accepted his offer, then that would be that, but if they didn't... well, he would cross that bridge if and when it arrived.

There was a faint popping noise as he stretched. In either case it was shaping up to be a long and taxing day.

There was something odd about this boy, and not merely the obvious; that he could become seemingly invisible to his fellow humans. She had a few theories about that, but it was the manner in which he carried himself that intrigued her. He moved with a grace and competence that belonged to a much older man, not a motion wasted, nor an avenue left unwatched. Several times she had to duck back away from a window as his roving eyes passed over them ceaselessly. The other Rohirrim that he had tied up seemed to feel this as well. Despite the fact that they both looked at least a winter older than him, they were held under his spell, and when he untied them and ordered them to walk ahead of him to the bridge, their horses in tow, neither of them tried to escape.

She watched as he tied all four to the statues at the far end of the bridge. The sun was halfway over the peaks already, and the daylight was just beginning to filter down into the gardens. It was a mystery to her why she hadn't intervened yet, and at the same time it wasn't. This was the most interesting thing that had happened since she had taken up her self-appointed vigil. She was not about to squander it by running in and playing goalie. This was the "Age of Men" after all. Best to let them sort out their own problems.

Those thoughts echoed once, twice, three times in her head, and afterwards rang hollow. She chastised herself silently. Had isolation really made her that callous? She made a mental note to get involved if things got out of hand. There would be no idle blood spilled on the steps of Imladris, not on her watch.

The faces on the statues were stern, but it was not an angry sternness, merely watchful. The pair of them stared down at him, their pupil-less eyes seeming to track him wherever he went. It was hard to tell if the subject was male or female. They were both identical, and heavily armored, or at least, heavily armored for an elf. A cape descended from their shoulders, its folds and fluctuations wrought in exquisite detail by its maker.

On the far bank, two more stood facing west, with their backs to him, their lifeless stone eyes surveying the curved, gently sloping path that led up to the moors, and the Fords of Bruinen. Near the top the dirt turned to stairs before it curved again, this time behind a fold of the white cliffs and out of sight. He had tied the two Eorlingas more tightly this time, giving them hardly any slack so that they could move no more than an arms-length from the statues. The horses he had given a bit more leeway. They hadn't done anything but what they were ordered to, and he could not fault him for that.

Before long, the rest of the company rounded the bend. He could tell instantly which one Vorath was. It was a wonder his horse could run so fast with him on top of it, let alone maintain a position at the head of the march. As they drew level with him and halted, he could see disbelief in their eyes.

"I see you two both have made a proper mess of things." Vorath said, dismounting.

Elden drew his sword and put it beneath the younger one's chin, causing him to flinch.

"That they have, Vorath, that they have."

When the leader of the Eorlingas was ten paces away, he held up his hand.

"That is far enough. Now we will make a deal. Their lives… or mine."

"Or both." Vorath replied, his fingers playing a measured staccato on the handle of his axe..

"Or both, if you're so inclined." Elden said. "Did the Lord Regent tell you to bring me back alive or dead?"

"He wasn't specific. I don't think he'd mind either way. I certainly don't. And it certainly won't bother me to report that two young men of the Mark died valiantly while killing an enemy of Rohan."

Elden let the sword fall to his side, and he stepped forward, off of the bridge.

"Then there's only one other way to settle this."

"Aye, that there is."

The rest of the Eorlingas drew back a few paces, and Vorath withdrew his axe from his belt. It was a cruel, single-sided implement, whose length terminated in a short spike equally useful for running down Orcs on horseback and for fighting on foot. As it came whistling towards his face, he wondered how many lives it had taken.

He ducked down, as though to lace up his boots, and the thick cutting edge rent the air where just a moment ago his scalp had been. He spun to the left, slashing at the man's exposed face, but he caught the blade with the crook of the axe and twisted it from his grip. Elden was thrown off balance, and had to roll to avoid being split like firewood. The axe head sparked as it bounced off the stone, and he rolled again, once, twice, his fingers wrapping around the handle of his fallen sword and pushing himself back to his feet.

Vorath was actually smiling as he came at him again with a wicked overhand blow, as though trying to drive in a tent-spike. Elden moved again, and the axe embedded in the soft, loamy soil beside the path and stuck fast.

Elden lunged wildly, desperate to hit his foe while he was momentarily distracted, and Vorath howled as the shoulder of his tunic was cut open.

"Get him!" He said, backing away from his embedded axe and pointing at Elden with a shaking finger.

An arrow whistled past Elden's cheek, the head slashing a long groove into his face.

"Augh!"

He stumbled back and clutched at his face. It was not a scream of pain so much as a scream of rage. Where was the famous honor that the Eorlingas were supposed to possess? Lies. Lies and stories. Not even a duel was sacred to them.

Fine he thought, as the other riders closed in, leveling their spears to impale him. No more obligation to play fair.

His hand slipped into his pocket and into the waiting depths of the ring.

A number of things happened in short succession after he did this. For a brief moment, the Eorlingas stared in stunned disbelief at the spot he had occupied just a moment ago.

Then the statues began to move.

They sprang off their pedestals, severing the ropes binding his two captives and their horses. This seemingly convinced all of the riders at once that it was a good time to be leaving, which they did at great speed.

All except for Vorath.

"Come back here you cowards! Come back-!"

Before Elden could get a chance to bury his sword in the man's neck, one of the statues smacked Vorath firmly in the side with the flat of it's blade, sending him tumbling off the falls to his ruin. The other statue turned to face Elden. Surprise made him momentarily feeble, and his offhand blow was easily deflected. The statue reached out a hand and grasped him in its impregnable grip. It hurled him bodily back across the river. He bounced and slammed onto his chest hard, the breath whooshing out of him causing him to gasp and clutch at his lungs. More statues were gathering. They came from other parts of the garden, where they had stood silently, watching him and the captives for hours as they slept. He was now lying in the center of the circular veranda at the steps of the main lodge.

One of the two that stood on the east end of the bridge stooped, pulling back it's sword to skewer him.

Farea!

The statue that had been about to run him through stopped, and moved back a few paces. Its brethren joined it in a semicircle around Elden, blocking off the main path. He rolled over, groaning, to see an elf walking down the steps, a slightly curved blade in hand. It was a work of artistry, rather like the creature herself. Her hair was a shade of gold that put sunlight to shame. Her dress was almost blindingly white, and for the first time that entire week, Elden felt real fear. The ring was on his finger, and yet she could see him clearly. He stood and grasped his sword, pointing it across the gap between them as though by force of will alone it could fly forward and bury itself in her clavicle.

Her response to this was not anger, but a smile. She walked down onto the veranda, and they fell almost unconsciously into a circular motion, Elden keeping her at arms length, shuffling to the side one step at a time so as not to be caught off balance if she decided to strike.

"The Rohirrim would not pursue someone without cause. Who are you?"

The question seemed to come as much from her eyes as from her lips. He could not look away from those dark pools, they grasped at him, demanding the truth.

"My name is Elden, and it is true what they say. I am a horse thief."

"If they have pursued you this far and this hard, you are a thief of more than horses, young Elden."

"I have no quarrel with you, spirit." Elden said, keeping his blade level and steady. "If you will let me, I will depart and trouble you no more."

The elf laughed. It was a beautiful sound, high and clear like a stream crashing into the sea. It sent shivers down his spine.

"I am no spirit, my name is Nellas, and you shall do no such thing. Not until you have proven you are worthy to hold that stolen blade."

Her words were the only warning. In another moment she was right in front of him, almost as though she had vanished and reappeared only an inch away. He raised his sword, reflexively, and they crashed together. Once. Twice. Three times. She threw him backward and his sword went clattering to the ground yet again.

He snatched it up once more and turned to face her. She could have easily dispatched him there. Why not? Was she playing with him? Toying with her food before eating it? He allowed himself a brief glance at the hall, and then dashed towards it. The elf followed at a walk, as though she had not a care in the world and this was just another stroll through the garden.

Elden moved around the corner and hid, trying to catch his breath. He could see her through the walls, he realized. Under the ring's influence her aura was astonishingly bright, a light that cut through stone and flesh and mind and lies. Her piercing gaze followed him wherever he went, no matter how he was hidden. He stepped out into the garden, realizing that his cut was leaving a scattered trail of red on the ground as he walked. He wiped the blood away from his chin where it was gathering.

Her feet made no noise as she approached. Elden raised his sword, preparing himself for one last exchange. His leg was throbbing from being thrown by the statue, causing him to limp slightly. Even if he had been in the peak of health, he doubted he would be able to defeat this creature.

As he swung the blade with all that remained of his strength, her eye caught his again.

The vigor seemed to drain from his shoulders even as he heaved the sword towards her, until it stopped dead, inches from her skin. He tried to will it to continue, but it was no use. Still smiling, Nellas raised a hand, and he felt his feet leave the ground. Suddenly he was flying backwards, feet kicking, until he slammed into the wall behind him.

His feet no longer had the energy to stand, and they gave out underneath him. He tasted copper, and spit out a mouthful of blood. It gleamed in odd colors on the ancient stone. When he looked up, the elf's blade was underneath his chin.

So this is how it ends. He thought, fleetingly. A fair recompense, I suppose.

But the end did not come. Instead, what came was that lilting voice, sweet as the air coming off the mountainside in spring.

"Where did you come by that ring, child? Did you steal it as well?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." He replied.

"Then you are no petty burglar. That is a rare artifact. I had thought them all to be extinct, or else carried over the sea with the rest of the elves."

Despite being at the point of her sword, unable to stand up, and with his weapon on the ground out of arms reach, he felt somehow powerful. The ring let him see the elf as she truly was, all the ages of her life spread out before him. She was still relatively young for one of her kind, but the breadth of her memory was a chasm vaster than all the tunnels in Moria, and filled to the brim with treasure. He felt powerful simply to be able to communicate so boldly with such an awesome creature.

"What force is driving you? I can see that you have come far, and that you have far still to go. There is a sickly gleam in your eye, child, but it is not lust of gold. Why were they chasing you?"

"The laws of men in their infinite wisdom make it crime for both rich and poor to sleep under bridges." He replied, his own wry smirk finding his blood-speckled lips.

There was always time for a smile in the face of imminent death. He had worn one even as he lay in the stockades. He wore one now.

"I will ask you again. Why were the Rohirrim pursuing you?"

As an answer he raised his right fist to the heavens, and pulled back the sleeve of his tunic.

His speech was an odd, throaty brand of Westron, colored by slang, and yet possessing a firmer grasp on the language than his demeanor at first suggested. His hair was short and dark, like the varnished surface of an oak tree, were it not for the spots of dirt that marred it. The hands that had held his sword were rough and callused from long hours of labor. On his knuckle gleamed something that Nellas had thought gone from the world, one of Celebrimbor's lost works, perhaps to test the very mold he would later use to make the rings of power themselves. Upon his exposed forearm lay the black face of Mandos. Under the influence of the ring a strange aura warped him, his visage was dark and princely, and the mark looked not out of place. Blood dripped slowly from the gash on his cheek.

"A death sentence, then?"

"Yes. Only, I never thought it would be carried out by an elf."

She allowed the tip of the blade to move gently across his throat in circles.

"I find it strange that you humans throw around death as though it were a curse."

"What else could it be? To have your bones rot and your empire crumble and your dearest friends forget you? What else could it be?"

"A gift. The greatest gift, in fact." Nellas said. "The Valar bestowed it upon you, so that you might walk in the circles beyond the earth."

It was his eyes that were his most arresting feature, she realized; ice blue, like the sky on a cloudless day. There was a strange melancholy in them, something she had more often seen in the eyes of older elves who felt the burdens of Arda's troubled history weighing upon their shoulders.

"Then it is a gift that I would gladly return, if I could."

He reached a shaking hand to his finger, and took off the ring.

His manner was instantly reduced to that of a humble young traveler. The darkness was still there, lurking behind those startling eyes, but it no longer enshrouded him as it had a moment before. He pressed his eyelids shut.

"Do it."

Instead, Nellas let the sword fall, and extended a hand.

After a moment, Elden opened his eyes again. He regarded the smooth fingers warily for a moment, as though deciding whether this was another trick. At last, he took it, and she pulled him to his feet, shakily.

"You are worthy to hold that sword, but henceforth, allow no one to strike it from your grasp. Your weapon is your life."

The force of this reprimand was cut short somewhat as the boy collapsed to his knees against the fountain, wracked with coughing. Miniscule flecks of blood ran through the water and down to the falls. Nellas put a hand under his other arm and helped him back up.

"You must walk. There is medicine inside."

A/N: Happy New Years everybody, I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as you enjoy the party tonight. Don't drink any highball glasses from strangers and don't forget to leave feedback.