Okay, I noticed again, this STUPID program is deleting my triple periods and other things... I apologize if the punctuation is wrong, but it isn't my fault; I put it in. Ooookay, here's a short update. I shall elaborate later.

I figure you guys want a chapter more than review responses, but I'll try next chappie. SAWWY!

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"This like a dream

Keeps other time

And daytime is the loss of this;

For time is inches

And the heart's changes,

Where ghost has haunted

Lost and wanted..."

W. H. Auden, excerpt from "This Lunar Beauty"

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Chapter Ten: An Alternate Path

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Gulls.

Elladan was certain of it, there was no other explanation. Rohan birds wouldn't be out this late in the evening, and they never cried like this. There was such sorrow in it that it nearly made him sob.

Why am I hearing them? he wondered, tears still streaking his face as shock pulled him from his shroud of sorrow. For a few moments he simply sat there, listening to the whisper of the wind and the feeling of cool, slightly damp air flooding over him, watching the endless, full grey of the clouds. The elf was incapable of doing anything else.

After a while the question came back to him, inanely. The cry of the gull means the end of our time in Middle-earth. So why...

Realization hit like an iron weight, nearly sending stars into his vision. He knew.

The connection is still there.

Somehow during the severing and compromise of the different bonds, one 'line' had remained untouched. A sort of echo, faint but definitely there, was physically in his ears. It was as though he were at the edge of the Grey Havens, awaiting his time to board the ships. Elladan stood motionless, on his knees in the stretch of field, starlight collecting in a perfect glow on his skin and illuminating his harsh features.

The elf's wet eyes were tortured.

Oh Legolas...

The prince was well on his way to the White Shores, but even now, there was a wisp of... what? A sort of spiritual residue residing on the walls of the twin's mind. The meaning of what Elladan was truly seeing took form, and a nameless decree imprinted itself onto his thoughts.

One of us... one of us must leave...?

The Noldor elf shuddered. The feel of death was everywhere, and the further he delved into his own spirit the more frightening it became. It was a black hole, a tunnel beyond which the light surely reigned but still could not be seen. That void, that lack of certainty, was overwhelming.

Moments passed in silence save for the soft, caressing voice of the breeze, and Elladan's senses suddenly heightened, as though taking in all they could before all was taken from him. With these moments, the elf contemplated exactly what it would mean if the responsibility truly lay on his shoulders.

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There are so many.

Saruman had indeed done a thorough job creating his warriors. All of them were enormous, disgusting, over-muscled beasts whose only thought seemed to be directed toward slaughter. The monstrous things looked as if they were rotting away at the seams, chipped and scarred from whatever battles they had happened to survive. Some of the more recent additions were covered in a film of slime, and the eyes glared crazily in shades of horrid green and sickly yellow. The mouths were a spoiled, crooked mess of teeth filled with black holes and cracks, gaping and dripping thick saliva onto the metal plating encompassing them.

The weapons matched their masters in size, width, and sheer strength, about as beaten and worn as the Uruk-hai themselves. Literal waves of the enemy forces drew nigh on the horizon, and shivers crept up and down numerous spines as their roars shook the ground; that jarring cacophony born of throats raw from use.

Some shivered and shook in the path of these fell beasts, but the dark figure atop the Deeping wall made no move, save for a resolved tightening of his grip on a sword. Aragorn's tears had dried on high cheekbones and lay soaked in the fabric of his tunic, slipping easily between the metal mesh and reclining on his breast as a solemn tribute to the closeness of his beloved friend. The eyes once blurred and red with crying now burned a fiery blue from the dark, dirtied brown of his skin, death promised swiftly and unerring to the monsters he so carefully scrutinized below him.

Behind him, a wall of elvish soldiers stood just as motionless, golden armour sleek and gleaming in lightning, the opposite of the dark warriors before them in every respect. Bloodlust of a different kind filled the air toward the archers, each line still but not without overwhelming, palpable spirit.

Their prince was dead because of these creatures, and now they were going to pay.

They will know pain. Of that I will make sure. "Show them no mercy!" Aragorn shouted, turning to pace the ranks and seeing that each one of them heard him. "For you shall receive none!" Perhaps it was just his imagination or wishful thinking, but an even harder glint seemed to grow in each pair of crystalline eyes.

Theoden watched with shadows in his eyes as the murderous Uruks grew closer, shouting foul, unintelligible things to each other through the dark, marching feet making the stone move visibly around them and growing palpably heavier with every step. A sudden ping to his left made him start slightly, but he returned his attentions forward when the next sound of water on metal pinged across the keep. Soon everyone down the last archer was drenched as the sky cried for the deaths that neared.

"So it begins," he murmured, almost to himself, eyes hard with lack of naivete.

May we die well.

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Arwen wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. And it had only been a few minutes. Everyone was so frightened, and Elrohir had still been weeping, albeit quietly, in her arms. A few minutes ago he'd cried himself into sleep, or unconsciousness, she couldn't be sure. She had the very unsettling feeling that he didn't care if he ever woke again. A few of the women next to her were holding their sons and daughters in their own laps, and it was painful how much Elrohir's form in her own resembled the innocence of a sleeping child.

Praying to the Valar for guidance, she laid her head upon his.

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Finally Elladan stirred, hands white and clenched in fists in his lap.

It is time. Kneeling alone in the field, Elladan knew he had lain too long in delay, though it didn't make him any more eager to continue. He took a brief moment to apologize to their father, hoping that he would understand the sacrifice he would make. Readying the passage, he closed his eyes, took a deep, thorough breath and focused his thoughts on Elrohir, preparing himself for this soon-to-be difficult moment.

His last moment.

"Brother...?"

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Elrohir's head shot up in alarm and his eyes were wide as he searched for the source of the voice. Instantly Arwen knew something was wrong. His posture told much, but his next utterance told all:

"Elladan?"

Elladan is there? Arwen's eyebrows shot up and she took his cheek in one soft hand. "Elrohir, is he near? What does he tell you?"

A handful of the women and children had turned their heads in their direction, some in fear of the loud echo being heard, some in curiosity, some in concern. He felt Elladan looking through his eyes, taking in the sights of Arwen and the refugees, as though memorizing them. When he finally answered, he was so quiet that physically he was almost inaudible, though it didn't matter with the bond:

El. I don't want you to grieve. All right? I know this will not be any easier for you...

"What?" The twin's confusion was painful, childish. "What do you mean?"

I can't let him do this. I cannot. His voice was firm, but still gentle, reminding him of Legolas' final words to him. It is my fault that you had to pay such a price, and it is my fault that Legolas... The thought trailed into oblivion. I... I need you to be strong. I will not allow this, I... I cannot.

"Brother, what..." A horrifying thought occurred to him, and the reason for Elladan's soft, soothing tone was explained. His eyes filled with fear and he was shaking his head before he even realized it. "No! No, Elladan!"

Goodbye, El. We are always together, remember? He could hear the thinly masked tears in his voice, trying to sound and feel cheerful. Tell Ada and Arwen how much I love them. And tell Estel that... I have... corrected a... a wrong... a mistake of my own making...

Elrohir nearly went into hysterics, and Arwen blood chilled with the next words from her sibling's mouth:

"No, Elladan, it wasn't your fault! Do not leave, do not leave me too! He's," the younger twin faltered, fighting past the grief, "he is gone, El, we cannot bring him back! Don't do this!" The twin scrabbled from Arwen's embrace and struggled to rise, slipping hard on his knees and pausing, hand outstretched, staring with shocked blue eyes beyond the blank stone wall before him.

"Elladan," he choked, face draining of expression, white and exhausted.

Slowly, his outstretched fingers dropped. He knew it was no use. "No, brother. I... I love you," he concluded with difficulty, admitting defeat with the tortured whisper.

I know. The simple phrase said more than he could have ever hoped to say to his twin. He felt a wide smile, Elladan's final gift to him, caressing his thoughts.

And I love you.

Then, startlingly, there was nothing. The passage, the connection between them suddenly snapped, jolting, agonizing, and blank nothingness was left before his eyes.

"El," he whispered.

Then Arwen and Erhia screamed as his eyes closed and he fell to the floor.

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Air. Fresh, clear air, more pure than any Mirkwood had ever offered. The feeling was incredible: no restraints, no fear, no pain. No worry. Just air and beautiful, blinding light.

Legolas knew where he was and where he was heading at this high speed, and he had accepted it surprisingly well. The hardest part had been the pain, then letting go. Now that was over. The twins would live, they would help Estel through the grief, provided they survived.

Survived? That was it. The army.

A nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, at least, where his stomach would've been, took on a shape and a meaning: guilt. He was abandoning his friends to almost certain destruction and taking the easy way out.

What if he'd saved Elladan and Elrohir only to have them even more brutally tortured and killed by the Uruk-hai, or worse: what if they were turned?

He realized abruptly that the white around him had faded into grey, and the air was no longer moving. No, he was no longer moving through the air. To Legolas' dismay he saw the light was fading further. Not disappearing, but definitely not as intense as before. Everything radiated his indecision.

No! Pain was building in his breast now. He didn't want to stop, didn't want to go back. The twins are there with the humans, and more Eldar have arrived to fight. They have more than a chance. If I were still with them, the odds wouldn't be increased by much. The prince's mind was racing, trying to come up with reasons not to go back.

I gave my life for Elladan and Elrohir's... If I went back now, I...

A golden hand was reaching for him, coming down after him the way he'd came. Legolas found himself crying out as hot fingers gripped his shoulder, burning him with the fire of life. The prince begged, pleaded with it not to take him.

Leave me be, he cried. No, do not! You cannot do this! The entity was uncomprehending and did not yield to his agonized protests. Resistance was met with equal force, and it engulfed him in despair.

I can escape this. If I break his grip for only a moment, I will pass through the gates. They will be safe.

The thought encouraged him, and he strove wildly to free himself, praying he'd make it through...

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Elrond knew that the past day had been beyond horrible for his sons. The visions from the caves were terrifying and brutal, even nearly knocking him into unconsciousness. All aspects had been traumatizing, the mistreatment hard and wearing them down to their last nerve. So the elf-lord was, at the very least, shocked to see his eldest son kneeling calmly in the midst of the Riddermark without so much as a scratch.

Gwaihir looked over one sleek wing at Elrond. "I will take you both to Thengel's son in the Deep," he told him. "Gather your fledgling quickly. We may be able to arrive before the battle."

The Noldor thanked him and waited for the King of the Eagles to land. As soon as he touched down, Elrond leapt gracefully from the beast's back and ran to his son where he knelt in the weeds. "Elladan? Elladan, my son..."

Just as he reached him, the younger elf fell backward into his arms, face pale as death, eyes irrevocably closed, making his father cry out in alarm. He pulled him upright against his shoulder, trying to wake him.

"Elladan!"

Gwaihir approached in an awkward hopping walk, examining the stricken elf sternly. "He is dying, " he observed. "Of his own choice no less."

To save Legolas, a nagging thought reminded him. "Oh, no," he breathed looking frantically over his son's limp body. Immediately the source of his ailment became apparent to his spirit, and he clamped down over the connection with unparalleled ferocity. Come back, Elladan, he urged him. Return to me, my son. If I have you here, perhaps I can save you both.

Moments dragged by like sharpened pins through skin. After a full quarter of an hour, Elrond's heart had sunk nearly to his knees. "Gwaihir, I cannot make the connection," he gritted in frustration enough to cry. "He has severed all bonds to himself save Legolas in an attempt to bring him back."

The eagle's countenance was grim. "This does not bode well," he remarked. "You do not have the power alone to return his fea. If he has gone that far into the world of the dead, it is dangerous to attempt reentry of the fea into the body. It would require more power."

Elrond was cradling his son against him, stroking his hair and focusing on Gwaihir's calm words with all possible intensity to keep from going mad. His eyes traced the outline of his child's sweet face, the slender nose, fine cheek bones, the thick, dark eyelashes resting on paper-white skin.

Skin like his mother's. He carries so much of her, he lamented. The elf-lord was distraught beyond measure.

Valar, please give me a sign, he prayed. I must save him. You made him an immortal, you did not intend for him to die...

His shaking fingers caressed the younger elf's features and fumbled with his long, silky tresses, until a small blue gleam caught his eye. It was a slight sparkle, nothing more, but it drew his eyes to the ring settled on the index finger of his right hand.

Vilya.

An idea went racing through his mind, so fleeting it was barely consciously understood. "I could use Vilya's power to draw him." He was voicing it even as he realized it. "That would lead him to its source, here. It could be done! He would be..." Then the other side of the scale showed its weight.

But as soon as I used it, Sauron would know. The dark lord's minions would be upon us in seconds, and I could be turned, forced to carry out his commands.

"Elrond, we haven't much time." The eagle's voice was firm, but not unfeeling. "Make your decision." He stood straightened majestically with his head held high, eyes never leaving the elf's features as he waited for the Firstborn's answer.

Lord Elrond's brow furrowed deeply. Elladan lay blissfully unaware in his father's embrace, head resting in the crook of his arm, unmoving. The life of his son... or the lives of thousands more in Middle-earth. Valar, why did you give me such a choice to make? he thought pleadingly.

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"Hold!"

The old man was standing atop his post, utterly taken-aback. The Uruk he'd nailed with his arrow fell as though in slow motion, signaling the bloodlust to commence fulfillment. Snarls grew in volume and the first wave of Uruk-hai came on.

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