Part b

There was almost compassion in Angmar's voice, understanding of what was about to be lost. It was a dreadful bargain. Forever. A wraith. Yes.

There was a moment of silence, stillness and Elrohir hung from Angmar's grasp, head tipped back and long hair streaming behind him…In the strange magic of Phellanthir, he felt his memory mesh with Angmar's, and suddenly he knew how disturbed Phellanthir disturbed even the Witch King himself, even despite its bloody past.

In Angmar's almost-emptied and fragmented mind, there were memories almost forgotten, strange images of a far, far away palace, cool and shaded from the intense heat of midday. Sunlight dappled the water in stone fountains and in deep pools in the green and shaded gardens…There came a tall and beautiful man in starry robes of midnight silk, holding an astrolabe; light poured from it, threw out a stream of white stars that moved slowly, like Time itself…My Lord, he kneels on one knee and bows… A ring is placed on his finger like a betrothal, a marriage…Suddenly he sees the world differently…sees all that is hidden, all that is secret…sees men's souls…as heat and light and where there are shadows he can use, and thoughts that are hidden…

There is another figure in a different place, crimson-red robes and hot sand, hot skies; Khamûl the Red, stained in slaughter and blood. He is useful to us…a ring too on his hand, and then another and another and another until there are Nine…Together we are Nine. Brethren…Our name is Fear, we are dread…We ride…We are Úlairi, the greatest weapon is fear…We feed upon souls, devour them…But oh, the hunger! Starving we are and here is a bright, bright soul…

Cold pricked Elrohir's chest, speared down his nerves into his chest, his heart; memories shifted and moved, distorted and he knew now, he was becoming as they. He made himself still for he was a willing sacrifice. As if far away, he heard Elladan cry out and could do nothing, would do nothing for all of this was to save Elladan…

Heca!

A sudden cry came from over the flat marshes. Like a bell it rang out, clear, like a light shining into dark places,

Hehta maicalda imnë ettul tulin námië!

Elrohir heard the voice and slowly, painfully turned his head towards the light. He squinted his eyes narrowly open for the pain was very great and Angmar drove the spike of ice pain deeper into him so he teetered on the edge of consciousness.

Heca! Nó Ólorin, núro Muinanaró! Hecá!

A globe of light appeared over the flat silver water of the marshes. It was bright as a comet and approached as fast. Light flashed over the Witch King's empty hood but for a moment, fleetingly, there seemed to be a face caught in the light, and Elrohir glimpsed the Man that Angmar had once been…A strong face, deep set eyes, a bewildered look that was fleeting…Gone. The empty hood turned its head away the light that hurtled towards them like comet and back to Elrohir. The Witch King's grip around Elrohir's throat tightened like a vice and Elrohir's vision blurred, tiny stars exploded and he struggled weakly.

So you seek rescue. Then let your brother perish. You will still join us. It is done.

Abruptly releasing him, Angmar shoved Elrohir away; he fell back like he had been struck.

We have not yet done with you, Rávëyon.

Angmar slid back over the wet mud that shone now with the light that was coming. He spread out his black robe so it bled into the cold air like ink, and darkness surged from it, rolled out in a wave of shadows that yammered and skittered towards the fast approaching globe of light.

Elrohir had collapsed on his knees in the mud, the rain soaking him. He blinked and wiped his wet hair out of his eyes, dizzy and dislocated. Raising his head, he saw that Elladan still leant against the tree where he had left him, but blue light flew up and around him like sparks from a bonfire and they cooled and drifted. Elrohir staggered to his feet and threw himself beside his brother, plugging his hands over the small wound that bled light.

'No! Don't leave me! I was saving you!' he cried and felt the rain on his face and hands. He poured his own crimson healing into the wound, shoved his cloak over it to staunch it and it slowed, slowed but it was not enough and little sparks and threads of light seeped past his hands and drifted into the air, glowing like cinders, and then cooling, dying. Elladan moaned and tossed his head from side to side, his breath squeezed out of him in horrid gasps. Light flashed over them and in despair, Elrohir raised his head to look out over the marshes.

A wave of darkness rolled from the Nazgûl, gathered and surged towards the approaching globe of light which glowed brighter and brighter as it sped across the flat marshland. Thin wailing screams pierced the cold air and Elrohir could see the outline of the Nazgûl as they rushed towards the light, ancient swords held high before them. Suddenly the dark wave hit the globe of light, and broke upon it like it was a rock. There was no sound, instead a silence that seemed hang for a moment in the air, and then … it detonated, a muffled explosion. The marshes were lit up in a flash of light so intense Elrohir had to cover his eyes. When he glanced up, squeezing his eyes half closed against the intensity, a dome of light surrounded a glorious figure battling the black shades of the two Nazgûl. A huge winged reptile hovered over them all, snapping at the dome as if it were tangible, clawing with its taloned feet. It was the same species as the great lizard he and Elladan had slain before they went into the Tower and he knew that this was the Nazgûls' steed.

There was a second muffled explosion and he thought he had been deafened. Blazing light pushed back the roil of darkness and shone upon the faces of the devoured so they fell back, clamouring into the folds of the Witch King's tattered black shroud. For a moment, Elrohir could see the Nazgûl poised, broadswords raised and the black robes writhing and shifting in the painful brightness. And then quite abruptly, first Angmar and then Khamûl turned and faded into the grey twilight and marshes. The white light hung for a moment in the air, a beacon in the dark, and Elrohir could see within was a man, his long hair lifted by a wind and his robes shone like the light itself. He was fair and fell beyond any that Elrohir had seen and he thought the Valar themselves must have come, or perhaps Finrod returned to these lands as had Glorfindel.

Beyond the mist came a thin wailing and a thump of huge wings beating the air. Thin screaming marked the passing of the Nazgûl and Elrohir felt it sheer against his mind, the threat hung in the air.

Do not think we are done with you, Rávëyon

He did not care. He was on his knees beside Elladan, clasping him to his chest and he lifted his head to call to the Valar or the Returned, whoever it might be, but he saw only Gandalf, leaning heavily on his staff and breathing hard, a residue of glorious light glimmered in his hair and his eyes.

The Wizard shifted and leaned upon his staff, he seemed to shake himself and bowed his head slightly. When he raised his eyes they were steely, piercing blue and hard. Elrohir stared for he had never seen Gandalf like this before though he knew the Wizard had Power indeed.

'What were you about, Elrondion, to think you could take on the Nazgûl? Hm?' He moved with quick and surprising speed towards where Elrohir knelt cradling Elladan in his arms. Gandalf glanced down at Elrohir's white, anxious face. 'What did you think would happen, eh? That the Witch King of Angmar would take you and heal him?'

Elrohir started and his eyes gave Gandalf all the confirmation he needed. 'I see,' said the Wizard and his tone suggested he thought Elrohir a fool.

'I had no choice,' Elrohir said bristling. How could Gandalf understand? He had arrived only moments ago and before it had all been so desperate. 'I thought Elladan lost.' He threw a furious look at Gandalf, defiant, bitter. 'There was no other way!'

Suddenly his arm was seized in a grip as strong as the Nazgûl and he was forced to look into Gandalf's eyes. Ancient, old beyond measure, eyes that had seen the birth of Ages, seen the firmament where Eru dwelt, had seen the birth and death of the Trees…had seen so much. Elrohir was caught like a beetle on a pin and he squirmed under the intensity the gaze. 'Did you think to strike a bargain with Sauron?' said Gandalf softly and there was a threat deep in his voice. 'What is it that you have done?'

Elrohir pulled out of the Wizard's grip. He could not bear the scrutiny of those piercing blue eyes that stripped him to the bone, and instead he looked down at his brother. Elladan's skin was too pale, almost grey. It was only then that Elrohir realised it had stopped raining and it was sweat on his brother's face, not rain.

'I did what I had to,' he snapped. 'Now heal him if you can and waste no more words on me. If not, begone, for you are no use to me.'

'Oh? You think I am no use to you, Elrohir Elrondion?' Gandalf lifted a bushy eyebrow and fixed him in his piercing gaze. 'I think you will find that I have given you a way that does not require you to become a wraith! Take it.' Gandalf's voice was clipped, impatient. He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff as if he were an old Man and not the glorious figure Elrohir had witnessed.

'Neither you nor I can heal him of this wound.' The Wizard shook his head, mouth thin with anger. 'It is made with a blade of Morgoth. Only your father, or perhaps Galadriel can cure him. But I can stem the tide, bring him some measure of peace.' Then he leaned over Elladan again and pressed his hand against the wound. He murmured something under his breath and Elrohir felt a sigh, a softness brush over his awareness and Elladan stirred. His head dropped sideways so it rested now against Elrohir's chest and a look of peace settled over him.

'Think on what has happened here, Elrohir Elrondion.' Gandalf was looking down at him and his face was troubled. 'Take him home, to your father. He has the greatest healing in all the world. And he should look at you as well.' Gandalf's hand suddenly caught Elrohir's chin and forced him to look upwards. Gandalf's thumb brushed a mark on Elrohir's throat, a bruise that was the mark of Angmar's fingers and Elrohir jerked his head back, out of Gandalf's grasp.

'There is nothing he can do for me and naught I want from him,' he bit. Anger swelled in him and a bitter darkness fell over him at that moment.

'Sauron has marked you well,' Gandalf muttered as much to himself as Elrohir. 'Heed me. Tell your father all that has passed. All!' he said emphatically.

And because his beloved brother's breath eased and his eyes had closed in sleep, Elrohir ignored Gandalf and instead he hugged Elladan to his breast, feeling the love burst in him. So he did not see the strange compassion and suspicion in Gandalf's eyes, and he did not know that Angmar had planted the seeds of darkness in the fertile ground of his own guilt and loathing. Instead he simply flooded his sick brother with his own energy and love and wanted so much for Elladan's healing that he would still have sacrificed himself had Angmar returned and bid him come.

At that moment there was the sound of many voices and hoof beats drummed on the soft earth beyond sight. Elrohir leapt to his feet, Aícanaro in his hand and he held Elladan against him with the other.

But Gandalf turned with a cry of welcome. 'Be at ease,' he said softly. 'They are friends.'

'Mae Govannen!' came a voice that was welcome indeed and a familiar bay horse came into view, its head up and intelligent eyes bright. Its sides heaved and it was sweating for it had been galloping hard. Upon its back was an Elf, tall and strong and long dark hair was wound into one thick long braid in the fashion of Imladris' commanders. His fair face was stern and he breathed hard as did his horse. It was Faelion, who had ridden often with Elrohir, and behind him trotted two riderless black horses that shook their heads and snorted. They were already saddled and bridled and Elrohir's heart leapt; Barakhir and Baraghur. They were closely followed by twenty or so well armed Elves of Imladris and one of them led a third black horse that was trailing and lagged behind, pulling on its bridle and snapping at the lead horse. The Elf who was holding its bridle looked harassed and hot. Asfaloth followed easily in their wake.

'Well met!' Elrohir cried with relief. 'Here Faelion! My brother is sore wounded.'

Faelion leapt from his own horse and strode towards him. When he saw Elrohir kneeling at Elladan's side and lifting him, Faelion broke into a jog and there were concerned cries from the other Elves, some of whom leapt down from their own horses.

'Lochinar,' said Faelion called over his shoulder to one of those who rode with them, a healer. 'Come quickly. Assist Elrohir in this.' An Elf with a healer's bright red surcoat beneath his grey cloak quickly began to dismount but Elrohir stopped him.

'No, there is nothing to be done here. I must depart in all haste for Imladris,' Elrohir said quickly and he staggered to his feet with Elladan heavy in his arms. Barakhir nosed him affectionately and blew on him as if seeking reassurance that this was indeed Elrohir but Baraghur, Elladan's horse, pulled away. 'It is a Morgul wound, my friends,' he said briefly to both Lochinar and Faelion. 'None of us can help him.'

There was a shocked murmur and Lochinar rode his horse forwards and reached down to Elladan. 'Give him to me, Elrohir while you mount yourself. Then we will ride like the wind!' he declared. He slid his hands beneath Elladan's arms and hauled him onto his own horse.

'Come,' called Faelion and the Elves began to gather themselves to depart.

'Wait- some of you must stay,' Elrohir looked round, holding their attention with his command for all had served with him at some time. He had yet to mount and the troop paused, some horses turned in tight little circles, anxious to be off for they sensed the evil of this place and the oily feel in the air lingered yet. 'Glorfindel and Erestor as still within the Tower although the Nazgûl have gone. There is a great demon in there and you must help them! Gandalf?' He turned to face the Wizard and avoiding his gaze for he could not bear the scrutiny in those eyes, he lowered his voice until only the Wizard could hear him. 'There is a Balrog. It comes from another Place… the Dark. Glorfindel says it has come for him.'

Gandalf stared at him intently and then said as if Elrohir had said nothing, 'I will delay you no longer, Elrondion but swear to me this; that you will tell your father all that has happened.' His face softened. 'Trust him, Elrohir. He has seen much, known much. He loves you and wants to help you.'

But Elrohir could not bear that and he swiftly mounted and reached over for Elladan. His brother was heavy and limp and that hurt Elrohir even more to see the pale sweating face. Elladan's chest rose and fell more easily however and for that, he was grateful.

'Did you heed me at all, Gandalf? I said there is a Balrog,' he hissed. 'Glorfindel thinks it has come for him and yet you stand here as though there is nothing!' He urged Barakhir onwards, almost barging Gandalf so the wizard had to step aside. 'Faelion,' Elrohir called as he trotted in amongst the men. 'Five with me will suffice. Your fastest horses and riders I beg and the rest go to the aid of Glorfindel and Erestor for they battle within.' He reached Faelion and leaned down, spoke to him in a low voice. 'It is a demon of fire, Faelion. A Balrog. Glorfindel says it has come for him.' Elrohir cast a quick contemptuous glance at Gandalf and then added, 'Go, help our friends for I cannot delay more.'

'A Balrog?' Faelion was of the third age and had not faced those roaring demons of fire across the plains and he had only heard tales, but Elrohir could see how he steeled himself and loved him for it. His grey eyes were fearless. 'Do not fear. Glorfindel will not stand alone. Go now, my friend for Elladan needs you and we do not.'

Elrohir clasped Faelion's arm and then gently pulled his brother back against his chest and held him close. He nudged Barakhir and the black horse turned and made his way between the now gathering Elves and horses. The assembled Elves looked up at him with anxious concern for they had all ridden with the Sons of Thunder and wondered where was their lord, Glorfindel.

Faelion began to point to five swift riders and strong fighters and Elrohir breathed. He knew all of them and each was doughty and fierce. All had ridden with him and knew him well. Several had stayed mounted when they saw the state Elladan was in and they wheeled their horses now to follow Elrohir. But his relief was mixed with his guilt and shame revealed by the Nazgûl, but he could not bear to stop now and his only thought was to return to Imladris and bring Elladan home.

'Thank you, friends. We ride fast and nothing will stop us.' And with that, Barakhir, feeling his rider's urgency, surged forwards and the mud spattered from their hooves as they flew away.

Niphredil, for he of course was the third horse that had lagged and trailed behind everyone else, whinnied loudly at Elrohir's departure and pulled at his reins so that Ithrion, who held him, almost lost hold and tugged at the reins desperately and crossly cursed the horse. Niphredil had laid his ears flat back against his skull and almost bared his teeth at Ithrion but he could not pull free. At last he desisted and dropped his head to crop the short winter grass, one ear cocked towards the fading hoof beats of Barakhir and one eye upon the remaining Elves who gathered weapons and cloaks from their horses and prepared to follow Gandalf. Ithrion looked away for a moment, and feeling the slack hold on his reins, the horse suddenly pulled sharply and broke free. With a triumphant whinny he barged through the remaining horses and Elves and flattened into a fast gallop after Barakhir.

o0o0o

Heca! Hehta maicalda imnë ettul tulin námië! Heca! Nó Ólorin, núro Muinanaró! Hecá!

Put up your blade foul one for I am judgment. I am Ólorin servant of the Secret Fire. Begone!

tbc.