Disclaimer: None of Tolkien's characters nor the world of Middle Earth are mine and I do not aim to make any money from this story. I merely borrow the toys and play in the sandbox.

Rating: PG-13 (T)

A/N: I'm very sorry for the cliffie at the end of the last chapter (well, maybe not very sorry…) – it just seemed like such a wonderful place to end the chapter :) *tries to look innocent*

Regardless, I have been told that I should at the very least hurry with an update, and I have tried to do so. To LadyLindariel, Rita Orca, Jessy14040 and SnidgetHex: Thank you for your reviews and I hope you are now appeased, and to GondorianElf – sorry, I promised them that I wouldn't let it end on another cliff hanger (feel free to stop reading 4 paragraphs early ;) )

-o0o-

Gravity

Chapter 6

Glorfindel ducked out of the way of the volley of arrows that his warriors fired at the advancing orcs behind him, dimly aware of heavy bodies hitting the ground, never to rise again. It might give him the precious time he needed to reach the defensive line - but what then?

There were still too many orcs advancing, too many of the dark creatures screaming for their blood and torment. They could not hope to hold back a force this large.

A new arrow entered his line of sight, cutting through his thoughts as easily as through the air. The projectile was flying higher than the ones before and from further back. Clearly, it had been shot from behind the line of his warriors that Elladan and Amrothion were trying to position to its maximum efficiency.

Glorfindel cast his eyes over the River Path behind them and there found the source of the arrow.

Legolas, Elladan's bow still held in his hands, stood alone on the barren path, his eyes following the course of his projectile. Glorfindel found his own gaze also drawn to the young elf's arrow. The arrow hit a rock in the side of the cliff and bounced away – seemingly harmless, yet not without consequences.

A dark feeling of foreboding formed in Glorfindel's stomach, threatening to slow his run as it settled on his straining limbs. Glorfindel realized what was about to happen. Disregarding the feeling of dread, he lengthened his strides further, sprinting the last few feet to reach the line of his men in an effort to shout a warning that turned out to be futile as it got lost in a pandemonic rush of noise and stones.

Instinctively he and the other elves ducked for cover, shielding their eyes and faces against the rising dust and any stray rocks that might come close enough to do damage. Darkness rushed up to meet them in a cloud of debris and dirt that drowned out the weak light of the hidden sun.

-o0o-

As Legolas eyes roamed the path before him - desperate, numb, disbelieving - the dust began to settle.

Nothing moved until, suddenly, a stray ray of sunshine caught on something golden.

Glorfindel!

Dimly Legolas' mind registered the fact that the elf lord had been closest to the attacking orcs and the site of the rock slide – and yet, he had stayed clear of the falling debris. That meant the others most likely had as well.

Relief so strong that it made his knees waver under him rushed through Legolas. His plan had worked!

The loss of the stone he had targeted had brought the wall down on top of the orc attackers, sparing the elves that had been retreating. Still, Legolas swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat - that had been far too close a call. Too easily had he underestimated the force of the rockslide, too easily could he have doomed all his friends and allies to share the fate of the orc attackers.

It was only when the renewed ringing of steel on steel caught his attention that the dreadful thoughts of what had almost happened were chased from his mind.

His rock slide had not hit all the orcs either.

Some of the foul beasts had survived and now, recovered from the shock and noise, they attacked. Anger at the sudden loss of most of their forces refuelled their hatred as they rushed against the last line of the elven defences, scimitars held high.

Legolas reached down to retrieve his bow and strung a new arrow. The fight was not over yet.

-o0o-

The noise was first to fade.

In the cloud of dust that still drowned out the light and made it impossible to see, Glorfindel used the moment of respite to make sure all his limbs were still attached and not buried beneath stone. As the visibility slowly improved he could make sure the same held true for Elladan and Amrothion, who stood closest to him.

"Is everyone alright?" he shouted. The dust in the air made him cough but he did not care – the answer to that question was too important to wait. Relief rushed through him when he received only positive answers.

That had been too close. Much too close.

He would have to have some serious words with Legolas later.

Slowly the dust settled and as the visibility improved, Glorfindel could see the top of the massive new rockslide that now blocked the path in front of them, much larger than the one at their backs.

They had been lucky, incredibly so, and while the young Thranduilion's plan had nearly killed them all, it had also saved them. Most of the orcs had surely been buried beneath unforgiving rock, their bodies crushed under monstrous boulders or cast into the rushing waters of the Bruinen by the flood of mud and debris.

But not all of them had suffered those fates.

The sudden return of noise - of grunts and angered screams and the clambering of metal on metal underlined that fact. The surviving orcs were rallying, having lost their escape route they could now only try to push forward - through the elves.

This fight was not yet over.

With the last of the dust still billowing in clouds over the path, the orcs attacked. Guttural screams and grunts accompanied the beasts, preceding their attack while the clouds of dust still covered their approach.

The first orc stumbled out of the haze just in front of Glorfindel. The suddenly improved visibility clearly took it by surprise and it didn't even have the chance to raise its scimitar before Glorfindel swiftly ran it through. Extracting his stained mithril sword from the fallen orc, Glorfindel turned once more to his warriors.

"Attack!"

With nary a sound the elves moved forward, gleaming swords held ready. Fighting shoulder to shoulder on the narrow path meant they could effectively guard the injured elves behind them.

None of the orcs were going to break through their line.

Glorfindel spun to evade a particularly vicious swipe of a black blade, darkened, doubtlessly, by dried blood and dirt, and took a step back, neatly falling in line with the rest of his warriors. He spared a glance for Amrothion and Baranir to make sure they were unharmed after the retreat from their original defence line, before looking for Elladan.

The older twin was fighting in the middle of the line, driving the point of the wedge that the warriors were forming through the advancing wave of the desperate orcs. Elladan's eyes were darkened with rage and hatred for the dark beasts that had dared to invade their land, had brought so much suffering to so many, least of all his own family. He would rather die than let any of the creatures lay a hand on his twin or his father. Yet, despite the anger coursing through his veins and the worry for his twin and father, Elladan's movements were precise, his aim accurate - and deadly.

Ducking under the sweep of a dirty sword that was so forceful it pulled the orc who had attempted to decapitate him off balance, Elladan quickly grabbed the beast and shoved it backwards. The creature's sword impaled one of its companions instead of finding its way into soft elven flesh. Before it could remove its weapon from the carcass of its mate, Elladan shoved his own blade through the orc's side.

Black blood shot forth as he ripped the blade free, spattering his tunic with the vile liquid.

Elladan barely noticed.

Quickly, he sidestepped another attacker who had aimed at his unprotected side. The thrust of its spear tip missed him by inches but left the long weapon exposed. Cutting through the heavy wood with one quick slice, Elladan cleanly removed the weapon's tip from its body and left the orc staring dumbfounded at the stick it now bore. It was left with no means to defend against Elladan's counter attack.

With most of his elven strength behind his attack, Elladan cut through both, the wooden stick the orc had raised in defence and the beast's neck in a single, fluid motion. When he turned round once more, intent on finding the next orc daring enough to oppose him, he found none. The only orcs left alive were those writhing on the ground in agony - their wounds too severe to let them continue the fight but too minor to cause death.

Already, Baranir and Glorfindel were moving forward, set to the task of granting the creatures the release of a quick death. None of the elves relished needless suffering, not even that of their most hated enemies. Elladan gripped his sword tighter, intent on following them and doing his share of the grisly duty.

However, before he could take a step Glorfindel intercepted him. "Elladan," he said, catching the older twin by his elbow, "look after Tarion, please."

It was not a request and Elladan understood the order for what it was. With a firm nod to his commander and friend, he hurried over to the wounded elf's side to assess the other elf's injuries. Tarion regarded him with much the same exasperation that all wounded warriors seemed to display when faced with healers, which lessened Elladan's worry. Patients capable of complaining were rarely in true danger. With quick, trained movements he cleaned the injury and wound a tight linen wrapping over the wound. The cut was deep, but even, and would heal nicely once it could be stitched in the Halls of Healing in Rivendell. Until they returned the bandage would be enough to stop the flow of blood and keep the wound clean.

"Thanks," Tarion acknowledged with less grouch in his voice than he had displayed earlier in his demeanour.

Elladan nodded. "Try not to jostle the wound too much and make sure you report to the healers for stitches once we are back in Rivendell."

The twin waited for Tarion to acknowledge the instruction before sitting back and allowing himself a deep breath. The first one since the battle had started. The adrenaline still rushed through his veins, pushing him to move, to do something. Some of the orcs were still drawing breath.

He grabbed his sword again and rose back to his feet. It was only after he had taken a step back towards Glorfindel that he realized what he was really doing.

He was avoiding to return to his brother's and father's side.

Elladan chided himself for the notion. Would he truly rather face orcs on the battle field, than hear the verdict of his brother's condition from their father? Yet even as he looked back at his father, still in the healing trance, he could feel the sight tear at his heart.

It had been so long.

He could no longer feel Elrohir's pain, but he remembered the depth of it, remembered the despair it had caused him. Facing orcs paled in comparison to the fear for his brother's life, a fear that seemed to grasp his very fëa, to crush all hope from it.

A sudden change in the air around him finally pulled Elladan from his dark thoughts. He gazed around, not quite able to say what had caught his shift in attention; there was still activity behind him, Glorfindel and his warriors were still roaming the field of death and desolation where they had fought - the place where Legolas' rock slide had both, almost killed and ultimately saved them. In front of him his father was still in his healing trance, the light of his fëa –

Elladan rushed forward as the realization finally hit him. The light that had enveloped his father and brother, bright golden just a few moments ago, was failing rapidly.

Against the strain in his battle worn limbs, Elladan hurried his steps further. He was too familiar with the effects of his father's healing not to be concerned - but he was too late regardless. As the last of the light died away, his father fell backwards, his energy spent. He did not even have enough of it left to support his own weight. Yet, before his body could hit the hard stone floor, he was caught in gentle arms.

Legolas, having safely discarded the bow, had noticed what was happening and had rushed forward to catch the ailing elven lord. He looked up from Elrond's face, pale in the wane light of the overcast day, and met Elladan's gaze instead.

The older twin looked terrified.

For a moment that stretched into eternity, Elladan froze. This had been what he had worried about, the gnawing fear that had whispered in his ear even during the battle against the orcs. What if their father could not save Elrohir? What if even though they defeated the orcs his brother would still leave him? What if his father spent too much of his energy in the attempt? Images of his mother flashed before his eyes. He could not face this again. Would not.

It took more effort than before but finally Elladan forced the fears to the back of his mind, chaining his demons once more.

Then, with renewed haste, he rushed forward. With the fear controlled, nothing mattered now but the overriding need to help his twin and his father. He would deal with what he found once he reached their side.

It was better than he had dared to hope.

-o0o-

tbc…

A/N2: this chapter kept fighting me, but I think it turned out .. decent at least. There's only one more chapter to go after this, *yay* fanfares! As always I would love to hear what you thought about the chapter and the story that is now so very close to its happy end. :3