Disclaimer: see chapter 1. Also, the title of this chapter is not of my creation and I seek (and make) no profit from it's use. It is a line in Dylan Thomas's lovely poem "Do not go gentle into that good night"

A/N: Welp. Another year gone. And another chapter up! That's being productive, right? *nervous laughter*

For your convenience, I have added some elvish phrases used in this chapter and their meanings at the bottom of this page. As always, please R&R!

Chapter Two: Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

Three weeks pass. The year has passed into the realm of deep summer; we are already a month past the summer solstice. Though the grain grows tall and golden in the sun, the heat does little for our already tried tempers. Nana is often short with us, and I find myself weary of her constant hovering. Maenor is prone to fits of anger, and it grows hard to find ways to entertain him without incurring his fearsome, childish wrath. I know that I myself have snapped at both of them more than a few times; I have little patience for any kind of irritant. The days are long and hot and we are all tired.

The feeling I felt when Haeronor left plagues me. It grows stronger every day and I do not know how to interpret it. What causes this feeling of anguish in me? I fear my mounting anxiety is noticeable; though I try my best to hide it (Nana has enough to worry about, and I hate to give her another reason to be irritable) I occasionally see a flash of concern in my mother's face.

Today is no different. As I dress for the day, my fingers shake and darkness looms in my mind. I feel I can barely breathe without my throat closing in panic. I can hear my mother's movements in the room below, but I ignore them for the most part until voices speaking in low, urgent tones draw my attention. I creep to the edge of the loft and peek through the safety rails my father installed when I first began to sleep up here. From my position I can see the layout of most of the bottom floor. To the right lays the main living area of the house. The space is small, yet cozy. A few comfortable chairs rest near the clean swept hearth, a large hand-woven rug of many colors covers the bare floorboards in between, and my mother's loom stands in the corner. A back door stands in the middle of the right wall, with small windows hung with beige drapes to either side. Across from this wall is the front of the house, which faces the barn. The left side of the room is the dining area, where the heirloom table stands. Along that wall, underneath a rectangular window, is a small counter area, with intricately carved oak cabinets built by my father. Dried cooking and healing herbs hang from the dark, wooden beams of the ceiling, filling the air with a sweet and spicy aroma.

I am surprised to see a second shape downstairs, standing near the door. It is a large man; his shoulders are wide and he is at least three hands widths taller than my mother, who is a woman of no small stature. It is not either one of my brothers, and my anxiety mounts. He murmurs urgently to Nana, standing opposite him. She shakes her head. She is clearly uneasy, with her hunched posture and worried eyes.

"…and their barn was burned to the ground. If it was not safe there, it is not safe here." The man tells her in his rich voice. He briefly turns around, and as I catch sight of his face, I breathe a little easier. His graying but dark hair, pale complexion, and gray eyes define him as one of my people, perhaps a messenger or another Ranger. He is tall, perhaps a hands' width shorter than my older brother, and is grizzled in appearance. He has clearly not shaved in many days, and his face looks weathered and tired; though he is somewhat old to be a Ranger, he may simply have taken another's place in their absence. I have not seen him before, but that is no surprise. Though our numbers are dwindling, the Dúnedain are still numerous enough that we do not all know one another. In any case, I know he means us no harm.

"Despite what you say, I have mouths to feed. This grain crop means everything to us. We have no other way of providing for ourselves – if we leave, how would we ever get through the winter? No. We stay here."

"Lord Elrond has offered a place to stay to those who feel unsafe, especially to those whose residences lie outside the most protected areas. I am sure he would be most willing to house you for the duration of winter as well."

Nana draws herself to her full, proud height. "I thank you for your kind words. However, this family will not fall on the charity of others. We have cared for ourselves in hard times before; we shall continue to do so. My husband will be home soon, and my son periodically checks in on us. I thank you for your concern."

"These men coming up from the south – men and orcs both – are fearsome, brutal in all their dealings. They lie and steal for their own gain, and they torture, maim, and kill for sport. They come in hordes, and we cannot defend every homestead. There are not many of us left after the events of last fall and the summons of our Captain and King," he warns in his gravelly voice.

"I know that well. Do not presume that I do not – my husband is one of the thirty who answered the call of the King." Nana's voice is cold, her face steely.

"Forgive me, madam, I meant no offense."

Nana visibly deflates, softening toward the man standing before her. "I know, and I am sorry. You must understand, though – we cannot leave."

The man's voice is sorrowful as he speaks once more. "I am sorry to hear it. Stay safe, madam, you and your family." Once again the feeling of inexplicable sadness hits me. This time, it is strong enough that it steals my breath away, and I gasp for air. What is so awful that could cause such a reaction? I wrap my shaking arms around my middle, stunned by the severity of the attack.

Nana leads the man to the front door and thanks him for stopping by. As soon as she closes the door, she leans her back against its wooden frame. She closes her eyes tiredly and exhales, shoulders drooping. Her once proud face looks worn. She pauses for a long moment, and I quietly watch her, wondering if I should go down and try to comfort her.

Just as I am about to get up from my crouch, she lifts her eyes to mine, and I am caught in her desperate, gray stare. Then some kind of shield comes down behind her eyes. "Celaireth, love, I know you were listening. Come down, I must speak with you." Her hesitation belies her reluctance.

I quietly and carefully descend, then cross the room to my mother. "I am sorry, Nana, I couldn't help hearing…" I trail off, searching for an excuse. She simply smiles at me. "Come, dear," she says tenderly, taking my hand and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Let us sit." She guides us to the dining table where she takes the chair closest to the cupboards. I take the chair next to her, angling it to face her.

"Nana, what is happening?"

She sighs and looks down at her wrinkled, dry hands, clasped gently in her lap. "One of the homesteads just outside of the Angle was attacked last night. The family escaped mostly unscathed, but they could have died in the fire set to their house. The men who attacked them are said to be thieves, ruffians who find pleasure in their power over others. But you already know this." Nana hesitates before continuing. "The Rangers are tracking them, but they seem to have escaped for the time being. They may evade capture for some time."

"Are not our Rangers skilled in the hunt?" I ask, confused.

"Yes… but these men are wily, talented criminals."

"What could we possibly have that they would want?"

"Suffice it to say, these evil men are not only here to steal. They are willing to do harm to others for sport." She looks up at me then, and seeing something in my face reaches out and lays a comforting hand upon my knee. "I know this worries you, but you have a right… no, a need to know. Though walls and fences seem safe, they sometimes give us false confidence. I need you to be especially brave for me. Watch and listen. I will not tell you not to be afraid, but know that I trust you and your capabilities. Above all, tell me if you notice anything amiss."

Though part of me does not want to believe what my Nana says (we have always been safe here; I have known no evil in my life) the darkness lying upon my heart tells me otherwise.

I search her eyes, my thoughts racing. "Nana… I-I am scared."

If my words were not strong enough, my expression must be, for something in my mother's face changes, and she lifts her hand to caress my face lovingly. Trembling, I continue to speak. "There is already something amiss. I know not what it is, or from whence it comes, but something warns me. Something evil will happen, I can feel it."

Nana's movements falter and she slowly lets her hand drop. "What do you feel? How long has this feeling been with you?" she asks me, gaze intense and boring into my own. I can barely look her in the eyes and I nervously twist my hands in my lap.

"Something dark weighs upon my mind. I cannot name it, but I know it to be truth. Nana, I first felt it when Haeronor left, but it has not dissipated with time, it has only grown worse." My voice is shaky. Nana abruptly stands and strides to the window, shoulders tense. Her head bends downward, and her hands firmly grip the counters' edge, knuckles white.

I wait a moment, thinking she will come back to me or speak, but she does not. Seconds pass, each seeming twice as long as the previous one. I finally pluck up the courage to ask. "Nana, what is it?" My voice breaks. She immediately looks over her shoulder at me, and seeing my stricken expression hurries to my side once more, gathering me in her arms. A few tears fall from my eyes and I bury my head in her shoulder, clutching her sleeves in my fists. She strokes my hair gently, and I slowly calm as she whispers gentle, loving words. Once I am calm enough, she sits down once more, but gathers my hands in her own and strokes the backs of them with her thumbs.

"Sweetling, I am sorry this falls upon you. It must be… it must be foresight." I take in a sharp breath, surprised. Nana continues. "Your grandfather had it, you know. Most that have it do not always see a full timeline of events, but are often gifted with feelings that tell them the nature of the future. My Ada described his knowledge as you have – overwhelming, without an obvious source, but accompanied by the knowledge that it is true. It is a great responsibility – a great gift, but a great responsibility."

"A-Are you sure?" I question, hardly daring to believe her.

"What else could affect you so? You are strong, sweetling, you are carefree, full of life. It is not usual for you to behave this way." I nod and grasp her hands tighter in my own. "Celaireth, what makes you so afraid?"

"I… All I know is if we stay, something terrible will happen. Nana, we must leave. We must!" Nana sighs, looking away for a moment, then back.

"Are you sure?" she questions. I nod, knowing full well what this means to our family. Nana closes her eyes in resignation, but when she opens them again, a determined light shines in their depths. "Then we will leave." She speaks firmly. "Tomorrow morning, before the sun rises. We will go to Rivendell."

Her words encourage me, but I am still anxious. "Can we leave no sooner?" I ask. Nana shakes her head.

"We must make preparations for our journey. It is at least a week to Rivendell, as we will be travelling with your younger brother, and we must prepare to be there for the entire winter. I must gather seeds for next year, if we are not to harvest our crops this year. We must pack food, clothes, and we must sell the pigs and the cow, for we cannot take them with us. That buyer that came by last week is still in the area, I believe… if we pass through the settlement on our journey…" Nana trails off, clearly not speaking to me any longer but lost in her thoughts of preparations.

"What can I do?" I ask. Nana refocuses on me and smiles once again, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Go pack, sweetling. Take only what is necessary, for we must travel a great distance. We shall both have to carry much of what we bring; the horses can carry the rest."

The morning passes in a rush. I pack two extra chemises, four pairs of stockings, and my spare kirtle, which is a dark olive green color with sparse beige embroidery along the hem and sleeves. I will not wear it on our journey, but since we are going to live with the elves I figure I must bring my best with me. I slip a comb and a small pouch of healing herbs into the pack as well. I wake Maenor, and though he is confused that we are leaving, he is impossibly excited. Such a journey – and to see Elves no less – is the greatest one he and I have ever taken. Before I know it, I am grinning in anticipation as well; I have always wished to meet elves and see the legendary Last Homely House. I help my brother pack, and have not the heart to tell him to leave his toy sword behind. Though it is only extra weight to carry, he swears he will defend Nana and I, and how else can he do so without his weapon at his side?

Before I know it, it is evening. Dinner is a hurried affair; even though we have prepared for our journey most of the day, there are still tasks to be completed before we can set out. Nana sets me the task of mucking out the stalls in the barn one last time. Though it is one of my least favorite chores, I understand the necessity and do not complain.

The night air feels heavy as I walk back from the barn to the house. The stars shine beautifully above, but in the distance I see tall thunder clouds and hear a low rumble. It will likely storm tonight. My feet hurry on the well-trodden path between the two structures, kicking up dust. I cannot stand the idea of staying outside this night. Though the house remains stuffy and it is slightly less oppressive outside, the heaviness in my heart makes me fear the dark places surrounding my home.

I burst through the doorway then quickly shut it behind me. Nana looks up sharply but does not reprimand me. I feel she understands better than I know.

Maenor is playing by the empty hearth, building a tower with some smooth wooden blocks that Haeronor made him for his last birthday. I smile and push away the darkness weighing on me. Here, within the walls of the only place I have ever called home, I choose not to fear. Even so, my shoulders are tense with worry and I clench my hands to keep from trembling.

I sit beside Maenor on the floor and count the blocks. As Maenor places the fifteenth block on the tower, it begins to wobble. He looks at me with a devilish glint in his eye.

"Oh no you…" I begin, alarmed. With a cackle, Maenor swings his arm out and sends the tower pieces flying. I shield my face with my hands, giggling.

"Maenor…" Nana begins with a sigh. I look over, and she has a gentle, exasperated smile on her face. "Do not break anything." I'm sure this is not what she originally meant to say, and I am grateful for her leniency.

Before long, it is time to take our rest. We will leave early on the morrow, and will need our strength. When I bend over to kiss my Nana's cheek goodnight, she smiles at me and briefly strokes my cheek, her eyes communicating strength to me. I push away the encroaching fear and smile back.

I sit bolt upright, not entirely sure why I have been drawn from my restless sleep. My heart hammers in my chest, and my breath catches in my throat. Warm, flickering light shines through the window set high in the wall above my bed and dances along the walls. Sweat beads at my brow, and I lick my dry lips nervously, gathering my well-worn quilt closer around my shoulders.

I hear whinnying from the direction of the paddock. I suddenly register the fact that the noise is not the normal, soft whicker of a horse at night. It is the cry of a terrified animal. My shoulders tense and my fingers clutch at the quilt, nails digging into the soft, well-worn fabric.

"Celaireth!" Nana's voice hisses quietly from below. I fly out of my bed to the railing of the loft, clad only in my shift. Nana stands barefooted below me in her own nightclothes, hair slightly mussed but eyes wide and alert. She stands ramrod straight, shoulders square and feet placed firmly shoulder's width apart. In her right hand she holds a crossbow already fitted with an arrow. In the other she holds a large kitchen knife. At her feet, leaning against the side of one of the dining room's straight-backed chairs, is the quiver, full of arrows. Maenor stands behind her, his visage equal parts exhausted, confused, and fearful. Though the house is darkened with no lanterns lit and the curtains drawn, the malevolent light of what I know must be fire shines upon my family's faces between cracks in the door and the gaps between the curtains. The scene set before me is startlingly terrifying.

Nana beckons to me with the knife, and I try to swallow my fear, muscles tensing for action. Adrenaline pounds through my veins, and I take a deep breath before darting down the ladder onto the main floor. I scramble to my mother's side, stumbling over my bare feet on the now-cool wooden floor in my haste.

"Nana, wha-" I begin to ask, reaching out to clutch at her sleeve.

Nana holds a finger to my lips, silencing me. "No time for questions, love. Take this." Her strong, unwavering hand places the wooden kitchen knife handle between my outstretched, trembling fingers. The blade of the knife is long and thick, meant for general food preparation. I have wielded this blade many times before, but I sense I will use it in a very different manner tonight than usual.

I can now hear voices outside the front of our house, between us and the barn… Loud men's voices holler and whoop in malevolent glee. Their voices are rough and deep, their language foreign to my ears. I cannot tell how many of them there are, but it seems they mean to enter our home. I am by no means calm and I clutch the kitchen knife's handle in a white-knuckled grip. Maenor has moved to stand in the small space between us, holding onto Nana's skirt in one hand and mine in the other. The voices draw nearer, and Nana's gaze darts desperately between the door and my expectant face. Finally, something in her face resolves and her gaze turns steely. She reaches out and gently but firmly brings my forehead to her lips with her free hand, then leans down and does the same for Maenor.

"My sweetlings, you must go. I will hold them off as long as I can. You must find the closest settlement for help, and then go north and east to Imladris." A loud pounding on the door and the voices of the men startle us, making us jump. Nana hefts the crossbow in her arms. "Go! No i Melain na le."

I hate it. The despair threatens to overwhelm me as Maenor and I scramble across the few strides to the back door. The pounding and crashing at the front door tells us it is being attacked with a brutal force – as strong as it is, it stands no chance. We reach the door, and both turn back to see our mother gazing at us. She does not say she loves us. She does not have to. Her eyes communicate far more than words ever could. I swallow a sob, then unlatch the back door and slip out into the blackness beyond, Maenor close behind me.

The air is surprisingly cool on my face. The darkness of the forest behind the house flickers with orange and red light, the shadows dancing and taking menacing forms. The grass is blissfully cool on my bare feet; I cannot go back for my shoes and I curse myself for not thinking to when I had the chance. Glancing behind me, my gaze slides past Maenor's terrified face to his feet, and I am relieved to see he wears his shoes, though they are haphazardly laced. I reach behind me and take his hand, just in time to hear the splintering crash of the door from inside. I hear a roar of anger – a battle cry. "Gurth a chyth vín!" the voice cries in its fearsome voice. I can easily imagine our foes stumbling back from my mother in fear. From within I hear the crash of metal against metal and the splintering of wood, and am startled back to reality. Maenor and I must move; I have little hope that she will survive. The heaviness that has been clouding my heart for so long is gone. In a moment of sudden clarity, I understand why. It is not the future that weighs on me now. The moment is upon us.

I scramble to the side of the house and press my back flat against its rough surface, pressing Maenor back with one arm. The air is stiflingly hot, and sweat beads on my forehead. I distractedly wipe it away and peer around the corner, assessing the situation. Four men stand between me and the barn. Their forms are tall against the light of the raging flames licking up the side of the barn. Two stand nearer to the barn, and the other two wait near the door to the house. The red light of the flames highlights their visages, making them appear as creatures from the deep. Their attention is completely focused the front of the house where I know the battle is taking place. The noise inside continues, though soon I hear a keening cry of pain, a loud crack, and then silence. My heart knows what has just happened; m breath catches in my throat and an anguished sob escapes my lips.

A shout. Someone has heard me. I peek around the corner again, only to see the cautious approach of one of the men closest to the house. I know what I must do.

I grab Maenor's face in my left hand and hold his tear-filled gaze with my own. My other fist tightens around the smooth handle of the knife.

"M-maenor," I sob "Run. Run like never before. Follow Eärendil, he will lead you to our nearest neighbor. Send help. DO NOT wait for me." The child is too terrified to respond, and tears roll down his dirty cheeks. I have no time to comfort him, and my heart aches to know that I will likely never see him again. My hand drops from his face and I look away from his eyes for fear that my will crumble. "Run now! Don't look back!" Maenor's feet seem rooted to the spot, and I gently shove him forward. His little feet catch him mid-stumble, and he speeds off into the darkness of the forest behind the house, the crooked tree limbs swallowing him into the gaping maw of oblivion.

I can only hope our enemies did not see him; hopefully they will believe I was the only other. "Sílo Anor bo men lín." I whisper. I steel myself for what I know must be coming – my death – and step out into the raging light.

A/N: Glossary time! :D Borrowed from the Council of Elrond website

No i Melain na le. (May the Valar be with you.)

Gurth a chyth vín! (Death to our foes!)

Sílo Anor bo men lín. (May the sun shine on your road.)