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Chapter 23 - When their adrenaline high came crashing down, silence…
When their adrenaline high came crashing down, silence descended upon the battlefield. Seemingly moving on auto-pilot, Elrohir helped Elladan get clean in the water, searching for his discarded clothes. Aien and Raithon cleaned all of their already blood-encrusted weaponry, searching the corpses for valuables.
In the sudden vacuum, Rin felt vertiginous. Unable to stand straight, she leaned exhausted against a boulder. The smell of guts and worse in combination with the sudden absence of some strenuous emergency took a toll on her. Within that sudden vacuum, nausea overwhelmed her, made her retch in warm gulps the yellow bile of her empty stomach. Standing straight, her legs trembled while her mind seemed to regain some clarity and she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie.
Aien looked at her with concern but kept on cleaning his weapons. She let herself slide down against the boulder, finding some kind of relaxation leaning against it, although her body felt stiff and brittle, like precious porcelain. The idea took hold of her mind for a moment, she was indeed made of porcelain, hard, unyielding, vulnerable, she felt angled and sharp in a soft world. The strange displacing sense of self disappeared suddenly and then her mind was processing all that happened in the battle, and she gained no control over it. The images forced themselves on her, again and again. Random images and random emotions enhancing them, rage, guilt, shame, powerlessness. After a while she stopped fighting it, feeling exhausted and she let the control slip and silently watched the movie that was played over and over again in her mind's eye. From the moment she stopped fighting it, the process detached itself from her. As if she was a zombie.
When the images receded to the background somewhat, she stared contentedly, her face slack, eyes barely open, from a measured distance to the twins' fussing. They stood in stark contrast to what passed in her minds' eye; Elrohir was redoing Elladan's braids, an endearing activity she witnessed in the lake a lifetime ago and like then, she loved watching it. His pale strong fingers, caressed the dark silk strands, sank into them, lovingly, reverently, as if the braiding was a healing ritual. The vulnerability of it made her feel even weaker in her legs.
Behind the twins, Raithon and Aien were laughing about something until Raithon plunged his elbow in Aien's side playfully, making him cry out. What amazing creatures elves were, she mused, both physically and mentally, they seemed infinitely flexible and adaptable. That strength was what made her companions capable of acting so lighthearted, picking up where they left their lives, after an ordeal as traumatizing as this one. And on top of that, they had fought two other battles in the past few days. She just wanted to sink into a bath, followed by a soft modern bed with a feather-filled duvet but knew that the memories of what passed here today would haunt her for the rest of the night and many nights to come. Then again, being immortal and getting PTSS after your first battle, might be a serious handicap for eternal living beings.
Her mind backtracked. Her mental health made her easily affected to an alternative truth, where bloodlust and self-destructive behaviour was normality. In a corner of her mind, she knew and had experienced that elves were not invincible to trauma of the mind. Maybe they were even more susceptible to it, its results even more life-altering. The twins would be haunted by their mother's ordeal, for the rest of their immortal life.
She watched Elrohir's long fingers weaving intricate designs into his brother's silken strands of blackness. They were enhanced yes, but not invincible, not mentally and not physically. She knew Raithon still bore the wound to his shoulder from the large battle where he lost his captain. A gash on his forehead where it met his hair was still plainly visible. The twins were worse. On top of the fact that he had been tortured, Elladan had large gashes all over his back, clearly from a warg. A large wound ran over the palm of his hand but was stitched and healing already, only faintly red. Elrohir was still dressed, but the way he moved indicated some kind of trauma to his arm. She was amazed at their resilience, to keep going after all this. Then again. There was no other choice.
A small gasp took her out of her reverie. Raithon stood with his boots in the water, grasping Aien's arm while peering through the water's surface. Then a fast movement, his hand dipping through the surface, to retrieve a long curved dagger. They both stared at it intently. Alien took the blade from his friend, holding it with both hands reverently, eyes closed for a moment.
She must have fallen asleep for a little while then, for the next thing she knew, Aien grasped her shoulder softly shaking it. All four elves stood around her dressed and armed, ready for departure it seemed. How long had she been out?
Aien was crouching next to her, holding out the beautiful dagger she noticed before. His teasing demeanour was nowhere to be seen and he was as serious as she ever saw him. "Rin, we have retrieved this blade from the battle spoils. It is a blade made by the weapon-smiths of Gondolin, how it ended up in their depraved hands I do not know, but I can feel its purpose is still unspoiled." He closed his eyes for a moment as if listening. "It takes an evil far worse than what lurks in the North to spoil the intentions of the weapons-smiths of the High Elves. I wish to interpret this as a hopeful sign. It lay next to your enemy, I believe your victory made you its guardian now."
He put the weapon in her hands and she felt a prickling in her fingers when they closed around the cold hardness. She held it up in amazement. The weapon was slightly curved, an echo of an Arabic Muhaddab. It had the lightness of aluminium, and the balance seemed perfect. She tested it with a professional eye, knew what to look for in quality. The hilt was a perfect match for her small hand, the yellowish ivory grip feeling smooth and comforting. "What metal is this?" her voice sounded like sharp gravel grinding over concrete, the words came with difficulty.
"The knowledge of that mixture of ores has been lost to us now. It will not break, its intent will not waver and the metal will glow whenever orcs are near."
Her eyes widened in awe. "This is too much, it should be in your care, not mine." She decided with some regret.
Four elves smiled gently at her as if she had acted predictably. Aien said in earnest: "Nay Rin, this is your blade, you cannot abandon it." And with those puzzling words, he stood, speaking softly to the others in Sindarin. The conversation was short and clipped. Aien bent towards her once more. "Rin, do you have the strength to climb onto my back? You are not well enough to walk." It was a statement, nothing more, the solution only practical. She stood slowly and with difficulty, her knees stiff, Aien turning with his back towards her crouching. She let herself slowly drape over his back, her hands around his neck. She felt his lean muscular shape pressing into her. He smelled different, beneath the stench of battle there was something else, something sharp and herbal.
Aien stood with ease as if she weighed nothing. Standing for a moment adjusting her weight he said softly; "Just don't vomit on me."
And despite her protesting body and fatigue, she laughed at his joke. "If you don't shake me too much." She could feel him laughing at her quip and relaxing a bit. Then he started walking.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
Aien walked with buoyant strides through the rough terrain and seemed to experience no hindrance owed to her weight, which made her feel better. They soon found that the horses strayed but little from their masters. Rin lay her head on Bethril's nose with relief. The horse received her affection passively, patiently waiting. She enjoyed the feel of the enclosed power in his warm muscles, his scent. Somehow the horse had become the equivalent of home in the weeks she had journeyed. Finding him unharmed made her feel relief and strength simultaneously.
Soon their horses were finding their way carefully through rough terrain, carrying their masters reverently, every step taking them farther from the battlefield. Aien had found a leather sheath for her dagger and had adjusted it to fit her lithe waist. Bethril seemed edgy, an effect of the smell of orcs and warg on their skin. While first, their aim was to put as much distance between themselves and the battlefield, now she noticed they moved south and straight into the wind. The lack of smell eased the horses' nerves and she felt her body align in sync when Bethril broke into a steady gait. They rode aimlessly south, silently following a shared goal; distancing themselves from that wretched place, where Elladan had barely escaped death.
Her reunion with Elladan and Elrohir exceeded all her expectations. It seemed quite easy to guard her heart against them, for they ignored her. With passion.
While travelling with the Guard, her thoughts had moved to this very moment often. She could not outrun them forever, especially if she ever did find Aragorn and bring him to Rivendell. She liked to believe that she would behave civilly, that after the first initial awkwardness, they could at least be civil to each other, despite the feelings of hurt and pain following their enforced breach of trust. And she was aware of her underlying feelings, still there, unchanged. Her reaction to their kiss had endorsed them further. But her stubbornness had pushed them back once more behind her anger.
All this oneirism did not prepare her for their silence. No words were spoken, neither to Raithon, Aien nor to her. They accepted their freedom wordlessly, no acknowledgement of the rescue attempt. At first, she thought they were simply too occupied with each other to give them much heed. But soon it became clear that they were in a foul mood. Elrohir was as grumpy and closed off as ever, but talkative Elladan also seemed just as emotional, his features set, his lips a thin line. Their mood was coiled around them, like an angry living cloud. It seemed to her that whenever its tendrils touched her when she came physically too close, her spirits were being dragged down with theirs. She was too tired to fight it off and stayed more and more clear of them when she could.
When, at the end of the day, their mood was unchanged, her anger replaced her annoyance. Trauma was no excuse for this. They were century-old adults! How could they do this to her and to their kin? On top of this silence, they were travelling south without even discussing it. And they knew of her intentions, they knew the importance of it, for her, for their father's realm, for Middle Earth. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she realised they would never be cured of this childish irresponsibility, they would always tread their own path in service of their revenge, their bloodlust, feeding their ever-present guilt, wallowing in it.
When they finally made camp, she had enough. Her strength had been returning during the long ride, making her combative. Ensuring Bethril was comfortable, she let her hands linger for a moment on his powerful warm frame to gain courage. She vaguely realised her emotions to be magnified; an after-effect of the battle still raging through her. But this could not wait. She needed to travel north, she had set her purpose when she left Rivendell and she would not have it be derailed by two petulant Elf Lords.
Upon connecting her gaze with theirs, the wariness was already there, as if her thoughts and resolve had already reached them. Staring into the silver-grey of their eyes, she let their beauty pierce her heart in self-torture. When she approached she felt their anger and frustration linger, thickening the air around them, reminding her of the power of Elrond in the healing ward so many weeks ago. When she approached them enough, she sighed in defeat at their persistent silence. Her voice sounded rough and unused to her ears. "Ok. I had enough. Just spit it out."
Aien blanched at her harsh words. The lack of regard for their Lords was utterly shocking. No matter their foolish ways, noble blood was in their veins, power in their hands and wisdom still resided in them, no matter how damaged their fëa. They were after all their Masters' sons and they owed them respect and loyalty, no matter how reckless their actions. He stepped forward. "Rin…."
She held up her hand, palm facing him. "No Aien, they are behaving like a couple of insolent kids. And I want to know why!" she strode towards them, advancing into their personal space. The air around them seemed thick and warm to the touch. "Tell me!" she demanded.
Of course, it was Elrohir who scowled at her, grunting his reply. The pattern became an old game. "What now?"
"Are you playing coy? We have risked our lives for you, you barely escaped death and now you don't speak to us?" Her voice rose an octave.
His voice, in turn, came out uncharacteristically loud and strained. A clear sign that the adrenaline ride was not over yet. "I did not ask for your help! I chose this ending, made peace with it. You need not have come."
The words were hollow and she saw the realisation of it clear on his features. He was too raw and emotional after their ordeal, to hide it from her. He did not like to be vulnerable, to be read so easily and his irritation grew visibly. The force and darkness around him grew, but his spite was powerless: "I forgot how annoying you can be."
She blinked at him. Her thoughts, emotions, all of them an instant turmoil in her head. The insolence of him! How dare he!
But before she could open her mouth he said, eyes ablaze: "Do not waste your breath, it is futile to argue. If I may speak for myself, I feel annoyed at being rescued like a damsel in distress. And you have endangered Raithon and Aien!"
His childish pettiness rendered her speechless. He was breathing through his nose, nostrils flared, eyes shooting fire. Elladan eyed his brother warily, not feeling well enough to speak.
She said on guard: "What do you mean?"
"You should not have ridden out to find us! It was our decision and not yours to make! Your mortal rashness could have doomed Raithon and Aien to an untimely death!"
She was so angry that she could hardly open her mouth to speak, her jaw closed tight. "Don't tell me what I can or cannot do, you baka! Why should we leave you to be tortured to death? To let you get off on it? You are insane!"
He screamed at her now; the air around him seemed to ignite, hurting her skin like acid, making her flinch. "You hold no command here! You do not get to command our warriors nor endanger them. We set Raithon and Aien the task to retrieve you and take you back to Imladris, not to come back to lead a rescue mission and endanger them once again! Why did you not leave us be! We could have died at least together! You were unwanted!" Spittle left his mouth when he yelled the last words and they pierced her heart without mercy. Unwanted.
Detached, she felt the anger hitting her like an explosion, with one fluid movement she drew her entrusted dagger, holding it backwards with the tip towards the ground. She jumped forward, fighting the suffocating power that crackled around him angrily, until she pushed through to his chest with her hand, making him stumble backwards. And within a split second all that Elven grace turned against her. Hissing metal, light flashing, a flurry of movement and then the weight and warmth of his arm pinning her against a tree, the cold blade against the vein in her neck, his breath against her face, silver eyes dark.
They stood there for a moment, panting, staring at each other mere inches away, but she felt no fear, only an all-encompassing surge of excitement and challenge. The adrenaline had changed her blind anger into a moment of intense clarity. She was aware of the shocked looks from Aien and Raithon who stood, swords drawn, behind Elrohir, uncertain where their loyalties lay or how to disentangle them without provoking the enraged Elf Lord further.
She ground out carefully, to evade brushing the sharp of the blade against her throat. "You should have thought about this when you neglected their advice to first find me before attacking a force larger than you could manage! It was you who caused all this! You! And you don't even want to admit it! Even now! Your insane recklessness is dragging everybody around you into danger, unnecessary danger!"
She struggled against his hold, causing the sharp of the blade to part her skin on purpose. Warm blood trickled over her chest. She hissed. "You arrogant asshole! How can you hurt people around you like this! Wallowing in your own stupid issues. Look at what you are doing to me now!"
Blinking, Elrohir seemed to regain his composure, battling his rage. Then he released her gradually, slowly letting her weight slide down towards the ground. She felt the suffocating thickness of the air in her lungs lessen a bit. Pulling the blade away, he frowned at the blood he caused. He raised his hand deliberately, the warm calloused fingers wiping the blood away, the gesture all too familiar and intimate. And the feeling pulled her back towards the days they were this close, attracted to one another like magnets. Closing her eyes, she shivered while her mind followed the hot trail of his fingers on her skin. When she opened them, Rin saw the fire and anger in him disappearing slowly and to her surprise, it was replaced by shame and concern. But she could discern underneath all that, a dark and intense flash of desire that mimicked her own.
He turned his head abruptly away from her, staring at his brother. Elladan only nodded at him, unsmiling. Behind him, Aien sheathed his sword, shoulders sagging in relief, but Raithon kept his sword aimed at Elrohir, eyes ablaze. Elrohir assessed him for a moment in irritation, his hand still touching her neck. His voice held a quiet threat. "Stand down, Raithon."
Raithon did not falter but stepped closer. "You are not my Captain, Elrondion. Release her." If he felt emotion, he did not show it.
"This is not your business!"
Only then Raithon's anger rose visibly. "I swore an oath to my Captain to keep her safe, for she was close to his heart. And I will not forswear him."
Elrohir's eyes widened at this, and darkened as quickly, jealousy rearing its ugly head. Then, as if Tessarion's spirit was forcing him, he released her slowly, stepping back carefully. His body stood taut like a fletched arrow, bordering on shaking. Nostrils flaring, he said without looking at her: "Forgive me, Rin. Your harsh judgement sees truth here. And I feel weary of this truth."
He raised his voice a little, sounding set. "Let us vow brother. Let us vow that this cycle ends here?"
Sudden irrational anxiety took hold of her. Forgetting the seriousness of the fight that just transpired, the lethal unpredictability of the Elf in front of her, she invaded his personal space once again and grasped his arm. He whirled his head towards her, his black hair following in its wake, enhancing the illusion that he was clad in raging shadows and darkness.
She said breathlessly: "No! Don't!"
All four warriors stared at her. She released his arm and stammered. "I…." She fell silent, embarrassed to speak her mind and heart. Her feelings and thoughts skipped and tumbled over each other. "You cannot change your nature within a day under oath!" she said lamely.
Elrohir tried to smile, but his hawk-like gaze lingered on the trickle of blood on her neck. His muscles relaxed slowly, his overwhelming presence seemed to lessen. "Indeed we cannot Rin. But we can endeavour to better ourselves."
She nodded at him, attempting in vain to return the small smile. Her voice had not bettered after Elrohir's elbow pushed into her windpipe. "If you try, that is enough."
She felt silly and awkward prohibiting them from making a vow. This was a world where vows seemed the most important thing. They opened doors, made peace, found truth, they were unbreakable and noble.
She cradled her flesh wound, the pain increasing now the rush was over. She was selfish. She had thought of the bloodlust they awakened and nurtured in her. And she cherished their perverse relish of that dark lust that resided in herself. She would mourn it if she lost the safe haven that they symbolized. Their acceptance of her darkness felt like home. She would mourn it, if they changed into righteous beings. For righteousness was non existing in her world. Her trail of thought was followed by a pang of regret. They were no longer hers to cherish.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
Raithon was tasked to hunt while the others set up camp. He preferred the hunt on foot over horseback, finding the hooves too intrusive. He aimed for small fowl, he had seen them scurrying underneath the crude bushes they passed earlier. Walking through the sand, an arrow already nocked to his bowstring, he felt himself still reeling from the sight he just witnessed.
He was no stranger to the lashings of the dark menace that consumed the brethren, but never had he been on the raw receiving end of it. An experience he did not wish to repeat. Still flinching while recollecting the memories, he found himself most dismayed by the cool demeanour of Rin for she was not shocked. If he had to name her reaction towards Elrohir when he pinned her down, he would choose excitement.
In turn, Elrohir's assault that he forced upon Rin, held more meaning. Through it, heavy want had curled, merging with the thick tendrons of rage, a combination Raithon never understood. He knew that for some warriors the boundaries between violence, ecstasy and lust were sometimes hard to discern, but Raithon was not one of those. It had seemed precisely that mechanism he saw at work here. The blood trail following the wake of Elrohir's knife had seemed to ignite more than rage or anger. Desire lingered there, complicating a straightforward thing and he wondered about it.
His thoughts flitted towards Rin then. She was a curious mortal, becoming more than a fleeting presence in his long life. He remembered how he had to get used to her unusual features, the ink-black hair, dark slanted eyes, the toned skin. Nothing like the pale or creamy whiteness of the ellyth he knew. Her features seemed as if carved in ivory with the finest and sharpest knife made by the Eldar.
Not only her looks, but her nature defied all his previous experiences with the Second Born, for she seemed silent and thoughtful, less rash and uncaring for the deeper flow of time around them. But her fëa felt damaged, she nurtured a dark chasm that ran deep. It had turned her nature violence driven, a liability perhaps. And he had almost made up his mind about her then. And then he noticed her incredible sword, such beauty and strength harnessed by the finest metal, its purpose noble and just. The weapon aligned in perfect balance with her fëa, despite the darkness. Made for each other it seemed.
It made him regard her more carefully. He had not much doings with mortals, for they held no regard for the flow of time or for the patience that wrought beauty in all things. Easily bored and distracted, hungering for short term satisfaction, they knew nothing of the slow-burning desires of Elves. And he pitied them for it.
While interrogating Rin on the origins of her weapon, he noticed little differences from what he knew of mortals. She held an inner silence close to her darkness. And in the wake of her impatience seemed the need for tranquility was ever-present. Her regard for the slow pace of tedious repetition that honed skill and quality, made him grow fond of her. And her skills were impressive for one so young. She showed him again and again that she was not fragile nor weak, but strong, lean, and agile. Her strength amazed him. No task Tessarion demanded of her was met with complaint or left unfinished. And he found that he felt no qualms in trusting her.
There was a dark side to her need for tranquility though. Grief hovered thickly around her and soon the word spread amongst their ranks for it was clear that the dark twin Lords had abandoned again, one they loved. Despite the overall disgust at such behaviour, for the first time, sympathy seemed to be felt among their ranks. Bonding with a mortal was unheard of, the eternal love of Beren and Lúthien the fabric of legend and pretty tales for the Hall of Fire. Even for the Half-Elven brethren, it seemed a perilous path straight towards doom.
But Raithon could not help to think that this path seemed to suit the sons of Elrond well.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
That night they cooked over a small fire. Raithon had successfully hunted for small game and the smells that wafted through the cold night air were delicate and made her stomach growl. She had been shivering constantly after her fight with Elrohir, being cold to the bone now that the adrenaline was truly wearing off.
Shivering violently, she was sitting far from the alluring fire, on the edge of a small stream. Aien was cleaning her neck wound, his rough movements betraying his irritation and shock at the twins having hurt her.
"You don't have to take it out on me." She said softly.
Aien stared at her for a moment, his sharp features stern. "Well, I remember you drawing a dagger first. I did not give it to you to be used against my kin."
He was right of course, but she did not feel well enough to admit that, and shame burned on her cheeks. His face softened at her silence, his movements more gentle. "But I must conciliate, your anger was fitting."
She smiled at him. "But you are right though; I did start it."
Aien frowned. "Technically you did not start this, they have started this many centuries ago, long before you existed. You are not to blame here."
Rolling her eyes she said with a fake haughty voice: "I guess, for eternal beings, everything becomes trivial if you wait long enough!"
He grinned at her and she giggled. And a feeling of normality descended upon her.
They ate the stew in silence from the simmering pot sitting close around it, each lifting mouthfuls with a wooden spoon, a strangely intimate ritual. The meat was seasoned with a simple pinch of salt and a herb she did not recognize. Due to the fact she was starving and half in shock, it tasted like a Michelin-star dinner. The flavours were round and layered, the exact right amount of saltiness made her relish the textures. When done, she huddled next to the flames to get warmer. Rin felt the stew radiating a glowing heat that seeped into her stomach and extremities and she smiled at the flames.
Elladan and Elrohir sat across from her, and peering over the fire, she noticed them staring. Gazing back, she felt herself drown in their silver-grey irises. Elladan gave her a small smile, his eyes affectionate. And suddenly he rasped, his voice still marked and broken from torture. "I thank you, Shimizu Rin, for giving me more time with my brother." His eyes emanated vulnerability. And to Raithon and Aien: "Annon allen, mellyn nin*. Without your quick judgement and aid to Rin, we would have perished now."
* I thank you, my friends.
And just like that all emotions, pent up by the adrenalin came crashing out making her cry and laugh simultaneously. Relief settled with finality into her being. All four elven males smiled at the mortal in their midst, who released unhindered all the emotions they felt in like, but were too proud to show. Her display marked some closing settlement. All felt it was time to put their ordeal firmly in the past.
When emotions were contained once more, Raithon's voice reverberated within the firelight. "And what is our next course of action?"
Without hesitation, Rin's words rang clear in the silence. "I will still travel North. The threats of Gorchak do not frighten me."
Raithon stared at her, his warm eyes concerned. "But they should. This enemy is unique, I have never encountered such skill nor vicious intellect. I have engaged with many enemies these past centuries, but nothing like these since the Witch King of Angmar invaded these lands."
"Agreed", Aien endorsed. "It feels similar, like such evil is rising again, giving these orcs more existing weight. What is your impression, My Lords?" He looked at Elrond's sons.
Elladan stared into the fire, his soft voice almost drowned by it's crackling. "I agree. I feel the underlying willpower of something greater in their being. It is what drives their ill intent. It seems especially strong in the wargs."
Rin stared at him. "What are those creatures anyway?"
Elladan stared into the darkness for a moment, as if recollecting his thoughts. "Wargs have been bred from the long line of mountain wolves many ages ago. They are widespread now and live as servants of the enemy but also in the wild. When we were younger, we travelled past the peak of Gundabad, and into the Northern Waste, where we encountered them in as many numbers as exist at the Methedras."
"Methedras?"
But Aien interrupted in surprise. "You travelled towards the Northern Waste?"
"It is our business to know those lands." Elladan stated cryptically. And to Rin, he explained calmly: "Methedras is the most southern tip of the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains in your tongue. It is close to Isengard and their presence in that location has been a growing darkness in our minds. I think you know why we are concerned."
Rin listened with interest. It seemed the brothers did not venture out without purpose, after all, they did show an interest in tracking the enemy beyond the boundaries of their revenge. But why did they hide this from their father? From the Guard?
Elladan continued. "But to answer your question Rin, they are unnatural, more wraith than wolf and they have ill intent. As a beast of burden, and ally of the orcs, they are hard to kill. And one can never be certain of their death, the carcasses have disappeared in the morning without fault. But these wargs….." he fell silent.
She added, "These wargs can talk." And a shiver erupted around her tailbone.
Elladan absorbed her words, apprehension in his eyes. "Aye. They talk. And they recognize us."
Elrohir added with his dark voice. "And they hunt us specifically."
Aien said sharply. "It is not their hunt that makes them dangerous, it is their spying. They have made sure that all the small scattered groups of orcs act like one. Where division ruled, now unity prevails. This is a perilous combination!"
Elladan nodded and continued. "Aye, their intelligence is unnerving. We do not often encounter such advanced reasoning as I saw in that orc, Gorchak." He spat on the ground after speaking his name, his eyes flaring. Then he looked at his brother. "We have to warn father."
Aien could not hide his surprise. Then he questioned. "But surely Lord Elrond knows? His foresight compelled him to send out Lord Glorfindel to safeguard Captain Tessarion!"
Elrohir snorted, his words gruff. "You hold my father in too high esteem. No external persuasion can influence that Balrog Slayer, he commands himself."
Raithon said softly. "You should speak more respectfully of Lord Glorfindel for he has risked much, to aid us."
Aien cut in. "Lord Elrond's foresight was sparking these consequences and I would say in this case, that the end justifies the means. He came to our aid. One death instead of three."
Elrohir said through clenched teeth, "Yet, the death he came to prevent, came to pass nevertheless."
His attempt at riling them up worked, for Raithon stood suddenly, eyes flaring. "At least he tried! He plunged into the battle and all our enemies cowered before him. It was Lord Glorfindel I saw, his power like a beacon, not Lord Elladan nor Lord Elrohir."
Elladan said haughtily, "We were in search of Rin and part of the same battle. What are you accusing us of?"
Raithon laughed, but it did not meet his eyes. Rin stared at him, she had never seen him so emotional. "Yes, looking for your companion, the one you left behind to either die or survive."
Elladan stood as well, his poise aggressive, staring him down, breathing through his nose, nostrils flaring. Rin felt his power leaking out of him, making him dark and menacing as if he absorbed all light around him.
She cut in immediately: "Why are you purposely taking yourself out of the equation here. Remember you too have escaped death, even though you claim you don't care. To me, that is a sign that your father's foresight has been dealt with."
Deflated, Elladan sat down abruptly at her words, staring into the fire once more. "My father saw four deaths and he saw the large orc band with its highly intelligent wargs that gather intelligence. But my father can only see possibilities, a myriad of them, all separated from each other like the faces of a diamond, refracted. He has to interlink them with his knowledge, experience and instinct. He is wise for giving counsel reluctantly, for to interpret so many multiple possibilities is doomed to failure. But reality has overtaken foresight now and our actions have steered what he saw into one distinct direction. If he gets this latest information he will be able to act more precisely. I think it wise to inform him."
Another change in them; arming their father with knowledge to better protect the realm. Rin made another mental note. She looked at them thoughtfully. It must be hard for them to think of their father where they only thought of themselves before.
Elrohir stared at Rin in turn. "And you still want to travel north?"
After careful consideration, she added into the growing, strenuous silence: "Well, to be honest, it is not me Gorchak is hunting, it is you. If anyone should be prevented from going North it is you."
Elrohir's jaw was working, but he kept his mouth shut, showing quite some restraint Rin thought. Then he said through clenched teeth. "You foolish girl. We are not mortal, nor do we fear death and torture. You will be most vulnerable, you overestimate your qualities in battle."
She glared at him. "I was not the one being captured and tortured! And can you quit being angry or insulted all the time? Not everything needs to be a battle. We can just talk and share opinions."
Blinking, he ignored her snide remark altogether, focussing on their capture and torture. "Your rescue was mere chance." But he sounded unconvinced of his own words. "I think you risk too much going North now."
Rin stared back, eyes hard. "You know why I need to." She held her breath while she watched him digest her words. They would be against it, and she steeled herself to fight them, to explain and to point out her freedom to do what she wished.
His eyes were guarded when he assessed her. A quick look at his brother and then he sighed. "It is unavoidable and necessary. We will travel north with you."
"No! I do not need your help!" The words left her mouth before she could think better of it. The idea of travelling with the twins even longer and have this unuttered trauma wedged between them felt like torture. If an escort was inevitable, better it to be Raithon and Aien.
But the brothers kept surprising her today, for Elrohir said roughly. "We know you hardly need an escort Rin. We wish to warn the Northern settlements ourselves for we have many connections there, and we feel …. concern for them."
She blinked at that. It was barely a difference, more of a technicality, and she suspected Elrohir to say this on purpose. And it did work: her discomfort eased somewhat. Silently she felt glad that she had back-up from the most powerful members of their group, she had not forgotten her misstep in the last fight and how Elrohir had yelled her out of her stupor. If it weren't for him...
Raithon stared incredulously at the three of them, then sighed deeply. "Your irrational decision making points out to me that you act on undisclosed information. I will trust you know what to do, but I must confess I feel trapped between two evils now. Accompany you on your venture, or travelling back to our Lord and inform him."
Aien said slowly. "Both need to be addressed, mellon. Let us split our way and pursue both. I will travel back and inform Lord Elrond. I am the better scout and my chances of evading the enemy are slightly better. Only stealth works here. Let us take that chance."
Elladan said. "Then it is settled. Four travel North, one to Imladris. Let us sleep now and regain some strength. Raithon, can you take the first watch?"
Rin held up her hand. "Hold on now. One more thing." All four elves looked at her. Rin stared at them thoughtfully, wondering how to bring this diplomatically. "I don't know how to put this subtly, Raithon, so I will not try. Forgive me if I offend you with my directness." She took a deep breath. "This is in part about revenge for me. I want to kill the orcs that killed Tessarion and I want to make them hurt. If you are squeamish about that, I think you should go with Aien." She glanced at Elladan and Elrohir for a moment and added. "And revenge-wise, I think I have all the help I can get, from those two." She gestured vaguely to the brothers.
Her gaze was hard as stone and Raithon blinked at her words. Aien and Elrohir barked a short laugh at her quip, but Raithon looked serious, weighing his reply. She noticed that she held her breath, somehow his answer mattered to her personally. As if a decline of her indirect invitation to chase feelings of revenge would mean a personal rejection. And he was so kind-hearted, so quiet and calm, surely he would reject taking the path that Tessarion told her to be wrong.
His rich voice resonated calmly. "Revenge it is then. I accept. But heed me, sons of Elrond. I journey with you as Raithon, not as a warrior of the guard and as such I do not take orders from you, no matter your birthright. I will avenge my Captain and uphold my oath to him to keep Rin safe. As should you. Remember Naertho's words; do what you do best."
Turning to Rin he said kindly. "Thank you for speaking plainly, Rin. I would ask you for a promise to favour your own safety above revenge, for I do not wish to break Tessarion's trust even in death."
"Well, I am not a reckless idiot like those two." She did not look at them, and she could hear Aien chuckle. Raithon smiled at her and the case seemed settled suddenly.
After drinking some mouthfuls of water they all turned in, to rest or sleep. Raithon kept first watch. Rin lay staring upwards into the endless depth of the universe. She was too tired to think and could only let memories and emotions wash over her, repeating the day's events over and over again. She felt exhausted, endlessly seeing Elladan's still shape in the water, feeling her sword hit nothing but air, despair and self-doubt washing over her.
Restlessly she twisted and turned until she settled for lying on her side, facing the receding flames. This was torment. She had anticipated this, but in combination with being exhausted and the silent darkness around her, all repeating imagery felt like torture.
Detached, she noticed over the dying fire, Elrohir gazing at her, mimicking her position. His eyes held no emotion she could understand, and the blatant stare felt invasive, but she met it head-on. Slowly she imagined feeling him mentally, causing a warm calmness to reach her, washing over her, lulling her to sleep. Was this his fëa she wondered? Was this their bond reconnecting somehow? Her time with Tessarion had enlightened her on this subject, but to try and feel and discern in practice was far more difficult. But soon all thought ceased when she fell into velvet darkness.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
Elrohir sat staring into the dying embers of the fire, his body and mind on alert. Elladan sat next to him, his fingers behind him, twirling a strand of his hair in his fingers. It was an idle movement, one that told Elrohir that he sought comfort. The soft tugging on his scalp was soothing, the presence of his brother's fëa gave him a deep sense of peace. Mesmerized he stared at Rin's small face, sleeping, her skin glowing from the embers' reflection. He had felt it when his brother captured his lips on that battlefield. When the euphoria of his brother's resurrection surged through him like lightning, he had felt the bond with Rin slam back into place. It was not romantic, but aggressive and decisive, without hesitation nor a possible retreat. Their fate was sealed there at that moment, thrusted into the delicate but strong hands of a mortal girl. She wielded the power to break them or to force them into solitude to fade, and she was ignorant of it.
Elladan was staring at his face from the side, drinking in his features like a drowned man. His eyes were still somewhat haunted by his ordeal, his fëa flickering unstable. Elrohir forced his fëa to penetrate his brother's with force, enveloping him with his own. He felt the dark, smouldering core of his brother, the battle lust and thirst for blood and his own fëa resonating in recognition.
He had almost lost him and he had willingly succumbed to it, to the pain, to death. He had felt at peace there, in the quiet of his mind, even if watching Elladan being tortured felt like being tortured himself. It was an end they had longed for, a violent death, and then to be free of their pain. Their hunt and revenge were ever persisting, but this had felt as good an end as any. And they had foreknown their ending, it lurked on the premises of their consciousness for centuries now. It had been a bittersweet relief to embrace it.
But it was not meant to be. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that he feared what came next. Dying had felt easier than to face her, to face this bond that they were trapped in.
He stared at Rin's silent form again, her willowy figure, her finely chiselled features, her ink-black hair, merging seamlessly with the dark of the night. Her sword mastery had been strong and capable enough to best the greatest orc enemies. His thoughts lingered on the moment he held her against the tree. He could still smell her blood and the warmth of her against his body. He knew he was aroused by her fierce attack on him, by the blood on her skin. And he knew with a sinking feeling in his stomach that it stood in stark contrast with their resolve. They had come to make amends, to beg her for forgiveness, but they had fallen back into their old behaviour. How could they solve this now? How could they make amends while the blood drawn on her was still a dried crust on her throat. How could they make amends when that same blood excited them, making them crave for more?
Elladan whispered in his ear. "How to ask her forgiveness now? I can feel your exasperation as my own."
Elrohir sighed. "Let us do her bidding, let us try." And he felt Elladan's warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. And the smoke of the fire drifted restlessly upwards, clouding the starlight.