Diplomacy and Devotion

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It had been over four decades, a third of a yen, since Arwen had last traveled to the Golden Wood. Then, she had visited the realm of King Amroth with her grandmother and had danced between the silver stems and atop the golden leaves strewn on the forest floor. It had been breathtaking.

Now with Galadriel and Celeborn returned to Rivendell and the remnants of Arnor falling ever deeper into strife, the visit to Lorien would be a more somber affair. But that had not stopped Arwen from volunteering to go as an envoy of Imladris. If anyone could combine diplomacy and appreciation of the Golden Wood it would be her.

Though her escort was likely to make that difficult. Either out of honest concern, or Eru-forbid to serve as her chaperones, or maybe just to spite her, her brothers had volunteered to accompany her. And much to her chagrin their father had agreed.

She loved her brothers dearly, but a four week journey through the wilderness together with such overprotective guardians was likely to strain that relationship. Truthfully it already had - and merely four days out of Rivendell.

They were still traveling south next to the Bruinen, east of the Angle, the southernmost part of Rhudaur. Truly, they were barely out of the protected borders of Rivendell - Only Elladan did not see it that way.

He had ordered her to stay in camp. With the horses. Well, and with Elrohir - but that was likely because even in camp she could not be trusted to be by herself. She sat down with a huff, glowering at nothing in particular, rolling her eyes at her eldest brother's retreating back as Elladan left to hunt their supper. But she held her tongue. She would not stoop so low as to complain about her brothers' mothering aloud.

And yet, despite her silence, Elrohir seemed to know her thoughts. "You will get used to it," he said, while adding some of the vegetables they had brought into the stew he was preparing. Once Elladan returned with something more nourishing they would not have to wait long for a veritable feast.

Arwen turned, one eyebrow raised and Elrohir obligingly explained himself. "Elladan's overbearing tendencies - you get used to them eventually. If you are lucky he will not even get a chance to lecture you on your perceived failure to stay safe. Though," he added after a brief pause, looking up at her, "do try to stay safe. We worry."

"I noticed." But the wry tone of her reply seemed only to amuse her brother.

Arwen fought the urge to roll her eyes again. Could she really fault her brothers for wanting to keep her safe? True, she had been trained with weapons, but she had never ridden on patrols, did not participate in border duty, had never seen actual combat. Perhaps she should defer to Elladan's experience and suffer through his mothering with the same grace that Elrohir had clearly learned.

She resolved to try just as Elladan returned with meat for their supper and the evening in camp felt more companionable as they prepared and ate their stew.

She was just refilling Elladan's bowl when a sudden noise made her hesitate. Her brothers had heard it, too, judging by the way Elladan tensed and Elrohir put his own bowl of stew down. "Hoofbeats," she said. Her brothers nodded.

The sounds kept coming closer, and Elladan placed his own bowl down, rising in one fluent motion when it became clear that they were about to have company. Arwen and Elrohir rose as well and stepped up beside him just as a group of armed men rode into view. Seven, all told, in dark clothes that had seen better days, though they might have once been of fine quality.

The rider in the middle was clearly their leader, his coat a heavy brocade, embroidered with dark red on a sea of black. The colours of Rhudaur.

"Greetings, travelers," the man intoned from atop his horse, his voice dripping with arrogance. He gave a sign to his escort and the men dismounted, their swords clanging against their hips as they dropped heavily onto the forest floor. Arwen forced herself not to take a step back, noticing how both her brothers inconspicuously rested their hands on their swords. A sour taste in her mouth told her just how quickly the situation could deteriorate.

But she had been the one sent by their father and grandmother on a diplomatic mission, and diplomacy was what was called for now. She might not have Elladan's experience in the arts of the wild, her brothers' experience in fighting enemies, but she knew how to disarm simple men. Before she could think better of it, and more importantly, before either of her brothers could stop her, she stepped forward.

"Greetings, my lord," she said, giving a small curtsy; Ignoring the way Elladan's eyes burned holes into her back. Luckily, unlike her eldest brother, the leader of the group of men was charmed. He smiled at her, showing wide, yellowed teeth.

"Greetings, fair lady. What brings you to my realm?" His voice was smooth as he addressed her, his eyes eagerly roaming over her. A gleam of something inappropriate, something dark flashing briefly in his eyes. Arwen swallowed, but she would not be cowed. It seemed the man considered himself a lord of Rhudaur - and perhaps he was. She had lost track of who held power in the splinterstate of Arnor; Squabbles about the throne had been a constant headache for Erestor since the line of the Dunedain had failed.

"We-"

"I and my siblings are traveling south to the elven realm of Lorien," Elladan interrupted her, stepping forward. "I am Elladan of Rivendell. And Rhudaur, you are sure to know, lies on the other side of the river." He gestured at the rushing waters bordering their camp, his tone carefully neutral, neither inviting hostility nor familiarity. But his point was clear, and the man bristled.

Arwen, irked by his interruption, pushed past Elladan and addressed the lord of Rhudaur again. Making a last attempt at a friendly resolution. "We have plenty of stew. Perhaps you and your men would like to join us, and warm up at our fire."

"Arwen-" But she ignored Elladan and took another step towards the self-proclaimed lord, beseeching.

The man grinned, his yellow teeth flashing. "An invitation from you is most welcome indeed." He swung off his horse easily and then, without warning, lunged for her, trying to catch her around the waist.

"Get here, wench!"

Arwen evaded his grasp with ease, dancing backwards, outraged at his brazenness. But before she could retort, Elladan was already in front of her, his sword drawn and pointed at the man's throat. Elrohir, his own sword unsheathed as well, had taken up position beside her.

This time she did roll her eyes.

"You would dare raise your sword to the Prince of Rhudaur!?" the man demanded.

"I would have cut off your hand already, if you had laid it on my sister."

That gave the man pause. Elladan's voice was cold, unforgiving steel, and it rang with promise. Arwen did not doubt that he would see his threat through if pushed. But at what cost? There were only three of them, against an entire escort of Rhudaurians. The soldiers had already spread out, bows ready, forming a rough half circle around them, backing them up against the edges of the river.

As if in answer to her doubts, the prince gave a small nod of his head and his men raised their bows, arrows nocked and trained on her brothers. Arwen swallowed thickly. They could move faster than the men from Rhudaur, but there were a lot of arrows pointed at them. And the river at their back limited their options of escape.

A step forward brought her to Elrohir's side and she took the younger twin's knife from his belt before stepping back again; Feeling better with the cold metal clasped in her hand.

"Call back your men and leave," Elladan said. "This does not need to end in bloodshed." His voice was enviably calm and the tip of his sword never wavered, still pointing at the prince's throat.

"You should not have crossed me, elf!" The man hissed, unimpressed. And as one his men released their arrows. Elladan jumped back, evading the volley but Elrohir, sweet, foolish Elrohir, Arwen realized, would not move out of the arrows' path if there was a chance they would hit her instead. He took two steps back, bringing him right up against her side, close enough that she could feel the impact of the arrow that slammed into his chest and hear the grunt of pain that forced its way out from behind his clenched teeth.

"Elrohir!"

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tbc…

A/N: And here we thought Elrohir had it rough, having a self-elected overprotective guardian - Arwen has two. Poor woman. As always, I would love to hear what you thought about this chapter - Happy 5th of December (Whumptember?)