Thank you to Anarithilen for beta'ing this.

Also to my dear freddie, Nelyafeanorian, Nako and Kymahalei (It is SO nice to hear from you again, my friend) and an unknown 'guest' who has started reading this and kindly left a review. I always reply to reviews so please do login and say hello. It's always nice to be able to thank readers for saying what they liked.

Chapter 18: A Lucky Meeting.

Merry lengthened his strides so he did not have to trot alongside Legolas as they made their way to the fourth level where Arduin had told Legolas that Ioralas' mother lived. The fourth level was a bustling, lively place for it was market day. They had to stand aside for the trundling carts filled with goods from Pelargir and Lebinnin, even goods that came up the coast from Khand and Far Harad for now that it was safe, the farmers and merchants came back to the city to trade.

The smells of the market mingled richly for there was fresh bread, and vegetables were piled up on the little stalls, although they were carrots, cabbages and turnips rather than soft fruits and salads. Merry stopped to stare at the strange spices from the far lands. A dark-skinned Man stood hopefully as Merry perused the glass jars filled with different coloured powders of amber, ginger and fine white powder and small black dried seeds. There were little sticks that smelled soft and sweet and strange star-shaped seed heads in earthenware bowls. But he shook his head when the Man approached.

'Maybe later,' he said. He heard Legolas laugh softly. 'We should bring Sam here. He'd love it.'

'Maybe tomorrow,' Legolas agreed although Merry could hear his heart was not in it at all. But Merry enjoyed the bustle and vibrancy, the push of people and the rich smells of meat, ripe vegetables, fruit, and people.

A dog scavenged happily in the gutter. Narrow alleyways wound away down through the levels, washing strung above from the iron wrought balconies, blowing in the fresh wind.

Merry was suddenly moved, for only weeks ago, this city had faced devastation, invasion from orcs and goblins and trolls that would have eaten their flesh and killed every living soul in the city.

Then he heard Legolas singing under his breath and felt his spirits lift. Perhaps it was the sun coming out because it seemed to Merry that the people around him softened and smiled too and nodded and murmured greetings to him. But he knew that Legolas' singing could lift the spirits too for many times the Elf had done so on the quest.

'Where does she live?' Merry asked Legolas as they pushed past two women haggling with the butcher over a skinny rabbit that hung amongst the partridges on his stall. It seemed the butcher's stall was still poorly stocked for the farmlands of the Pelennor Fields still lay fallow in the devastation of war and the cattle had been slaughtered or driven off.

'Arduin did not say and I did not think to ask,' said Legolas looking about himself. 'Surely one of these folk will know,' he said confidently. He looked about for a friendly face but Merry saw that many eyes were wide and either looked too awed or slipped away shyly when the elf's clear gaze alit upon them. Legolas was simply too overwhelming for the ordinary folk, Merry realised, his tall elegance and grace, his sculpted and lovely face, was just too intimidating. It would be up to Merry to resolve this.

'Good thing you've got me, Legolas,' he said cheerfully. A stall keeper, standing behind his stall packed with rolls of brightly coloured silks and satins, ribbons and braid, met Merry's eye almost immediately.

'Come along, Legolas,' said Merry. 'I will ask that trader over there.'

But even as he hurried towards the Man, an old woman almost bumped into him and dropped her basket right in front of him. They both bent down at the same time to retrieve the cabbage and turnips that rolled away and Legolas caught her basket agilely before she spilled everything else.

'Oh thank you, sirs,' she said gratefully and then stared, and ducked her head. 'You must be the companions of the King, sirs,' she said quickly and then paused. 'We have all heard of you. And thank you for what you did for our city.' She had sharp blue eyes, Merry noticed, and her gaze darted hither and thither as if she were afraid.

'It is no more than many of your own folk, mistress,' said Legolas gallantly. 'We are looking for someone. I served with a guardsman of the Tower, Ioralas,' he said. A small space had cleared around the three of them, Merry noticed; he assumed it was to do with Legolas for the townsfolk stared at the tall elf with wonder in their faces, but they stared at Merry too and many of them bobbed their heads in greeting, awe turning to smiles.

'Why are you looking for him, my lords?' the woman asked in distress. 'He is my son and been missing for some days.'

Merry shot a look at Legolas but the elf's eyes were trained on the woman. He bowed courteously and said, 'It is you we seek in truth, mistress. I wish to help you find him.'

'So isn't it lucky that we bumped into you!' Merry exclaimed and took her basket. 'Literally.'

'That you did, sir!' the woman smiled. She glanced around quickly as if looking for someone. 'Come, my lords. My home is this way. It is safer to talk there.'

Legolas carried her basket, which hardly had anything in it, Merry noted. Merry walked ahead, with the old woman leaning on his arm heavily. More heavily than he expected in truth. She was bent-backed, her hair bundled beneath a cap. She turned her head to check that Legolas too was following. They had to ease past a cart that stood outside the tavern as two men unloaded the barrels and carried them, grunting, into the tavern. A beery smell washed from the swinging open door of the tavern as they passed and the horse turned its head towards them curiously. Legolas stroked its soft nose as he passed.

The woman turned down another narrower alley, quieter and there was no washing strung across the balconies of this one. It seemed to have been damaged more by the siege for the roofs of some of the houses had caved in and there was still debris in the ally. One house was half demolished and its windows were all missing. A small, skinny cat watched them for a moment and then it meowed hopefully and came towards them, rubbing itself on Legolas' boots. He stopped for a moment as if thinking, then stroked it and followed Merry. The cat watched as they walked through the alley and then sat carefully on the sun-warmed stone, as if waiting.

They followed the old woman through a low stone arch into a small, rundown courtyard. Three houses faced each other with the archway on the fourth side. A couple of women were hanging washing up over low lines of ropes strung from one side of the courtyard to another. They glanced up at the newcomers but dropped their eyes quickly. Merry thought they had the look of the old woman about them and wondered if they were her sisters.

'In here, good sirs,' said Ioralas' mother. 'Forgive the squalor but 'tis all I can afford.'

Inside, the floors were bare stone and Merry noted that there was only a well-scrubbed table and three wooden chairs. Heavy pots stood on an iron range against one wall. It was dark, the windows dirty. 'I have not had time to clear up from the War,' she said faintly apologetic.

Merry pulled out a chair and swiped dust from it, holding the chair for the woman as she gathered her skirts and sat down. Legolas stood, arms crossed over his chest, and leaned beside the door as if he were poised to fly from the place at any moment. Merry noticed he had his bow strung. He did not speak and so it was up to Merry to lead the conversation.

Ioralas' mother quickly confided in Merry; she was called Beirewen, she said, and she had hailed from Ithilien once. She glanced about, ashamed of the humble lodgings. 'We were saving for a farm,' she said. 'We were going to leave and buy a little place somewhere.' She got to her feet and took down an earthenware jar from a high shelf and she opened it. 'See, my lords,' she said and showed them the open jar. Within gleamed coins, brass and silver. A few glints of gold. 'There is enough here for us to buy a small place and some pigs, a couple of cows. Enough to get started.'

Her eyes filled with tears and she dabbed at them with the edge of her apron. 'Ah, my lords. Forgive me. My sweet boy is lost, gone they say and I cannot believe he would go with never so much as a word. He would not have left me behind.' She covered her face in her hands then and her shoulders shook.

Appalled, Merry looked at Legolas but the elf's face was impassive. 'Please, do not distress yourself, Mistress Beirewen,' said Merry awkwardly. 'Legolas has been making enquiries. He will find Ioralas for you.'

'It is good of you my lords,' the woman, Beirewen, sobbed. 'But I do not believe you will find him. I think he is …d…dead.'

Merry could think of nothing to say; he was beginning to believe the same. According to Legolas, there had been no sign of Ioralas and it was many days now since Arduin had told Legolas that Ioralas was missing.

'I think of my poor sweet boy,' she moaned. 'He is lying somewhere in a ditch. Oh, I cannot bear it!'

She moaned again, and rocked herself from side to side.

At last Merry managed to comfort her and she ceased her weeping. 'We will send word, Mistress Beirewen, when we have news.' Merry patted her hand kindly.

'I am going, my lords. I will not be here for I have no money and no means to pay for myself. I must throw myself upon the charity of my sister in Ithilien before I starve.'

Merry glanced at Legolas but the elf made no move and so, faintly surprised and even a little irritated, Merry reached into his pocket and drew out two silver coins. 'Please, take these. I hope we have news for you before you leave.'

Suddenly Legolas spoke, quietly. 'Why do you think he is dead, mistress? Could he not have simply left without you?'

The old woman shot a look at Legolas. 'He would not have just gone and left his poor old mother without word,' she said.

'And he would have told Arduin too, surely?' Legolas asked. He tilted his head slightly as if listening for something that Merry could not hear.

The old woman closed her eyes briefly as if she smelt something unpleasant. 'I do not know….I should not speak of this, lords…I admit, for a while…there was something between them.' She swallowed and glanced at them to ascertain their shock and when she saw nothing, she continued, 'but Ioralas, well he wanted t …to stop. He thought he might settle down, marry, have children. But Arduin would not give up.'

'He pestered your son?' Legolas asked softly and Merry glanced at him; this was not the Man that Legolas had described as they had left their house this morning. 'How strange. I thought they were close.' His voice was low, wondering and Merry frowned. Legolas must have got it wrong- but that was not like Legolas. 'Well, I am sorry for it then,' the elf said and smiled sadly. 'Do you think we should still search for your son?'

She hesitated and then reached for Merry's hand. 'Yes,' she said. 'I would know what happened to him, that he had peace. And I would know who killed him.'

'And where will we find you?' Legolas asked softly. 'How will we reach you if you are going to Ithilien?'

'Leave a message in the tavern we passed. They will find me.

Legolas inclined his head in agreement and there seemed little else to say.

When they left, it was dark for the weather had come in from the sea and heavy clouds bowled over the Pelennor Fields. The washer women had gone, their laundry with them. The street traders seemed to have packed away their stalls and goods for there was silence down the narrow alleyway towards the square and shadows clustered in the corners of the empty street.

Merry strode alongside Legolas thoughtfully. Just before they left the alleyway, Merry turned his head to look back. A yellow light shone from the dirty window of the old woman's house. One candle, thought Merry. It was a moment before Merry realised that there were no other lights in any windows of any of the houses roundabout. These houses, this street, was quite deserted. Briefly a shadow passed between the window and the candle and Merry thought it must be Ioralas' mother moving around her kitchen. And then the light was snuffed out.

'I have to say, Legolas,' Merry said. 'I do not think that you were your usual charming self to Mistress Beirewen. It's a good thing you brought me along.'

Legolas paused for a moment and then looked back the way they had come. 'Do you not think it strange,' he said quietly, 'that we found her so easily? Or should I say, she found us…As if she had been waiting for us?' He turned back towards the market square and its bustle, taking long strides. 'And did you notice how everything was unswept, grit on the floor, dust on the chairs as if no one had sat on them for a long time? And yet the table was scrubbed. The earthenware jar was clean. A window was cracked and you would think her son would have repaired it, even if he disappeared days ago, for that window had been broken a long time.' He paused and then turned back to face the wide-eyed hobbit. 'She wants us to think Ioralas is dead. And she wants us to look for him.'

Merry became aware that Legolas was walking more quickly, taking long strides so that Merry had to trot to keep up. It was unusual for the elf to be so oblivious to the hobbits and Merry reached up to pluck at his sleeve when suddenly Legolas ducked into a narrow alley and pulled Merry quickly after him. He shoved Merry into an empty doorway.

'Hush,' he said and Merry, used to the Wilds and doing whatever Legolas or Aragon said, immediately froze. They remained there for a little while and Merry was just about to sigh and shift and say 'Well then,' when a cloaked and shadowy figure skulked past the alley entrance. It turned its head towards them and Merry shrank back into the shadows. It paused for a moment, raising its head slightly as if sniffing the air, and then, after a moment, passed on.

Merry was frozen where he stood. He felt the hair on his scalp prickle and barely breathed. Only when he felt Legolas' warmth shift beside him did he move himself.

Merry turned his face towards Legolas. 'What was that?' he whispered in horror. 'It reminded me of…' But he did not want to say what it reminded him of. Nor did he need to for Legolas nodded.

'Yes. Me too.' The elf looked upwards. 'Let us return to the Gate by a different route, Merry. I suddenly do not wish to be on these empty and ruined streets so far from our friends.'

'Nor do I,' Merry said.

Like a cat, Legolas leapt up and clambered onto the wall of a garden. He knelt on one knee and reached down to Merry, pulling him up quickly behind him. Balancing carefully, Merry edged along the narrow wall, trying hard not to look down into the courtyard below and Legolas pulled him up onto a narrow balcony first and then up onto a neighbouring roof.

They let themselves down into one small empty garden after another, then climbed into a courtyard. 'The Gates are just through the next square,' said Legolas quietly. 'We have to go through them to get home.' He peered over the courtyard wall, then smiled. 'We are safe here I think.' He cupped his hands and gave Merry a leg-up over the wall and then leapt up beside him, letting Merry down the other side into a square that had a running fountain, water plashing softly beneath a wide, green plane tree.

A man was sitting in a chair smoking a pipe, a dog lying at his feet. He looked up in astonishment as first a hobbit and then an elf climbed over a wall and let themselves down into the square. Merry nodded politely and the man nodded back. He did not move but watched as they brushed themselves off and walked lightly down the street and through a low stone arch that led to the Gate to the Second Level. There were people clustering about the gates and looking up at the sky anxiously, for the sky was dark and stormy.

'I am glad we are almost home, Legolas,' said Merry. 'I suddenly do not want to be out here after dark. And it is crowded enough here, don't you think, Legolas, that one man, if man it was, cannot hurt us.'

'Indeed. Let us not speak of it until we are safe and home, Merry.'

By now, the clouds had gathered heavily and low over the city and the sun had disappeared. Legolas looked up anxiously. 'There is going to be a storm,' he said.

Doors were closing hurriedly, stalls and shops slammed shut. Soon the streets were emptying and Legolas hurried Merry along. 'Come along Merry, let us go as fast as we may,' Legolas said anxiously. He glanced behind him. 'Those clouds have a look of malevolence and cruel deeds are done in darkness.' And it was like the Wild again, with Legolas behind him, looking back and ahead, hand on the knife at his belt and in the other, he carried his bow.

At last the house of the Fellowship was before them and Merry could see a cheerful yellow light bobbing about inside and Sam's voice calling out and Pippin's answer.

'Gimli and Pippin are home,' Merry said with relief as the garden gate clanged shut behind them and Legolas threw open the door.

'Good,' said the elf. 'Right. You tell Gimli what happened, Merry. Tell him I think Ioralas is dead and that someone wants us to find him. Tell him that he and Pippin and you must stay here so I know where you all are.'

Merry turned an astonished face up to Legolas. 'But where are you going?' Merry cried.

'I'm going to find what has been following us, and why.' Legolas' face was determined and fierce.

'At least let me come with you,' Merry protested.

'You cannot follow where I am going,' Legolas said grimly and he clasped Merry's shoulder. 'You will only slow me down I fear, Merry.

'Oh, I don't like the sound of that and I don't think Gimli will either.'

'I know he won't,' Legolas replied. 'Which is why you, Merry, have to keep them all here. And tell Gandalf when you see him what has been happening.'

He gently shoved Merry inside the door and gave the hobbit a tight little smile. Then the elf ran his hands swiftly over his knives and before Merry could say anything else, he had leapt up onto the wall, then the balcony and ran lightly along the roof of the house next to them.

'Legolas! Merry! Is that you?' Frodo called and appeared in the doorway. His face was drawn and anxious and Merry immediately hurried over in concern. 'I am glad to see you, Merry. A storm is coming and the best place to be is indoors by the fire with tea and toast. But where is Legolas?'

'Oh he is probably going to sit outside in some tall dangerous tree singing to the wind,' Gimli's voice rumbled from inside the parlour.

Merry gulped. 'Something like that.'

0o0o

A small campfire flickered between the trees beside the Entwade. Thin birches and alders clustered along the narrow streams that fed into the river. Elladan sat and watched whilst Elrohir slept. The two black horses stood like basalt statues, one hoof resting and heads low for they had ridden long and rested now. Elladan threw a couple of sticks into the fire and listened to the sounds of the night.

Elrohir was still and silent. Sound asleep, thought Elladan. He sighed. So much had happened since last they travelled this way along the Entwash; then it had been to find Aragorn and Halbarad rode with them.

Halbarad. Cold and dead. Like so many others he had known. With no awakening in Námo's halls. The fate of Men awaited Aragorn and his heart grieved that every day brought that closer.

And now Arwen too was to make her Choice to take the Fate of Men and so walk with Aragorn in whatever land Death took Men's souls.

And he, Elladan? What was his choice?

Always he had taken the Paths of the Eldar, lived as an elf and never thought more about it. But now his heart, he thought, was taken by the gracious Prince Imrahil… Is it? He wondered. Do I truly love him as Arwen loves Aragorn? As Elrohir loves Legolas?

No. That was not in Elladan's nature. He did not love like Elrohir, blazing with passion and desire and let none stand in his way, even Sauron. Elladan was quieter but it was no less deep. He wondered if what he felt for Imrahil was love, or merely desire, enjoyment. Infatuation?

Would Elrohir be alone on the last ship?

As if the mere thought had stirred him, Elrohir shifted and moved in his sleep. A quiet cry brought Elladan to his side and he pressed his hand over Elrohir's eyes, letting his own calm blue peace sink through his hand and into his brother's soul…

Peace, brother. Nothing is set. All is well.

Elrohir was not dreaming, he realised, but wrapped deeply in the coils of darkness and memory.

'Elrohir?' he said, feeling the tension in his brother's shoulders, recognising the bunched muscles of a swordsman. 'Awaken!' he cried and shook his brother, but the tendrils of memory escaped Elrohir's dreams and caught in Elladan's thoughts; he saw how Elrohir was remembering the Battle of the Morannon- how he had struggled finally against the Nazgûl who sought his soul to lead now that Angmar had been vanquished.

0o0o

Elrohir struggled in memory but it sucked him back as if he had never escaped the inexorable pull of the Dark, as if the Nazgûl still rode the air somehow and hunted him, sought him still…

The wind buffeted and blasted him so his long black hair streamed behind him. He was back upon the Morannon, before the Black Gate.

Ash nazg…

He felt the Nazgul reach for him, wrapping their cold voices around him and he could no longer see Elladan, Legolas or Aragorn.

Already he felt a shift in the bodies piled behind and around him, the squelch of heavy iron shod feet stamping down on a Man behind him. Elrohir hurled himself round to face a huge Uruk.

The Uruk brought its scimitar down and drove it hard against Elrohir's blade, whipped it back swiftly and struck at his face. And then Aícanaro was struck away

No!

He threw himself after it, fingers grasped at the dark metal as it slid away. Desperately he scrabbled at nothing and suddenly his fingers bashed against a wooden edge, brought up a wooden buckler, thrust it in the Uruk's grinning face, and as the Uruk lurched backwards, he staggered to his feet. But its heavy jagged blade locked and smashed against the wood, shattering it. He felt his arm give and the wood spilt. He seized one half in both hands and blocked and blocked but each time the Uruk drove deeper, thrust harder, its lips drew back in a snarling grin and its little yellow eyes glinted. A red tongue flicked out and licked its fangs and it raised the scimitar high over its head and drove down, hard, hard enough for the wood to splinter, hard enough to drive the blade into Elrohir's shoulder, hard enough to drive him back down to his knees and he dropped the shield, leaning over, hands gripping the ground as he fought the dizzying whirl of the ground.

He wished he had not wasted all his long life in hatred and fear and self-loathing. He wished he could say he was sorry to Elladan. And to Legolas. Breathing hard, he waited for the world to stop spinning and he could feel, hear the Uruk's heavy tread approach.

And suddenly it stopped. The Orcs around him suddenly rippled and seemed nervous, fell back...A way opened before him and he raised his dizzy head. A thin black shroud fluttered slightly and then he saw a mailed fist raised, a heavy broadsword clasped before it.

Rávëyon.

He swallowed. Gripped the wet soil, the earth. The Nazgul seemed taller, darker, like it absorbed any light or warmth. Its cold shadow fell over him and his blood went cold. But he was Rávëyon, Elrohir Elrondion and he would be cowed by no rattling of old bones. So he told himself.

Lord.

Rávëyon.

Elrohir lifted his own grey eyes wearily upwards. It seemed to Elrohir then the dust had whipped up into the shapes of huge leathery winged beasts that dropped out of the sky and landed with heavy thuds. Darkness gathered where they landed. One threw its flat reptilian head up and gave a dreadful hissing shriek and snapped at the arrows that flew towards it and peppered its thick impenetrable hide. One unfurled its great wings and from its shadow there emerged a tall figure. In its mailed fist was a huge broadsword the equal perhaps of Aícanaro. The air was full of terrible cries that chilled his blood. The Nazgûl emerged from the red clouds and fog.

Ash nazg durbatulûk,

The battle receded. He heard distantly his name called and thought someone might be shouting to him...And then all else faded and there was only him and the darkness…

Ash nazg gimbatul

They converged upon him. No longer separate entities but one. The Brethren. Unassailable they strode through the trolls and orcs and men. Great swords they held before them, gleaming. Empty hoods dark. A dark chant of deep voices, felt in the blood and bone, not heard. Resonance and power surged through the air, crept around him and he knew this was the end...

Ash nazg thrakatulûk

Words of summoning conjured from the blood-soaked air. Black threads scattered on Elrohir's skin, caught like spider webs, twined around him where he knelt weaponless, helpless.

... agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.

The words seemed to swirl and become darkness. Solidify. Black shrouds halted in a circle around him. Stood silent. Still. Waiting. And he could see beyond the veils now, could see their dim forms, the skeletons they were, the grinning empty eyes that burned, the hunger that devoured them. They were filled with a dreadful, gnawing hunger that they could not satisfy. Their lust and desire could not be assuaged. They were starving...

Rávêyon. Lord... of the Brethren.

Slowly, they advanced and they did not hesitate or slow their advance. It seemed ponderous but it was swift nonetheless and there were seven blades all poised before him.

A tear down his arm and warmth oozed from the cut. Another on his chest and a sword that came suddenly from his left only to be cut on his right cheek. Another piercing cut on his shoulder, his arm, his hand, a blade sliced down thigh. He remembered, distantly that he had seen this before…

Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul

The words drew together in darkness and a red rim of fire burned the edge of the dark. It grew, fed off the dark. A ring of Fire...that burned and heated his skin.

The world tilted sideways and all was red with blood. Pain flooded him. Like he had never known and darkness fell over him. Head bowed. He was aware, but could not comprehend, that his tunic was soaking wet. He felt the throb and pulse of his blood; he had never felt it as strongly as he did now...it seemed to pulse strongly, to beat loudly but more slowly...yes, perhaps that was it. It was louder, but weaker...Aícanaro was not in his hand.

Ash nazg gimbatul.

It seemed the words trembled in the air, a dreadful summoning, an incantation that would bring the Eye to the midst of the battle, as it had on the mountainside and he trembled for his mortal blood. Fire licked across his skin, across the darkness, white fire. Lightning split the darkness, thunderbolts struck the earth and the world seemed plunged in darkness, the lightning struck the hilltops, struck great craters in the earth, and like Orthanc fire it killed Orcs and Men.

The fire grew more intense and the Ring grew brighter and then it opened. The Eye. Opened upon him... the Eye opened upon him and he felt his blood heat, burn, scald, boil and he gasped at the horror of it.

Rávëyon...At last.

He felt the cold iron upon his finger. A crown forced upon his head. It closed around his brow, bearing down upon him. Closed in on him so he cried aloud and struggled to take it off.

Rávëyon.

Long, pleasurable. Each syllable lingered over like a lover, with pleasure. The cold seemed to burn on his skin like it had been branded...and it felt...right...

There was cold, cold pain and darkness and he thought the earth shuddered in horror but it might have been his own flesh as he was pierced. Somewhere he heard someone shouting, and he remembered a beloved voice telling him he would search everywhere...but his yôzâira could not follow this time.

He awoke with a start, trembling and sweat on his forehead, his upper lip and between his shoulder blades. Elladan's anxious face leaned over him.

'You dreamed,' Elladan said and Elrohir sat up.

'No. A memory that is all,' said Elrohir quickly, to soothe his brother's fears. 'Not a dream. The Morannon.'

Elladan nodded and sat back on his heels. He pushed his long hair back and licked his lips. His face too was pale, as if he had lived through the memory with Elrohir. 'That will haunt you for some time to come I think.'

Elrohir struggled upright and threw back the blanket that had become wrapped tight around him. He did not answer, ashamed of what he had done, and what he had not done.

'They are gone forever,' Elladan said softly. 'They cannot reach you where they have gone. The Nazgûl were sucked into the Eternal Dark with their Master when the One Ring was destroyed, were they not?' Elladan asked reasonably and Elrohir nodded acquiescence.

'I know. And all their rings are vanquished too, I know. But still …I feel their presence.' He shuddered. 'Like a vice in my heart.'

Elladan grasped his shoulder and turned his grey eyes to his brother's face then. 'No, brother. It cannot be. We saw them fall. We saw the Tower crumble and the land open up to swallow them. How could they have survived Sauron's fall?

Elrohir closed his eyes, his fingers touched the black metal of Aícanaro. 'If now they are loosed, not even Sauron's hand restrains them,' he said

'They are not,' said Elladan assertively. He shook Elrohir slightly by the shoulder. 'You are…confused. It is but memories and you are still perhaps a little sick?' For the Black Web had left its sticky tendrils in his blood and lingered still. 'When we reach the Golden Wood, we must ask Grandmother and Father to heal you. Do not fight me in this!' he protested before Elrohir could speak. 'You will do this to humour me and to please me. Eru knows, Elrohir, you owe me that at least.'

0o0o