Beta: Anarithilien

Thanks to reviewers, Freddie, Lotrfn, Raider-K, earthdragon (Thank you- I hope too that this chapter starts to answer your query re the Nazgul and devouring feäs – this is what happened to Rhawion in Glass) Nako, Annika. Thank you all of you- worth posting here just for youJ

Chapter 29: Blood

When the Hobbits had gone, Aragorn sat for a while. Then he called Aradhel to fetch the Steward for he could not ignore what Bearos had said, or the Hobbits' anxiety.

Puzzled by Legolas' seeming inexplicable disappearance, he pushed himself to his feet and went to stand at the window. In the garden the white roses were beginning to bloom and there were white flowers curling about the stems and scrambling through the carefully topiaried hedges. Right in the middle of the immaculate borders, a dandelion had taken hold, its fierce little roots digging deep and its bright yellow flower already spreading in the sun. Legolas would love that, Aragorn thought miserably. He bowed his head; he had been too busy to even notice his friend's absence, he berated himself. What if he were lying hurt somewhere? Or worse…

Could he have been wrong about Faramir? Could the Steward somehow be involved in all of this? There had been those 'Pilgrims' to Denethor's and Boromir's tombs. And he had been in the stable offices with Thadion when Legolas was last seen. It had been his dagger that was thrown at Legolas when he pursued the Ghoul…the Ghoul that no one else had seen, a doubting little voice niggled in the back of his mind. Faramir's name kept coming up…and after all, he was Boromir's brother, Denethor's son…

Pressing his lips together, Aragorn turned and poured two goblets of thin wine, one for Faramir. The other he took himself and settled at the carved mahogany desk. It was cheap wine, for Aragorn had taken Elladan's advice and modelled austerity so one could accuse him of taxing the rich and spending it on his own table.

Aradhel bustled back in with a quick bow. 'The Lord Faramir is here, your majesty.' He took a quick look at the piles of letters and petitions and unopened scrolls heaped up on the desk awaiting Aragorn's attention. Understanding that these urgent matters would have to be dealt with by someone other than the King, the fat little secretary scooped up the piles of scrolls and hurried away through the double doors that led to his own office and antechambers, barking orders at the clerks and scattering his underlings.

A moment later, Faramir entered through the same doors in haste, slightly out of breath, and sketched a bow. 'You summoned me urgently, my lord.'

Aragorn looked away uncomfortably and fiddled with a quill that Aradhel had left behind. Faramir watched Aragorn with a puzzled expression, his eyes wide and curious. He stood a little way from the desk and it was only after a moment that Aragorn realised he waited for permission to sit.

Gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk, he asked evasively, 'How did the meeting go with Herion's widow?'

'Have you met the Lady Gwithindel?' Faramir smiled slightly. 'She was an old friend of my mother's. As Herion was cantankerous and gruff, so is she, but they did love each other -a well matched couple. She doted on me and was always kind. She is grateful to you in her way.' He looked a little abashed and Aragorn guessed that the widow believed that Faramir had persuaded Aragorn to abandon his plans to convert the great houses of the wealthy old families into an extended House of Healing. 'Indeed she has pledged herself to raising funds to help build Houses of Healing in the lower levels as we discussed,' Faramir continued and his face was pleased. As he had a right to be, Aragorn acknowledged for the amendment had been Faramir's idea. And Bearos' of course.

'That is good work,' Aragorn said generously. 'A House of Healing on each level of the city is a much better idea.' He smiled again at Faramir and the young Man blushed with pleasure. He had received little praise, remembered Aragorn, for his father had preferred Boromir over and over.

Aragorn sipped his wine, trying not to mind the slightly acidic taste. But he could not put off this conversation forever and so he put his goblet down and cut to the chase. 'I am concerned about Legolas,' he said, glancing at Faramir to watch for any flicker of interest or some telltale sign. But Faramir merely frowned and listened. 'He has not been seen for five days now and I believe he did not go to Pelargir as was thought.'

Faramir sat up. 'Five days with not a word? But if he has not gone to Pelargir, where is he?''

Aragorn shifted and shot him a quick look. 'Exactly. He has simply disappeared. And no one has heard or seen anything.'

'Perhaps he has just taken himself off somewhere? Into the mountains or forests?' Faramir suggested. 'I know little of Elves, my lord, but is Legolas not of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood? There are very few trees in the city. Perhaps he preferred some time in the forests?'

Aragorn shook his head in response to Faramir's question. 'No. He would not do that without sending word to the Hobbits, or to me. He would not let Frodo worry. There had been a message from Gimli summoning him to Pelargir. But we know for certain that he never left Minas Tirith.'

'Well I have heard nothing, my lord. But I will let you know if I did.' Faramir paused, resting his hands on the arms of the chair as if waiting to be dismissed. 'Is there anything else, my lord?'

Aragorn fidgeted uncomfortably and tapped the goblet.'You were in the Royal Mews when he went missing.'

'Some days ago, I was in the Mews with Thadion. He told me that Legolas was there too.' Faramir thought for a moment and then said, puzzled, 'But I did not see Legolas… Is that when you believe he went missing?'

'Yes. That was the last time anyone saw him.' Aragorn gripped the arms of his carved wooden chair now and he watched Faramir carefully. 'Are you certain you did not see him there?'

Faramir shook his head. 'No. I saw no one but the ostler. Bearos was with me for a while.' Aragorn could hear the slight anxiety now in Faramir's voice.

'Did you return by the courtyard gate or the main gate?'

Faramir frowned. 'I cannot remember…the front gate I think, my lord.' He looked at Aragorn. 'Why do you think that I saw him?'

'You were seen in the courtyard between the Palace gardens and the stables, just after you left Thadion.'

Faramir's gaze suddenly darted from one side of the room to the other as he thought about what was being said, considered the implication. 'I do not recall being there. But if I was, is there some wrong in that? Am I being accused of something, my lord?' Faramir asked nervously.

Aragorn sighed and looked away. Restlessly he stood and went over to the window, looking out. The dandelion had already gone, swiftly dug up by one of the gardeners and he felt defeated somehow at its demise.

Behind him, Faramir licked his lips. 'My lord, what have I done to give you reason to doubt me?' He regarded Aragorn apprehensively.

'I do not wish to doubt you,' Aragorn said at last for it was true. More than anything, he wanted rid of this niggling doubt concerning Faramir, wanted his Steward to explain it all away. 'But you were seen…' He turned back towards Faramir and stood looking down at him. The young Man's face lifted towards him, his eyes wide, not with fear…but with anticipation? Expectation?

Suddenly Aragorn paused; Faramir expected to be accused, attacked; he watched Aragorn carefully, like he would a dangerous predator and Aragorn knew this was how he had watched his father. Perhaps even sitting here at this very desk for it had been Denethor's.

Aragorn ran a hand through his hair and as he brought his hand back down to his side, his fingers brushed the Evenstar. Suddenly it was like a veil had been drawn back and he saw himself clearly. Like a tyrant, he was staring down at Faramir, who did not quail or shrink back from him but held himself in readiness, like he expected a blow.

Aragorn sat down abruptly. He did not want to be a tyrant. He spread his hands over the desk and stared down at them. Then he tried again, his voice calm and reasonable. 'I know there was no one else around at that time but you, Bearos and Thadion. Most of the stable boys were taking the horses to the Lebinnin and there were only a few of them left around the yard. All of those were still in the city were on errands for Thadion. He is very clear about that. He says that Legolas arrived just before you but had disappeared by the time he returned to Legolas. That is a space of less than fifteen minutes. There was no one else around but you.'

'And Bearos,' Faramir said. 'But I am sure that he has nothing to do with it either.'

Rubbing one hand tiredly over his beard, Aragorn shook his head. 'No.' But a bit of him wondered why he was so certain of Bearos and not of Faramir.

A silence stretched between them and Aragorn glanced at Faramir. He still held himself as if ready for a blow but not ducking it, meeting it. His eyes were clear and steady but there was a deep hurt, and disappointment. 'My lord,' Faramir spoke, not haughtily or proudly, but honestly. 'I have no reason to harm Legolas. Why would I want him gone? I am not his enemy.' He paused and then said more slowly, 'And I am your loyal servant, my lord.'

Aragorn nodded slowly.

He heard Faramir's chair scrape but he did not turn. 'If that is all, my lord, I will leave you to your work.' His voice was strained, hurt.

Aragorn heard him leave and almost called him back for there was so much to do and he had wanted Faramir's views on the replacement to the Council. But he did not feel he could ask now. Something was lost between them, on both sides now; trust. Aragorn sighed deeply; he did not think they would ever get that back now.

When Faramir had gone, Bearos was waiting.

Aragorn looked up from the map he had unrolled of the city. He thought the Man looked strangely elated, almost bursting with vigour. For a man with a newborn baby, he seemed not in the least tired. Aragorn mentally berated himself for he had not asked how the baby was for some time.

'My lord, 'Bearos bowed and waited to be invited closer. For one so humbly born, Aragorn thought, he had such courtliness and manners. But as Bearos drew closer, Aragorn noticed his long his fingers were, and how sharp his nails. Almost bestial, he thought slowly, curiously. And then the light caught on the Ring that Bearos wore and the red gemstone glowed warmly, seemed to wrap itself around Aragorn's thoughts, soothing him, lulling him so he barely spoke as Bearos suggested that Beregond conduct a search of the courtyard where Legolas had presumably disappeared, or gone over the wall towards the Hallows. Bearos was upset to be suggesting this, Aragorn thought. He was loyal to Faramir, spoke up for him, was always trying to support him. But his first loyalty is to me, Aragorn thought drowsily. He found himself sitting slumped in his chair and Bearos kneeling beside him, face close and whispering.

Aragorn found it difficult to hang onto the exact words, to focus. But at Bearos' suggestion, he summoned Aradhel, his closest aide and told him to bring Beregond to him. He puzzled at Aradhel's slight look of dislike at Bearos but shook it off; Aradhel is jealous that Bearos had my regard, he thought sluggishly. Although it had never struck him before and the thought seemed to come from somewhere outside him.

When Beregond appeared, Aragorn felt as if his face were not his, that his mouth moved of its own volition but he ordered a careful search be made of the area beneath the Rath Dínen, along the walls that separated the Hallows from the city. He wanted any trace to be brought to him personally. 'And I want this done in secret, Beregond,' he said. 'Choose your most trusted men and oversee it yourself please.'

When Beregond departed, the King and Bearos sat down together to work on the new Council, who should have a seat on it and who should not for there was much power to be had with a seat on the King's Council. The day seemed to slip through Aragorn's fingers.

0o0o

Frodo was sitting in the garden under the apple tree smoking his pipe. Sam was pottering about the kitchen and Pippin came out into the sunshine to join Frodo. He sat on the bench and put his feet up on a fallen log. The sun was shining and warm. Above, the lime trees were coming into leaf and a thrush sang mightily in the garden.

'It's a pity Aragorn doesn't have time to join us. He is missing the Spring,' Frodo said and turned his head to smile at Pippin. 'There was a time when I had forgotten…'

Pippin made a little sound of distress and caught Frodo's hand in his. 'It's all right, Frodo. You're back now. With us, with your friends.'

'I know, Pip. I know. Try not to worry.' He tugged Pippin's hand and summoned a grin. 'It's Legolas we should be worried about. He has been gone for five days and no one has seen him.' He gazed into his mug. 'I am beginning to be very frightened for him.'

'Me too,' Pippin admitted. He had not slept at all last night for worry, imagining Legolas alone and caught by some dark creature, or lying hurt and unable to get to safety. 'But at least Aragorn is onto it now as well. He'll find him.'

At that moment, Merry came out, carrying a tray with mugs of tea and some of the homemade biscuits that Pippin had grown to like when he was serving Denethor. The Palace cook made them a supply fresh every day.

'I cannot believe that Faramir is anything at all to do with Legolas' disappearance!' Merry said indignantly as soon as he was close enough. 'I know he would never do anything like that.'

Pippin tried not to catch Frodo's eye for Merry had been protesting it since they had returned from seeing Aragorn. But none of them disagreed. None of them wanted to believe that Faramir had anything to do with it.

Merry thrust a mug into Pippin's hand and turned to Frodo.'You don't believe that Bearos' story about Faramir, do you, Frodo?'

Frodo paused and looked at Merry. 'In Ithilien, Faramir let Sam and I go once he saw what the Ring was like. He is a good Man I think.' He drew a breath and Pippin patted his arm in concern. 'And I don't like Bearos. He doesn't feel right to me and I know what you mean, Pip, about him reminding one of the Nazgûl.' He spoke more strongly as if he did not still carry that dreadful wound inflicted by the Witch-king when the Hobbits were attacked by the Ringwraiths upon Amon Sûl. But there was still a tremor in his hand. 'But we do not know what else is going on here and Aragorn is newly come to his crown. There were factions before and that isn't going to just vanish with the King's return.' He sighed. 'We heard about those people wanting to see Denethor's tomb, and Boromir's. And even when Aragorn held the funeral and spoke so well of Boromir, as his friend and comrade, there were those who did not want to hear. None of this is easy. Aragorn turning up with Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits and a Wizard is not really speaking to his new kingdom of Men. Boromir died in his company…There will be those discontent with our story, those who are loyal to the Steward, and therefore to Faramir.' He blew a thin stream of grey smoke into the air where it curled above him for a moment. 'Perhaps this is a plot to drive a wedge between Aragorn and Faramir.'

'But Faramir has no part in this!' cried Merry stoutly. Pippin looked at Merry anxiously; he was never angry with Frodo but all this with Legolas missing and accusations about Faramir was testing all of them.

'No,' Frodo said softly. 'I am sure he has not…but Legolas is our friend. And he is not here. He is in danger and I only want to find him. He saved us so many times. We owe him this one.'

'I know!' shouted Merry angrily.

There was a tense silence and everyone looked at Merry and then away. Sam had been walking down the path towards them stopped suddenly, looked uncertainly at Frodo before approaching more slowly.

Merry hung his head. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I just can't…I am so worried about Legolas but I just can't believe Faramir is to blame.'

Frodo looked compassionately at his cousin and Sam patted his shoulder kindly. Pippin's heart clenched; he hated seeing everyone upset and at odds, but more, he hated the thought that Legolas might be hurt or in danger.

'I know,' said Pippin suddenly resourceful. 'We need to find that boy, Tuillin. It's beginning to look like a dead-end with who met whom in the stables. That could all be a misunderstanding and coincidence. Faramir was in the stables -so what?' Pippin shrugged. 'But the message from Gimli was definitely in his handwriting. That is our clue!' he said triumphantly and the hobbits looked up hopefully. 'I'll ask Beregond to find out what he can about the message from Gimli. That boy, Tuillin, was given it by someone to give to Legolas. We just need to find out who.'

'And I will go and warn Faramir that Bearos is trying to implicate him in Legolas' disappearance,' Merry said stoutly.

'I don't think you should, Merry,' Frodo said softly. He looked at his cousin sympathetically but before Merry could exclaim in outrage, he said, 'I know you are loyal to Faramir and I agree; in Ithilien, he acted well when he let Sam and I go - I do not think he is Boromir, or his father. But Legolas has disappeared and whatever we think of Faramir, he was in the mews at the time Legolas disappeared. It was his knife that was thrown at Legolas by the Ghoul.' He held up his hand to forestall Merry further. 'I know. It could be someone else trying to make it seem that Faramir is behind all this and it is all an elaborate hoax. 'But that puzzles me too. It's almost too elaborate.'

'Why would he do anything to hurt Legolas?' demanded Merry. 'What motive could Faramir possibly have?'

Frodo sighed and shrugged. 'I do not want to believe it either, Merry. But we cannot ignore what has happened either. And it may yet be a trap to implicate Faramir. We need to keep our minds open to all possibilities.'

Merry sank back against the garden bench, arms crossed and scowling. 'Very well. But I think we should be looking more carefully at what that Bearos is telling us. He could have simply said to Faramir that Thadion wanted to see him and not the other way around. If you ask me, that Bearos is in it up to his neck.'

'I do not disagree,' Frodo said pacifically. He spread his hands. 'I hope as much as you, that Faramir is clean of any of this. But I beg you to put Legolas first in this.'

'Of course!' Merry cried and leaned forwards then. 'Of course. I did not mean anything else. Just that if we are going to find Legolas, we do need to be asking the right person. And it's not Faramir!'

'I agree,' exclaimed Pippin. 'I think it's that Bearos too.' He really hadn't liked the way Bearos looked at Aragorn; there was a sort of gleeful mischief in his eyes and he looked so weird, elongated and stretched. His hands too long and his face seemed too pale.

'Pippin and I will go and find Beregond as Pip suggested,' Frodo decided. 'Merry, you and Sam go and see if you can find out anything about that old woman who pretended to be Ioralas' mother. She must know who paid her to do that, why whoever it was wanted Legolas to go to that house. There must have been a human who paid her. And that person must know something!'

'I wonder if Legolas saw something that distracted him, you know,' said Sam quietly. He had not said anything until now. 'It's not like him to just go off without telling any of us. He knows it would worry you, Frodo.' The other Hobbits were silent, thinking. 'And I've been sitting here wondering who, or what, could have overwhelmed him or lured him away so that he hasn't come back to us. And that Ghoul is all I can think about.'

Pippin put a hand over his mouth; it wasn't that he hadn't thought it. He just could not bear to speak it.

'I am afraid Sam is right,' Frodo said quietly. 'It proved faster and stronger than Legolas. It's the only thing that is. And I am really frightened that it has our friend.'

0o0o

After that, the Hobbits did not sit idly but Pippin and Frodo made their way quickly to the guardhouse in the Tower and Merry and Sam left for the fourth level to search for Ioralas' mother, or her imposter. Pippin and Frodo found Beregond in his office with his captains talking very quietly and looking over a map of the city. They all leapt to their feet when Frodo and Pippin pushed open the door , saluting and bowing but Frodo said quickly, 'Please do not let us disturb you, Captain. We will wait outside until you are ready.'

Beregond would not hear of it and at a nod, his Men stood up. 'They know what they have to do anyway, sirs. I will be along shortly,' he added to his captains. 'Start in the Rose Garden courtyard near the Mews and work on either side of the wall.'

Two of the captains pulled out chairs for the Hobbits, and then seeing they would be too high, one of the captains looked about and pulled a low bench forwards that had been in front of the fireplace. Bowing low and smiling, the captains filed out but many stole a curious and respectful glance as they did so, for the Hobbits were heroes to the whole city and much celebrated. These Men would take the story home with them tonight, thought Pippin odd and proud about it at the same time, of how they met Frodo Baggins, Hero of the Shire, Ringbearer.

At last it was just Beregond and the Hobbits. He leaned forwards, hands on his desk and eager to help. But when they told him they were hoping he could help them to track down the messenger who had brought the letters from Gandalf and Gimli, he said cheerfully, 'I can do better than that. Bergil!' he called through the door that stood ajar and led to another office.

Bergil's round, cheery face popped around the door and when he saw the Hobbits, he broke into a wide smile. 'Master Peregrine!' he cried, 'And my lord, Frodo.' He bowed respectfully.

'Come now, not so formal,' laughed Frodo and Pippin was so delighted to see Bergil that he almost forgot what they were there for.

'Bergil is one of the messengers between Pelargir and the city,' explained Beregond.

Pippin could hardly believe their luck. 'Bergil, you will be able to tell us if there was a message for Legolas from Gimli'

Bergil frowned. 'The King had a message from Gandalf my lord. But nothing from the lord, Gimli.'

Frodo and Pippin stared at each other. 'Are you sure there was only a message from Gandalf?' Pippin asked.

'Well there were other messages, my lord. There always are.' Bergil looked a little abashed and said apologetically, 'I am not allowed to tell you anything more I am afraid, my lords. But there was definitely nothing for the Lord Legolas, and nothing from the Lord Gimli.'

'But there was a message delivered by a boy called Tuillin. It was Gimli's writing.'

Bergil made a face and said, 'Well it did not come through the post, my lords. I know, for it is I who bring all messages from the Gates to the Palace. And there have been no messages at all from the Lord Gimli. I would know.'

'Do you know a boy, Tuillin? A messenger boy? Skinny, small. Don't know how old he is. Lives with his grandmother he said.'

Bergil thought for a while and then said, 'There is no messenger boy called Tuillin, but I know that sometimes boys are used between Gates. I will ask on my way back down to the City Gates when I take the returns. I should have some information for you by the evening.'

Beregond had been listening thoughtfully and when Bergil had finished, he sent his son on his way and then leaned forwards, his elbows resting on his desk. 'I do not think I am breaking any confidences if I tell you that the King has ordered a search of the palace grounds, the Royal Mews and the other side of the city wall. He has told us to search for evidence of the Lord Legolas or anyone else who might have been there without cause.' He looked at Frodo and then Pippin and his eyes were anxious, puzzled. 'I take it that this messenger boy who brought the note for the Lord Legolas is somehow suspect in all this and that you think it may have been a trap. If so, there is dark work being done. Do you think that the lord Legolas might be being held against his will? A hostage?'

Pippin gasped in shock but Frodo said softly, 'Yes. That is indeed my great fear. Though I do not know why anyone would do this.'

Beregond was silent for a moment and then he said quietly, 'I know the King is close to the Lord Legolas. Could it be that someone will threaten harm to Lord Legolas unless the King does as he is told by the kidnapper? If you think that might be the case, I need to know so I can protect the city,' he said seriously.

Pippin felt a churning in his belly; Beregond was right. This was darker and deeper than he had realised. 'Frodo…' he began, turning towards his cousin.

But Frodo clutched his shoulder and his face was white, contorted with pain.

'Frodo!' Pippin cried and threw his arm about Frodo's shoulders before he fell back from the bench.

Beregond leapt to his feet and lifted Frodo into one of the heavy wooden chairs where Frodo leaned back, pain drawn on his face and his hand still clutching his shoulder.

'Frodo?' whispered Pippin in fright. 'That's where Angmar struck you.'

'It hurts,' Frodo said with a grimace. 'It's like he is standing here.'

None of them saw a shadow draw back from the window, its elongated face and maddened eyes glittered cruelly.

0o0o

Water sprayed from the hooves of galloping horses as they splashed lightly over the Entwash. It was a week since the Elves had left the eaves of the Golden Wood and the sense of urgency had grown upon Elrohir. He dreamed at night. An iron crown. A ring upon his hand. A pale, lithe body stretched in chains and firelight licked over the pale skin, wound about with wild coils of colour, a dragon draped over the shoulders, curled about the hard belly, lean hips, thigh. Long gold hair streamed to his narrow waist…Elrohir shook his head to rid himself of the obscene and depraved images that hardened him and disgusted him in equal measure.

Erestor's black horse loped alongside easily and now Erestor turned is head to glance at Elrohir. 'You ride as if Morgoth Bauglir himself were on your heels,' Erestor observed and the black fiend he rode pulled ahead slightly and aimed a kick at Barakhir, who swerved and shied. Tindómion's bright chestnut horse snapped at Niphredil as he passed.

'Did you and Glorfindel not urge haste?' replied Elrohir.

Erestor shrugged. It was true. Glorfindel would not let them rest for long and when they did, he stood facing the south and Gondor as if he might quench the sorcery in the Mirror by sheer will alone. Arwen looked exhausted, unused to such a pace or the wild but she never once complained for she knew that Glorfindel would not hesitate to send her back with one of her brothers and in disgrace.

They camped briefly near the Entwash and lit a fire. Elrohir could hear the horses pulling the grass up in long, contented munches and they moved slowly about. The river poured and slipped through the marshes. It was peaceful, beautiful, as the stars slowly pricked out in the sky and Elrohir thought of the last time he had ridden towards Gondor over these lands. It had been with the Grey Company, Halbarad, Corbarad, Baelderon. All gone. Dust.

But he remembered too that it was the first time he had seen Legolas since Elrohir himself had ridden out with Glorfindel and Tindómion for the Havens, hoping that their obvious flight would distract Sauron and the Ringwraiths away from the Fellowship. A surge of devotion filled him, swelled his chest at the thought of Legolas, but there was a thin stream of fear too and it twined about his heart, tugged on him as if it would draw him closer, more quickly back to Minas Tirith, back to Legolas. And when Elrohir lay down to sleep, the dreams came again and he did not rest but rose early, urged them onwards, faster, ever more swiftly and on the eighth day since they left Lothlorien, they passed into Gondor.

0o0o

Bearos laughed loudly as he threw open the secret door hidden beneath his house and that had been excavated by Maltök and Tyresis weeks ago in preparation for the capture of the Elf, Legolas Thranduillion. Tyresis was dead now and two days ago he had dragged the meaty, slumped body by one foot, bumping him over the stones and bashing into the rocky tunnel until he reached Bearos' house. He had made Maltök help.

'Waste not what you might eat in need,' Bearos said, tearing into Tyresis' flesh. It was a saying from the desert. Harad. The hot dry white heat, the sand. Red robes fluttering in the desert wind…

His teeth were sharp and bright. Strong. His hands stronger, tore into the bloody meat. He was still starving but the Elf's blood was assuaging that terrible hunger. But for now, these carcasses would do.

It was a pity that Bearos' woman had fled, he thought. A child was more tender than these men, and a baby even more so. Juices ran down his lips and he wrenched the joints apart and sucked the bones.

Soon here was not much left of either man and he left a pile of empty bones in the middle of the parlour for he cared not. There were other bones too. An old woman. A child. There were others. He couldn't remember.

And anyway, he had the Elf now. He had left the Elf alone for two days to recover, made sure he had food, and warmth, a cloak. Maltök had thrown the Elf's clothes away, his weapons too - perhaps taken them himself even? Bearos did not care. He had left the cloak because the Elf needed to be warm. By now the blood would be strong again, and pulsing through his veins.

Time enough.

Through the secret door he went, and as he moved through the rough-hewn tunnel beneath the city's stones, he let his form change; his feet lengthened and his hands. He pounded down the tunnel, feeling his sinews stretch, his jaw dropped and he no longer tried to hold it. He lifted his head and let out a shout of elation, reached into his deepest part and thrilled at the bang of blood in his veins, the feel of the air as he sped through the dark tunnels beneath he city and no one knew he was there!

This tunnel led beneath the Hallows, below the Rath Dínen and into the tombs of the Kings. In the pitch darkness, he leapt from one silent effigy on its plinth to another. He crouched upon the effigy of one tomb, and pissed all over the still, bronze face of Eärnur, laughing as he did. Perhaps the Elf could hear him, he thought and threw back his head in ecstasy at the thought of the Elf's terror and shouted aloud again, a long drawn out laugh. Manic. Inhuman. Full of malice. It was almost a shriek. And then he crept silently from the crypt so he could smell the Elf's fear. Savour it.

The iron slab door was before him and he pressed himself against it, listening. Scenting the air. The Elf was imprisoned behind it.

Ah. The fear. The terror. It was like heady wine.

He could hear the faintest scuff of the Elf's feet. Imagined him pressing himself back against the wall of the cell. Trying to keep away from the Mirror. Away from the door. His face would be pale, almost white with fear. His eyes huge in the absolute dark. Like the old woman. The child.

Bearos pressed himself closer and let his nails rattle softly down the iron door.

Within there was silence. The Elf had heard him. Bearos smiled slightly, felt his thin lips pull back over his teeth. His long teeth. But the pressure inside him exploded and he thrust the key into the lock and hurled the iron slab back so it clanged against the stone wall of the tunnel, and pressed his face against the bars.

'I see you,' he hissed. 'I smell your fear.'

The Elf was pressed back against the wall, hugging the cloak about himself as if it might protect him.

Slowly, Bearos opened the iron grille, left it wide because he enjoyed the sudden hope that flared in the Elf's eyes. And braced himself, feeling his sex bulge at the excitement, the prospect of violence.

He even stepped aside slightly as if he had forgotten the gate was open.

The Elf's muscles bunched and for a moment, Bearos was taken aback by his speed and almost missed him. The Elf launched himself somersaulting over Bearos and shot past him, but the Ring flared and power surged into Bearos, his body thrust upwards and his arms latched around the Elf's hips. The Elf kicked hard and caught Bearos' jaw which clicked and dropped, dislocating. His tongue lolled from his mouth, hot and red. Bearos rolled his shoulders and leapt after the Elf. He let out a hunting cry, a gibber of manic laughter. The Elf would not escape. It was just time. He could smell the fear so strongly it was almost visible, a slick on the air, shimmering green-gold.

He caught him just as the Elf was about to burst into the crypt. Ahead was the faintest glimmer of green-gold; the Ring could see it though Bearos would never have noticed it on his own. The Elf was hiding. Bearos sniggered, put his hand to his mouth to stop it but he did not really care. He wanted the Elf to hear him. It was amusing this way. It was much more… the word evaded him at first. Exciting, he thought.

'I'm coming…' he whispered against the stone, knowing it would carry along the walls.

He felt, saw, the slightest shift in the darkness. There. Crouching by a tomb. Silent.

Bearos stilled. He watched. Amused. The Elf's heart was hammering in his chest. Pumping blood. Pulse racing. Bearos licked his lips.

Rose silently upon his haunches. Leapt.

He crashed down onto the Elf before he even looked up. The force of his leap rolled them both over and over, crashing together. The Elf fought hard and Bearos laughed maniacally, aware that he was dribbling and gibbering, enjoying the feel of the strength pinned that he pinned beneath him. The Elf struggled uselessly but Bearos was so strong! He flexed his muscles and grinned. 'Got you….'He let the syllable die away into the dark. 'Time to feed.'

He grabbed the Elf's long hair and dragged him by his hair at first but the Elf still fought and kicked, so Bearos smashed his fists into him and crushed him. Then he flipped the Elf onto his belly like a fish and bent one of his arms up behind him almost to cracking. It was a good thing Bearos had fed upon the Elf two days ago, otherwise he might not have been strong enough to subdue the Elf so completely. Even weakened, the Elf struggled and kicked and bit, and Bearos eventually slammed his face into the wall so he was completely stunned and then it was easier.

Stringing him up in the chains was easier too and there was no kicking this time.

Bearos clasped the shackles about the Elf's wrists and ankles this time so he could not kick whilst Bearos fed. When he had the Elf stretched before the Mirror,, Bearos paused thoughtfully. He had enjoyed the chase. It reminded him of sex. He had forgotten that too. The slinky, soft girls yielding, their long eyes slanting up at him in fear, his sex sinking into them. Tight hot holes. He let his hand drift over the Elf's belly, looked up at the way the Elf turned his head away and squeezed his eyes closed as if by not seeing, he might prevent what was happening. Bearos thought that he had seen that in the golden-skinned girls of the East too. Bearos' hand, his long fingered, sharp-nailed hand paused low between the Elf's hip and belly. Slid lower where the great iliac vein slowly pumped. He could feel the blood sliding back towards the Elf's heart, dark, deep, almost purple in its richness.

The scent of the Elf's blood was overwhelming and Bearos drew his lips back and sank his long teeth where his hand was spread over the Elf's groin. Blood oozed over his tongue, tasting of sweet iron and copper. He sucked the wound greedily, feeling the Elf gradually cease his struggles and hang more limply. Bearos raised his head and turned slightly towards the Glass. Reflected was his own face, wet blood soaked his mouth. And then, as if standing behind him, though Bearos knew he did not, another face appeared beside his own.

He drew back his lips and licked the blood on them, and then wiped his mouth, pressed his hand against the glass.

In the Mirror the other face held his gaze, avaricious, greedy. Bearos wiped his other hand through the blood that dripped down the Elf's thigh; his hand was saturated, bloody, and he pressed this too against the Glass.

Brethren.

My lord.

Bearos came close and bowed low.

Behind him the Elf gave a low groan and Bearos half turned his head.

More blood.

He moved and shifted so he stood behind the Elf. The long, lean body was stretched between the chains and the glimmer of light that reflected from the Glass gleamed on his pale, bloody skin. Bearos was fascinated by the wild colour etched upon his body. He must have bled when it was done, the needle pressing into flesh, Bearos thought and pressed a nail into the swirl of purple and gold that slid over the Elf's belly. He pressed harder until there was the slightest pop and he broke through the skin. Bright red beaded the cut. Bearos bent his head and lapped at the blood.

And then he felt it.

The little shiver in the body he drank from.

He looked up. The Elf's head was back, lips parted but now it no longer looked as if he cried out in horror and pain. Now his lips were parted in the beginning of ecstasy

0o0o