Author: Hi, managed to finish another chapter, so you'll get one too.

Also, regarding some of the comments I've read: Yes, I'm following the Movies mostly, because they are the first source of LotR I've ever watched and the books I have are the crappiest possible translation. And yes, I put Alex in Lord of the Rings, and yes, he hadn't done anything to show off. Yet.
Because up until now- up until Moria- it's hardly necessary to put the fear of Blacklight into Sauron. But that's just how the story was paced, wasn't it? Don't worry, he'll get a lot of fun and a lot of possibilities to traumatize the Fellowship in the near future.

The river Bruinen was calm once more, with only little signs of the flood that carried the Nazgûl away left behind. Frodo didn't dare to breathe- his pursuers, really gone? After all these days they spent being chased, being barely a step ahead, it just didn't seem real.

Then the Elf woman shifted behind him, and her arm around his waist tensed, and she started whispering encouragements that he snapped back to the present. It was only then that he became aware of how much he was shaking. But the danger had passed, why was he still shaking?

Wait. Bilbo had once told him that after the first encounter with Orcs he was left shaking the whole day. So it was...a residue of fear?

Had he been afraid?

That one was easy: Yes. The Nazgûl terrified him to no end, and he was still expecting them to appear again like they did at the Weather Top. Strider had protected him back then, and he'd felt safe. Alex had protected him too, but all he felt was the feeling of dread deep in his stomach.

The dread was lifted somewhat, now that he'd left. He said he was going to check whether the Nine were really gone, but Frodo felt there was something else in there. He'd seen the way his body went rigid for a moment, back during the chase.

"What manner of creature is he?", the woman whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts once more. He was pretty sure she wasn't talking to him, because she added "Estel, what in the Name of the Valar did you drag back this time?"

Frodo cleared his throat. He understood Elvish, but couldn't speak it as good as an Elf. "Strider- Strider said he is a Wraith."

Arwen sniffed, face twitching. "Wraith are incorporeal. Shades. Invisible to the naked eye. This one, however-" She gestured sharply towards the shredded soil across the river. As if giant hatches had tilled the ground- and if he hadn't been there, he wouldn't have believed that a Man had done this.

Just- he was no Man, was he? (Hundreds of faces, thousands of voices...hissing at him in a language he didn't understand, countless tiny limbs crawling around him)

"Then what is he?" Frodo asked carefully.

"In one word?" Arwen grimaced. "Hungry"

The Hobbit blinked. "Hungry?"

"You noticed it, didn't you? Back there."

He had, had noticed the way his attention had snapped to them. He'd seen the tension in his body, like a snake ready to strike.
But why, though? Why now? Because... he frowned. "I've never seen him eat anyways", he pointed out. In the same thought, he hadn't witnessed him sleep either. Neither was he actually breathing about half the time they stopped for the night.

Meaning, whatever this creature was Strider traveled with, food and rest likely didn't appear on his list of immediate needs. Which made this sudden change bewildering-

Frodo's eyes caught on the thin line of blood on the Elf woman's cheek. "Blood!" He called out in surprise.

She blinked, her fingers wandering to feel the damage. "Blood?"

"You were hurt", he pointed out with worry in his tone. "He must have smelled the blood. Like...like a fox inside a chicken coop."

It seemed to alarm her, since her eyes widened by a fraction. Her focus flitted back to the ravaged soil, before snapping back to him urgently. "Has he ever hurt any of you? Or even implied he would?"

Frodo was taken aback, blinking in surprise. Then he tried to remember. Sure, Alex was scary, and he was being rude a lot of the time- but he never, ever hurt or even threatened to hurt any of them. And he took a Morgul Blade to the chest in order to protect them- even if it hurt him.

"Never", he answered her question with conviction.

Arwen's eyes were sharp, as was her curt nod. She pulled at the reigns and Asfaloth turned to trot into the grand forest that stretched out behind them. "Then we should let father know so no-one will attempt to break this truce."

When he found the Nazgûl's horses, the animals were long dead already. No wonder, considering how fragile these beasts really are (whoever coined the term 'Healthy as a horse' apparently had no clue that if they just rolled in the grass they could end up with serious intestinal twisting). Usually, he couldn't work with dead- but the cold waters had preserved them.

And Blacklight was clever- it could jump-start some of the metabolism of a preserved or freshly dead body and trick itself into believing it was still alive and ready for consumption. He suspected he could do this trick, had since he figured he could still devour Infected that had been splattered beforehand. (using his so-called 'Power-Bombing' move on human bodies usually resulted in a gory mess)

He never consumed a horse before. Had rarely eaten animals anyways, since there had been way more infected humans that ran towards him as opposed to away (made hunting easier), though when his tendrils finally dug in and ripped the cold bodies apart all he felt was relief.

Alex hadn't been aware just how much the hunger was gnawing at him until now.
Which would explain just why he noticed the scent of blood with such an intensity that it was like a punch to the solar plexus, leaving him breathless and paralyzed and half feral with want. He had experienced it before, when he'd been infected with the Parasite and happened upon a group of civilians.

He regretted their deaths almost immediately after, and continued to regret them, even now. He still held onto that regret regardless, because the knowledge alone that he killed people who never intended to harm him was what set him apart from the infected. From Greene.

He'd rather feel guilt than feel nothing at all.

Didn't mean he wanted to have more memories like those. But it was hard, to hold himself back when he was made to hunt and kill. The parts of him that was the Hive wanted to ask why. Why he didn't just let go.

Would make things easier, to not feel a thing.

But it was not something Alex wanted. He wanted it to be difficult, because then he could look Dana in the eyes and tell her he was better than what Blackwatch wanted him to be.

Dana...thinking of her soured his mood. Because it's been over a month since he'd seen her last- and coma or not, seeing her, witnessing her breathe- was enough to ease his anxiousness.

But she wasn't here.

She wasn't here, and he couldn't just go and find her, because this wasn't his world. He couldn't believe he'd almost forgotten the entire shit-situation he found himself in.

With an enraged snarl he sank his fist into a tree besides his head, and small groundspikes erupted from the wood to turn the entire thing into splinters. It wasn't enough to release even a fraction of his frustration, and he was very tempted to just let go. There was nobody around here he could hurt-

But it wouldn't accomplish anything. Wouldn't even make him feel better, because all he would do was to exhaust himself.

Lord, he hated this place. He just wasn't made for this kind of idleness, and he wasn't made for just trekking through open country at a snail's pace. He wished he could just ditch Strider and the short stuff.
However, logically speaking, staying close to that Ring the Hobbit carried the best chance to have any kind of excitement. The Nazgûl were proof enough of that, and he figured that if he remained near the Ring, he was going to have similar encounters in the future (uncertain when, but certain that they would). And he really needed something of the sorts to try and keep his mind off the fact that there was no way home from here. (it wasn't the healthiest way to cope he knew, but what else could he do? He didn't want to admit to himself that he was lost)

(A smaller part inside of him asked whether his unwillingness to leave wasn't just because he didn't want to be alone. He ignored that part.)

With a sigh, he got up and dusted off his pants, turned to head back up the river. He wasn't too keen on entering an area that was full of people that could just tell he was different. In Manhattan it hadn't been too bad, not when he had distance and crowds to hide in. But here he couldn't hide, and it sent shivers running down his back. (he was very much like Blackwatch in those regards, he hated being dragged into the light)

He stopped, head inclined to the side. The feeling of being watched wasn't just residue memories. He wasn't alone.
He also recognized the breathing pattern, and tone of voice.

Without any warning he kicked off the ground and catapulted himself high into the sky, re-orienting himself within a split moment, then dashed into the direction he'd seen these assholes in.
When he hit the floor besides them with the force of a small warhead, he sent them scattering and grasping onto their bows. He just crossed his arms and glared at them from beneath his hood. Watched how realization dawned on both of their faces.

Last he'd seen the Elf twins was when he ditched them to return to Strider. He cocked his head, lips tugging upwards a little when he remembered their reactions when he left. "You know", he started in a conversational tone, "I'm pretty sure guys like you weren't even supposed to know half the swearwords you shouted after me."

Frodo's first impressions of Rivendell were the trees. Not the Elves he could spot scattered around, or the elegant wooden buildings, but the trees. Tall and golden with autumn leaves, he couldn't even see the sky through the dense foliage.

Behind him, Arwen shifted and relaxed her tense posture. "Welcome to Rivendell, Master Baggins", she whispered and Frodo looked around for the first time. The sight took his breath. Everything was so, so different from Bree, from Hobbiton. Even in his best dreams he couldn't imagine a place like this, not even when he read all of Bilbo's stories up and down.

Here he was going to be safe, and nobody was going to be able to get to him.

Arwen led the horse to the stables before putting Asfaloth into one of the boxes and to the capable hands of the stable master, whispering her thanks to the animal for carrying them away from the danger.

With a gentle but steady grip, she took hold of Frodo's shoulder to steer him towards the massive main building. Frodo was sure he forgot to breathe when he entered- floor, walls, ceiling, all made from wood. But crafted like it had grown that way.

Impossible to make for a Hobbit, and barely anything worth mentioning to Elven craftsmen.

He kept staring at the area, marveling at the beauty while Arwen was guiding him further in. He snapped to focus the moment she pushed open a set of double doors and the comfy half-darkness of the hallways was replaced for golden light that flooded in through an open balcony and large windows.
It was some sort of study, filled with books and parchments, with a few tables and chairs scattered around.

And in the middle of it stood a tall dark-haired Elf. His robes were the finest quality Frodo had seen so far, and he was wearing a thin silver circlet. His expression lit up the moment Arwen stepped through the hallway, so he exchanged a few hushed words with her.

Then he turned towards him, holding out his hand. "I am Lord Elrond, master of this land. Frodo Baggins, I am overwhelmed to finally be able to welcome you to my halls."

Dusk started to settle when Strider and the other three finally approached the Halls of Elrond. Frodo had been given a room to stay in (ground-floor, unusual for Elves and comfortable for Hobbits), even though he had barely made use of it. Instead, he had taken to wandering the premises in trance. It was still unreal to be here, to be finally safe, and he had barely managed to string two thoughts together, overwhelmed as he was.

But the moment he spotted Merry and Pippin and Sam trot towards him, his focus finally sharpened. Yelling, the two youngest Hobbits split off from the group and dashed towards him to cling to him and hug him like they had been separated for years, not mere hours.

For the first time in weeks Frodo's heart was at ease, soaring high with the sound of laughter. That night, he was finally sleeping restfully.
And the next morning everything seemed like a distant nightmare. The sunlight was streaming into the room as the four Hobbits sat down to enjoy their first real breakfast in weeks. Halfway through, there was a knock at the door and Strider poked his head into the room.

The Ranger's face lit up when he spotted them. "Oh good. You're still here. Was afraid I'd have to track you down."

"Nothing can drag me away from a real breakfast", Pippin threw in, looking way too smug.

The man grinned. "I can imagine." Then he steps in fully, and Frodo took the moment to take in his appearance- cleaned up, in fresh clothes and with his hair actually taken care of. "As an apology for dragging you through the wilderness, I brought along a surprise."

Then, a second figure entered the room. Slightly taller than even Strider, with gray robes and a gray beard. Frodo dropped his breakfast roll into his eggs just as his jaw dropped too, and he was standing so fast he slammed his knees painfully against the table.

None of that mattered, however as he hastily threw himself over to embrace him tightly, like he was going to disappear the moment he let go. "Gandalf!"

The Wizard smiled at him. "The one and only."

The Hobbit glanced up and slowly let go, frowning. "Why didn't you meet with us?"

A shadow crossed the old man's face for a brief second. "Oh. I was...delayed." He tried to smile, but it didn't come out right. "I'm sorry for making you worry." He straightened his back then, gesturing to Strider. "I was lucky my friend was nearby and could take over for me. I do hope he didn't give you too much trouble."

"He did!" Pippin threw in. "We didn't get to have a second breakfast. Or tea. Or luncheon."

"Yeah", Merry added. "And he made us hike through mosquito-infested swamps. They ate us alive!"

"We had to be up before dawn!"

"And we had to hike till deep in the night!"

Sam had watched until now and decided to add, "It was torture. Please keep Strider as far away from us as possible."

Frodo couldn't keep the grin off his face any longer, and he began laughing the moment he saw the Ranger's indignant expression.

Breakfast passed too quickly for Frodo's taste (even when they were extending into second breakfast already), because he thoroughly enjoyed the ease and happiness that seeped out of everybody's being.

It wasn't until they finished their mid-morning pipe that Strider shuffled his feet. "I think he should be awake now", he declared.

Sam blinked. "Who?"

The Ranger grinned. "You'll see, Master Gamgee. Frodo, would you accompany me?"

Well, he was in a good mood, so there was no reason not to. Besides, he was curious.
So once they finished cleaning up their breakfast (they weren't raised in a barn, not one of them) they followed Strider and Gandalf outside. And there, on a small terrace overlooking the yard, was a familiar figure. Smaller, thinner, older than the last time he'd seen him, but unmistakably-

"Bilbo!"

His uncle looked up from the big red book he was reading, frowning for a moment until he recognized his nephew. Then he put the book aside and carefully climbed to his feet with a crutch for help. He'd gotten old, but the way his face lit up was still the Bilbo Frodo knew.

"Frodo, my lad!"

The Hobbit ran over to hug his uncle, wary of his strength lest he'd hurt the frail form. Bilbo hugged back, less strong than he'd done before, but no less happy. He led Frodo to sit down where he had sat before, and gestured for him to take the book.
The Hobbit took it, turning it around in his hands, until his eyes lit up when he saw the title. "'There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins'", he read out loud, then started leafing through the volume. "This is wonderful!" Because it was. All of Bilbo's adventures, written down in one volume like he always said he'd do.

Bilbo was smiling, but it was a sad smile. "You know, when I left I thought I could go back. Wander the paths of Mirkwood, visit Laketown- even see the Lonely Mountain again. But-", he gestured to the crutch and his frail self, "As you can see, my age finally caught up with me."

"You are still the bravest Hobbit I know", Frodo felt compelled to point out, "All the stories you told us." He smiled at his uncle, "All my childhood I pretended I was somewhere else, off with you on an adventure. And now, when I finally am...I'm scared out of my mind and I want to do nothing else than going home." He sighed. "I'm not you, Bilbo."

The older exhaled. "And that's a good thing, my dear boy. It is good you are your own man. And it is fine to be afraid. It is something that is in all of us. But the way we decide to handle it- that is what makes people different. What tells apart the brave from the others."

It was the dusk of the second day after the river when they finally- finally- reached the settlement. Alex knew the river had been pretty wild, and he knew he was fast, but even then there shouldn't have been a reason for them to get that far away. Hell, he had needed only an hour or two to find the dead horses, so he should have reached the city in about half a day, maybe a full day when going at human speeds.

But no, they needed two full days.

Alex threw a glance at his current guides. He'd watched the Elf twins the entire time. Not once have they done anything suspicious. They never even left the river's shore.
And still they somehow managed to drag out what should have been an eight-hour trek into one that was closer to forty-five. He wondered whether there was the same type of bullshit involved that also caused the river to flood. He figured his guides knew of this, so it was likely this whole trek was their way to figure him out. Whether he was a threat or not.

Alex didn't really care about their opinion of him. All he cared about was getting home- and even if it seemed like a losing battle, something brought him here. It had to be reversible.

He didn't want to think about what he would do if it wasn't.

So, distraction. Had always proved useful when the voices got too loud in Manhattan. It couldn't be his favorite type of distraction- not enough Infected or Blackwatch here to dismember- so he had to find something else to put his mind into.

Which was how he really noticed the area for the first time. He vaguely remembered trees, and more trees, but this wasn't like the Central Park. This was a forest. Golden light streamed through the leaves that had turned into all kinds of colors for autumn. And between the trunks- buildings. He hadn't seen them before - or, he had, but hadn't realized that they were buildings because they were made out of wood so they looked like they belong into the forest.

Then he noticed the Elves. Dozens of them, watching warily.

His back bristled because he hadn't noticed them before (he had, hadn't he. Just like with the buildings). He hated being taken by surprise- Cross had been enough of a lesson.

But- he forced the panic down and unfolded himself from the defensive stance he'd dropped into- these guys couldn't hurt him. They had bows and swords, not rifles or Bloodtox. They had horses, not tanks or gunships. Even if they decided to attack him, they wouldn't be able to do anything.

It would be easy to just...wipe them from existence. Along with every other living thing within a two-square-miles-radius. A simple exhale was all it would take.

But that wasn't who he was. No matter what Blackwatch thought of him, he had never attacked without a solid reason. And right here- he didn't have a reason. The Elves were simply afraid, and fear wasn't something he'd use as an excuse for violence. (he'd stopped lashing out at the Marines after all)

So he shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to drop his shoulders to appear less threatening, though he was also aware it didn't help much. Especially not when his back crawled with a few small tendrils that broke through his otherwise flawless facade.

He grit his teeth the second he heard the twins mutter something under their breaths, and forced himself to stay as calm as possible. They weren't a threat, and he wasn't here to fight- he was here because he needed their help. And usually, people were unwilling to help if one started blending their people. (violence had always been his first instinct, served him well enough in Manhattan, but here...)

"Where are you going?" He asked the moment the twins passed the courtyard and were heading through a massive double door.

The two stopped for a brief moment, glancing at each other. Not uncomfortable, but maybe a bit nervous. "Our father tasked us with taking you to him. He wanted to speak to you", one of them eventually pointed out.

"Don't worry, I do not believe he would attempt to hurt you", the second one added.

Alex snorted. Hurt him? They would need at least high-powered large caliber projectiles, better yet explosive projectiles. He was fairly certain those did not exist here.

He refrained from saying anything, just shrugged. The worst thing that could happen was when he didn't like what he was going to hear at all.
The twins chose to not comment and led him further into the complex, up some stairs, down some hallways. Alex only paid half attention to the way they were going (if he needed to make a quick exit then he could just go straight through the walls or floor- he went through thin concrete already, wood wasn't going to stop him) but rather paid attention to his surroundings. The smells- the Hobbits were here, as were Strider and the Elf woman. The voices- he could pick up Pippin's annoyingly loud voice sounding from somewhere outside. He heard an Elf shout orders somewhere, likely a drill sergeant of some kind.
His back straightened on instinct- voices like that he only heard from high-ranking officers in Manhattan, and he had way too many soldiers inside his head to not react towards it. Again, the twins either didn't notice or didn't care, and one went to knock on a set of double doors that just screamed 'Important'.

The Elf didn't wait for a reply either- the stopping of the conversation on the other side apparently was enough- and simply went in. The other twin and Alex followed.

He had to blink briefly to adjust to the sudden brightness in the room- it was a study, with bookshelves lining the walls, a few tables with chairs, and giant balconies that let the sunlight stream into it unhindered.
In the middle of the study stood a male Elf- tall, like all of them, with long dark hair and a stern expression. He shared enough bodily similarities with the twins and Arwen to figure out that he was their father. And judging by his robes and diadem he was also the leader of this area.

The Elf Lord glared at Alex with a mixture of terror and curiosity, and Alex glared back- until he heard a sharp intake of breath. Sitting on a chair next to the Lord was another man- old, with deep wrinkles in his face, gray beard and hair, and gray robes.

He hadn't smelled him sitting there.
Scratch that- he still couldn't smell him. And, come to think of it, neither did the cup of drink in front of him, or the smoking pipe in his hand. Alex's eyes narrowed on the old man for a second before the Lord's voice pulled his focus back.

"I am the Lord Elrond", he declared, but there was no warmth in his voice. It was like he was reading off a paper, without any inflection. "Welcome to Rivendell- my daughter already told me you would be arriving soon."

The Runner cocked his head, glancing at the twins, at the old man, at the Lord. "And still all of you flinch every time I move."

Elrond looked a little constipated, as if figuring out how to put his thoughts into words, when the old man spoke up. "You have to forgive us, none of us have ever seen your kin. We fear what we don't know."

Alex furrowed his brows, letting his gaze run along the walls of the room. "Guess that's an universal constant", he muttered. He could still remember just how fucking terrified he'd been when he woke up to the two guys about to vivisect him. Knew how scared they'd been of him.

Because neither of them had had any idea what was going on.

He shook his head and returned his attention to the Lord. "Sir, I won't tell you to trust me or make best buddies with me. Hell, I certainly don't expect you to- you probably already heard about me through the others." He straightened his shoulders and folded his arms behind his back in an imitation of Cross as he locked eyes with the Elf Lord. "The only thing you need to know is that I am not your enemy even if I could very well be. I will not hurt you or your people, even if someone provokes a confrontation."

Elrond's eyebrows were pinched together, and he turned his attention on the old man. He nodded once and slowly rose to address Alex. At the same time the twins left the room. He watched them go, then turned his attention to the old man. "You are telling the truth", the old man said simply. "But you continue lying still. Not with your words, but your body."

Alex stiffened. His...body? What did-

Oh.

The Runner couldn't quite stop the snort this time. "Yes. And I intend to continue doing exactly that. Because if I don't then it would mean admitting to my true nature. And you can trust that this is a very bad idea." Like one and a half million dead in eighteen days bad idea.

The old man's eyebrows went up. "That is your answer?"

Alex didn't look away. "Part of it. I 'lie' with my appearance because I do not want to be what I am. And I do not want to do what I was made to do. I do not want to give my enemies the satisfaction that they were right about me." He knew exactly why he was telling them that. He wanted them to stop needling him when he himself had no idea how dangerous he really was if he ever stopped pretending. He could guess- after all, his infant stage killed more than five thousand people in under three minutes. If he let go now, with all the Redlight inside of him he would be able to kill millions within a day without lifting a finger- one malicious cough was enough. Middle-Earth would maybe have a chance at surviving for a few weeks at most, but only because it was so sparsely populated.

He cleared his throat. "You want the truth, so you'll get it. I am fucking dangerous. I know that. And I know you know it too, at least to some parts" He's seen it in their eyes when he stepped in- the raw animal terror was barely hidden. "And I would love to tell you that I have a solid grip on it, but that is not true. My consciousness is hanging by a fucking thin thread, and it could snap at any moment's notice."

"Yet", the old man's blue eyes didn't blink as they locked with Alex's, "It didn't."

"It didn't." Because he held that thread with all his strength, wrapped his claws around it and never let go. "Because it is still my existence. And I will never let anybody tell me what to do. Not even my own damn body."

The old man's eyebrows were level with his hairline, as was the Elf Lord's. Elrond cleared his throat. "Why, pray tell, should I allow your presence in my Lands?"

Alex clicked his tongue. Leaned back. "Because I can- and have- kill thousands in less than a day. I can tear down all of your Halls with little more than a thought. I haven't. In fact, nobody asides from a bunch of orcs and wargs have fallen to me within the last one and a half month I have been here. You can ask Strider on this."

The two men glanced at each other again, and the old man turned his attention to Alex. "He confirmed what you just claimed", he explained patiently, "As did the Lady Arwen, and Frodo."

"We are aware you protected them, even at the cost of getting injured yourself- by a Morgul Blade, no less", Elrond added, and sighed. "However, your very nature is that of a predator. A creature made for war. I can not allow you to wander at your own leisure, not when your very existence threatens my people. And whether you intend to harm them or not does not matter."

Alex inclined his head, hummed. "I didn't expect you to act any different. And you are wise, you see things much clearer than most people ever did." Honestly, he'd feel insulted if they were welcoming him with open arms.

They were scared much like Blackwatch had been, yet they were willing to give him a chance like Cross. So it was only curtsy if he treated them the same way. "I will not force myself into your lands. It is your land, your responsibility. And I know what it means to dearly love what one protects. If you tell me to leave, I will."

There was stunned silence for a brief moment, as if neither man actually expected this kind of reaction.
It took a moment for the old man to clear his throat. "Even if you wished for nothing more than to come here, to the Halls of Lord Elrond?" Alex furrowed his brows at him, and he continued, "Strider told me you wanted to visit Rivendell for one specific purpose- you wanted to learn how you could return to your home, to your loved ones. Even across planes as you are not of Arda."

Alex's eyebrow arched. "I did. But I also know what I am, and if you don't want me around here..." He trailed off. He didn't really want to, but he didn't belong here and they were afraid of him. Not an ideal working climate, and he had learnt enough from Dana to know when a retreat was more suitable.

Much to his surprise, the old man shook his head. "Nobody will exile you just for what you are, and you proved yourself to be a capable ally. More even, an ally unswayed by the whispers of the One Ring, which makes you a person we urgently need for what is to come."
He nodded towards the Elf. "The Lord Elrond has vast libraries- and they would be ideal. However, it would take you decades to go through all the books and scrolls, for you wouldn't know where to look- not to mention you are not capable of reading them, no?"

That one was true, Alex could speak the common language, as well as Orcish and Elvish, but he hadn't tried to read more than the few signs he'd seen in Bree. Which wasn't too much of a problem considering his enormous amount of knowledge, but the old man was right- he wouldn't even know where to look.

He did however recognize an olive branch when he saw one. "You're offering to help?"

The old man finally took a drag of his pipe. "I offer my services to you to try and learn what could have happened that brought you here", he agreed, "Since it was I you were looking for when you learnt of my presence."

"You're the Wizard", the Runner realized. For a moment, he believed that he'd reached the end of this journey, but then his hackles came up. "Why would you help me?" He demanded to know. There was always a catch, and he hadn't met anybody asides from Dana who hadn't had an ulterior motive for assisting him (though Dana probably wanted to have her brother back, only to get back a thing wearing his face. That thought made Alex anxious to return to her, to make up for the Hell he dragged her through).

The Wizard tilted his head, taking another long drag from his pipe, "For one, what happened to you is an interesting event, something I have never heard of, and I wander Middle-Earth for such a long time already. It is new, and dare I say, an exciting deviation of what I am normally tasked to face."

That's it? He was simply an interesting case? That couldn't be the only motivation, not even Ragland had helped him with the parasite because he was interesting. (Alex chose not to think about how the doctor had been terrified of him)

Gandalf shifted his pipe when he saw Alex's incredulous expression. "I see, you are not used to kindness out of kindness alone."

The Runner blinked, then snorted. "I really am not. Everybody always wanted something off to the side." Mostly at his expenses, too.

The Wizard hummed to himself. "Your predicament is an interesting question to answer", he replied after a moment. "And it caught my attention, demanding me to sink myself into it to figure it out. But if you believe in trade, then we will trade."
He folded his arms behind his back, mimicking Alex's earlier position. "You faced the Nazgûl without fear, and you survived their wicked poison without lasting effect. You are not attracted to the Ring for you can't hear Sauron's Whispers." That one wasn't exactly true: he had heard another voice when he grabbed Frodo and yanked him out of the Ringwraith's path on the Weather Top, but with so many additional voices inside his head, ignoring that one particular was easy. He figured it would be wise to not say anything and just listen to what the Wizard had to say.
"So my proposal is this: You will offer your service to protect the Ring, and the one who carries it, until its influence has faded from Middle-Earth. And I will, in return, offer my services of discerning the ways that brought you here, in order to try and reverse them."

Alex inclined his head, studying the Wizard for a long moment for any tell-tale tells of lying (it wouldn't be the first time someone used his desperation to trick him), but as far as he could figure, the old man was speaking the truth.

He made a show of thinking on it, then inhaled deeply and nodded once. "I accept that deal. You make sure to figure out who dragged me here and get me back, and I'll make sure nobody gets this ring into their grubby fingers." Then he added with a flash of his sharp teeth, "And if there are enemies to be disposed of, I will do so gladly."

With the confirmation and reassurance that somebody more suited on his case, Alex chose to use the remaining time trying to find something to do- mostly to stave off his boredom, but a tiny part of him whispered he had to repay the wizard and the Elf lord somehow.

After poking through the libraries (Gandalf was right, he'd need years trying to figure out the order here) and doing a quick circuit around the immediate area, he eventually settled on looking for Strider- he had some questions. As it was, he didn't have to go looking for too hard. The ranger had cleaned up- and more importantly, finally taken a bath- but the trail was still recognizable.

He found him in a hallway with an open porch, holding a book. Alex stopped and waited in the shade of an archway when he noticed the other man- one of the humans strolling around Rivendell, strike up a conversation with Strider. They exchanged words which were obviously not going the way the newcomer wanted, so he eventually turned his attention towards the statue standing there in a poor attempt to change the topic.

The man proceeded to pick something up from the tray the statue was holding- a broken sword handle- and dropped it startled only a few moments later when he cut himself.

The man stared at his bleeding hand for a moment, then turned to talk to Strider again. Though he lost his nerve and fled after making an hasty excuse. Strider watched him go with a furrow in his brows, even as he slowly stood to pick the sword back up. That was when Alex declared his presence by scuffing his foot across the ground. The ranger's head snapped up and he glanced into his direction, only relaxing when he recognized the Runner.

"That was rude, you know", Alex pointed out, "He wanted to make conversation, and you blocked him."

Strider sighed, placing the handle back on its cushion. "Not really. He just confused me for someone else."

The Runner inclined his head. "Pretty sure he didn't. He was speaking to you. And you never told him he got the wrong guy." He moved to stand besides him, glancing at the statue and the sword handle. "He seemed pretty upset when he left."

"Because he confused me for someone I'm not." He wasn't looking at the Runner, but the statue instead. "I'm just Strider the Ranger. Not who he says I am."

Alex snorted. "Right", He glanced around the dark hallway that was lit only by the moon, then locked his gaze with Strider's book. "Last I heard was that humans need a little bit more light than what is here to actually read."

Strider was too well-trained to actually shift his feet, but Alex noticed the twitch in his muscles only too well. He cocked an eyebrow, turning to look at the wall painting just opposite of the sword that depicted a man fighting a huge shadowy figure. "So you just came here to brood, didn't you?"

The man bristled. "I did not brood-"

"I know, you were just mulling over things that do not matter", a third voice chimed in. Alex had noticed her before, though was slightly surprised that Arwen did choose to take part in their discussion. The Elf woman strolled towards them, her expression both mischievous and exasperated.

She turned to Alex, inclining her head towards the wall painting. "Am I right to assume you have no idea about the story here?"

The Runner shrugged, mostly because he enjoyed seeing Strider starting to squirm. "I guess the broken sword here's the same the man uses in the picture, no?"

Arwen nodded. "Narsil", she explained, "The blade of King Elendil, the blade his son Isildur picked up to defeat the Dark Lord Sauron."

Ah, so that was Isildur. Alex cocked his head. "Sounds like he's the stuff a hero is made of then."

Strider scoffed. "A hero?", he questioned, "He couldn't deal the fatal blow, because greed blinded him."

"And why do you care about that?" Was his reaction. Literally any hero was some kind of asshole. Then he recognized the sour look on Strider's face. "You're related." It wasn't a question.

The full-body jerk going through the ranger's body was anything but inconspicuous. He glanced at Arwen, who grimaced.

Oh, so it was one of those things.

The Runner scoffed, crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So what? You're moping around because your great-grandfather wasn't the ideal person?"

"-ancestor", Arwen corrected him.

He tilted his head towards her. "Ancestor"

She nodded. "Who heralded this age with his victory over the Dark Lord."

He squinted at her. Remembered the gossip he overheard when following the rangers and the Hobbits. "Wasn't that like three-thousand years ago?"

"Three-thousand and eighteen", the Elf confirmed.

The Runner turned towards Strider, who was staring at the woman like she'd personally stabbed a knife into his back. "You're upset about something that happened that long ago? It's about a hundred generations between you and him, why should you care?"

"Because it is his blood in my veins", Strider growled, "The same weak blood-"

Alex cut him off, "I'm going to stop you right there. Because after one hundred generations you're about as related to him as you are to Frodo. Which is to say, not at all."

Strider's eyes flashed briefly, and he opened his mouth to reply something- likely about the reason he referred to his ancestor as weak, when Alex gave off a bark of laughter. It sounded mean, even to his own ears. "Let me tell you a little something. My father released a weapon that slaughtered thousands of people just because he could; and my mother single-handedly unleashed a plague that made the Great Plague here look a mild case of the sniffles. You don't get to pull the Shitty Family card on me. Not when it is your ancestor from three-thousand years ago who you are cross with, while I saw these assholes like one and a half month ago."

Strider made a startled noise, eyes going wide. Alex brushed him off. "It doesn't matter who your parents are. Who your family is. Blood doesn't decide who you are." He crossed his arms to signal he still wasn't done when the ranger opened his mouth again. "Nobody has any right telling you who you are supposed to be- only yourself has that answer. If you want to be a smelly ranger living in the mud, then be it. If you want to sit at your father's house and read books, then do so. If you want to become a pirate and rob small villages along the coast, be my guest- but you need to be yourself." He was not going to tell him this advice was pretty hypocritical, coming from him.

Arwen, who until now was just silently watching, became more animated. "He is right. You are not Isildur. You are not bound to his fate. You are free to choose your own."

The ranger's face turned into a frown as he mulled over what had been said. He glanced at the other two.

"Do you mean it?"

The woman looked him dead in the eye. "Every word was spoken in truth. You are not Isildur. You will never be Isildur. None of us want you to be Isildur. Stop worrying about him."

Alex tilted his head. "I wouldn't do a motivational speech if I thought differently."

Strider's brows furrowed deeper. "Smelly Ranger?"

"By the Spirits, yes", the woman groaned.

"The worst", Alex confirmed.

Did I mention I strongly dislike writing expose chapters? Because I really do.