It took Aragorn the better part of the evening and the night to reach the River Celebrant. After all, he had to hide from the presence of the elves ever marching northward and eastward, hoping they will not find him.
Once he reached Celebrant, he took off westward, his feet in a hurry. He wished to get away from the Golden Wood as fast as possible, afraid that the Lord Celeborn would soon send elven hunters in his pursuit, seeking judgement for the deaths of the elves in the heart of Caras Galadhon.
He had not meant to kill them, but it was by his hands the elves were dead. He should have controlled his temper and cursed himself for letting it take over him. He had not liked how Silwin had acted. But the way he treated the elf lord in response made him tremble. He started to wonder if the elf's words were true. Was he truly deserving of Arwen, the lady of the elves?
After all, the elves did cherish Arwen.
And if Arwen did indeed choose him, the elf-kind would lose her to the gift of Eru Illuvatar forever. After all the elves had done for him, would it be right for him to ask of them to give Arwen's hand to him? Would they really give her to him–an heir of a forgotten line, a descendant of a man weak enough not to let the Enemy's treasure go? He didn't think so.
Regardless of what he wanted, he knew he had committed a ghastly crime. Abusing an elf-lord and killing two of his men, even in self-defense, made him feel guilty. It irked him to flee thus, but he was left with no choice. Even though some had defended his position, he knew they would come to despise him if it ever came to be known that he doted on the Evenstar of their people. He was running not because he was afraid of the justice that would inevitably pursue and overtake him but because he didn't want Arwen to see him arraigned as a vagabond criminal in front of the entire court, proving the nobility of the Golden Wood right. That he shouldn't have been allowed to step foot inside the beautiful city of Caras Galadhon.
In response to their generosity and favor, he had brought nothing but doom to them. Orcs had entered the Naith and gave battle to the elven warriors. Orcs that had come only because he had come here.
And so he deemed that if he got out of the woods, the orcs would pursue him and leave Lothlorien alone. The Enemy wanted him. There was no other explanation.
There was fog all around in the woods, but he followed the water ever northward and westward. And so he came to the sweet Nimrodel whose waters brought fresh vigor to his body. It pained him to leave the magical land behind him, but he had to do it in order to keep Lothlorien safe. To keep Arwen safe.
He crossed the swift waters of the Nimrodel at a small ford he found and raced up a small mound. Atop it, he stood, watching a battle rage on.
Orcs fought elves on this bank of the river.
Orcs bearing the sign of Dol Guldur.
And the elves–they were not the folk of the Golden Wood. Their armor bore a familiar insignia–the emblem of the House of Elrond.
These were the elves of Imladris. What were they doing here? Had Imladris come to help Lorien in their fight? And how could they come so fast?
He beheld in the distance two familiar figures, bringing a smile onto his face. He recognized them and raced to aid them in their succor. Brandishing his sword, he cut down a few of the orcs before he stood beside the twain.
They were the twin sons of Lord Elrond.
Elladan and Elrohir.
"Elladan! Elrohir!" he called out. "How come?"
Elladan laughed. "As usual, little Estel, you stand in the thick of battle, and instead of slaying orcs, you ask us how we are here."
Elrohir agreed with him. "Aye, and we heard from the eagles you were here, and the orcs have been following you from Mordor. And so, we thought, we should come. Far in the North have we been for far too long and we even began to tire of the safety of our father's abode. We longed for our vengeance, little Estel, and here we are. Surely you wouldn't begrudge us a few orcs, eh?"
They started hewing as many as they could.
Aragon himself ducked under an orcish blade that came at him and then slashed the orc through its stomach. It gave a loud shriek and fell down.
"Seriously," Elladan said, "we thought it was a rescue mission, but it seems the entirety of the orc population of Middle Earth has descended here. So, little Estel, what nasty business have you been up to for the Enemy himself to take such notice?"
"Okay," he said, shrugging his shoulders in a funny way even as he parried another orc attack, "I didn't do anything much other than foil of His plans. Not sure why the Enemy would show all of his hand just to capture silly old me."
"And instead of calling us for help," Elrohir said, "you thought what? Take on Him alone?"
"I didn't plan to take on Him at all," he sighed. "Not that He would really come out even if I shouted at him over the Morannon!"
"Well, if He knew who you were, mayhap!" Elladan remarked as he beheaded another orc that lunged at him from over the rocks.
"Well, He doesn't know!" he stressed.
"You think?" Elrohir asked, doubtfully. "You think He would let all these orcs about just to hunt a mere mortal?"
He didn't have any answer to that. Elrohir's question had him doubting everything. Would Sauron pursue him to this extent if He knew not who he really was? The Enemy would raze Middle Earth to the ground if He ever knew that there was someone who could lay claim to the throne of Gondor.
His sword met an orc's scimitar, which he pushed with all his might. The orc staggered and tripped over a stone, allowing him to push its weapon away and stab it with a powerful thrust. The orc howled in pain.
Around him, the elves battled valiantly, pushing the orcs away from the Golden Wood, although the numbers were starting to overwhelm. It was almost as though they were spawning nearby. He began to think that the Enemy wouldn't reveal his forces at this juncture. Back in Gondor, his intelligence had told him that the Enemy wasn't yet ready. Everything had been quiet in Ithilien. If He wasn't ready, why had he attacked now? Did He intend to gain victory over the Golden Wood? He knew that if the Golden Wood were to fall, the elves would lose all hope. But, as long as the White Lady held power here, that was quite unlikely. Unless Sauron came hither himself. That was something Lord Elrond had told him about this place.
Three orcs came at him, jeering and howling. He evaded their weapons and smote at them. One fell as his sword nicked the vermin's carotid while the other dropped to a stab of my sword. The third one fell with an arrow in his neck. He turned and looked at an elf, who nodded at him before he returned to the battle.
Weary, he leaned against the back of a stony wall and saw Elladan and Elrohir driving away the orcish forces that came at them.
Suddenly, he heard a slight sound over the stony shade over his head. Alert that they might be orcs, he yelled and came out of the shade only to find three elves sneering at him. He recognized them as belonging to the elf-lord's company. Their eyes flared with vengeance.
The elves attacked him in unison, and he was hard put to defend. And yet he parried and blocked their attacks, never moving to attack them himself. Nay, he would shed no more elf blood.
Elladan and Elrohir seemed to have noticed the elves attack him with deep frowns on their faces. But they could hardly come to his aid even though they wanted to.
He ducked, he jumped, he moved, and yet the elves did not relent. They were quite aggressive and fought with every ounce of power they had, and he fought them back with every ounce he had, though he was already feeling weary.
Suddenly, he heard the wind whoosh behind him. He ducked, his heart sensing something afoul. As soon as he did that, the elves in front of him dropped to the ground, arrows sticking out of their chests. He felt sad and pity for the fallen elves, but he stayed not to mourn them.
He took out his fury on the orcs that had killed them. One strong move after another, he beheaded all the three. The rest of the orcish company fled before his wrath, shrieking.
"Well, that was something!" Elladan remarked. "But why would elves attack you?"
"That's a long story," he answered. "Not the right time or place for it."
"You didn't come here because you heard of us, did you?" Elrohir asked. "You were running from something! Or someone!" He looked at the fallen elves.
Elrohir was right about him running, but not from these elves. He hadn't even known they were in pursuit. Their deaths weighed on his heart.
"We'll listen to the story later," Elladan pressed. "But we have orcs to kill now."
Saying, they returned to give battle to the orcs. Their fury made the orcs retreat.
"What fun it is to kill these filthy crooked-legged vermin!" Elrohir remarked, laughing heartily.
He knew how much the twins enjoyed killing orcs, Elrohir especially.
"And to think that you were going to take part in the war alone!" Elladan teased him. "Little Estel thought he should be the only one to strike a death blow to the Enemy, perhaps!"
"I'm not little anymore," he growled.
The twins laughed. "Then perhaps he should consult us before inviting battle upon himself?" Elrohir suggested.
He couldn't help but smile. "Very well... then know this, sons of Elrond, I'll call for you when the war comes, and you shall come and fight beside me even if we have to go to the Black Gates of Mordor for it."
"We'll hold you to your words, little Estel," Elladan said.
Before he could retort again, Elrohir interrupted him, "Yes, yes, you're not little anymore, but you'll be that way to us until you be seated on that silver throne of yours."
Elladan snickered at his brother's jibe.
He would have laughed too, but he felt something cold touch his heart. He turned to the west and saw the green dread of smoke fighting against a white fog that had come out of the Golden Wood. And even though there was smoke and fog, he could see through it clearly.
Outlines of men on horses.
Nine to be exact.
"Nazgul!" he shouted. "They're west of the River."