This was one of the first chapters I ever wrote for this story, which is crazy since it's chapter 80. When I was first considering writing this story, it was because I hated how things happened on the Forsaken Road, and was determined to save Candaith somehow, since he dies there in the game.

I hadn't decided on the POV yet, so this chapter was written in 3rd person. I considered redoing it to put it into 1st person like the rest of the story, but decided to leave it as is. Other edits and changes were made, since the rest of the story hadn't been written yet, but on the whole, a lot is still the same. Hopefully you still enjoy the chapter!

Anyway, here we have Candaith beginning to tell the tale of their time on the Forsaken Road, and what happened after. I hope you like it!

Chapter 80

Afterwards, Candaith couldn't say how he gathered the courage to claim he was the Heir of Isildur. Part of him knew it was a crazy thing to do, as the 'proof' he would provide was flimsy at best. Sure, he knew the drawing of the Ring of Barahir he had made in Eregion for Funi the dwarf was excellent, but the rings were brand new. If this Brenin had somehow seen the real Ring of Barahir up close in person, he might remember how it looked well enough to discern that this was a fake.

"I need not listen to your demands, warm-blood," Britou retorted, as some of his amusement fled and something grim replaced it. "Who are you to make such an offer? Only the Heir of Isildur can do so."

It was difficult, but Candaith steeled himself and stood tall, trying to look like the Heir he was supposed to be.

Halbarad grasped Candaith's shoulder as he realized what was about to happen, "Wait-"

"I have the authority to command you and all your kind to fulfill your oath!" Candaith proclaimed firmly. After a pause to let the words sink in, he continued, "For I am the Heir of Isildur!" The Brenin looked shocked, and Candaith knew he had done the best he could to project what he felt the Numenorians must have been like. Graceful, wise, powerful and stern, with an air of royalty about them.

Sure, he was young; about fifty years Aragorn's junior, but it wasn't as if these traitors knew anything about Aragorn as a person. Candaith just had to convince them of his words, and had only one shred of 'proof'.

Speaking of which, "What proof do you have of your claim?" Britou asked, sounding both surprised and annoyed. "What evidence is there?"

Here goes nothing. Candaith revealed his hand, where the fake Ring of Barahir sparkled on his finger. The emeralds shone with a strange light, and the snakes twisted together eerily. "The Ring of Barahir, heirloom of Isildur's line, which is my line also."

Britou floated closer, putting his ghostly face very close to the ring and shaking his head in wonderment. Candaith was relieved his hand was steady, for he was trying very hard to keep his nerves at bay. However, something about the traitor's expression seemed…off, and Halbarad's sighed softly behind Candaith. "We will fulfil our oath at last, that the Heir may lift the curse. Tell your men," Britou said, but it was ominous.

Before anything else could be done, Halbarad shouted for everyone to run. Immediately Candaith complied, but as he turned, the Brenin engaged him in battle as he swung a wicked-looking sword towards Candaith's head. He fought as hard as he could, but Candaith noticed more and more Oath-breakers gathering around the two of them. Perhaps I will have to be the distraction the others need to escape, for there is little hope for myself. He swung his sword sharply down to the left, before stabbing forward and aiming for the Brenin's heart (or where it would have been if he was alive), but the spirit dodged. A second later, a sharp pain ripped through Candaith's chest. He screamed in agony, and collapsed to the ground. It was chaotic, and all of the Oath-breakers started flooding onto the road, chasing the rest of the Dunedain as they ran. He could dimly hear the pained shouts of the others ahead, but his vision was too blurry to make much out.

One positive was that none of the ghosts had stayed behind to make sure he was dead.

Candaith was breathing shallowly, and felt blood pooling below him as he lay on the dusty stone. The wound felt ice cold when he gently touched it, and he knew something wasn't normal with it. It was made by a cursed, ghostly sword. He didn't have the strength to rise, but realized it might be prudent to pretend to be dead, in case the traitors returned. Perhaps he could surprise them with an attack…although it seemed impossible. His sword was just out of reach, and he felt the energy seeping from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Candaith observed the scene. He could hear someone shouting, and there was a flash of bright light, followed by a loud boom. There was a screeching sound, likely the voices of the dead, as they were hit with the force of white that barreled toward them. Candaith watched in disbelief as Elladan battled with the Oath-breakers; he had a sword that shone like a flame, and the Ellon was shouting words in what was likely Quenya, or perhaps something even older, sounding powerful beyond what Candaith thought he was capable of.

The ghosts were fleeing before his assault, and Candaith pulled from whatever reserves of strength he had, crawling back down the road as far as he could before he could go no further; his energy was spent. All the ranger could do was watch with wide eyes as Elladan moved forward.

It was as Elladan faced the Brenin that disaster struck. A deathly cry of vengeance mingled with the pained shouts of the Elf as they both stabbed each other at once. Clearly, Elladan's was a 'kill shot', if such a thing was possible when fighting the undead. However, the Brenin had gotten in one last stab before he disappeared into nothingness with a wailing scream, and Elladan crumpled to the ground. The sword had gone right into his left side, but dissolved away along with the Brenin, so only the wound remained.

Candaith did not have too far to go in order to reach Elladan, but each inch felt like a mile as he dragged himself forward. He noticed the bleeding had stopped for some reason, but the hole in his chest remained. Finally, he reached the Ellon, who was panting for breath and holding pressure to the wound. "Mellon nin," Candaith mumbled. "You are injured." It was a dumb thing to say, but Candaith's brain was fuzzy and it was difficult to think straight.

"Yes," Elladan gasped. "It is a grave wound." By that, did he mean it was mortal? Candaith knew Elves could withstand much, even more than Men, but could this be beyond his ability to survive?

"We must try to help each other," Elladan continued. He motioned weakly behind him, and Candaith noticed a satchel next to his glowing sword. Candaith dragged it over and haltingly pulled out everything he could, noting with concern that breathing was becoming more challenging. With difficulty, he managed to crush some athelas and stuck it directly into Elladan's wound, causing him to hiss in pain and flinch slightly. It was not as effective as a salve, but this was an emergency, so anything would do. Candaith awkwardly wrapped some linen around Elladan's torso and tied it off, before shoving a blood replenishing potion into Elladan's hand, who chugged it as fast as he could. His wound had also ceased to bleed, but there was much of it on the ground below him.

Elladan did the same for Candaith, but it was more trying, as the Ellon had little energy, and his movements were clumsy with exhaustion. "I am sorry Candaith, but I do not have the strength to give you a healing spell," he said apologetically.

"It is all right," Candaith replied softly. "We will do what we can to get out of here alive."

After a brief rest, they stumbled their way to the entrance, but it was very difficult. Multiple stops to rest needed to be made, and multiple Rangers were found dead along the way, which was very distressing. Elladan shook his head each time, upset that nothing could be done. "We will return for their bodies," Candaith assured him. "We cannot allow them to lay here forever in this tomb of ghosts."

The unspoken question was whether both of them would even survive the day. Their injuries were serious, and there was an unnatural shade to them that spoke of some sort of poison. Candaith had tried to reach out to Gwin via his soul, but there was a strange barrier in place that he could not remove or go around. Elladan mentioned the same, and he surmised it could be related to the curse or poison due to their injuries.

"I worry how this will affect them," Elladan said sadly. "They may not understand what it means."

"It would be worse to let them feel even a fraction of this pain," Candaith countered. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

"Perhaps," Elladan replied hesitantly. "We will see how it goes."

Once they reached the entrance, Elladan placed his hand on the door to break the magical seal so they could exit, and Candaith bodily dragged him outside into the sunlight. He scanned the surrounding area, but there was no sign of Halbarad or Radanir, and he assumed they had returned to camp and did not know of any survivors.

"Candaith," Elladan wheezed. "They…they do not know we live." It was unspoken that 'they' referred to Gwin and Elrohir. "How…how do we tell them?"

Candaith shook his head helplessly, "I am not sure. As we said, if the connection to our souls is opened, they will both feel the icy cold agony we are experiencing, and it would not be right to heap that upon them."

"But," Elladan began, needed to take a minute to gather himself again, "It could damage their spirits much if they think we are dead."

Candaith's heart froze as he considered this. He knew enough about Elves to know that there was always a risk of fading due to a broken heart. "There is nothing to be done; perhaps when we are healed the barrier will go away. They are stronger than you think, mellon nin," Candaith said, but perhaps sounded a little less sure than he hoped. "Once we recover, they will be well again." If they live that long.

"Then we must do so," Elladan said weakly. "Let us try and return to camp." Elladan turned towards the door and sealed it again, and they needed to rest for a while before they could continue.

"Elladan," Candaith began hesitantly. "How did you manage to use such magic to save us?"

"I…I am not sure," Elladan murmured. "I did not know I had such power within me."

"Your sword was shining with fire," Candaith added. "How?"

Elladan shrugged, "It was forged in Imladris I believe, but I did not know about such a feature until it was happening on the Forsaken Road." He looked puzzled. "Perhaps I will need to inquire."

"Your brother would be proud," Candaith said quietly, and a little color formed on Elladan's pale cheeks in response to the praise.

Thus began the stumbling through the forest. Candaith's vision was blurry, and breathing became more difficult with each step they took. Soon the ranger was almost carrying Elladan over the pine needle-covered dirt. Finally, near sunset, they both collapsed to the ground, unable to carry on.

"My whole body is…so v-very cold," Elladan whispered, shivering violently. Sure enough, when Candaith went to look at his wound, his skin was very pale and icy to the touch. His eyes widened at the spidery black lines coming from the injury, and knew something was very, very wrong. Undoing his own bandages, Candaith could see the same thing coming from his shoulder, and it confirmed how dire things were. He shakily replaced the dried athelas with new sprigs, and both of them took a few sips of the miruvor Elladan had in the bottom of his pack, which Candaith hadn't seen earlier. It warmed them both up, but he knew it was only temporary.

"I will try and make a fire," Candaith said quietly. Luckily there was plenty of kindling and wood in the area, and he did not have to drag himself far to get what he needed. Quickly enough, a blazing fire was going, and it helped to heat their shivering bodies considerably. "We must keep this going until we leave this place." Or we will only die faster.

The night passed in a haze of bad, disjointed nightmares, and they both felt unrested when daylight broke. The only bright spot was that they were both still alive. They had made it quite far from the Forsaken Road, and were well-hidden in the forest, but knew they needed to continue on.

However, before they could move, a silvery stag materialized out of the trees. Candaith scrabbled to find a weapon, but he heard a voice in his head which made him freeze.

Do not fear, children.

Candaith glanced over at Elladan, who was looking at the stag with wide but unfocused eyes. Clearly, he could also hear the voice.

I did not expect to come across you both, but I cannot pass by without offering aid.

The voice was female, and its gentle tone soothed Candaith's troubled spirit. Perhaps they had finally had a lucky break. Can you heal us? The stag nodded its majestic head, as its glowing white eyes looked at both of them, one at a time.

I will try, but we must make haste, or it will be too late.

The stag came closer, and dipped its head. Candaith hastened (as much as he could) to gather their belongings. What do we do? He asked, a little confused.

Put your arms around my neck, and I will bring you somewhere safe to rest and recover.

With that, both Elladan and Candaith threw an arm around the stag, and with a whoosh of air, they disappeared.

So Arassiel found them both, and they are on their way to the Hall of the Huntsman. How will they be received? I hope you liked the chapter, and leave a review!