A/N: So sorry! I thought I'd hit publish on this one! Enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Rínior

His side ached. All Rínior could think about as they hid beneath the trees of the forest north of the Trollshaws was the pain radiating from the stab wound in his abdomen. The large splinter had driven straight through his chainmail. Rínior held his hand against it as he grimaced.

Aessereg set Elrohir down with a grunt. They'd taken turns bearing his unconscious body from Dolindîr. Talk had been minimal. Few had survived the assault. Besides Aessereg only one other Dúnedan of Rhudaur still lived.

Rínior closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the smells of the forest, the damp leaf litter from the latest summer storm and the flowering herbs hidden from view. But the stench of blood and grime clouded the peace he sought.

The Ettenmoors were still many days away. Though the assault on Dolindîr had wiped out most if not all of Arthedain's Eastern front, they could not rule out a counterattack. He'd sent the hillmen back to Minas Eglan. They had to be careful.

He turned back to Aessereg. He and his kinsman set to work building a small shelter for the night. The sun began to sink in the sky as Rínior walked over to Elrohir's unconscious body.

Taking the ropes binding his hands, Rínior ensured they were tight against the tree at his back. Elrohir's right hand had turned black and blue in the days since the fight. Rínior had managed to hit him directly in the palm with his Fëanorian dagger. A good strike, and an unfortunate one for the warrior of Rivendell.

He turned back to the campsite. They would avoid lighting a fire. Dried meat would suffice for dinner and the warmth of summer would keep them comfortable. He watched Aessereg and his kinsman. What was his name? Rínior narrowed his eyes, trying to recall. There were so many of them. Or, there had been.

Aessereg looked up at him. He glared, his eyes hard in the dying light. Mouth in a thin line, he said nothing, but returned to the task at hand.

Medlinor! That was his name. He was bear-like indeed. A large, though short man with dark hair and brown eyes, Medlinor had wielded a sword like a champion during the battle. And yet he had not come away unscathed either. He walked with a limp now.

Aessereg met his gaze again. Rínior raised an eyebrow, feeling the anger pouring off the man in waves.

"What?" Rínior asked.

Aessereg barred his teeth. "What? You dare ask that?"

Rínior did not have time for riddles. There was much to do and much to think about. He couldn't play games with his lieutenant. "Speak your mind, Aessereg. I do not have time for guesses."

He rose up off the ground. Aessereg balled his fists and took three steps closer. "You dare ask what it is that angers me? Look around you, Rínior!" He threw a hand forward, gesturing to the trees. "How many stand with you now?"

Wind filled the forest. Branches blew and animals fell silent. Rínior just folded his arms. "If you wish for an apology after the battle, you will not get it from me. We did our duty. We won-"

"Won? Our force is diminished! You have wiped out my-"

Aessereg stopped speaking. He looked past Rínior and his anger deepend. Shutting his mouth, he turned away and refused to continue.

Rínior turned around. When Elrohir had woken, he couldn't tell. But he blinked against the last rays of the sun, tentatively trying each limb to make sure they still worked from where he sat on the ground tied to a great oak tree.

"Don't stop on my account," Elrohir croaked out. He forced a smile through the dried blood all over his face. A coughing fit consumed him.

"Welcome back," Rínior said. He left Aessereg to his brooding and picked up a water skin. "If you wish to drink, all you need to do is ask."

Elrohir sneered. He shifted against the tree. "I did not take you for a coward, Rínior. I asked you to kill me on that battlefield."

"It is not a good look for you, Elrohir, trying to bait me like this."

His friend did not respond. He merely glared at him, not caring about the blood and dirt all over his face, or the wounds littering his body. Elrohir broke eye contact and glanced around them.

"So tell me, Rínior. Whose orders do you take now if not Arvedui's?" He looked back at him. "Is it the Witch-king who holds your leash, or some lesser lord of darkness?"

The cold light of purple fire flashed across his memory. A metal gauntlet grabbed his wrist. Frozen eyes held him in place.

"The Witch-king, then," Elrohir said.

Rínior sat down. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to put on his practiced nonchalance. But waves of anger, despair, ruin washed over him. He tried to forget that creep of a thousand spiders beneath his skin. He could not.

"What did he do to you, Rínior?"

He looked up in surprise at the softness in Elrohir's voice. His friend's grey eyes had lost some of their sharpness in the last light of day. Rínior sneered.

"Nothing. Except show me that which I had already realized." He leaned forward. "Arthedain is dead, Elrohir. We kill and suffer for nothing. They will not win the war."

"And you know all ends how?"

He slammed his fist into the ground. "Just think for once, Elrohir! Forget your wistful love of the North Kingdom." Rínior took a deep breath, recentering himself. "They are going to die unless they bow to the Witch-king. Or to me. I can save them but they must pay homage."

"There it is. You speak of salvation for the men of Arthedain, and yet the only path you offer is that which brings you power."

"I will save them!"

A fist slammed into a tree. Rínior whipped his head around as they both stared at a fuming Aessereg. His cheeks blazed red. His eyes narrowed.

"You have a problem, Aessereg?" Rínior snapped.

"Is that what you promised Aglarwain?" he said. "Before you led him to his death?"

Rínior scoffed. He did not bother to stand and acknowledge Aessereg's indignation. He just sneered from beneath him.

"I did not lead him to his death. Aglarwain came to me for help. It is not my fault he was too weak to keep up!"

Aessereg balled his fists and took a half step forward. "Is that what you tell yourself about the massacre of my people at Dolindîr?"

"Massacre?" Rínior tried not to laugh. "They fell in battle. They received the gift promised to them since before time itself: to die and go beyond the bounds of this world. Would that all were so lucky!"

He turned back from Aessereg to Elrohir. The man leaned against the oak tree, face the picture of exhaustion. But he watched with interest.

"That is what you tell yourself then?" Elrohir said. "That with each death, Man is freed from their torture? And yet you chose the life of the Eldar?"

"We are uniquely gifted, Elrohir. To be able to choose!" He smiled. "I chose immortality, that I might change the course of this world. Men cannot do so. They are born into suffering and can know nothing else. We can change Arda with deeds the matter of song!"

Elrohir didn't respond. Rínior watched as he looked all over his face, and then at Aessereg and Medlinor. Twilight fell around them. In the darkness, Rínior could not make out the finer details of his friend's expression.

"In some ways, you are right," Elrohir said. He took a pained, deep breath. "Death is a gift. To go beyond the bounds of this world and see what lies before us. But in other ways you delude yourself."

"How so."

"Despair clouds your judgement. I wish I had seen it sooner. Much evil may have been averted."

Rínior watched as tears filled the edges of Elrohir's bloodshot eyes. A knot formed in his stomach. But he could not interrupt.

"I am sorry. And yet, you have chosen this path." Elrohir took a deep breath. "Perhaps you are right about Arthedain. Perhaps it is doomed. Perhaps their kingdom shall fall. But that is no reason to bow to a dark lord. There was a time when you would have died rather than entertain such a thought."

Rínior sneered. "I am not thinking only of myself—"

"Yes you are. 'Deeds the matter of song'? You quote the words of Fëanor, a kinslayer who doomed his whole family to a life bound to a hopeless oath?" He gave a short laugh. "You have idolized your lineage from day one. I should have been more careful in dissuading you."

Rínior stood off the ground. He felt the blood rushing to his head, the anger filling his chest.

"I quote the words of Fëanor, greatest craftsman in all Eä, who shut a door in the very face of Morgoth Bauglir!"

"Would that he could see you now!"

The woods rang with Elrohir's shout. Rínior did not respond. He felt the weight of their conversation settle in his bones. In the darkness, he turned away.

"Get some rest, Elrohir. We continue our march north at first light."

Rínior watched Aessereg and Medlinor snickering into their dinner. Let them laugh. Time would prove him right. Elrohir would bow to the Witch-king or face his own mortality. He intended to be there when Elrohir made his choice.