Chapter Twenty-Two
       “I’m sorry he has to leave.”
      Ecthelion’s voice was little more than a murmur, but it carried 
to Denethor, who sat beside him at the base of the stairs in the throne 
room. “What was that, Father?” 
      Ecthelion glanced at him. “That’s right, you weren’t here. 
Thorongil wants to send a message to his brother back in the North. He 
says Legolas will carry it.”
      “He didn’t ask leave to go himself?” Denethor asked while he 
thought frantically, ‘The elf! The beauty is leaving!’
      Ecthelion smiled. “He knew I needed him here. All he asked 
was that Legolas be released to run the errand.”
      “You gave him permission to go?” Denethor asked, though he 
already knew the answer.
      “Yes.” Ecthelion shook his head. “The horses will miss 
running with him. When he returns, I need to ask him how to inspire 
them to such obedience off-lead.”
      “Why don’t you ask him before he goes?” Denethor’s mind 
reeled. ‘I must have him again. I must!’
      “He’s leaving later this afternoon. Thorongil said the note is 
most urgent. And of course, elves can ride in the dark just as well as in 
the light, so naturally Legolas will leave as soon as possible.” 
      Denethor clenched his hands into fists even as he struggled for 
control. ‘The beauty will not escape me,’ he vowed silently.
      He cursed the lost years, the lost opportunities. ‘How could I 
have let five years pass without at least trying to have him again?’
      The answer was as simple as it was galling: ‘Thorongil. 
Thorongil is the reason. I am afraid-’
      ‘No! No Steward was ever afraid of a lowly Wildman! I was 
simply being cautious… and I didn’t want to hurt my father. He cares 
for Thorongil so much.’
      Bitterness filled his mind at this lie and Denethor knew he 
would have to remedy the situation immediately. ‘The beauty will be 
out with the horses until lunch, or maybe a little after, if he took food 
with him. I need to get Thorongil out of my way now. Then, with the 
master dead, I can claim the slave as my own. Thorongil has no one 
else in the city, no relatives within a month’s journey of Gondor. The 
beauty would be mine of right, as payment for the services Thorongil 
would not longer to able to render.’
      He stood abruptly.
      “Denethor, where are you going?”
      “Forgive me, Father, but there is something I forgot to attend 
to. It would not be very lordly for me to forget this promise.”
      Ecthelion nodded and watched him away.
      Denethor went straight to Thorongil’s room. He knew where it 
was, having found it once before. That time, like this one, he’d gone to 
kill Thorongil. ‘But this time I will not back down. I will not be turned 
aside,’ he vowed. ‘If I am dissuaded this time, I will get no other 
chance. And I must be quick, or this chance will be wasted. I must 
strike, hard and fast, before the beauty returns.’
      Before turning the final corner to Thorongil’s room, Denethor 
took out a knife and a vial. Smiling at the poison, he thought of the 
man he’d killed for it, but only briefly. He put on a pair of thin, yet 
protective, gloves. Then he spread the viscous liquid on his gleaming 
blade. This done, he returned the vial to its place and readied himself. 
‘I’ll only get one chance, probably. I will make it count.’
      Denethor stepped around the corner- and froze. Thorongil 
stood just outside his door. He was facing the opposite direction, but 
his hand was still on the door knob to his room. He seemed lost in 
thought. Denethor had never seen him standing so still. The Steward’s 
son considered his options as quickly and thoroughly as he could.
      ‘If I try to slip up behind him, he may hear me. In fact, he 
probably will. But if I throw the knife, I may miss… Still, of my two 
choices, to stalk or to throw, the throwing has a better chance of 
success.’
      Denethor raised the knife and aimed carefully. He bit his lip in 
concentration and let the blade fly.
      His enemy had started to move. Perhaps he’d heard the knife’s 
whistle, or he’d only sensed something not quite right, but his 
movement didn’t avail him. Even as he dropped, the knife was buried 
nearly hilt-deep in his shoulder. Denethor had been aiming for his 
neck.
      As the man fell forward, uttering a cut-off cry, the knife fell 
from its place and clattered to the floor.
      Denethor faded back around the corner. His work was done 
and his heart soared with the knowledge that the man would be dead in 
a matter of minutes.
***
      There was a part of Aragorn that knew, when the knife hit and 
he felt the stickiness on it along with the pain it brought, that he would 
die. Unquestioningly knew.
      That part was not in control of his thoughts or actions. He 
heard the assassin flee back the way he’d come and groped upward for 
the door handle. His right arm was already going numb. He fumbled at 
the handle and finally managed to turn it enough so he could throw his 
weight against it and push it open.
      It swung inwards and Aragorn fell heavily on his left side. 
Groaning, he pushed himself up with that arm, fiercely ignoring the 
grayness that was crowding at the edges of his vision. He crawled, like 
a dog with a wounded paw, towards his herb pouch. It sat on the chair 
and he kept his eyes fixed on it. The numbness was spreading down 
his right side now. The chair seemed to be a thousand miles away. His 
left arm began to shudder as it was over-strained.
      He reached the chair.
      Aragorn sat on the floor, dropping his useless right arm in his 
lap. Dizziness was creeping over him even as the grayness at the 
corners of his sight turned black and began to advance. Aragorn 
snarled as he tugged the drawstring open with his teeth. The pouch fell 
open before him, spilling its precious contents everywhere.
      Blindness took him then.
      Sifting through the herbs, he held each up to his face and 
sniffed. Now his right leg was numb and his left one was following.
      At last, the distinct, calming smell of athelas overwhelmed him 
and Aragorn crushed the leaf. He rubbed the sticky substance into the 
wound. When that leaf was ground in, Aragorn began the laborious 
search for another one.
      He repeated this three times before his vision began to clear. 
First, gray fog appeared in place of the blackness, then this slowly 
rolled away.
      His legs were still numb, as was his right arm, of course.
      Groaning, Aragorn found more and more athelas, rubbing it in. 
It should have stung- without water to ease it, the application of 
athelas was painful- but he felt nothing. He wouldn’t have even known 
if he was hitting the wound except he could feel the stickiness of his 
blood on the fingers of his left hand.
      It occurred to him to wish that he was in his father’s house, but 
wishing would do him no good and so he set the thought aside.
      He was still calm, despite the lack of feeling in his limbs and 
he felt sure he could keep the poison under control well enough to get 
up and find Legolas. The elf would be able to speed his healing.
      ‘The numbness will pass and I’ll be able to hobble about soon,’ 
he told himself.
      That was when the darkness cam swimming back.
      Once again, Aragorn groaned but it was no more than a 
snuffling grunt in his throat. His hand fell away from his right 
shoulder. He collapsed, falling sideways. He was unconscious before 
his head struck the stone floor.
      He had a dream.
      He walked atop the highest wall of Gondor, his arms 
outstretched, daring the wind to sweep him off and down onto the 
rocks that were so far down they could scarcely be glimpsed. This was 
his Gondor and yet wasn’t, for a dark pit had opened outside the wall 
on both sides and called to him. But he knew there were rocks down 
there; he could hear the water roaring over them.
      ‘I’ll fall into a river colder than death,’ he thought detachedly. 
‘I won’t even have a chance to feel the rocks, unless there’s one that 
sticks above the surface.’ He laughed and wondered why his voice 
didn’t echo. Surely the chasm below him was deep enough and rock-
lined. His voice should have come bouncing back to him.
      Aragorn shouted, “A! Elbereth Gilthomiel!”
      And the chasm seemed to shout back, “Aragorn! Aragorn!”
      Aragorn shouted again. “Where are you, North Wind? Can’t 
you reach me here in the South? If you can’t, then send your brother, 
West Wind, to push me over, for I long to go!” And again he laughed.
      “Aragorn!”
      The man turned so quickly he almost lost his balance. But that 
wouldn’t have been right; he needed the wind to push him over. He 
didn’t want to fall because of his own clumsiness. Let fate (or the 
wind) kill him, as it had killed every Heir of Isildur before him. All 
had died young. He was only completing the story.
      An entrancing blond being ran, light as dandelion down, 
towards him. The being’s eyes were green fire.
      “Have I already died, then?” he asked when the stunning 
creature stood before him. “Are you Gil-galad?”
      “What are you doing up here?” the being demanded and he 
caught Aragorn’s arm, gripping it tightly. Aragorn let his other arm 
fall to his side.
      “I am testing the wind,” Aragorn answered. “And I am looking 
out at the kingdom that will never be mine.”
      “Horseshit,” the being snapped. “Gondor will be yours one 
day, when you’re ready.”
      “But I’m dead, fair creature. How can I ever rule Gondor?”
      “You’re not dead yet. If you were, would you be walking this 
insane wall?”
      Aragorn considered that, his first serious consideration since 
he’d arrived in this strange place. “True for you,” he admitted, “but I’ll 
be dead soon, for there’s no way off this wall.” He grinned recklessly 
then. “Except down, of course.”
      “There was a way on; there must be a way off,” the being 
retorted.
      Aragorn frowned and some of the insane good cheer left his 
eyes. “I don’t remember how I got here,” he murmured, his head 
bowed in thought. “I simply awoke here.” He looked up at the ethereal 
creature. “Do you know how to get back?”
      The being shook his head- and when he did, Aragorn suddenly 
realised who he was talking to.
      “Legolas!” he cried. “What are you doing here? You should be 
out in the fields, running the horses.”
      Legolas’ eyes were grave. “I came back early. Now listen to 
me, Aragorn. You’re the only one that can get us out of this.”
      Aragorn shook his head. “Surely this is a dream. You’re not 
really here.”
      “I am as here as you are,” Legolas snapped and his eyes 
sparked. “You’re lying on the pallet in our room. You’re near death 
from that wound in your shoulder. It’s some sort of poison. I soaked it 
in athelas and added what healing I could but you’re too close to death. 
The only thing that’s going to keep you alive is you. I couldn’t do 
anything else, so I came to find you.”
      Aragorn stared at him. “But Legolas, if I die, this world goes 
with me. You’ll die, too.”
      “And since I’d like to learn about immortality, I suggest you 
don’t die,” Legolas growled.
      Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and felt the world 
around him swaying. He knew he’d fall soon.
      ‘But I won’t drag Legolas down with me.’
      Aragorn opened his eyes and suddenly the wall around them 
had disappeared. Luckily, so had the chasm. They were standing in the 
forest, in the Dunedain camp.
      “If you ever want to see this place again, take my hand,” 
Legolas commanded and Aragorn obeyed.
***
      He opened his eyes and immediately had to close them again. 
The light around him was too bright.
      “Aragorn, stay with me,” Legolas snapped. “You’re not going 
back in there. I don’t have the strength to chase after you again.”
      “I’m not going anywhere,” Aragorn grumbled, irked that 
Legolas was treating him like a notoriously wayward child. “The 
light’s just too bright.”
      “Aragorn, do you hear me?” Legolas tapped his cheek.
      “Yes!”
      “Aragorn!”
      Legolas’ voice was fading.
      “Aragorn… Aragorn…”
      ‘NO!!’ Aragorn thought desperately. ‘I won’t go back to the 
wall! I’ll live! Do you hear me, Valar? I WILL LIVE!!’
      He passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
      Legolas ran through the halls towards Ecthelion’s throne room. 
Just outside, standing patient and ready, were Kendell and Roheryn. 
Aragorn lay against Kendell’s neck, his head hanging down by the 
horse’s shoulder. Roheryn had taken to snapping at anyone who 
stepped too close to his master and Kendell stood perfectly still, 
keeping Aragorn from being jostled and sent off his back. Both horses 
darted glances towards the door through which Legolas had 
disappeared seconds before.
      Knowing he had to get permission to leave, but ignoring all 
other protocol, Legolas burst into the throne room. He’d grasped at the 
insane idea of running to Lothlorien when Aragorn had slipped back 
into unconsciousness. He didn’t know if he could find the place (he 
had maps, but that was no substitute for actually having been there), it 
was a very long journey, even on horseback, and Aragorn didn’t look 
as if he would live until nightfall, let alone the ten or fifteen days it 
would take to get there by horse.
      “What are you doing here, Whore?” Denethor barked.
      Legolas froze, terrified by the thought that he was alone in a 
room with Denethor. But then he saw Ecthelion as the Steward rose 
and relaxed a trifle. He came and knelt at Ecthelion’s feet. “Please, 
Lord, Master Thorongil is dying. I must take him to the elves. Only 
they can save him now. He is too far gone for Gondorian medicine.”
      He waited, holding his breath.
      Ecthelion spoke almost at once. “Take him, then, Legolas. Do 
you have all you need for your journey?”
      Legolas rose and bowed. “Yes, Lord, and thank you. I’m ready 
to leave now.”
      Ecthelion took a ring from his finger and handed it to Legolas. 
“Hold this up when you approach the main gate and they’ll let you 
through. Give it to Thorongil when he awakens and tell him that I have 
every wish that he will return here safe and healed.” He gestured 
towards the doors. “Now go.”
      Legolas didn’t bow. He called, “Thank you!” over his shoulder 
instead as he ran.
      When the doors closed behind him, Ecthelion turned to 
Denethor. He gazed at his son sorrowfully (and a little fearfully) for a 
moment, then sighed and sat down.
      Denethor remained standing where he was, his face frozen into 
an expressionless mask with shock. Then he took a step towards the 
doors.
      “Stay here,” Ecthelion called.
      Denethor was walking briskly now, his cloak swinging out 
behind him.
      “Denethor! Denethor!”
      The doors slammed behind the son of the Steward, cutting off 
Ecthelion’s shout.
      Ecthelion remembered something Thorongil had said, and 
whispered it aloud. “The darkness is coming, my Lord. It will start 
with men’s hearts. They must be ready, Lord. They must be ready to 
follow you and you must be ready to show them the way of the light. 
Without your guidance, the city will fall.”
      Now he sat alone in the throne room, and pondered. Ecthelion 
wondered, as he had a thousand times, it seemed, how Thorongil had 
come by his knowledge. But this time, a new answer came to him and 
it was so simple and made so much sense that Ecthelion couldn’t 
understand why he hadn’t thought of it before. He sat, still as stone, his 
mind going through all the things Thorongil had ever said to him. His 
conclusion was the same as the intuition.
      ‘And if he dies now, what must come to pass will never come. 
No matter what I do, this city will fall to the Shadow.’ Even as he 
thought this and knew it to be true, Ecthelion sat straight in his chair 
and insisted silently, ‘If Gondor must end, I would it end in a way to 
be worthy of glory.’
      Wonder assailed him and he realised, ‘Yet, if he lives, he will 
bring more glory and honor back to Gondor than has walked in this 
city for three thousand years.’
      His voice scarcely audible, even by his own ears, Ecthelion 
whispered his discovery to the empty air. “Thorongil is the King. He is 
the King of Gondor.”
***
      Legolas flew down the steps and up onto Kendell’s back. 
Roheryn snorted at him but Kendell only turned towards the seventh 
gate, meaning to begin his mad dash down to the plains far below.
      The doors behind Legolas banged open and the elf’s head 
snapped around. His breath caught in his throat. Denethor stood there, 
panting and raving. “Come back here! He’s already dead! Come back 
to me! Serve me!” Still screaming, he started down the stairs.
      “Hai!” Legolas shouted, and the horses raced away from the 
man with the rabid wolf eyes.
      Legolas didn’t look back until they were well out of Gondor’s 
walls, across the Anduin. By that time, darkness was swallowing the 
sky.
      Legolas held Aragorn against his chest and wished on the first 
star, calling to Elbereth as he hadn’t since he was very young. He 
remembered, dimly, calling to Elbereth with his parents as they danced 
under the summer sky.
      And he remembered his mother pleading for Elbereth to save 
her son as he was carried away by the hulking man.
      Legolas shivered and held Aragorn more tightly. “Live, please 
live,” he begged. “Please, Aragorn. I need you.” He buried his nose in 
Aragorn’s hair and squeezed his eyes shut.
      Kendell moved from a canter to an all-out gallop and Roheryn 
kept pace beside him. They raced the moon westward.
Book II
Chapter Twenty-Four
      Elladan’s heart soared as Glorfindel allowed himself to be 
blindfolded and led outside. It had been a struggle for both of them to 
wear the blindfold, be guided about and trust the other to lead the way. 
‘But we have to trust in every way or this could fail. Our love could 
fail.’
      ‘Besides, I think I have a way to counteract those nightmares 
he’s been having.’
      In recent months, Elladan reflected, Glorfindel’s nightmares 
had become more and more frequent. The Elda was often shivering 
when he crawled into bed with Elladan, saying that he feared the night 
time. And he had clung to Elladan all night long. There were many 
times Elladan would rock Glorfindel and sing to him all night. Then, in 
the morning, when the sun had risen and Glorfindel was still asleep, 
Elladan would catch an hour or two of sleep himself. ‘I’ve watched 
him struggle to get to sleep and yet he sleeps late every morning. It’s 
as if he needs a healing sleep. But what is he healing from?’
      Elladan shook his head. ‘I’m going to help him this morning 
and then maybe he’ll sleep better tonight.’ His heart filled with hope, 
Elladan led Glorfindel into a clearing out of the way of general elven 
traffic. He stood Glorfindel there and took his blindfold off.
      Glorfindel looked around and Elladan judged his expression to 
be happy. Glorfindel loved to be under the trees.
      ‘Then why do I so often find him inside?’
      Elladan let that thought go but it was harder to dismiss than the 
others had been. Glorfindel had been looking far too pale lately, which 
Elladan attributed to lack of sun. So he got Glorfindel outdoors as 
much as he possibly could.
      That set off another thought, despite his attempts to suppress it: 
‘There are times when he says he is too stiff to sit a horse.’
      “My love?”
      Elladan blinked and saw that Glorfindel was gazing at him and 
his expression of joy had given away to one of concern. He tried to 
smile but found himself instead wanting to ask Glorfindel about the 
horseback riding.
      Glorfindel’s eyes darkened suddenly and he purred, “You 
didn’t bring me here for a day of pleasure did you?” His grin was 
seductive and Elladan almost fell into it. His worries vanished.
      ‘Aii, Glorfindel,’ he thought, ‘you don’t know what a 
disarming weapon you already wield. Maybe you don’t need this 
lesson after all.’
      He shook himself determinedly. “I love you, Glorfindel,” he 
whispered.
      The Elda’s eyes changed from seductive to soft. “I love you 
too, beautiful Elladan.” He held out a hand and Elladan came towards 
him, enfolding him in a gentle, firm hug. 
      He drew back only after Glorfindel did; such was their habit. “I 
have something for you that’s more exhilarating than sex.”
      Glorfindel laughed merrily. “Can such a thing be?”
      “With me, anything can be,” Elladan teased, tossing his nose in 
the air. As he turned away to fetch the things he’d hidden, Glorfindel 
swatted him playfully on his ass.
      ‘I’m being foolish,’ Elladan thought as he gathered the bow 
and quiver, the knives and the swords into his arms. ‘It’s just going to 
take him a long time to heal. Look at me! I suffered for over a score of 
years from only one attack- how much more must he be suffering? 
And he’s even still around the ones that hurt him. Of course he’s 
jumpy!’
      Yes, all that was true, but-
      ‘But I have to think about Glorfindel right now, so there are no 
buts.  I’m going to give him back this part of his life and we’ll 
probably both be better off for the lesson.’
      He stepped around the bush and saw Glorfindel gazing up at 
the trees raptly. The fingers of one hand were lifted so he could caress 
a birch’s grey-silver bark.
      Without coming too close (he didn’t want to frighten his lover) 
Elladan called softly, “Glorfindel, look what I have.”
      Glorfindel didn’t turn immediately. “Elladan, do you know 
how much I love you?”
      Glorfindel often spoke in this way, as though his heart were 
still in doubt. It hurt Elladan but he refused to let that hurt show. ‘After 
all, he was attacked…’ And so he told himself the old arguments as he 
answered, “Aye, my love, I know it well. And I give thanks for that 
love every day.”
      Glorfindel turned towards him. Sometimes when he said these 
things, he was crying. But not today. Elladan was relieved to see his 
lover smiling joyously once more. He stepped towards Elladan, but 
then he faltered.
      “Weapons, Elladan?” he asked tentatively.
      “Aye.” Elladan pushed past Glorfindel’s uncertainty. “I want 
you to take them up again, as you once did.”
      “But, Elladan, I’m a slave,” Glorfindel protested. “I’m not 
supposed to-”
      “I know,” Elladan cut in swiftly. “But I also know something 
Ada told Estel only a few months after he came here. ‘If you can fight 
what’s in your dreams you’ll be stronger for it.’ So he taught Estel to 
pick up a sword when he was only three years old. Do you remember 
that?”
      Glorfindel nodded and now his expression was thoughtful. 
“Aye, I remember.” He took two tentative steps forward and reached 
out, touching the hilt of one of the knives. “These are mine,” he 
whispered, his voice shaking. “From when I first came here.” His eyes 
flicked up to Elladan’s face and he stared as his lover in complete 
confusion. “How did you come by these? Where did you find them?”
      “They were in the Hall of the Sword,” Elladan answered. 
“They were hidden but they were there. I came across them a few days 
ago.”
      “Not by accident,” Glorfindel answered shrewdly, though his 
mind was mostly focused on the feel of care-worn, carved wood under 
his fingers. He closed his eyes and drew one knife from its sheath. He 
held it out in a defensive posture, his whole body slipping easily back 
into a stance and bearing he hadn’t used for millennia.
      Elladan didn’t answer. He watched the change that had come 
over Glorfindel and his heart leapt to see what a beautiful, terrible 
warrior Glorfindel had once been. ‘My heart would have been yours to 
command if I had fought beside you all those years ago,’ Elladan 
thought. ‘I would not have left you to face the Balrog alone.’
      It was strange. Elladan had never thought about what 
Glorfindel’s life might have been like before he’d come to Imladris. 
Now the younger elf (he felt very young indeed in the sight of 
Glorfindel’s change) found himself wondering what Glorfindel knew, 
what he’d lived through, and if he missed Gondolin.
      ‘If I was killed then resurrected, only to find that my home had 
been destroyed, I would have felt very frightened.’ He felt sick as a 
revelation, a guess, touched his mind. ‘What if the reason Glorfindel is 
here, the reason he’s a slave, the reason he was a whore, is because he 
was desperate to be with elves again, no matter the cost? What if that’s 
the reason?’ Elladan shivered to think of it and resolved that he would 
get up the courage some day to ask.
      ‘But that’s not this day,’ he thought as he watched Glorfindel 
work with the knife. He had spun away, his eyes still closed and was 
moving the knife with a grace and speed that was equal (or better) than 
Elladan’s own father’s. And Elrond had long been considered the 
greatest of warriors still alive because he had fought beside Gil-galad 
in the battle of the Last Alliance. Elladan marveled that the Elda’s eyes 
were still closed and yet Glorfindel seemed to know exactly where he 
was and precisely what he was doing. ‘Did he have to fight blind under 
the earth when he blocked the escape of the Balrog? Doubtless, that 
accounts for some of his skill. But not all.’ Elladan had a sudden 
suspicion that Glorfindel had spent a good deal of his time training in 
different climes and times of day. ‘He’s a better fighter than Ada,’ 
Elladan concluded. ‘Why is he here at all? He should be in a place of 
honor.’ 
      Glorfindel suddenly uttered a fell cry and sprang into the air 
like a cat. Elladan gasped as the Elda left the ground, leaping nimbly 
to a tree branch twenty feet off the ground. Glorfindel caught the limb 
with one hand, his other hand still cradling, almost caressing the knife. 
He swung himself up effortlessly and crouched there, balanced on the 
balls of his feet. His eyes were open, but he seemed to be looking 
through things instead of at them.
      That far away, not quite there look frightened Elladan, but he 
was too frozen by shock to move. His eyes were drawn to Glorfindel’s 
other hand, which rested on the branch and for an instant he thought he 
saw a ring on that hand. Not a ring of power, not one of the three, but a 
ring all the same. Then it was gone.
      The vision disappeared with it. Glorfindel shook his head and 
seemed to come back to himself. He glanced down at the knife, then 
down at Elladan. Without a word, he jumped from the tree. His eyes 
danced. “Aii, Elladan!” he cried as he ran to embrace his lover. “Aii, 
Elladan, thank you! I forgot! I forgot I could do that!”
      Elladan laughed in amazement. “You’re welcome.” He held 
Glorfindel close for a moment, then asked, “Do you want to work with 
the other knife?” When the Elda drew back, Elladan released him and 
stepped back. Deftly, he picked up Glorfindel’s second knife and 
tossed it to him. Then he drew his own weapons. “Will you fight me, 
Balrog-Slayer?”
      Glorfindel grinned. “You may regret the asking, elfling,” he 
mock-snarled as he twirled his knives in the morning light. Without 
further warning, he leapt and Elladan found himself hard-pressed at 
once.
      He was only able to parry four of Glorfindel’s thrusts 
successfully before the blond knocked the knife from his left hand. 
‘Still, I didn’t think I’d get this far,’ Elladan added as he struggled to 
fend off the mighty, gorgeous warrior before him. ‘I was right. He is a 
terrible, beautiful warrior. And I will fight beside him no matter what 
comes.’
      He caught another thrust on the hilt of his blade, but then his 
knife was knocked away by Glorfindel’s other knife. Elladan gasped 
and stared in shock, first at his empty hands then at Glorfindel’s 
widening grin.
      “I’ve got you now,” Glorfindel laughed as he held up his 
brilliantly-gleaming, clean knives. “Surrender.”
      Elladan put up his hands. “Aye, I give in. You’re too strong for 
me.” He held out a hand. “Now will you consent to sit with your 
captive and talk awhile?”
      Glorfindel handed his knives back to Elladan. “If you put these 
back, I’ll collect the other two.”
      Elladan snapped him a bow and a laughing smile that 
Glorfindel didn’t see. “Yes, Master.”
      Glorfindel had started to turn but now he whirled around. 
“Don’t call me that!” he cried, sounding wounded, angry and a little 
afraid.
      Elladan dropped the knives on the other gear. “Glorfindel,” he 
whispered, his mind filled with self-loathing, “I was only teasing. I’m 
sorry. I just…. I just forgot.” He held out his hands helplessly. “I’m 
sorry,” he repeated, feeling completely miserable.
      Glorfindel’s eyes cleared and he ran to Elladan, drawing him 
close. “That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry, Elladan. I really am. That 
was stupid of me. I know you better than that.” He kissed the top of 
Elladan’s head. “I love you, Elladan.”
      Elladan hugged him back and snuggled against him. “I love 
you, too, Glorfy.” Then he pulled back and little and met Glorfindel’s 
eyes. “I have a way to stop your nightmares. That’s the real reason I 
brought you out here.”
      Glorfindel blinked at him in surprise, then he shook his head. 
“They’re just a normal part of the healing process, Elladan.”
      “I still want to help,” Elladan insisted. “Will you let me try?”
      Glorfindel’s eyes closed for a moment and the Elda seemed to 
take stock of himself. At last, he opened his eyes and nodded. “Yes, 
Elladan, you can try.”
      Elladan took his hands and guided him to a large rock that 
stood at the edge of the clearing. It was almost flat on top and there the 
two elves perched. Elladan was still grasping Glorfindel’s hands and 
now he drew them forward so that they rested on his own knees. He 
covered them with his more calloused ones. “Glorfindel, I love you,” 
he began slowly. He wanted to make sure that Glorfindel was 
comfortable before they stepped off into the unknown.
      Glorfindel smiled. “Aye, I know that, Elladan. And I love 
you.”
      The younger elf took a deep breath and plunged in. “When I 
was little, I used to have nightmares about rock-monsters and dark-
monsters and even water-monsters.” He shook his head, remembering. 
“It got so that Ada and Nana started checking in on me three or four 
times each night. Then they decided I might sleep better if I slept next 
to someone, so they put Elrohir and me in the same room.”
      Glorfindel was nodding. All of this he remembered.
      “It didn’t help,” Elladan sighed.  “Now, instead of just scaring 
myself, my nightmares were scaring Elrohir. Our bond as twins wasn’t 
strong when we were little, not like it is now- What?” He stared at the 
grieving, hurt expression on Glorfindel’s face in utter astonishment. 
“Glorfy, what is it?” He squeezed Glorfindel’s hands until the Elda 
refocused on him. “What did I say?”
      Glorfindel’s eyes were rapidly filling with tears and he was 
struggling to hold them back. Suddenly, he jumped up and pulled out 
of Elladan’s gentle grip. He staggered backwards and then gained his 
balance. “I… I need to go. I-I forgot…. I promised Elrohir I would…” 
Without another word, he turned and fled.
      “Glorfindel! Glorfindel, wait! What’s wrong?” Elladan started 
to give chase, then realised he couldn’t leave the weapons out here. As 
unimportant as they seemed, they were heirlooms of his house and 
Glorfindel’s connection to the past. He went back for them, lamenting 
bitterly that his mother’s words were right: “Weapons never help. 
They only hurt.”
      “That’s right,” Elladan muttered, “and now they’re keeping me 
from Glorfindel.” Again, he was tempted to leave them (not that he 
had any delusions about catching Glorfindel) but his duty called him 
back. Cursing his duty, cursing himself, Elladan gathered up 
everything and made his way, quickly as he could, back to the Hall of 
the Sword.
      When the weapons were back in their places, Elladan went to 
Glorfindel’s room, and, finding it empty, began to search out the 
Elda’s favorite sitting or walking places.
      It didn’t occur to him that Glorfindel would actually be with 
Elrohir. He assumed that was just an excuse. After all, Glorfindel was 
terrified of Elrohir. He would never go to him willingly. And Elrohir 
hadn’t sent for him in many years.
***
      Glorfindel ran, fast and frightened as a doe hunted by hounds, 
to Elrohir’s room. Once he was there, he knocked without even 
waiting for his breath to catch up with him. He gasped and leaned 
against the wall, trying to stop the flow of his tears.
      “Come in.”
      Glorfindel opened the door and slipped inside. He closed and 
locked it behind him. His hair was tied back from his face- Elladan had 
done his hair that morning- but Glorfindel wished it could hide him.
      There was a stunned silence, broken only by Glorfindel’s harsh 
breathing, which was rapidly dissolving into sobs. Then Elrohir said, 
sardonically, “You must have mistaken this for Elladan’s room, 
Whore. His is six doors down on the left. I’d make you sorry you came 
in here, except that I’m a little busy right now. Come back tonight and 
I’ll take you then.”
      Glorfindel’s head snapped up and his eyes, though swimming 
with tears, were also blazing. His hands were shaking and he was 
crying so hard he could hardly talk. “Elladan thinks-” He choked, 
swallowed, breathed and started again. “Elladan thinks he has a full 
twin-bond with you. He spoke of it today.”
      Elrohir was sitting behind his desk, a quill in his hand and a 
roll of parchment open before him. His hair cascaded around his 
shoulders, and Glorfindel shuddered to think how much he looked like 
Elladan when he was working over something.
      Now Elrohir set the quill aside and stood. As he moved nearer, 
Glorfindel was hard-pressed not to retreat. Elrohir caught his arm and 
demanded, “Explain.”
      “Elladan thinks he has a full twin-bond with you.”
      Elrohir slapped him. “Yes, you said that. So?”
      Glorfindel stared at him in horror. He scarcely felt the pain 
from the slap. “Don’t you understand? If he really had a twin-bond 
with you, he would be able to feel everything you do to me. Since he 
can’t,” Glorfindel’s eyes added plainly ‘I hope he can’t’ “I’m going to 
assume you’re blocking it somehow and yet still making him think he 
has that bond.”
      Elrohir looked bored. “Yes. So?”
      ‘Elrohir, if I could strangle you, I would.’ Glorfindel’s hands 
clenched at his sides. “You’re deceiving him. When he discovers that 
you’ve been keeping things from him, he’ll revert and lose all the 
wonderful progress he’s made.”
      Elrohir grabbed Glorfindel’s shoulders and shook him. “You 
won’t tell him!” he roared, nearly screaming into Glorfindel’s face. He 
reached up and seized Glorfindel about the throat. He drove the Elda 
back against the chamber door. “You won’t tell him,” he snarled, “will 
you?”
      Glorfindel wanted to shake his head, to swear that was never 
his intention. He didn’t want to see Elladan slip back towards the 
darkness any more than Elrohir did. But his love of Elladan and his 
own fury at Elrohir stifled that instant slave-reaction. He struggled 
against Elrohir’s restraining hands.
      “Answer me,” Elrohir spat. “You won’t tell Elladan, will you?”
      Glorfindel groaned back in his throat. He was starting to lose 
the definition in the world around him. Colors were washing out, 
leaving only gray.
      Elrohir shook him again, thudding his head against the door. 
“Will you?”
      Glorfindel was starting to lose consciousness and Elrohir must 
have realised this because he let Glorfindel go so that he sank to the 
floor. Then he bent over the slave and whispered, his voice too calm 
and reasonable to be trusted, “Answer me, Glorfindel. It’s for your 
own good.”
      “I don’t want to hurt Elladan,” Glorfindel told him softly. “I 
love him.” He caught the look of contempt in Elrohir’s eyes and flared, 
against his better judgment, “And Elladan loves me. We have strength 
in each other.”
      Elrohir slapped him again so that his head rocked back and 
struck the door for a second time. “You have no strength. You give 
Elladan everything he needs, but don’t come to me claiming to 
actually be able to love. You’re my tool to heal Elladan and that’s all 
you are. Don’t get any delusions about pretending love and eventually 
convincing Ada to free you.”
      Glorfindel refused to be intimidated. This was too important. If 
he didn’t convince Elrohir, Elladan would eventually learn of all that 
had transpired and then- Glorfindel didn’t even want to think about it. 
‘But I’ll have to think of it to convince Elrohir,’ he realised with a sort 
of grim triumph. ‘I’ll have to confront this so Elrohir will save his 
brother.’
      All of this passed through his mind in an instant. To Elrohir, he 
said:
      “Even if it’s pretend love for me- which it isn’t- it isn’t pretend 
to Elladan. He’s given everything he is to me,” Glorfindel challenged. 
“And if you deny that, you’re lying to yourself.” He saw the look of 
hatred mixed with understanding in Elrohir’s eyes and rushed on, “I 
don’t want to use Elladan’s love against him. I love all of you. I raised 
you three children and have served Elrond faithfully. If nothing else, 
my loyalty prevents me from hurting Elladan. But he will learn 
someday that you’ve been using me and that your father has been 
doing the same. Then he will have no one to trust, not even me, 
because I also lied to him. If I were Elladan, surrounded by enemies, 
I’d rather take my chances in the wilds, where at least I could die 
fighting then be used as a whore- symbolic though it is- by my own 
family.”
      He fell silent, knowing he could say no more.
      Elrohir’s face was darkening with a roil of emotions. He asked, 
his voice pale, “Why did he mention his bond with me?”
      Glorfindel sighed. “He was talking about when he was little 
and had nightmares. He told me how Elrond put him in your room and 
how his nightmares frightened both of you because of your bond. He 
said ‘Our bond as twins wasn’t strong when we were little, not like it 
is now’. And I realised that if he thinks you have a strong bond that 
you must be deceiving him somehow. I’m afraid for Elladan. He’s 
come so far.”
      “Why was he talking about nightmares?”
      Glorfindel flinched, even though Elrohir hadn’t raised his 
voice. “Sometimes, he’ll catch me after a time with you or your father 
and I have to tell him that I had a nightmare because I don’t want him 
to know that I’m still being hurt.” He suddenly seized upon an idea 
and he was just angry and frightened enough to try it. “Do you love 
your own physical pleasure or Elladan’s happiness and sanity more?”
      Elrohir struck him again, this time with both fists. Glorfindel 
groaned and curled into himself. “I love Elladan!” Elrohir shouted. 
“Don’t you understand that?” He hit Glorfindel again. “You caused 
this! You caused his talk about nightmares and bonds! You’ve alerted 
him to me! You’ve-” he was struggling to stand up and Glorfindel 
curled further into himself, shielding his head- “always wanted to turn 
Elladan against me. You’ve always wanted an excuse to escape 
slavery.” He kicked Glorfindel. “Well, it isn’t going to happen! You’re 
still my whore and you’ll never escape that!”
      Glorfindel didn’t cry. He’d been badly abused before and it 
didn’t affect him as much as it once had. He simply waited for Elrohir 
to be done with him and hoped he would be conscious afterwards.
      Suddenly, Elrohir stopped raining blows on him and yanked 
him out of his fetal position. “Where’s Elladan now?” he whispered, 
fear suddenly in his eyes.
      Glorfindel froze. “I… I don’t know. I left him in the woods 
and-”
      “FUCK!!” Elrohir screamed and he slammed Glorfindel’s head 
so savagely against the door that Glorfindel blacked out.
      Elrohir left the room at a run.
***
      Elrohir ran from room to room, all caution or thoughts of 
discretion cast aside. All he could think about was the day he’d found 
Elladan tied to a post amidst the men’s camp. He’d slain the few men 
that stood between him and his naked brother (clumsy as cows in 
morass they had been, and Elrohir had felt no sense of triumph in 
killing such unworthy opponents) and then knelt at Elladan’s side.
      His mind shied away from what had followed and Elrohir 
raised his voice again. “Elladan! Elladan!” He was now heading 
towards the main doors of the house.
      “Lord Elrohir, what is wrong?”
      Elrohir saw Lindir, Erestor’s slave and demanded, “Have you 
seen Elladan?”
      The slave shook his head. “No, Lord. At least, not since last 
night. Is something wrong?” He took a step closer, but it was a hesitant 
step. All the slaves knew how badly Elrohir treated Glorfindel; each of 
them had often tended his wounds. “Do you want me to help you 
look?”
      Elrohir nodded curtly. “Yes. Search the house one more time, 
then go tell my father Elladan’s missing.” He turned and ran to the 
front doors, not waiting to see if Lindir would do as he asked.
      Once outside, Elrohir raised his voice again, his eyes darting 
everywhere, but especially up to the high points of the house and to the 
trees. He could not shake the thought that Elladan had hung himself.
      ‘If our bond was real, I’d be able to feel if he was still alive.’
      But the bond hadn’t been real in years, not since Elrohir had 
poisoned Glorfindel. And even now, in his terror, Elrohir couldn’t 
regret his decision to use drugs to send Elladan false readings. Surely 
it had protected Elladan in the past.
      ‘Or maybe it just protected my own needs,’ Elrohir thought as 
an image of Glorfindel flitted before his eyes. He shook his head, 
refusing to believe such a thing. ‘I did the best thing for Elladan,’ he 
insisted.’
      But the doubt was still there. To dispel it, Elrohir muttered 
stubbornly, “I’ve done the right thing. It’s Glorfindel’s fault Elladan is 
missing, possibly hurt. I’ll explain that to him later.” His right hand 
flexed, as if curling around a whip-handle, and he vowed silently, ‘I’ll 
beat him senseless so he never forgets it.’
      He ran towards the river, still calling for his brother.
***
      Lindir had run into two other slaves and urged them to search 
out Lord Elladan. Now, alone again, Lindir started with Lord Elladan’s 
room. Finding it empty, he started down the hall, checking in each 
room briefly. Ten minutes after leaving Elladan’s chambers, he came 
to Elrohir’s and tried to open the door. It wouldn’t open easily. 
Thinking that at last he’d found Elladan, Lindir called, “Lord Elladan? 
Are you there?”
      He was answered only by a soft moan.
      Lindir’s mouth was suddenly dry. He knew that moan. Hadn’t 
he heard it countless times before? He didn’t hesitate. Forgetting his 
duty to search for Elladan, Lindir pushed the door in gently and 
slipped inside.
      Glorfindel lay, bleeding, on the floor. Lindir knelt and felt 
gently of his friend’s arms, legs and neck. There seemed to be no 
broken bones there. And yet, there was too much blood. After another 
minute of searching, Lindir found the broken rib and sighed. ‘It could 
have been much worse,’ he thought.
      Tenderly, he lifted Glorfindel into his arms and carried his 
friend back to his room. He laid Glorfindel on his pallet and then, his 
face grim and determined, set his rib.
      Glorfindel moaned again, but that was all.
      Lindir cleaned Glorfindel’s injuries, tending them as best he 
could. Then he slipped Glorfindel into a short tunic and leggings; he 
eased him under the single blanket on his bed. Nodding to himself as 
he straightened, Lindir murmured, “I’ll be back later to check on you. 
Rest and heal, Glorfindel.” He left the room.
***
      Elladan didn’t shout for Glorfindel. His lover had run away. 
That implied he didn’t want to be found. ‘Find him I must and that will 
be made easier if I sneak up on him.’ Elladan hoped he could surprise 
Glorfindel into talking, or at least convince him to stay still for a 
while. ‘Let me just hold him,’ he thought. ‘Whatever I said, I’ll make 
it better if I can just show him that I love him.’
      His mind strayed to Glorfindel’s flight and he wondered what 
his lover was afraid of. ‘It didn’t have to be something I said. It could 
have been something that suddenly entered his mind.’ He sighed and 
then he remembered Glorfindel talking about being too stiff to ride.
      ‘Elves are never stiff. At least, not from cold or wet or lack of 
sleep. The only things that can make an elf move more slowly are 
injuries or fading.’ He fought against the panic that threatened to close 
his throat. ‘Be sensible, Elladan!’ he cried at himself. ‘If Glorfindel 
was fading, you’d be able to see it in his eyes.’
      ‘Yes, that’s true,’ he admitted, ‘but he hasn’t been injured 
either. So what could be causing his stiffness?’
      ‘Sometimes, I take him when we’re in bed. Is that it? Have I 
been taking him too hard and he’s afraid to tell me?’
      In the last year or so, Glorfindel had asked Elladan if they 
could switch roles occasionally. “I love feeling you in me, holding 
me,” he’d confessed. “And I think I’m healed enough for it.”
      But that theory only stood for a moment. ‘He’s never been stiff 
after a night with me. Besides, we haven’t lain together within the last 
month: he’s been too afraid to be aroused. He’s been stiff five or six 
times since last we were together.’
      Elladan shook his head. There seemed to be only two 
possibilities: either Glorfindel didn’t want to ride and was making an 
excuse or he was really hurt, though Elladan couldn’t think how this 
could happen.
      ‘He’s safe here,’ he thought fiercely as he searched for 
Glorfindel by the riverbank. ‘He knows he’s safe. He knows I would 
never let anything happen to him.’
      ‘But he would never lie to me, either.’
      A voice carried over the water. “Elladan! Elladan! Answer 
me!”
      ‘Elrohir,’ Elladan thought, turning towards the sound of his 
brother’s voice. ‘He sounds worried.’ He tried to send a thought 
through their bond, thinking to calm Elrohir- but the thought came 
back to him, unanswered.
      Instinctively, he sent it again, harder this time, ‘yelling’ in his 
mind. ‘Elrohir! I’m here! What’s wrong? Elrohir?’
      Again, the thought was bounced back to him.
      Elrohir’s voice was moving away from him. “Elladan! 
Elladan!”
      Elladan shouted, “Elrohir!”
      There was a stunned silence, then Elrohir appeared between 
two tress on the far bank. “Stay there!” he ordered. His hair was flying 
wildly around him and his eyes were terror-bright. Without hesitation, 
he dove into the river and swam to the other side. He yanked himself 
out, ignoring Elladan’s outstretched hand and threw his arms around 
his twin. He held Elladan very close, hugging him almost savagely.
      “Where have you been? Why did you run off? Are you all 
right?” Elrohir pulled back a little to study Elladan’s face critically. 
“What’s wrong?”
      Elladan stared at his dripping, disheveled brother. ‘He knew I 
was alone. But how could he know that unless-?’ He gripped Elrohir’s 
upper arms. “Where’s Glorfindel?”
      Elrohir blinked at him, then shook his head. “That’s not 
important. Are you all right?”
      ‘It is important!’ Elladan wanted to scream. But Elrohir’s 
terror- he could almost smell it- forced him to take up his role as older 
brother. It was a role he wasn’t used to playing. Once, long ago, it 
seemed, Elrohir had looked to him always. But that time was almost 
forgotten.
      Taking a deep breath, Elladan made himself calm, at least on 
the outside. “I’m all right, Elrohir. I was just looking for Glorfindel. 
Something I said either offended or frightened him and I was looking 
for him to apologize.” He took another deep breath and tried to send 
reassurance into his brother’s mind. Like his former calls, it came back 
unchanged. ‘I’ll ask about that in a minute. Maybe it’s because we 
haven’t been as close lately. Surely we can rebuild it.’
      ‘First, though, Elrohir needs me.’
      “Don’t fear for me, Elrohir. I’m fine.” He smiled to show he 
was being truthful and tried to make Elrohir believe him.
      Elrohir stared at him with haunted eyes and his hands tightened 
even more on his brother’s shoulders. He spoke very fast, his words 
almost running together. “Glorfindel came and told me he’d run from 
you. I thought you were hurt or lost or…” He shivered, as if in the grip 
of a high fever such as only men get. He clutched Elladan to him and 
choked out, his voice breaking, “I love you, Elladan. I was afraid I’d 
lost you.”
      Elladan realised, ‘He can’t feel me through the bond at all.’ He 
closed his eyes for a moment to assess how much of Elrohir’s mind he 
could feel. All he received was a general feeling of contentment.
      ‘That’s wrong. He’s not content!’ Elladan’s eyes flew open and 
he stared at Elrohir’s earnest, grey eyes. “Elrohir,” he whispered, “I 
can’t feel your mind. I can’t hear anything you’re thinking. What sort 
of dark trick is this?”
      Elrohir’s eyes were filling with tears- but Elladan didn’t know 
if they were tears of relief or of worry. He drew Elrohir close and 
folded him into his arms. “It’s all right, Little Brother,” he said, hoping 
to make Elrohir smile as that name once had. “Everything’s all right. 
We’ll talk to Ada. Maybe he can help us figure out what’s wrong.”
      True, Elrond had been extremely distant lately, barely speaking 
to his children or to anyone else, but he had always been there for 
them before.
      Elrohir shook his head. “I’m… It’s… I don’t want to talk to 
him. It’ll get better. I promise.”
      ‘How can you be so sure?’ flitted across Elladan’s mind, but he 
set that aside for the moment. Instead, he asked, still calmly, “Where is 
Glorfindel?”
      “He’s in my rooms. I… told him to wait there until I return.” 
Suddenly, Elrohir looked very uncomfortable.
      ‘Is he lying to me?’ The realization that he could even be 
contemplating this idea filled Elladan with the utmost horror and self-
loathing. He cast it aside.
      ‘That’s your problem, you know that, Elladan?’ a quiet voice 
whispered in his mind. ‘You ignore things. You close your eyes to 
them. If you would just open your eyes, you might really see what’s 
wrong with Glorfindel, with Elrohir, with Imladris itself.’
      And once again, for the sake of peace- in his own mind, if not 
with the world- Elladan swept the doubts under the rug. They were too 
confusing. There was too much that needed to be helped. ‘And I’m in 
no position to help any of it.’
      ‘Then you can’t hope to help Elrohir or Glorfindel,’ the voice 
contradicted.
      Suddenly, Elladan wanted to run. He wanted to go somewhere 
alone and just sit quietly. He wanted to stare up at the trees and forget 
there was anything else in the world.
      ‘You do that and you’re going to lose both of them. Both will 
die. Glorfindel first, surely, but then Elrohir will follow. Maybe not 
because you didn’t address these things, but can you be sure that’s 
why it didn’t happen?’
      ‘Can you?’
      Elladan braced himself for the admission, thinking, ‘I’ll go 
insane if I admit it.’ Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Dangerous as the 
possibilities were, he couldn’t just abandon Glorfindel and Elrohir. 
‘No, I could never be sure.’
      He swallowed. Waited. A bird twittered. A breeze of no 
particular direction stirred his hair. The madness did not descend. His 
mind cleared a little, sharpened. ‘I know what I have to do. It’s like 
Glorfindel when he touched the knives- I remember being this way 
once.’
      Elladan looked at his brother. “What’s wrong with the bond, 
Elrohir?”
      Elrohir blanched. “Why do you think I’d know?” he asked 
defensively.
      “Because you do.” Elladan locked gazes with his twin and 
Elrohir was the first to look away. “Answer me, Elrohir.”
      His twin shuffled his feet. ‘He looks like he did when he was 
five and was caught stealing cookies,’ Elladan thought.
      At last, his eyes downcast, Elrohir whispered, “I made the bond 
this way. I used drugs. I wanted to protect you from what I’ve been 
feeling.” He glanced up cautiously, his expression hopeful. ‘Did I say 
the right thing? Did I say enough without saying too much?’ that 
expression asked.
      “What have you been feeling?” Elladan whipped back.
      ‘What if I hurt him by asking all this? I don’t want to hurt 
anyone-’
      ‘’I’m hurting our relationship by not asking,’ Elladan coldly 
informed that cowardly, nearly hysterical voice. He felt a sense of 
power when he thought this, but didn’t relish it. There was too much to 
do. ‘I feel like I’ve been asleep for a hundred years and am now just 
waking up to find that the world needed me after all, despite my self-
centered desire to leave it alone.’
      Elrohir was shuffling his feet again. “Pleasure,” he admitted at 
last.
      “Pleasure in what?”
      Elrohir cried, his eyes still turned away from his brother’s face, 
“Elladan, please! I don’t want to talk about it! You don’t need to 
know! It’s bad!”
      ‘He’s sounding younger and younger all the time.’
      “Tell me, Elrohir. I’ll judge whether I need to hear it or not.”
      “But by then it will be too late!” Elrohir nearly sobbed.
      “Please let me worry about that. Just tell me. You could always 
tell me the truth before.”
      “But that was before!” Elrohir reached out blindly and caught 
Elladan’s hand. “Don’t you understand? That was before! You’ve been 
hurt since then- raped, destroyed, broken- and I don’t want to hurt you 
any more! I want you to heal completely and I’ll do whatever I have to 
so I can help you!”
      Elladan recognized this speech, heart felt as it was, as cover-up 
and camouflage. Hadn’t he sat in on a hundred councils with his father 
where people from all over Middle-Earth tried to talk their way around 
the Lord of Imladris? Also, he noticed that his brother didn’t meet his 
gaze. “Just tell me, Elrohir.”
      Elrohir was looking around wildly. Elladan waited. There was 
nothing else he could do.
      “I-” Elrohir gulped. “I’ve been with Glorfindel. Since you two 
got together.” He shuddered. “More. I put you together. I drugged 
Glorfindel so that he was dying.” He whimpered and made to pull 
away from Elladan, but the older twin gripped his hand hard and he 
stopped.
      There was a very long silence.
      “What else do you want me to say?” Elrohir howled at last.
      “Tell me everything you have to,” Elladan answered tonelessly, 
even as his mind reeled with shock.
      Elrohir’s last resolve broke then; Elladan could almost see it 
go. “I thought I could give up Glorfindel. ‘He’s just a whore,’ I told 
myself. ‘I can find another. Or, if I don’t, I’ll just survive. I’m not a 
sex-maniac. I don’t need it all the time. I’m an elf. I can be cool and 
collected if I have to be. I can do that. I’m Elrohir, son of Elrond and-
’”
      “But you couldn’t,” Elladan interrupted.
      Elrohir let out a shaky sigh that was close to a sob. “No, I 
couldn’t. I drugged Glorfindel and gave him to you that way. When 
you came to me and told me that you loved Glorfindel, it was more 
than I could have ever hoped for. And yet, I laughed. I laughed when 
you were gone, at my own cleverness as much as at what I perceived 
to be your folly. ‘How can a freeborn truly love a slave?’ I asked 
myself.”
      He took a deep breath and plunged back in. “I’d come to 
depend on Glorfindel. Not as a person. As something to calm me 
down. And the more I had to work to conceal my plots from you, the 
more stressed I became, and the more often I needed to drown myself 
in Glorfindel’s…” He moaned, unable to think of what he should say.
      “In Glorfindel,” Elladan supplied simply.
      Elrohir nodded gratefully. “Yes… I wanted him and so I used 
drugs again, but on me this time. I found a drug that blocks bonds and 
I used it. I’ve been using it for years now. Almost since you first came 
to me and told me of your love.” At last, he looked up at Elladan. 
“And now that I’ve told you, you’re going to be hurt or afraid or both 
and you’re going to wonder- even if you don’t ask it- how I could 
betray you in this way. Then you’ll realise that I deceived you and 
raped someone you love and you’ll never trust me again and you’ll 
wonder if anyone can be trusted anymore. You won’t even trust 
Glorfindel because he’s been in on this secret, obviously.” Elrohir 
stopped to catch his breath. Tentatively, he raised his eyes, staring 
helplessly at his brother, waiting for these things to occur.
      ‘Have I been so panicked and unsteady as all that?’ Elladan 
asked in shock.
      Then, after only a moment (for he knew the answer even before 
he’d finished the question) he conceded, ‘Yes. I must have been. I’ve 
been walking around here like a shadow for far too long. And, like a 
shadow, the minute something around me changes, I change.’
      ‘Not any more,’ that voice, the small one that he’d wanted to 
hate but had to accept put in. ‘You went looking for Glorfindel quite 
calmly, didn’t you? You looked for him methodically and with a 
certain degree of patience.’
      Elladan wanted to laugh. “I’m free,” he whispered. “I’m free.” 
He looked at Elrohir and saw the apprehension in his twin’s eyes. “I’m 
free, Elrohir. I’m not afraid anymore.” And because he could scarcely 
contain himself, Elladan laughed then, letting himself go; crowing his 
triumph to the sky until it seemed to echo all around them.
      Elrohir stared at him in confusion. “Elladan? I don’t…” He 
stopped as Elladan sobered and tried again. “I don’t understand,” he 
complained, but he was already losing some of his fear. Elladan could 
see that plainly. He didn’t really need a bond to be able to read his 
brother.
      ‘As long as I was in the right mind, I could always read him.’
      “I’m fine, Elrohir. I’m just glad this part is over.” He smiled 
reassuringly, then grew serious. “I’ll remove the burden of hiding 
things from your shoulders, and I’ll remove Glorfindel, too. Promise 
me you won’t touch him again.”
      In a flash, he understood why Glorfindel had been stiff, why he 
had been having ‘nightmares’, why he was afraid of the dark. More to 
himself than to Elrohir, Elladan said, “I’ve been seeing evidence of 
your use of him for a long time now. And I misjudged or ignored all of 
it.” He shook his head wonderingly. “It’s like an Ent in the middle of a 
desert: how can you miss him?”
      Elrohir cringed when Elladan mentioned Glorfindel. “What did 
he do that you misjudged?” His eyes said plainly that he wasn’t sure 
he wanted to know, but couldn’t help asking.
      Elladan answered firmly, “You don’t need to hear that. It’s 
between Glorfindel and I.”
      ‘And now, I must find Glorfindel. First, though…’
      Elladan said softly, “I need your promise, Little Brother.”
      Elrohir’s grey eyes were downcast again. “Can you forgive me 
so easily?”
      “It’s a sickness in Imladris,” Elladan answered and wasn’t 
aware he’d spoken until Elrohir gaped at him. He went on, “It’s 
something Nana had first. We thought it was from the orcs, and maybe 
they helped it grow. But it’s here. In this valley. Have you noticed that 
Lothlorien doesn’t keep slaves?”
      Elrohir shook his head. “I never thought about it,” he 
confessed.
      “And why should you? Neither of us has been there since we 
were little more than elflings.” Elladan turned his eyes towards the 
river, but reached out so that Elrohir took his hand. “Elrohir, there’s 
something wrong here. Elves weren’t meant to have slaves. But that 
aside, there is something diseased here. It took Nana and forced her on 
a ship. It took Glorfindel, at least for a while. That’s why he submitted 
to slavery. And it took me, too.” He glanced at Elrohir. “And you.” 
Again, his eyes moved away over the water. “It’s a disease, but I don’t 
pretend to understand it. Whatever it is, it doesn’t hurt everyone. Estel 
never felt it, surely, and neither did Arwen. But it’s hurting us, Elrohir. 
We can’t let it.” He sighed. “I talked of this once, a long time ago. 
When Estel was first brought here. Do you remember?”
      Elrohir nodded. “But you didn’t know what it was. And Ada… 
Ada wouldn’t listen to you….” He asked dubiously, “Do you mean a 
spirit?”
      Elladan was glad to hear that awake, aware voice. Elrohir was 
curious and wanting to understand. ‘It’s been too long since we’ve 
talked openly like this. No more. We’ll keep this line of 
communication open no matter what.’
      “I don’t think so. It’s something else, though I don’t understand 
it.” He turned to his twin. “Will you help me fight it, Elrohir? Will you 
help me find it and kill it, whatever it is?” He met Elrohir’s eyes, so 
much like his own.
      Elrohir smiled, and the honesty and relief in his voice almost 
made Elladan weep. “Aye, my Big Brother, I’ll help you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
      While he rode on his desperate journey, Legolas slipped into 
reverie. He couldn’t account for this, since he was very worried, but 
still he drifted. He had no fear that he would fall from Kendall’s back 
or that the horses would stray from their course. And so he slept, after 
the elves’ fashion.
      And as he slept, he thought he dreamed. ‘It must be a dream. I 
don’t know anything about either elf and yet, now, I understand them 
both very well. It’s almost as if I was dwelling within them.’
      He came in the middle of what could not properly be called 
either a fight or just a conversation. The mind he lived in was filled 
with confusion, and yet one thing was clear. He heard it as a thought 
more than a feeling: ‘I love my brother and Glorfindel. I need to help 
them.’
      He now understood two things: he was in Elladan’s mind, and 
Elladan had come out of the half-sleep he’d been in for so long. 
Legolas didn’t understand how he knew the second fact, but he knew it 
to be true.
      ‘Is he lying to me?’
      The horror in Elladan’s mind almost made Legolas pass out.
      Legolas realised, ‘This isn’t the time for gentleness.’
      He spat at Elladan, trusting his instincts and said, angrily as he 
could, ‘That’s your problem, you know that, Elladan? You ignore 
things. You close your eyes to them. If you would just open your eyes, 
you might really see what’s wrong with Glorfindel, with Elrohir, with 
Imladris itself.’
      Legolas wondered to himself, ‘What’s wrong with Imladris?’ 
He had no answer. Nor did he much care about it, as long as he got 
Elladan to see what was wrong.
      But the older elf was fighting him. He was terrified of what 
would happen if he simply asked the questions and tried to answer 
them. Legolas realised in some surprise, ‘He’s afraid of losing his 
mind. I think that happened once before and he doesn’t relish the 
memory.’ Mentally tightening his belt, Legolas vowed, ‘Well that’s 
just too bad, because I’m going to make him face it whether he likes it 
or not. He needs to face this. If he doesn’t, Middle-Earth will be lost.’
      He wanted to think that last statement was arbitrary and 
exaggerated, but even as he thought it he knew it to be completely 
true. The knowledge turned his stomach to ice.
      Elladan was talking to himself again. ‘And I’m in no position 
to help any of it.’
      ‘Then you can’t hope to help Elrohir or Glorfindel,’ Legolas 
taunted, thinking to goad Elladan into anger.
      Legolas felt Elladan’s sudden compulsion to run and he fought 
against it as hard as he could, going so far as to hold Elladan 
physically still as much as his strength would let him. He knew his 
power over Elladan’s muscles wouldn’t last long. He’d have to try 
something drastic. ‘Elladan wants to be alone? Fine. I’ll tell him 
what’s going to happen if he goes off to be by himself.’
      He growled, ‘You do that and you’re going to lose both of 
them. Both will die. Glorfindel first, surely, but then Elrohir will 
follow. Maybe not because you didn’t address these things, but can 
you be sure that’s why it didn’t happen?’
      He waited an instant, then demanded, his patience thinning, 
‘Can you?’
      Elladan braced himself for the admission, thinking, ‘I’ll go 
insane if I admit it.’
      Legolas kept quiet. He could bring Elladan to the cliff-edge. It 
was Elladan’s decision if he wanted to dive off or trust that he could 
walk on air.
      At last, Elladan answered, ‘No, I could never be sure.’
      Legolas muffled his joy as Elladan waited for madness to 
come. When it didn’t, the older elf decided, ‘I know what I have to do. 
It’s like Glorfindel when he touched the knives- I remember being this 
way once.’
      Legolas didn’t understand this reference, but at the same time 
he knew he didn’t have to. ‘It’s not important,’ he told himself. ‘Just 
listen.’
      A long conversation passed between the brothers and Legolas 
waited, ready to leap forward if he had to. And he silently rejoiced 
when Elladan was able to confront a doubt by himself:
      “What have you been feeling?” Elladan demanded of his 
brother.
      ‘What if I hurt him by asking all this? I don’t want to hurt 
anyone-’
      ‘I’m hurting our relationship by not asking,’ Elladan answered 
the half-formed, hysterical voice. His surety and calmness made 
Legolas want to cheer.
      Then, after a little while, he heard Elladan’s voice again, just in 
his mind and not speaking to Elrohir.
      ‘Have I been so panicked and unsteady as all that?’ Elladan 
asked. ‘Yes. I must have been. I’ve been walking around here like a 
shadow for far too long. And, like a shadow, the minute something 
around me changes, I change.’
      ‘Not any more,’ that voice, the small one that he’d wanted to 
hate but had to accept put in. ‘You went looking for Glorfindel quite 
calmly, didn’t you? You looked for him methodically and with a 
certain degree of patience.’
      Elladan laughed. “I’m free!”
      There was more; Legolas sensed that other things passed. But 
although he remembered what happened before that laugh, he could 
recall nothing that occurred after it.
      He passed from the dream, if dream it was, into a peaceful rest.
      They were much closer to Lothlorien, but Legolas slept on.
      In his arms, his head against Legolas’ shoulder, Aragorn 
moaned in his delirium.
Chapter Twenty-Six
	Legolas paced, hating his helplessness. First Haldir, of the 
Lady’s guard, and then Celeborn had tried to comfort him. “There is 
great hope. You made it here, didn’t you?” Haldir had asked.
	“There is ever hope, Legolas,” Celeborn had said. “Aragorn is 
strong.”
       Legolas longed to shout at both of them, “I don’t want hope! I 
just want Aragorn! That’s all I want! Just Aragorn!”
      But as he paced, he knew he had another concern. If Aragorn 
died- and he might- the Dunedain would have to be summoned. 
Legolas was debating if he should summon them now, while there was 
still a chance of seeing their chief alive, or if he should write a letter to 
them when Aragorn was dead. And there was this further problem: 
Legolas didn’t want to leave Aragorn’s side to deliver the message. 
Who could he send? Who would go?
      “The darkness is gathered close about us,” a soft voice said.
      Legolas whirled as if she had shouted. It was Lady Galadriel, 
gliding over the grass, barely to be glimpsed in the light of the stars, 
and yet she, like all elves, had he own inner light that shone forth in 
the darkness. He went to her, searching her face for hidden meanings. 
He didn’t quite dare to ask about Aragorn. Though his heart told him 
his master (‘my Aragorn’) was still alive, he feared that he was 
deluding himself.
      “There is light in the darkness for all of us, but the darkness 
tries to make us forget that.” She smiled gently at Legolas. “All is 
well, Legolas. Aragorn will live.”
      Legolas blinked. She was so sure… “Is he cured?” He stepped 
closer to her, praying his hope wasn’t in vain.
      “He will heal,” she answered. “He will never be completely 
cured, I fear, but he will heal.”
      Legolas breath caught in his throat. “What do you mean?”
	“There is a deep pain that Aragorn endured while in this half-
dream, half-death state,” she answered candidly.
      Legolas sensed that she was being completely honest with him 
because she wanted to tell him something else, something not about 
Aragorn. “Please explain,” he begged. “I don’t understand.”
      “Aragorn was attacked by the Dark Lord while he slept.” 
Galadriel’s light seemed to grow stronger when she spoke of Sauron, 
as if in defiance. “He knows not that Aragorn is Isildur’s Heir, but he 
sensed a man of great strength and power to command. The attack 
happened while you were still in Gondor. I do not understand how he 
could have sensed Aragorn out of all the men around you and singled 
him out, but he did.” She sighed. “Aragorn is going to need a great 
deal of healing, but he’s now been touched by the Dark Lord himself, 
and he will never be cured of the darkness that the Enemy left in him.”
      “Darkness?” Legolas felt sick. “What darkness? Is Aragorn in 
danger of falling into the Shadow?” His hands were clenched hard at 
his sides and his heart beat a harsh, staccato rhythm in his chest.
      “He won’t fall into the Shadow,” Galadriel assured him, “but 
he might fall into traps the Enemy sets more easily. For a while, it 
would be best if he stayed with his people and didn’t wander about 
alone.” She now met his gaze and held it. “Legolas, I am going to ask 
you to fetch the rest of the Dunedain, but I must tell you something 
first.”
      Legolas tried to swallow his sudden panic. He didn’t speak.
      She smiled, but it was a tired expression. “Legolas, who have 
you talked to lately?”
      Legolas blinked in surprise. “Only Haldir and Lord Celeborn.”
      “I meant, on the way to Lothlorien.”
      Legolas frowned. “Aragorn, Kendall and Roheryn. Why?”
      Galadriel sighed. “Have you spoken to my grandson, Elladan?”
      In a flash, Legolas remembered the dream. “Yes!” he cried. 
“Yes, I talked to him! He was… afraid… terrified… But that was only 
a dream.”
      “It was no dream.” Galadriel’s expression had eased slightly. 
“You talked to Elladan. I felt it.” She turned and started to glide away 
from him. “Walk with me, Legolas.”
      He followed her among the trees and soon he heard the 
melodious voice of a stream, though it was too quiet to be Nimrodel. 
Over soft, springing beds of red-gold flowers and down worn, stone 
steps he followed her. They emerged in a little clearing through which 
a stream traveled. Legolas saw the standing podium, and wondered 
what it held. But he stopped beside it, not daring to look too closely. 
Instead, he watched the Lady fill a silver pitcher with the stream’s 
clear water.
      As she brought it to the podium, she murmured, “This mirror 
shows things of the past, things of the moment and even things that 
have yet to pass.” Legolas looked now into the mirror of Galadriel, and 
his eyes were filled with starlight as he gazed, rapt and unmoving.
      First, he saw himself, as he had appeared in Rohan, facing 
Aragorn, their weapons drawn and ready as they spared. He longed to 
watch that image and remember Aragorn that way, but it changed. 
Next came a picture of Saru, spread-eagled and naked, on a flat, 
wooden something. Legolas blanched, and started to reach out.
      “Do not touch the mirror!” Galadriel ordered.
      Perhaps she had shouted it, but Legolas only heard her voice as 
the faintest murmur. Still, it stopped his hand and his wayward fingers 
dropped back to his side, grasping the hem of his tunic as if for 
purchase, for something to hold to so that they could be still. 
      Other images followed and for days after, Legolas would 
puzzle over them.
      An eagle rising. A grey-cloaked man sitting in a very small 
room (the table was too small for him, even). The Dunedain camp, 
silent and watchful in the hour before dawn. Aragorn, his eyes closed, 
wandering in a field of fiery blood-roses.  Denethor, his face glowing 
with some unhealthy red light. Glorfindel, lying very pale and still on a 
slave’s pallet, a thin blanket drawn over him. Ecthelion, asleep in his 
own bed; age was not being kind to him, even in the night, Legolas 
saw. Eomund, galloping across the plains of Rohan with wind in his 
hair.
      Then he saw himself, dressed in a style of tunic he’d never 
seen before, though it was obviously elven. His hair was held back 
with a silver circlet and his eyes were grave.
      The image flitted away before he could get more than a cursory 
glance. It shifted to Kehydi, his head bent as he worked on something- 
maybe a shirt- that was spread over his knees. Glorfindel again, his 
sword raised and a pure, white light shining from him as black 
shadows assailed him. That melted into a Nameless Horror and Fear 
rising in the East like the shadow of a primeval, carnivorous bird. This 
gave way to a bright image of a beautiful elven maiden; her eyes, grey 
and intense, reminded Legolas of Elrohir’s eyes. He shied away from 
that comparison.
      And, last of all, Malacai, his face grey and troubled, his eyes 
puffy with lack of sleep, looking towards the South. His lips moved 
soundlessly and Legolas tried to read his words, but couldn’t.
      Then Malacai was gone and only the stars shone back at him, 
reflected in the still water. He looked up at Galadriel, badly shaken.
      She answered his unspoken questions. “I know all that you 
saw, Legolas. Remember that not all of it must be, or that you can do 
anything about it.”
      “Then why show me?” Legolas demanded.
      “There are some things that are beyond my control,” Galadriel 
answered. “Are you not Legolas, bond-carrier for all Middle-Earth? 
There was a will outside mine. I was compelled to show you.”
      “Are you saying I made you?” Legolas snapped. “Because I 
didn’t. I-”
      “No, I’m not saying that.” She held up a steadying hand and 
Legolas saw the ring on her finger. It gleamed at him, seeming to 
smile, then was gone. “All I’m saying is that you needed to see. And 
now that you have seen, I must ask you: will you go to the Dunedain 
and fetch them here?”
      Legolas studied her, trying to read her. He couldn’t. Still, a 
sudden, cold knowledge consumed him and he whispered, “You want 
me to go for someone else than Aragorn.”
      Galadriel didn’t deny it. “Will you ride in the morning?”
      Legolas glanced back at the mirror that swam with stars, 
seeking council. ‘What would Aragorn do? He wouldn’t leave me here 
while he carried only a message!’
      ‘But… he might, if there was no other choice. If the message 
was important enough, he just might.’ Legolas nodded. “Very well, my 
Lady,” he answered formally, feeling the last of his childhood 
(Aragorn’s protection had let him keep a tiny sliver of innocence and 
surety, even after Denethor’s attack) slip away, never to be reclaimed. 
“I will go. But please promise me this: don’t let anyone hurt Aragorn 
while I’m gone.”
      “No evil thing enters here,” she answered.
      “Don’t let any elves hurt him,” Legolas ordered, his eyes lit 
with rage. It was Elrond and Elrohir he was thinking of, but said 
nothing to her. Maybe she already knew.
      Galadriel nodded. “I promise, Legolas. No harm will come to 
Aragorn.”
      Legolas turned away from her then, and went to a place just 
outside the grove where Aragorn was being tended. A blond elf, 
slightly shorter than Legolas, stood there and he bowed when Legolas 
walked up. ‘Why is he bowing to a slave?’ Legolas didn’t have the 
energy to dwell on this.
      “Lord Aragorn awaits you within.”
      Legolas’ heart skipped a beat and he rushed into the grove, 
pushing the hanging moss aside.
      Aragorn lay on a soft, heather-covered pallet surrounded by 
dripping beeswax candles. A blanket, glowing a soft silver-white, was 
drawn up almost to his chin. As Legolas approached, Aragorn turned 
his head and opened his eyes.
      Legolas was so shocked by the change that he saw in his 
master’s gaze that he dropped to his knees beside the pallet and 
whimpered almost inaudibly. Aragorn’s eyes were dim and lost. 
Suddenly, though, they sharpened. Their sick, injured look didn’t 
leave, but Legolas could see Aragorn’s formidable will gathering 
behind those silver orbs.
      Aragorn reached out with his good hand. His other, Legolas 
saw, lay atop the cover. It was bandaged and immobile. Aragorn’s 
fingers brushed his cheek, soft as the wings of a butterfly. “Don’t cry, 
Malacai,” he husked. “I’ll live. I’ve survived a hundred other battles, 
and I’ll live through this.”
      Legolas opened his mouth to explain that he wasn’t Malacai, 
but Aragorn put his fingers, salty with Legolas’ tears, on the elf’s lips.
      “Wait,” Aragorn commanded. “Listen for now. There’s 
something I need to tell you. If I do die, you will free Legolas and 
return him to Mirkwood. Find his family if they are alive. If they 
aren’t, beg King Thranduil, in the name of the peace between 
Mirkwood and Imladris, to take Legolas into his house and comfort 
him there.” His eyes were starting to drift closed, but he fought this 
and they opened again, fever-bright. “Legolas may want to take Saru 
with him. If Saru wants to go, let him. If Kehydi wants to go, let him. 
Don’t keep their love apart anymore, Malacai. Let Saru and Kehydi 
love.”
      His eyes were again closing and again he fought against his 
body’s weakness. “Promise me you’ll go to Imladris and take this 
message to my family: I love you all. Thank you for the hope you gave 
to Middle-Earth. Depart as soon as you may, before the Shadow 
overwhelms you.”
      For the last time, his eyelids struggled to veil the silver fire that 
was in his eyes and failed. “Promise me, Malacai. Please.”
      Legolas nodded. “I promise,” he whispered.
      Aragorn smiled as his eyes closed. “Thank you.” He slept.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
      Arwen gazed at the ashen face before her. “Grandmother, I 
don’t think he will live,” she whispered.
      Galadriel passed her lovely hand over Aragorn’s brow and 
breathed, her voice like the kiss of summer’s first warm breeze, 
“Aragorn of the Dunedain, Estel of Imladris, come back to us here. We 
await you.”
      Aragorn didn’t stir.
      Arwen lifted her eyes to the trees beneath which they sat on 
either side of Aragorn’s pallet. The wind was singing softly there and 
she prayed that the man before her would hear it and seek the land of 
the living.
      She remembered, as if from another life, when this man, 
scarcely a boy to her, had called her Luthien. She remembered how 
embarrassed he had been, but the memory brought no smile to her lips. 
She had aged in Lothlorien, not physically but in her mind. Once she 
was out from under what Elladan had called “the shadow of the 
valley,” her happiness had blossomed… but so had her wisdom. Here 
in Lothlorien she heard more about the Shadow of the East and she 
worried about it. That worry had made her mature and cautious.
      Her mind wandered to her brothers. She knew of Elladan’s 
pain and wished fervently that he would have come to Lothlorien with 
her. But, no; it could not be. Elrohir had wanted to stay and fight orcs 
and Elladan had stayed with him. 
      The night before she left for Lothlorien again, she had taken 
Elrohir aside. “You can fight orcs on the borders of Lothlorien,” she 
reminded him. “Why can’t you come there so that Elladan will come 
there? He needs to recover. The shadow of the valley is destroying 
him.”
      “If all three of us leave, what will happen to Ada?” Elrohir 
asked… but even then, as naïve as she had been, Arwen had known 
this wasn’t the real reason he wanted to remain. But she didn’t press 
him. After all, whatever the reason was, it must be important and she 
had always trusted the wisdom of her older brothers. 
      Now Arwen looked back at the man before her and wondered, 
‘The Shadow has grown indeed if it can take down such a strong, free 
spirit.’ She grieved for Aragorn, feeling in her heart that he would die.
      Galadriel looked at her as if she had spoken. “Arwen, have 
faith. He is stronger than he looks.”
      “How do you know?”
      “I feel it. Besides, he is destined for a great love. He is going to 
marry an elf and live in joy and peace. Such has not happened since 
the days of Luthien and Beren.”
      Arwen remembered Estel’s words: “I thought you were 
Luthien because I was singing of her.”
      ‘Am I the love she means?’ Arwen thought about never sailing, 
never leaving Middle-Earth and found that she wasn’t frightened by 
the idea. She nodded to herself. ‘I’ll do my best to help him through 
this and when he wakes, I’ll know for sure if I love him.’ Her mind 
settled, she took one of Aragorn’s hands in hers and prayed that he 
would wake soon.
***
      Roheryn had refused to be left behind, constantly following 
Legolas around as he prepared. Kendall already knew he was going 
and felt no such urgency. Legolas didn’t want to take both horses, but 
only because he thought Aragorn might recover and want to ride 
through the woods. At last, as Roheryn persisted, Legolas talked to 
him.
      “If you don’t stay here, who will look after Aragorn?” he 
asked. 
      Roheryn snorted, as if he wanted to argue.
      “I know the elves are here to look after him,” Legolas said then 
and he almost stopped because his throat was closing with frightened 
tears. “But I need you to stay here. I need you to watch over him for 
me. I’d feel better if you were here to look after him. Please, Roheryn. 
Aragorn’s hurt, but if he wakes up, I want him to see you here, waiting 
patiently for him. Do you understand?”
      Roheryn blew air out his nose but this time it was a sigh.
      Legolas stroked his mane. “Thank you.” And, as he walked 
away, he realised that he did feel better. It was good to have at least 
someone he knew watching over Aragorn.
      He leapt onto Kendall’s back, then turned as a horse nose 
nuzzled his leg. He repressed a sigh. Maybe Roheryn hadn’t 
understood after all. But when he looked down, he saw that Roheryn 
was holding a bag in his teeth. Legolas took it, seeing that it was 
Aragorn’s herb-bag. He smiled at the stallion. “Thank you,” he 
repeated.
      Roheryn nodded, whickered and stepped back. ‘Go,’ his eyes 
seemed to command.
      Legolas galloped out of Lothlorien without looking back. He 
felt reassured, if only a little, and he took that reassurance and wrapped 
it around himself like a blanket.
      As he rode, he thought about Galadriel’s words concerning his 
strange dreams. ‘They’re not dreams,’ he reminded himself. ‘Aragorn 
said as much. She was just confirming it.’
      ‘But how can I be hearing Elladan’s thoughts? Saru I 
understand, but I don’t even really know Elladan.’
      He sighed. ‘I can’t answer any of these questions now. Maybe 
I’ll stop in Rivendell to talk to Elladan.’
      He knew he wouldn’t. That blanket of reassurance had begun 
to slip away. His fear for Aragorn intensified as the miles between 
them grew.
Chapter Twenty-Eight 
      Two weeks passed slowly for Arwen. She sat at Estel’s side for 
the better part of each day, and sometimes during the night if he 
seemed especially restless. She sang to him, looking like a vision in 
the dappled sunlight. It didn’t matter what she looked like, though. He 
was asleep most of the time. And when he did waken, he called her a 
variety of names.
      ‘And they’re all male,’ she thought, trying to decide if this was 
a good sign. ‘He doesn’t have a lover, then. Or maybe he’s in love 
with a man.’
      ‘No, that cannot be. He must have children, after all. He must 
father an heir. It’s only right.’ Thus assured, she watched over Aragorn 
and listened as he poured strange words on her. She had given up 
trying to explain that she wasn’t who he thought her.
      It had begun with a few confused words to a man he called ‘my 
second’. She tried to interrupt him, to explain herself, but he didn’t 
stop talking, so she subsided. And yet, confusing as his speech had 
been to her, she remembered one line. She remembered it because it 
filled her with sadness and dread.
      “My second, my shield, I go now to the land of my fathers. Bid 
our family farewell.”
      “Legolas,” he’d called three days later, faintly.
      She’d been gazing up at the trees, luxuriating in their music, 
and his voice startled her. “I’m not-” she had begun.
      “Are you all right?” Aragorn continued.
      “Yes. I’m not-”
      “Where are we?”
      She sighed and knew that he wouldn’t recognize her as a 
woman just yet. “We’re in the Golden Wood.”
      Aragorn’s eyes widened for an instant. “In Lothlorien? You 
brought me all this way?” He laughed, but it was a racking sound like 
sand pouring over dried bones. “Legolas, you amaze me.” He coughed 
and murmured, “I’m tired. Is there anything you need before I sleep?”
      “No, Aragorn. I’m well.”
      Aragorn smiled. “Make sure you take some time to walk here, 
especially first thing in the morning and at midnight. It’s stunning, I’ve 
heard.”
      “Yes, it is beautiful here.”
      Aragorn’s eyes were closed, but he offered a little more before 
he slept once more. He spoke hesitantly, as if unsure of either his 
words or himself. “As soon as I recover, we will go to Mirkwood. I 
think you are from that kingdom. We will find your family.” A shadow 
passed over his face, but he said no more.
      “Thank you.”
      When Aragorn slept again, Arwen put her head in her hands. 
‘When will you recognize me? When will you come out of your 
dreams and see the world around you again?’
      But her frustration and worry was shoved aside when Aragorn 
awoke the next day. His eyes flew open and he spoke in a fell, 
powerful voice. “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn and you will not kill 
me. The Sword-That-Was-Broken has been reforged!” His fingers 
moved weakly at his side, as if he were gripping his weapon, but his 
voice was even stronger than at the first. “He is Anduril, Flame of the 
West, and he will help to bring your end!”
      He was silent for a moment, as if listening, then he thundered, 
“I will never serve you, Deceiver! Send your wraiths, if you dare! I 
will defeat them!” A soft moan escaped his lips and he was dragged 
down into unconsciousness once more.
      Arwen sobbed in fear and despair and fled the sun-kissed 
bower, running towards the Nimrodel where she could be alone.
***
      Because Arwen would not return to Aragorn’s side, having told 
her grandparents what had occurred in the bower, it happened that 
Rumil, Haldir’s brother, was assigned to sit beside the raving man. He 
endured four days of the man’s incoherent, disjointed ramblings and 
yet he was not disturbed by them. A healer’s heart had Rumil of 
Lothlorien and he sought to ease the man before him in whatever way 
he could.
      When Aragorn said, “Elladan, promise me you will stay in the 
light. The Shadow is coming and I want you to be safe,” Rumil 
responded, instinct ruling his tongue, “I have a great love, Aragorn. Do 
not fear for me.”
      Aragorn had smiled at that, and tried to cry out in joy. But his 
voice was still weak, sounding like the waves crashing against a far-
distance shore. “Aii, then it as Legolas said! You love Glorfindel!”
      “Sleep, Aragorn. All is well now,” Rumil answered.
      Another time, Aragorn whispered, “Melchelai, I can’t see the 
road ahead. Is it so dark already?”
      “There is hope, even in the darkness,” Rumil told him calmly. 
“Your people are with you, both elven-kind and menfolk. Do not 
despair!”
      When Aragorn rasp/shouted, “Sauron, I will end your lies! I 
will come before your Black Gate and I will challenge you with only a 
handful of men! And yet, you will fight because you fear me and 
because you fear Gandalf!” Rumil answered, softly, “Aragorn, it is I, 
Elladan. We are all here to stand with you.”
      Aragorn laughed. “You hear that, Sauron? There will be 
another alliance between elves and men! Do you hear? And we will 
defeat you again!”
      Then he fell into sleep and woke- really for the first time- two 
nights later.
***
      Galadriel was smiling at him when he opened his eyes. There 
was no shadow on his face and he cried aloud, strongly, when he saw 
her, “My Lady! What magic is this?”
      They had never met, and yet Aragorn knew that he spoke to the 
Lady of the Golden Wood.
      Galadriel smiled at him. “Legolas brought you here from 
Gondor. You have been walking in dark dreams for two weeks. But 
awake now! The Shadow has departed and you can find peace.” She 
held out her hand.
      Hesitantly- he didn’t think himself worthy to touch her- 
Aragorn took her hand and rose. He looked up at the trees and smiled 
joyously at them. It was winter, though late winter, and the golden 
leaves were just starting to fall, revealing new green ones, transparent 
and delicate as lace. Aragorn laughed joyously and reached up to touch 
a golden leaf that still clung to its branch. “Beauty beyond all wealth,” 
he murmured.
      Then his face changed and he looked back to Galadriel. “Is 
Legolas here?”
      She shook her head. “We thought you would die and so he 
went to the North to fetch your Dunedain.”
      Aragorn frowned. “Did anyone go with him?”
      “He is strong enough to go alone,” she answered. “Nothing can 
be more protection than the skills you’ve taught him.”
      Aragorn sighed. “If I thought I could overtake him, I would 
leave right now. But Legolas rides light as a cloud and I know him; 
he’ll ride as long as Kendall can stand it, and then just a little more.” 
He looked around him once more. “So be it. I will rest here and regain 
all of my strength and be ready when they come back.”
       Galadriel nodded. “That is what I would have you do. But not 
in such clothes are you wear now.”
      Aragorn glanced down at his travel-stained Gondorian clothes, 
nodded and smiled ruefully. “If you have an elf my height, I would 
gladly beg clothes of him.”
      Galadriel smiled secretly to herself. “I will see what I can 
find.” She left him then and Aragorn sank back onto the bed. The 
strength was back in his voice, but it would take time for it to come 
back to his limbs.
      Galadriel brought him a tunic of silver embroidered on borders 
and hem with white leaves; she also brought him silver-white trousers 
and white boots such as the elves wear. Smiling at his surprise and 
gratitude, she set a gem on his brow and bade him strengthen himself 
by walking upon the golden carpet of flowers and leaves and beneath 
the emerald canopy of the trees.
      Aragorn walked slowly, testing his strength and learning his 
temporary limits. The arm that had been stabbed was stiff, but not 
terribly sore. What really bothered him was that his legs were 
quivering the tiniest bit. This caused him to make noise as he walked 
and he hated this, even if he was in Lothlorien, a place of safety, where 
he didn’t have to worry about being quiet for the sake of being 
undetected by enemies.
      He passed down a wide avenue beneath the trees and listened 
to the birds and breeze playing even as he tried to ignore his own 
ignoble noise. Then he heard the sound of a rushing river and 
wondered what water it was. He followed the sound, thinking that he 
would take a golden leaf and drop it in the water to watch it bob and 
dip as it rushed away from him. It had been long years and long since 
he’d taken time for such a simple pleasure.
      But his mind betrayed him long before he could see the stream. 
He thought of Legolas riding alone in the wild and worried about his 
slave… his Legolas. And his worries brought back other thoughts. ‘I 
still love him,’ he reminded himself. ‘And I have to do something 
about that. Either I need to accept that he’s going to go back with his 
family or I need to confess my love to him.’
      He made a frustrated noise. ‘I’ll not tell him I love him. It 
could kill him. In fact, if he loved me in return, he would accept the 
Doom of men. I won’t let him accept that. I won’t tell him I love him. 
Besides, how could he love me? I was his master.’
      ‘But he does like me,’ Aragorn had to admit to himself. ‘He 
would have never taken the trouble to bring me here if he didn’t. He 
would have left Gondor as soon as possible and run for the elven 
kingdoms of the North. So he cares about me at least… not that I 
didn’t know that before. As to whether he loves me or not… I’ll worry 
about that when he returns with the Dunedain- and he WILL return. I 
feel it in my heart.’
      A soft nose was suddenly thrust against his shoulder and 
Aragorn barely kept himself from crying out. Then he turned his head 
and found himself gazing into Roheryn’s large, brown eyes, rich and 
warm as new spring-earth. He laughed and his fears for Legolas and 
his worries about the future were temporarily blown away.
      “What are you doing here, my friend?” he asked as he stroked 
Roheryn’s mane. “Wouldn’t Legolas let you go along? I’m sure you 
miss the North.”
      Roheryn tossed his head and then nuzzled Aragorn again.
      The Ranger laughed again. “You decided to stay? For me? I’m 
flattered.” He bowed. “Will you keep me company, then? I may need 
your help to get back.”
      Roheryn bobbed his head up and down and, laughing, Aragorn 
started to walk again with Roheryn beside him now like a chaperon. 
They moved towards the stream stride for stride and Aragorn’s heart 
sang so that he couldn’t keep silent. When he was younger and first 
starting out in the world, the songs on his lips had often been elven 
ballads and laments. As he spent more and more time among his 
people, he learned a hundred or more songs of the Dunedain, not to 
mention their variations of the elven songs he’d grown up with. Now 
Aragorn released his joy in a fast-paced, wordy, Ranger song about the 
winter season.
Amber light is all we see
Through the black bowls of the trees
As he struggles through the snow
That blows and moans and shrieks and groans.
Rangers, huddle near the fire!
The night’s not dreadful,
But respect cold’s sire.
Winter! Winter! We rejoice
To hear your bitter, brittle voice
For when you sing,
There one day will be
Blossoms and leaves
On every tree.
Winter, kiss our fingers and toes
And don’t forget to redden each nose
And when the amber light does shine
Dunedain, remember,
The spring is nigh.
      So he sang as he broke through the last line of trees and came 
out onto the banks of the Nimrodel. There he saw a vision and lost his 
heart for a while.
      Arwen Undomiel was sitting on a low branch by the water, 
combing her hair and watching the sun play over the bubbling surface. 
She hadn’t heard Aragorn approach, maybe because her mind was far 
away. It certainly wasn’t because he’d been quiet about his approach. 
His singing aside, his fumbling steps would have been enough to alert 
her. But as he stopped on the edge of the river and gazed wide-eyed at 
her, she turned her head and smiled.
      Aragorn’s first shocked thought was, ‘I’m twenty again. A 
mere stripling.’ He wasn’t sure if this disturbed or excited him.
      His second thought was clearly relief. ‘I could love her instead 
of Legolas and spare him any pain or embarrassment.’
      With this idea spurring him forward, Aragorn bowed low. 
“Hello, my lady. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn.”
      She smiled. “Aye, I know it.” She rose and glided towards him, 
making no sound as she passed over the grass. She held out her hand 
to him and he kissed it. “It is good to see you again, Estel. Welcome to 
Lothlorien. And to the land of the waking. We were worried that you 
might not ever speak to any of us again, but only to phantom voices.”
       Aragorn blushed. What had he said in his delirium? “I pray 
that nothing I said offended you, my lady.”
      She laughed like tinkling, silver bells. “No, Estel, nothing 
offended me.” She met his grey eyes candidly and waited to see what 
his gaze would tell her.
      “Will you walk with me?” Aragorn asked, offering his arm.
      Roheryn snorted and Aragorn jumped a little.
      Arwen laughed again as Aragorn blushed anew. He glanced at 
the stallion and chuckled. “I meant to say the three of us.”
      Roheryn nodded, answering in his own way, “Just so.”
      Arwen took Aragorn’s arm. “Yes, I would love to walk with 
the both of you. Your horse can be our knight and we can be king and 
queen for a little while.”
      Aragorn smiled, though her choice of words filled him with 
disquiet. ‘Not king,’ he couldn’t help thinking. ‘Not king. Not yet.’ 
And, after a moment, he added, ‘And maybe I was supposed to wed a 
prince instead.’ He didn’t understand this thought, since Legolas was 
no prince (and, in any case, he’d sworn to stay away from Legolas, 
hadn’t he?) but he let it go and strolled with the Lady Arwen as the 
shadows deepened under the trees.
      By the time a fortnight had passed, he believed he was in love 
with her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
      The first thing Legolas really recognized- something he’d seen 
all the days of his life with the Dunedain- was a beautiful, arching, 
rustling willow. Legolas’ surprise and joy was imparted to Kendall and 
he slowed to a walk, then stopped entirely. Legolas slid off his back 
and went to touch the willow. But before he reached it, he heard a soft 
sob.
      Legolas froze and his eyes quested upwards, searching the 
treetops for the source of the sound. He stood very still and noted with 
a distant part of his mind that Kendall was doing the same.
      He heard the sob again and then an angry growl, barely above a 
whisper.
      Legolas faded back under the willow and Kendall moved 
silently with him. Through the shadows, Legolas watched the tree 
from which the sounds had come. He could see a rough platform high 
up in the branches but he couldn’t see who was on it; the leaves hid it 
almost completely from view.
      There was movement among the leaves, even though there was 
no breeze and Legolas watched a man climb clumsily down the tree. 
He was being careful, moving stiffly as if he was sore.
      ‘Do I know him?’ Legolas wondered. ‘He wears a Ranger’s 
cloak… but things have changed in ten years. That time is nothing to 
an elf, but to a man…’
      Then the man turned in his direction and Legolas felt his throat 
close with fear. ‘Halbarad.’ Denethor had inspired fear in him; fear 
and a desperate need for Aragorn. But Halbarad terrified him.
      Legolas bit his lip. ‘If Aragorn was here, I wouldn’t be afraid. 
And I wasn’t afraid of him when I was little, was I?’ He couldn’t 
answer that question. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be 
spotted. ‘Just pass by,’ he prayed. ‘Just let him pass by without seeing 
me.’
      Halbarad turned north and began to walk. As he progressed 
through the trees, Legolas noted that he became less and less stiff. ‘It 
was only a small injury, then,’ he thought detachedly. 
      When Halbarad’s footsteps had retreated (and Legolas had 
waited another full minute), the elf stepped out from the shelter of the 
willow. There had been someone else on that platform. He wanted to 
know who. He moved to the tree and looked up. As he reached up to 
catch one of the branches, however, he heard someone shifting around 
above him. 
      Trying to be ready for anything, Legolas climbed the tree.
      The first thing he saw was a pool of blood. He stared at it for a 
moment, the rest of the world hidden to him, and then a hand and rag 
entered the blood. Legolas watched, dazed, as the hand began to clean 
up the red stain. Legolas pulled his eyes upwards and saw a muscular 
arm, a bare, scarred shoulder… and a head of hair red as the sunset.
      Surprise mastered him and Legolas cried, “Saru!”
      The man’s head snapped up. One of his eyes had been 
blackened, and the other was decorated underneath by a purplish 
bruise that could only come from lack of sleep. His lips were swollen, 
as if he’d been kissing someone and his sunset-hair hung about his 
face in a shifting curtain.
      For a moment, Legolas thought maybe he’d made a mistake. 
This tall, strong, calm man could not be Saru. Then he remembered the 
sob that he’d heard and was set wondering again.
      The man spoke, and his voice was soft and cadenced. “Forgive 
me, fair elf. I am not dressed to receive you. What do you seek?” He 
was on his hands and knees and he crawled back a little so that he 
could find his clothes. He put his cloak in front of him, then sat down 
so that it covered his privates. Methodically, he began putting on a 
tunic.
      Legolas, unsure of his instincts, said, “I am looking for the 
camp of the Dunedain.”
      “May I ask your business there?”
      ‘I must have been wrong,’ Legolas thought. ‘It must have been 
Halbarad that sobbed, not this serene man before me.’ He looked anew 
at the man and thought, ‘And he cannot be Saru. The face is different. 
More… forgive me, my friend… handsome. Saru’s nose was much 
larger and more square than this man’s.’ “I seek Acting Chief 
Malacai.”
      The strange man had managed to slip into his trousers 
relatively smoothly. “If you wish, I can direct you.” He stood and 
towered above Legolas.
      ‘He’s at least a head taller than Aragorn,’ Legolas thought.
      “May I ask your name?” the man inquired politely. “So that I 
might introduce you properly,” he offered by way of explanation.
      “I… I am Legolas, Strider’s slave,” Legolas said cautiously as 
he stood up.
      The man’s jaw dropped and for a moment he seemed on the 
edge of fainting. His eyes rolled back in his head and Legolas reached 
out to grasp his upper arm. With that steadying force beside him, the 
man’s eyes refocused. He gaped at Legolas and was unable to speak 
for at least a minute.
      ‘Who are you? Do I know you?’ Legolas wanted to ask. ‘Or 
was it simply Aragorn’s nickname that makes you like this?’
      The man reached up and tentatively touched Legolas’ face. His 
fingers, Legolas noted, were calloused at the tips, as though he toiled 
much with a bow. But his palm was also calloused from work with the 
sword. He also felt that the man’s hand was trembling slightly.
      “Legolas…” the stranger breathed and now his eyes were 
filling with tears.
      A need to know mastered him, and Legolas asked, his voice 
scarcely above a whisper, “Who are you?”
      The man laughed softly. “I’m sure I look a lot different.” He 
shook his head, still laughing. “As do you.” He grasped Legolas’ 
shoulder and met his eyes.
      The man’s eyes shone with an intensity that Legolas could 
hardly stand.
      “I am Saru.”
      “Nay…” The contradiction slipped out from between his 
suddenly-parched lips and Legolas was powerless to stop it.
      Saru laughed, though there was a deep sadness in the sound 
now. “Aye, Legolas, I am. Please believe me.”
      It seemed to Legolas that he stood there a long time before his 
mind was finally able to reconcile the man before him with the 
frightened boy he’d left. He reached up and, as Saru had done, touched 
the cheek before him. There was only a dusting of stubble on the cheek 
and above the upper lip. ‘He shaves regularly,’ Legolas guessed.
      It was his first coherent thought and, like one stone being able 
to break a wall that a hundred stones before have weakened but not 
toppled, this idea opened Legolas’ eyes. “Saru,” he breathed and then 
he threw himself forward into his friend’s arms.
      They held each other, and both were laughing and crying. They 
stood that way for almost ten minutes while the last light of the day 
began to fade, each relearning the feel of the other against his chest. 
And yet, it was just as much exploration as remembering as they 
touched muscles that hadn’t been developed before.
      ‘But the feeling of his arms is the same,’ Legolas thought. ‘He 
hugs me just the same way.’ He snuggled against Saru’s chest and 
smelled a good, strong smell of pipeweed and earth.
      But, underneath that smell… Legolas pulled away and met 
Saru’s gaze. “Where are you bleeding?”
      Saru blinked, then chuckled sadly. “I can’t hide anything from 
you. I never could.”
      “Where are you hurt?” Legolas repeated, not wanting his friend 
to change the subject.
      Saru stepped back and lifted his dark-brown tunic off over his 
head, hiding the grimace of pain this movement caused. He set the 
tunic aside and turned around so that Legolas could see the whip 
marks. Some of them were crusted over (and dirty, Legolas saw) but 
most of them were bleeding freely.
      Legolas moved forward at once. “These need to be tended,” he 
murmured. “Will you lie down? I have some herbs that will help with 
the pain. I’ll be right back.”
      When Legolas had gained the platform again after finding his 
waterskin and his herb-bag, he watched Saru lay down on his stomach, 
his arms folded under his chin.
      Legolas began to work at once, and to distract Saru from the 
pain that would follow, he asked, “How are the Dunedain?” He was 
cleaning away months of dried, infected blood and he worked 
carefully. He also avoided speaking directly of either Kehydi or 
Halbarad, thinking, ‘Surely Halbarad did this. And as to Kehydi… I 
don’t want to explain about the bond until I understand it myself.’
      “All is well here,” Saru answered, his voice slightly strained as 
Legolas worked. “The Shire is still well-guarded and all are happy, 
though the youngest children are beginning to ask questions about this 
man Aragorn that they’ve never seen.”
      Legolas chuckled. “Yes, well, maybe you’ll all see him soon. I 
was sent here to bring you to where he is.”
      Saru looked back over his shoulder and Legolas saw hope light 
his gaze. “Really?”
      The elf nodded, smiling, even as he wondered at the sudden 
hope in Saru’s eyes. Then he turned his attention back to his work. 
“Tell me everything.”
      Saru talked without ceasing- and also without mentioning 
either Kehydi or Halbarad- for almost two hours while Legolas 
cleaned his wounds and dressed them.
      “There,” said Legolas, sitting back on his heels. “Everything’s 
well now.” He meant to sound cheerful, but his remark came off 
sounding bitter and sardonic.
      Either Saru didn’t hear the tone of his voice or chose to ignore 
it, for all he did was smile, grab up his tunic and, slipping it over his 
head, asked, “Will you come to the camp now? My master will be glad 
to see you.”
      Legolas realised with a start that Saru hadn’t mentioned 
Malacai, either, and he looked at Saru’s face carefully. His friend’s 
eyes had grown worried at the barest mention of the second-in-
command… and when Legolas saw the man scarcely ten minutes later, 
he understood why.
      But before he saw Malacai, he met others that he knew. First, 
as the two of them entered the camp, he heard a cry of mingled 
surprise and joy and turned to see Aaron running towards them. 
Aaron’s eyes danced as he grasped Legolas’ shoulders and gazed 
happily at him. “Legolas, aii, Legolas, thrice welcome!” he cried.
      Legolas smiled, but studied the man shrewdly. He had aged, 
but well, his body stronger even than when Legolas had left. His dark 
eyes were under laid by the same shadows that decorated Saru’s own 
and he bore three new scars. ‘But the thing that has changed most 
about him is the depth of seriousness in him,’ Legolas thought and 
didn’t question why he was so sure this was true. ‘Everyone here has 
grown grimmer without Aragorn. He must return soon.’
      As if reading Legolas’ thoughts, Aaron asked, “Is Aragorn with 
you?” He glanced over Legolas’ shoulder towards the trees.
      “No,” Legolas answered regretfully. “He sent me here to ask a 
favor of all of you. But I should save that for Master Malacai.”
      Aaron nodded and his expression darkened. “Is he well?”
      “Yes,” Legolas lied. “But I must not say anything else until I 
talk with Master Malacai. It is Master Aragorn’s orders.”
      Aaron nodded slightly, though he seemed a little comforted. 
“Come, then. Things have been moved around a bit here. I’ll show you 
where his tent is.” Then he glanced at Saru. “No. On second thought, 
you just take him, Saru. I have work to do.” Aaron moved away 
quickly.
      “You said nothing of their grimness,” Legolas whispered to 
Saru as the two of them set off across the camp.
      “It’s not a thing I can explain and I didn’t know how to 
describe it,” Saru answered. He sighed. “Legolas, there have been 
many changes since the two of you left. And most of them aren’t 
good.”
      Legolas looked at Saru again, at his strong jaw and his calm 
gaze. ‘Yes, I should have realised. You’ve been hurt, Saru. Strength 
like you have gained only comes as a result of terrible suffering.’
      Saru paused outside a tent and raised his hand to push the 
canvas aside. Without a word, he slipped inside and Legolas followed.
      Legolas recognized Annaleh at once, and when she looked up, 
he was horrified to see how many lines the years had added to her 
face. Without thinking, he came to her and knelt in front of her. 
Gently, he took her hands in his own and rubbed them with his fingers.
      She smiled then and it was like the sun rising in a barren 
country; you assumed the country was dead and sad until the sunlight 
caught the bright colors in the rock and the tiny, flowering plants in the 
cracks between those same rocks. “I’m so glad to see you, Legolas,” 
she murmured warmly.
      Legolas answered the question she hadn’t asked, and he was so 
overwhelmed with sadness and confusion that he forgot himself a 
little. “Aragorn isn’t here. He’s in Lothlorien. The Lady of the Wood 
is seeing to him.” There was a well of strength in her eyes that he 
hadn’t seen in either Saru’s or Aaron’s, and he added, “He was stabbed 
by the son of the Steward of Gondor. Now he hangs between life and 
death and I wanted the Dunedain to see him before he dies, if he dies. 
Besides, he’s already called for Malacai in his delirium.” After a 
pause, he added, “I have that message for Malacai if he wants it, but I 
could have sent that in a letter. There were elves willing to ride here to 
deliver it. But this is the real message: Aragorn needs his people in 
Lothlorien.”
      Annaleh nodded as if to herself. “So be it.” She rose and urged 
Legolas to his feet. “Malacai is standing watch. Come with me.” Then 
she seemed to see Saru for the first time. “Kehydi needs to see you, 
Saru. He’s in the back.”
      Saru opened his mouth to protest, but then changed his mind. 
He went through a second flap and disappeared. Legolas perked up his 
ears but all he heard was the rustling of cloth.
***
      Kehydi closed his eyes against the power of Saru’s touch. He’d 
heard his mother’s words and silently thanked her. ‘Yes, I need to see 
him. Something’s terribly wrong. I need him.’
      He reached up and stroked Saru’s hair. In the dim light of the 
tent it seemed to have lost its glow and he hated that loss. “Saru, tell 
me what is wrong,” he pleaded.
      Saru didn’t attempt to lie, but neither would he speak. He 
snuggled instead against Kehydi’s shoulder, loving the contact that 
they hadn’t been able to share since Halbarad discovered them.
      Kehydi kissed the top of his head. “My Saru, everything will 
be all right,” he whispered, even as his mind screamed, ‘Something is 
very wrong!’
      Saru murmured against his shoulder, “Did you hear Legolas? 
We’re going to find Master Aragorn.”
      Kehydi didn’t point out that Aragorn might be dead by the time 
they came to Lothlorien. Neither did he speak of the fact that Legolas 
had probably meant only a handful of Rangers should go to the Golden 
Wood. He rubbed Saru’s back and tried to forget the rest of the world 
as Saru seemed able to do. Yes, he’d mentioned Legolas, but his mind 
was on this moment. Kehydi could tell.
      For a moment, he hated Saru for being able to let all the 
uncertainties go and just enjoy the single moment they had. The 
feeling wasn’t all-pervasive and it passed quickly, but Kehydi couldn’t 
act as though it had never been there. 
      The silence stretched between them and became oppressive. 
Kehydi didn’t know what to think, let alone say.
      Saru whispered finally, “I am a whore again. Not your father’s. 
I belong to Halbarad.”
      “What?” Kehydi shouted.
      Saru flinched but repeated, “I’m Halbarad’s whore.”
      Kehydi seized Saru’s shirt and made him look up. “What?” he 
rasped fiercely.
      Saru’s eyes were filling with tears but he blinked them back. 
“I’m Halbarad’s whore.” It was all he could think to say.
      “Why?” Kehydi snarled.
      The tears were still fighting to be let loose but Saru held them 
in check. “He would hurt you if I did not serve. Or he would tell your 
father that we were together before it was time. Or…” He shivered. 
“Or he might make it so you wouldn’t want me.” Kehydi’s intense 
gaze made Saru squirm. He dropped his eyes and studied the hard-
packed dirt beneath him. “Please don’t hate me. I didn’t know what 
else to do.”
      “What?” Kehydi snapped, “You wanted sex so bad that you 
gave yourself to him?” He grasped Saru’s chin and made him look up. 
“Is that it?”
      “No… no, Kehydi, please…”  The tears spilled over and Saru 
sobbed. “He forced me! Please believe me!”
      “I’ve been waiting for you for so long and you cheat on me! 
With that son of a bitch Halbarad!” Kehydi stood up and moved 
around Saru towards the flap. Perhaps it was his momentary flash of 
hatred but he wasn’t able to stop himself from speaking the next 
words. “I don’t want you anymore, Whore. You’ve served your 
purpose.” He stalked out of the tent.
***
      Malacai’s back was to them, but he obviously heard them 
coming because he turned, his lips smiling but his eyes dark with some 
steel-bladed pain. The effect was very nearly ghoulish.
      Then he saw who walked beside his wife and his face changed 
so profoundly that he seemed to be just coming to his majority. 
“Legolas!” he stepped forward swiftly and folded Legolas into his 
arms.
      Legolas opened his mouth to explain, not wanting Malacai to 
be filled with false hope, but Malacai spoke before he could.
      “Is Aragorn still in Gondor?” He held Legolas back and studied 
his face. “No, I can see he isn’t. He’s closer than that.” He let go of 
Legolas and stood back as Annaleh came to stand beside him and slip 
her hand into his. “Tell me.”
      Legolas explained as briefly as possible. He ended with: “I 
want us to be ready to leave in two days at the very outside.” He felt 
no awkwardness in speaking this way to a man who was technically 
his master. Aragorn’s promise and also his own desperation kept him 
from thinking much about proper protocol.
      Malacai shook his head. His face had gone through a myriad of 
changes but now it held a dour expression. “We can be ready by 
afternoon,” he answered shortly. He started to walk away, then turned 
back. A weary smile touched his lips, but it was a sincere smile this 
time, so that his eyes, too, smiled in that exhausted way. “It’s good to 
have you with us again, Legolas.” He hurried away.
      Annaleh came to Legolas and gave him a one-armed hug. “I 
need to get to Saru and Kehydi before he does. Go to the fire. There’s 
food there.”
      Legolas nodded. “Thank you.”
      Weariness was stealing into his own mind and he decided to 
wander a little among the trees. ‘That will be better rest than sleep,’ he 
mused.
      As he wandered out of the main clearing, he muttered, “If this 
is what it feels like to be without Aragorn, I don’t know how the 
Rangers survived this long. Aragorn is truly their- and my- 
foundation.’