Title: Legolas’ Gift
Author: Estel Baggins and Elfbean
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: (these chapters only) Elladan/Glorfindel
Non-Canon Pairing: Legolas/Saru (blame Aragorn)
Warnings: idiocy (Aragorn and Legolas), memories of rape
Summary: a forced marriage, a pregnancy announced, and the Dunedain are attacked by two
enemies at once


Chapter Thirty-Nine

A tiny bit of wisdom had been left in Aragorn's stubborn mind; enough, at least, that he
announced his decision to those only directly affected, instead of to the Dunedain in
general. He called Legolas, Saru and Kehydi into his tent and ordered all others to stay
away.

The chief sat on his pallet (everything had been kept perfectly while he was away) and
the three sat in front of him. Kehydi sat a little apart from the slaves, as was custom,
though he didn't look very happy to be in that position. Aragorn noted this and
simultaneously ignored it.

"You have made three mistakes since I left, Kehydi," Aragorn announced. "The first was
to take Saru, a slave, and therefore your inferior, as a lover."

Kehydi, wisely, kept his mouth shut. His eyes blazed with a mixture of denial, fury and
grief.

Aragorn went on monotonously, "And the second was to betray your father's trust. Both of
these are punishable, though the punishment would not be that severe, since you are
young and the sins you committed were akin to those many have committed before you. But
for the third mistake, a harsher, lasting punishment must be rendered."

But Aragorn didn't speak of Kehydi's third mistake. Instead, he turned his gaze to Saru.
"You have made mistakes as well, slave. The first was to think yourself Kehydi's equal.
The second was to agree to see him, even though you knew well the danger. The third
mistake will be punished in such a way that you will never forget it. But you may yet
learn, and accept it."

Legolas tensed, even though he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. Would Aragorn now
speak to him? Why was he here, anyway? He wasn't involved in Kehydi's and Saru's love.
Aragorn spoke to all of them, his eyes flitting from one to the next, "Your punishment,
Kehydi and Saru, is quite simple." He almost smiled. Oh, how easy this would make
everything! "You will not be together. Not now, or ever."

Kehydi opened his mouth to argue.

"No," Aragorn snapped, even as he thought, 'This is the perfect plan. No one will ruin
it. And it will put Legolas in his place, too. And I will have to treat him like the
slave he is.'

'What about your promise to free him?'

'What is that worth? A promise to a slave. Nothing!'

'What about your love for him?'  

'I have Arwen now.'

In this cold, blind way, he turned from all reason and settled only on what was right
before him.

He continued, daring Kehydi to gainsay him, "You will not marry Saru. You will find a
Dunadan woman, she will bear children and you will have a family. You must, after all,
have a second-in-command to take your place when you die."

"I don't want to be your second!" Kehydi burst out.

Aragorn sat serenely. "What you want doesn't matter," he proclaimed. "You will do what
is right for the whole, what is right for everyone else. You will not abandon your
people. Unless, of course, you wish to leave. Then my hands are tied. I cannot make you
stay."

Legolas gaped at Aragorn in horror. What had happened to his master while he was away?
What had his clash with Sauron done to his reason?

Saru gasped and looked at Kehydi, his eyes pleading. 'Don't leave,' Saru's gaze seemed
to beg. 'Don't go out there where it's dangerous! Don't go, please!'

Kehydi met Saru's eyes for a moment, then looked down. "I'll abide by your decision," he
muttered formally.

Aragorn nodded, pleased once more. "Of course you will. And, in time, you will come to
see that I made the right decision."

He turned his eyes to Saru and the slave flinched slightly. Aragorn smiled benevolently
at him. "I would not leave you without someone to protect and love you, Saru. I would
not do that to someone so faithful who only made a few mistakes." He held his arms out
expansively, inviting Saru to share in his wonderful, joyous discovery. 

Again, Legolas stared at Aragorn, and this time he even tried to speak. But Aragorn
wasn't done yet and he overrode Legolas without seeming to realise he was doing so.

"You will wed with one that will take good care of you. One of your own class. And
because this one can give birth, you will have other slaves to contribute to the
Dunedain. Your line, Saru, will go on. Your sons and daughters will serve Kehydi's sons
and daughters. The bond that you had with Kehydi as slave will always be remembered as
noble and your grandchildren will sing of you when you are gone."

'You pompous jerk!' flashed through Legolas' mind. 'Lineage means nothing to a slave!
Only to cocky, insufferable, stuffy freeborns! How can you even try to console him with
these callous words?'

Again he wondered, more desperately, what had happened to his master. But Aragorn wasn't
done yet. No, by the Valar, he was just getting started, it seemed.

"You must be ready to do your duty to your master. Will you?"

Saru looked dazed. "I… I…"

Aragorn smiled gently. "Just answer yes or no, Saru. It's quite simple."

Blundering forward, still perplexed and lost, Saru answered, "Yes?"

"Good!" Aragorn beamed at him. "You are marrying Legolas."

Silence crashed down around them.

Aragorn, still beaming, waited for Saru to thank him, waited for the other two to
understand what an amazing, merciful resolution he had stumbled upon. That this was the
only thing he could have decided. It would fix so many problems.

Saru curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees, and began to cry silently.
Kehydi made as if to move closer to him, but Aragorn raised a hand. Kehydi stopped,
glaring at him. But he didn't dare approach his former lover.

The three of them watched Saru's silent grief. He had begun to rock back and forth and
his whole body was shaking. Kehydi watched because he wanted so desperately to help.
Legolas watched because, in some way, Saru's reaction was what he wanted to be able to
do. But too many years, trained as Aragorn's slave, trained, really, when you came right
down to it, as one of Aragorn's Rangers, had taught him how to keep himself hidden in
some ways. Now, even when he wanted to break through those walls and weep or scream or
bite, he found them too well established.

And Aragorn watched because Saru was one of his charges. At first, while the slave wept,
Aragorn felt relieved. 'He is reacting to the strange conditions I have been
perpetuating here. This marriage to Legolas will teach him the way things were supposed
to be, the way things will be for the rest of his life.'

But as he watched Saru, guilt crept into his heart. 'How can anything that hurts this
much be good for him?' He couldn't shake his head- couldn't give any sign of relenting
from the course he'd set- but he mentally slapped himself. 'Some things just hurt! He
will get over this. He'll have to.'

As Saru continued to cry, unaware that he was being watched, Aragorn forced himself to
make a further decision. 'I'll do more than marry them. They'll have to make love.
They're friends; they'll be gentle with each other.' Stubbornly, Aragorn cast his doubts
aside and stood.

All three looked at him, Saru with tears still trickling down his cheeks, which were
ash-grey. If nothing else decided Aragorn, seeing the pallor of Saru's cheeks settled
him more firmly in his position.

"Come with me," the chief snapped.

The three of them stood. Legolas tried to put his arm around Saru's waist, but the other
slave flinched away. Legolas stared at him, surprised and hurt.

"Let him help you, Saru," Aragorn commanded harshly.

Saru glanced at him, and a flash of disobedience crackled in his eyes. But that faded
and he allowed Legolas to draw him close.

Aragorn gestured towards the front of the tent, and the others filed out, Kehydi first,
then Legolas and Saru. Aragorn followed close on their heels.

***

As the sun dipped towards the horizon, Legolas and Saru had been left alone for a few
minutes to prepare for the wedding. They knew they had to talk, and that they might not
get a chance until after the ceremony, but for a few precious minutes, they only stared
at each other. Saru fidgeted with the hem of the late-day blue tunic Annaleh had made
him. Legolas kept touching his hair, which had been plaited elegantly.

Finally, Saru broke the silence. "I'm sorry I pulled away from you. I didn't mean to
hurt you." His voice was scarcely above a whisper, but his gaze was sincere.

Legolas' lips thinned into a tense line, then parted, as if with an effort. "I'm not
angry with you, Saru. Just Aragorn."

"Master Aragorn," Saru reminded, not wanting Legolas to slip like that later, when
others might hear.

Legolas laughed bitterly. "Yes, Master Aragorn. I can't believe he's the same man that
promised me my freedom in Gondor. 'I'll help you find your family, if I can. I'll take
you to Mirkwood.'" He snorted contemptuously. "I hate him, Saru. He lied to me. And he
undid the good Malacai did for you and Kehydi."

Saru didn't bother to urge Legolas to use proper titles now. He saw the futility in it,
and he had just become aware of the little bit of time they had been given. Also, he saw
the tears that Legolas refused to let fall. He tried to distract Legolas. "That was my
fault for agreeing to see Kehydi." But, very slowly, he was coming to believe that
wasn't quite the truth. And, when Legolas didn't answer, Saru reached out and took his
hand. "Nothing's final until we're dead, Legolas. Maybe things will change." He squeezed
Legolas' fingers and compelled him with his eyes not to lose hope.

One crystalline tear escaped Legolas' careful guard and slipped down his cheek,
unnoticed by the blond. "I could almost accept this marriage, Saru. I could almost
forgive him. But…" He shivered. "I love him, Saru. I don't want to be with you when I
had him for so long." He shook his head. "I sound so selfish, don't I? It's almost as if
I forgot that you are giving up a love that was returned."

Saru ignored that last. It didn't concern him. "Do you truly love Aragorn?"

Legolas nodded miserably. "I know that he-"

Saru bore down on Legolas' fingers. "Be quiet, Legolas. Just listen."

Legolas stared at him, surprised that his friend could show such decisiveness.

"Aragorn needs you," Saru explained. "He will need you before the end. It's not now, but
it's coming. You must be ready when he calls for you."

"How… how do you know this? You are not of Dunedain blood."

"I don't know. I only know it is true. Will you walk the path you must walk until he
calls for you?"

Legolas wept openly now, but he managed to answer clearly, "Yes."

Saru took Legolas' other hand and squeezed both together. "We'll survive, Legolas. The
Dunedain taught us that much. And when Aragorn and Kehydi call for us, we will be
ready." He didn't feel quite as confident that Kehydi would call for him, but he kept
the feeling from his voice. He wanted only to give Legolas strength.

	Mordecai poked his head into the tent that would soon be Legolas' and Saru's own.
He assessed their mood and nodded, his face stony and unreadable. "Come."



Chapter Forty

Under the softly-rustling trees, near the murmuring river, surrounded by almost two
hundred faces, Legolas and Saru were asked to stand before Aragorn. It fell to the chief
of the Dunedain to conduct the ceremony, and Aragorn knew this would be his final act of
repentance. So he wore a falsely-cheerful expression (his worries and doubts were
getting harder to ignore) and bid them hold hands.
Obediently, the two faced each other and grasped hands.

"Dunedain, I beg you to see these slaves joined," Aragorn intoned.

"We see them very well," his Rangers chanted.

"I beg you to see that neither is a whore now."

"We see that change very well."

"I beg you to see that they belong now to each other, as well as to their masters."

"We see these things very well."

"Saru, I beg you to see that your heart will now be joined with Legolas'."

"I see it very well," Saru whispered, his eyes locked with Legolas' as the two of them
sought strength in each other.

"Do you accept Legolas with joy and with love?"

"Yes."

"Legolas, I beg you to see that your heart will now be joined with Saru's."

Tightly, Legolas answered, "I see it very well." He bore down on Saru's hands, but let
up at once when his friend winced. Legolas, forgetting his anger for a moment, smiled
apologetically.

Saru smiled back, understanding.

"Do you accept Saru with joy and with love?"

'If I say yes, then we're married. We kiss… pretend to mean what we said… and then we're
joined. Until one of us dies.'

He swallowed. 'But if I say no, I'll be punished. After all, as the older one, I'm
responsible for Saru. I'm supposed to be a god example. That's how the Dunedain law
works when two males wed.'

"Yes, with all my heart," he responded, his voice cracking.

Aragorn nodded. "Kiss, then, and seal the bond."

Legolas felt Saru's hesitation in the way his friend suddenly tried to pull out of the
hand-grasp. Drawing Saru forward, Legolas whispered, "It's all right. Be strong."

Saru bit his lip, then nodded. He leaned in.

Their lips met, tentatively at first, but then more firmly as Legolas tilted his head
slightly. He brought his arms around Saru and tried to convey all the love he had in
him. Not romantic love, but a friendship love that wouldn't see Saru hurt for anything.
When the Dunedain cheered, Legolas felt Saru's hot tears on his cheek. They mingled with
his own.

***

In their small tent (it could be made bigger if one of them brought down a deer),
Legolas and Saru sat on either side of the bed, looking from each other to the closed
tent flap and back again.

"We don't have to have sex," Legolas pointed out at last, hating the uncomfortable
silence. There had never been those kinds of silences in their friendship before Aragorn
had forced them to this juncture.

"I think we're supposed to, though," Saru answered, not wanting to speak of it, but
wanting Legolas to know where they stood. Even though Legolas was technically the leader
of this little partnership, Saru felt the responsibility on his shoulders. He had spent
all his years of adolescence with the rules of slavery very well established around and
inside him. Legolas, though he had known some of the rules once, might have forgotten
all the little subtleties. "And not just because we're supposed to love each other,"
Saru went on. "We're supposed to make a new bond and forget any old ones that existed."

"Do you want to do that?" When Saru flinched, Legolas realised he'd unleashed his
frustration on his friend. He reached out at once and took Saru's hand. "I'm sorry,
Saru. I'm not being fair to you."

Their eyes met and locked. "I want none of it, Legolas," Saru answered softly,
fervently. "I want only to be back in Kehydi's arms. Even as his whore. I want only
him." He took a deep breath. "But if we don't do this, we'll be punished. You'll be
punished, because you're the leader here." He sighed, shaking his head. "If I saw any
way out of this, Legolas, I would take it. But…" He waved his free hand helplessly,
indicating his inability to see another way out.

Legolas nodded. "I know… but, Saru, who's to know that we didn't… couple? How could they
know? We're both male; there wouldn't be any blood on the sheets, even if we were
virgins. How will they know?"

"Because I'm watching you."

Both slaves jumped and Legolas felt his anger flare.

Saru grasped Legolas' hand harder, almost painfully. Legolas didn't look at him and Saru
tugged at the hand. Still, Legolas ignored him.

"You will couple. I will not watch all; I am no voyeur. But I will see you start,"
Aragorn declared impassively.

"But…" Saru began, searching for a way to distract Legolas from the hateful thoughts
that were surely rushing through his mind, "Master Aragorn, this is supposed to be a
private thing. I promise we will join. I swear it."

Aragorn shook his head, his face darkening with the beginnings of anger. "Your record is
not clean anymore, Saru, if it ever really was."

Saru recoiled as if slapped; his hand fell from Legolas'.

With that last tether gone, Legolas leapt to his feet. "Don't make us do this, Aragorn!
Please! We're-"

Aragorn moved with frightening speed. He grabbed Legolas' shoulder with his left hand
and slapped his face, twice, smartly.

Saru cried out as Aragorn released Legolas, who stumbled backwards, his hand going to
his cheek, his eyes wide with shock. Aragorn had never struck him. Never.

Saru caught Legolas' arm as if to steady him (or perhaps to calm him) but Legolas shook
him off.

"Aragorn, don't do this! I've always been loyal to you! Don't punish me for serving you!
Please keep your promise!"

Aragorn's face had held the same shocked look as Legolas', but now that disappeared, to
be replaced by weariness. "Legolas," he nearly whispered, "This isn't a punishment. And
I wish I could keep my promise."

Sorrow lived in his eyes and Legolas believed him, at least in that much.

"I could, but then Saru would be sold." Aragorn waited for Legolas to take this in.
Saru took two steps back, terror rising in his eyes like a red, foreboding, sunrise.    

Legolas moved so that he was between them. "Don't," he ordered, his voice low and
dangerous.

Aragorn raised his hands. "I'm not going to." He let his hands drop. "Saru is now
married to a responsible slave. There is precedence for this. If Saru behaves while he
is under your watchful eye, Legolas, he will be forgiven everything. If he didn't have
another slave to watch over him, I would have to sell him. Because his lies are
dangerous." He studied Legolas' expression for a moment, then asked, "Do you
understand?"

Legolas groaned. Valar help him, but, yes, he did understand. He was Saru's jailor,
basically. If Saru 'misbehaved' while under his guard, Aragorn would be well within his
rights to sell Saru. "Where would you sell him?" he asked, wanting to keep Aragorn
talking until he could figure out a way to convince his master to leave them alone while
they had sex.

Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know. I might sell him to an elf. I certainly wouldn't
sell him to someone who would mistreat him, if that's what you're worried about."

"You… you won't sell me to Halbarad, will you?" Saru asked, daring for the first time to
speak.

Aragorn glanced at him. "Halbarad is in Lothlorien, healing. He will not rape you again.
And no, even if he came back healed, I would not sell you to him. Because he's a
Dunadan, and if I had to sell you, I would sell you out of this camp."

Saru looked both relieved and a little frightened. "May I ask another question?"

"Yes."

"Who is my master now?"

Aragorn blinked in surprise. Of all the questions Saru might have asked, this was the
least expected. "Malacai is still your master."

Saru nodded. "I just wanted to know, because you said you would sell me if I wasn't
married to Legolas."

"That duty would fall to me," Aragorn answered, "because I set down the terms of your
marriage." He looked from Saru to Legolas. "It's time. You must join now."

Legolas, desperate to keep that time off for as long as possible, asked, "Will you ever
let me go?"

Aragorn opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it again. He seemed to seriously consider
the question before he opened his mouth a second time. "Yes. I will free you when Saru
can again be trusted… if you haven't fallen in love with him by then."

'I never will,' Legolas vowed. 'I love only you.' He knew this was not the time to
confess that. Aragorn had, after all, taught him a great deal about duty and restraint.

Legolas sighed heavily. "We'll have sex, Master Aragorn. But please, if you trust me,
let us do it unwatched. We're not horses, who are observed sometimes to make sure the
stallion doesn't hurt the mare." He glanced at Saru, and saw that his friend was also as
ready as he would ever be.

Again, Aragorn considered before he answered. "Very well, Legolas. I trust you to bind
yourself to him." He turned and left the tent.

Saru slumped back onto the bed. "He would sell me to an elf," he whispered,
disbelieving. "Maybe that would be better…"

"No, it wouldn't," Legolas answered shortly, and it was Elrohir he was thinking of.
Elrohir and Elrond.

Abruptly, he turned to Saru and smiled. It was a tight, sad smile, but a smile,
nonetheless. "Do you want to be in me, or me in you?"

Saru bit his lip. "I…"

Legolas perched on the bed and slipped his arm around Saru's shoulders. "I won't hurt
you. I've learned how to be inside someone. When Aragorn and I were first together, he
let me go inside him so I wasn't afraid."

"Really?" Saru gazed at him in amazement. "He trusted you that much?"

Legolas nodded.

Saru looked down at his lap. "I…I don't want to go in you. I'm afraid. Besides, aren't
you supposed to be in me? You're the leader."

Legolas considered that. It wasn't a hard and fast rule, but, yes, Saru was right. "Are
you still hurt from Halbarad?"

Saru shook his head. "I healed a while ago." His lips quirked up into a nearly-happy,
nearly-teasing smile. "Thanks to you."

Legolas nodded, as if to himself, then he offered, "There's oil. It was brought in with
the rest of our things. I always…" He blushed. "I always carried it because sometimes
Aragorn forgot."

Saru laughed softly. "Kehydi forgot sometimes, too."

Legolas reached up and cupped Saru's cheek. It wasn't as rough as Aragorn's, but it
wasn't unpleasant, either. Banishing his last reservations, knowing they had to do this,
Legolas kissed Saru.

At first, Saru wouldn't kiss back, but allowed himself to be kissed without resisting.
Legolas whispered against his lips, "Close your eyes and pretend I'm Kehydi, if that
makes it easier."

"Are you pretending I'm Aragorn?" Saru asked, obediently letting his eyelids slip shut.
Legolas started to say yes, then realised this wasn't true. "No. No one can be like
Aragorn."

Saru leaned toward Legolas, capturing his lips. When they parted, Saru opened his eyes
and smiled. "I'm glad. I can't pretend you're Kehydi, either."

***

It hadn't hurt, Legolas reflected afterwards, as he curled up, his head on Saru's
shoulder. They had joined almost smoothly, and it would have even felt good- nay,
intoxicating- if they had been in love.

Shortly after they had climaxed and cleaned up, Aragorn had knocked at the tent flap.
When Legolas called, "Come in, please," the Dunedain's chief had slipped inside,
assessing their mood shrewdly in the soft candle light. The blankets covered them almost
completely.

Aragorn nodded. "You've done well. Thank you both for surviving and working through
this." He turned to leave, but Saru called, "Master?"

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder. Legolas, too, was looking at the red-haired slave,
his expression one of surprise. "Yes, Saru?"

"How long will you make Legolas do this?"

Legolas blanched. 'Please, Saru, please don't say anything about my love for him! It's
not the right time!' He clenched Saru's hand under the blankets, praying he would keep
his mouth shut on that subject.

Aragorn answered at once (he must have given this some thought), "Two years. If you have
done all you are supposed to, Saru, I will release you both from this marriage. Legolas,
I will escort you to Mirkwood myself, and Saru…" He paused, seemed to fight a brief,
inner struggle, then resumed, "never mind. I will see you both in the morning. You have
the next two days to yourselves. After that, you will resume your former duties." He
turned and strode purposely from the tent, his head high, his movements saying plainly
that he was satisfied with the way things had turned out.

Now, as Legolas was drifting towards reverie, he was started by a voice out of the
darkness. "Are you happy, Legolas? I mean, not forever, I know you can't be, but for
this one moment?"

Saru's voice sounded sleepy, but Legolas had no doubt that his friend was listening
closely. 'He is my husband now,' he thought wonderingly, and with a spark of fear, which
he quickly squelched.

Out loud, he answered, "Yes, Saru. For this one moment, and until we are able to go
about our lives, I am happy to be with you."

Saru kissed the top of Legolas' head and both of them forgot about the world for a few
hours. 



Chapter Forty-One

Hoofbeats.

Elladan sat still, listening hard to the forest around him.

Hoofbeats in the dark.

Had it been his imagination?

It had been long years since he had gone on border patrol, but it felt so good, so right
to be out here without even the ford to protect him. Not far away, he sensed (not
through the bond, not yet) Elrohir also listening. So it hadn't been his imagination.

"Those aren't elf-horses," Figwit spoke up from his other side.

Elrohir grunted, not signaling believe or disbelief; he only wanted Figwit to be silent
so he could listen.

'They aren't elf-horses,' Elladan thought. 'There's no sound of bells. And even if these
were from Mirkwood- where bells are not normally used- they're coming too loud and too
fast. Unless they are in great need, Mirkwood elves don't gallop their horses under a
moonless sky. The risk to the horses is too great.'

Elladan shivered as the hoofbeats came ever closer. He knew the six of them were more
than likely safe in the trees- hardly anything could spot an elf- but he couldn't shake
a disturbing feeling that he had done this all before.

'That's insane,' he argued as the somehow-menacing sounds tried to come inside him and
overwhelm him. 'Yes, I was attacked while on patrol, but things were different. It was
daytime, I was in charge, it was further from Rivendell than this and… and… and I was
younger. Less ready.'

That last felt like a lie; he felt less ready now, if anything. When he was younger, he
had been sure of the world and sure of his own abilities. Now, didn't know or trust
either. But the rest was true, and Elladan cast the little lie away.

All the while, the horses came closer and closer, bearing their riders towards the heart
of Elrond's valley. Elladan roused himself when he remembered this and bent his ear to
the sounds, trying to learn more about the riders, if possible. He and Elrohir had begun
to work against the nameless darkness that had crept over the valley, and to some degree
they had succeeded, but they hadn't been able to bring Elrond out of his own shadow-
land. 'And because we cannot yet reach him, we must keep all danger out of Imladris, for
its Lord is not ready to do battle.'

He was so concentrated on the sound of the horses that at first Elladan didn't feel the
cold fingers creeping into his mind. But when they clenched, looking for purchase, he
knew them for what they were: the plundering fingers of the Witch King.

Elladan at once threw up a shield around his mind and, with all his mental strength,
shouted at the Ringwraith, 'Leave me be, Servant of the Dark Lord!'

'I could bring your suffering to an end, Elf,' the Witch King invited. 'We are, even
now, drawing near to your hiding place. Cast yourself down and we will trample you into
the earth. Wouldn't you like to be part of the earth again? Don't the elves long to be
part of Nature?'

'Elbereth Gilthomiel!' Elladan roared silently. 'Cast yourself into the fires of Mordor!
There lies your bed. Return and lie in your Master's forge! That is the only right place
for you!'

Something touched him, and at first Elladan didn't know if it was from within his mind
or from the surrounding world. Then he heard Elrohir whisper, "I'm here, Brother. Fight
it. I'm here to help."

Elladan laughed aloud, feeling giddy with power. "They are here," he announced in a fell
voice. "The Wraiths are here."

Guinene moaned, "What do we do? None of us can ride openly against the Nine!"

"All nine are here, yes," Elladan said, while, in his mind, he struggled to push the
Witch King as far away from him as possible. If he could only rid himself of the
ravenous, grasping mind, he might be able to reach Glorfindel. He might be able to call
a warning. "We need to keep them from the ford as long as possible."

'Why?' taunted the Witch King. 'Do you think that will avail you?' If he had been
weakened by Elladan's use of the ancient names of power, he wasn't letting it show.

'Leave my mind, Shadow, for I have no use for you!'

'Ah, but I have a use for you.' And before Elladan could renew his attempts to pull
away, the Witch King sent him a terrible memory.

"No!" Elladan howled as he was dragged down into swirling darkness. And, on the heels of
that, "Glorfindel! Glorfindel! Hear me! Glorfindel!"

As the darkness began to drown him, Elladan 'screamed', 'Glorfindel! My love! Hear me
and come! Bring the Light!'

***

Glorfindel had positioned himself at Elrond's feet. The two of them were in the lord's
study, and Elrond had a scroll before him, but there was precious little work being
done. Elrond only stared at the parchment listlessly, rolling his quill between his
fingers. Occasionally, he sighed or stirred. These were the only sounds in the room.

Glorfindel put his hand on Elrond's knee, wanting to draw his attention, wanting to lend
him a little light, a little hope. The shadow of Imladris (Elladan had explained it as
well as he could, weeks ago) fairly crammed itself into the formerly-cozy room.
Glorfindel was tempted to release a little of his light and drive it away, but he knew
he didn't have enough strength to push the shadow out of the entire valley. If he
attacked it with Light, it would attack doubly hard with Darkness. Eventually, it would
overwhelm him. Quite possibly even kill him. Only Elrond could really force it to leave;
only Elrond could keep it away once it was gone. Only Elrond and his ring.

Elrond gave no sign that he felt the hand on his knee, but Glorfindel didn't draw back.
Instead, he opened his mind and tried to send a thought. He didn't know if the thought
would go any further than his own mind; he hadn't been close enough to Elrond to send
and receive thoughts in nearly half a century. But he tried.

'Elrond. Elrond! I need you! Elrond, listen to me. The Shadow is trying to take you away
from Imladris. From your sons. From your daughter. From all of your people, who love you
and worry about you. Please don't let the Shadow win, Elrond. You're needed here.
You're-'

…

'What was that?' Glorfindel wondered, daring to hope. 'A voice?' It had been too brief,
too faint, to tell.

He turned his mind back to Elrond. 'Elrond, please listen to me. We need you. We can't
live without you. Please fight the darkness. If you don't, Imladris will fall. The Last
Homely House will belong to the Dark Lord. Please-'  

…findel…

'Yes, definitely a voice. Who are you?'

…me. Glorfindel…

The Elda strained to hear. It was not Elrond's voice; he was sure of this. But that was
the only thing he was sure of.

ear…come!... ing…Light!...

'Elladan?' Glorfindel listened hard for a moment, then called again, 'Elladan! Answer
me! Ellad-'

'Elladan is dead, Whore.' The voice was so loud in his mind that Glorfindel winced. 

'Come fine his body, if you dare!'

'What... Ringwraith? Was that-? Yes! Stop stalling! It's hurting Elladan!'

Glorfindel leapt to his feet, staggering forward as he fought for balance. He slammed
into Elrond, hard, and the force of his fall knocked the chair over backwards. It came
down with a rending crash.

Glorfindel rolled away, trying to get back to his feet.

'Clumsy, clumsy elf! Why are you wasting time when any minute, any second-'

"Glorfy?"

The Balrog Slayer almost ignored the soft call. But the name cut through his anger like
a knife and he whirled back towards the chair.

Elrond was struggling to sit up. He stared at Glorfindel in mild shock.

'Yes, once he called me Glorfy. But not for centuries now…'

"My Lord, Ringwraiths are attacking. They have taken Elladan and-" He stopped, entranced
in spite of himself by the glow of Elrond's ring. How long had it been since that
particular light had burned in Imladris?

Elrond was up then, and Glorfindel felt the force of the elf-lord's will, sharp as a
hard North wind and stronger than an earthquake. He stepped away from that terrible
force, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

Elrond paid him no attention. He rushed to his balcony and stared out at the night, his
feet spread, as if for purchase and his hands grasping the railing before him.
Glorfindel could almost hear the power channeling through him.

"Elbereth! Gilthomiel!" Elrond roared into the night. His hand rose and the ring glowed
with a savage, deadly light. (Glorfindel could see this, even through his hands- it was
in his mind.) "You cannot enter here, Witch King! You cannot enter!"

Elrond's whole body began to shake. Glorfindel was fascinated, frozen. Then an image of
Elladan, surrounded by leering, naked men assaulted his mind, and Glorfindel remembered
his lover.

He spun around and tore from the room. On the way to the front doors, he saw several
elves of the house. Among them, he found Erestor, who was bearing elven knives in
sheaths. Glorfindel roared, "Give them to me! Imladris is under attack!"

Erestor held them out without question.

As Glorfindel raced towards the front doors, he yelled over his shoulder, "Follow! A son
of Elrond is dying!"

***

Elladan was conscious first of the hot, wet tongue tracking down his neck. Then lips
suckled at his pulse and teeth nipped lightly at his skin. The elf struggled weakly,
hating the rancid breath that ghosted against his cheek. His hands weren't fettered, so
why couldn't he free himself?

After a long moment, Elladan remembered the men, the arrows, the blades, the cries… the
death. 'Where am I? Why would they take me? Did they bring any of the others?' He didn't
want to believe that all of his soldiers were dead, but his heart warned him that it was
true.

'If that's true, then I'm alone. And no one escaped to return to Rivendell.' Elladan
fought to keep his mind clear. It wasn't hard; he had conquered wild, unpredictable
emotions before he reached the age of one hundred.

The hot mouth was joined by two rough, large hands. These were working busily at the
lacings of his shirt.

A question that surely should have occurred to him almost at the first flitted through
Elladan's mind and snagged his attention: 'Why can't I see?' He wore no blindfold, so
why-?

But even as he thought this (and felt the fingers struggling with the decorative,
complicated elven knots near his throat), Elladan realized he could see. Only vague
shadows at first, and the color seemed to have drained out of the world, but it was
better than nothing.

The man grunted, sending a stronger puff of stink into Elladan's face. "Damned thongs,"
he growled, his voice thicker than Elladan was used to.

'But, then again, I've only heard Estel, Gilraen and the other Dunedain speak on a
regular basis,' Elladan thought on the top of his mind while the under-part was
concerned with simply making his eyes focus as quickly as possible. He had long ago
learned to divide his mind, using mundane thoughts to keep him calm and logical while he
sought to solve some serious problem.

There was a sudden ripping sound and Elladan felt the kiss of a cold, sharp blade
against his chest. He gasped as his shirt fell away. An instant later, the sensation was
repeated, this time on his legs. In a matter of moments, Elladan was completely naked.
He tried to curl into himself, and he had regained enough strength, he judged, to do so,
but his wrists and ankles were seized and swiftly tied down.

Abruptly, the last of the shadows was swept away from his sight and Elladan was greeted
by a grinned horror: the man who had been kissing him and struggling with his clothes,
and surely the same one who had just cut away his shirt and trousers.

Elladan studied him shrewdly while his mind worked out how many there were in the room
with him and what sort of room he was confined in. The man was swarthy and hairy and
dirty. Elladan could see the filth that had settled in the cracks of the man's hands and
in the folds of his plain, rough-woven shirt. 'This is a man who lives in the Wild,'
Elladan thought, 'and yet without the wit that Dunedain possess, for he cannot keep
himself decently clean. Some of that dirt looks to have been there for months. And he
reeks of smoke, rot and shit. I'd guess he's only a year or less from his own death.'

His under-mind reported, 'There are seven in the room, all much the same. They're from
around here, by the skill of their fighting in the thick, Northern woods, but they are
not wholly comfortable inside. See how they keep stealing glances at the door. As if
they aren't supposed to be here.'

He inhaled, tasting and smelling the air. Below the mens' fetid stench hung the smells
of sawdust and old, wet wood. 'Is this a shed?' Elladan wondered. 'I think it might be.
Then maybe these men are hiding out somewhere. Surely they aren't in a place they know
well, a place they're used to defending. I could use that to my advantage.'

…Elladan…

The elf blinked in confusion. 'I'm imagining things, surely. No one here knows my name.'

The man in front of him grunted. "We've drawn our lots. I get him first."

There was a murmur of dissention among the other wildmen, but it died quickly. Clearly,
they feared this man. Was he their leader? Elladan couldn't guess. Not yet, anyway.

'But his words… "I get him first"…' Elladan shuddered. He knew what was coming. And yet…
he didn't know.

'Yes I do! He's going to rape me! Just like last time!'

'There was no last time!'

…Elladan… ear me?

The man stretched out over him and Elladan felt his sweaty skin. That smell of rotting
meat grew stronger until Elladan thought he would choke on it.

'Wait. There wasn't a smell last time, at least not one beyond sweat and a little smoke.
Where is the smell of rotting meat coming from?'

Still, part of his mind insisted, 'There was no last time!'

When the man was on top of him, Elladan tensed up as much as he could, wanting to avoid
the man's touch, wanting to avoid what he knew was to come.

'I'm less drugged this time. I can move, at least, even if it's only a little. And my
mind's clea-'

Pain stabbed through him, originating not from between his legs (though he could feel
the man inside him now and it should have hurt) but from his chest. The searing, biting
agony robbed him of breath and made his vision blur with tears.

…fight, Elladan…

The pain eased slightly and Elladan drew in a great gasping breath. 'Elrohir?'

Fight it! Now! Elladan, pl-

A wordless shriek of fury ripped through Elladan's mind, drowning out his brother's
words. It hardly mattered. 'This is happening a second time. But it's in my mind now.
And I can control my own mind.'

'Who's doing this to me?' At once, he knew, and his anger blazed high. 'I will not be
used by a servant of the Enemy!'

Elladan closed his mental eyes. He didn't need to see the vision above him- poor vision
that it was- and closed his mental ears as well. He didn't want to be distracted by the
imaginary world. When he had shut himself off from the 'man' on top of him, he felt the
icy fingers on his arms and the Black Breath on his face.

'Go!' Elladan shouted. 'Go from me! I'm not your prey!'

'Come to the darkness. You won't have to feel helpless like that ever again.'

Elladan laughed. The Witch King actually thought he was still susceptible to the shadows
from his past? 'Fool!' he bellowed. 'You can only see the surface! The things that I was
thinking of while listening to your horses! What do you really know of me?'

To himself, he realized, 'That's why the vision was so vague; I scarcely remember
anything from that first time I woke up.' He laughed again, cynically amused. 'The
wraith took the wrong memory. Fool!'

Elbereth! Gilthomiel! Leave, Shadows! You cannot enter here!

'Ada?' Elladan gasped. 'Is it him? Is he well again? But how-'

Fight it, Elladan!

'I am!' Elladan wanted to shout back at the voice of his brother. 'I am!'

The vision before him had faded to nothing, so that Elladan didn't have to close his
mental eyes to it anymore. Instead, he forced his physical eyes open. He was still
sitting in the tree… but 'sitting' wasn't really the proper word. He hung down over the
branch; his arms were held by others' hands and his cheek lay against a smooth palm.

'Not the wraiths, then. I'm still with the other elves.'

"Leave!" roared Elrond's voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere. It echoed among the
trees, but instead of dying away grew stronger as it was repeated. It was as if the
entire wood were chanting the word.

Elladan turned his head slightly and saw Elrohir looking down at him anxiously. The
elder twin tried to smile, but he could scarcely hold his head in its position, so he
let his neck go limp once more.

Elrohir snapped, "Stay with me, Elladan. Don't let them take you. Fight them, Elladan.
Fight them."

'I am,' Elladan tried to send because he didn't think his tongue would obey him. When
the thought bounced back to him, Elladan almost wept. 'If only I could let him know that
I'm all right!' he mourned.

Carefully, the elves began to shift him so that he was lying against one elf and looking
at Elrohir. His legs straddled the branch. He still couldn't lift his head, but he could
peer up at his twin through his lashes.

"They're still down there," groaned Guinene. "Why didn't Lord Elrond's voice frighten
them away?"

"They're too stupid to be frightened," Figwit returned bleakly. "Elrohir, what do we
do?"

"We wait," Elrohir answered. "That's all we can do until help arrives." He glanced at
Elladan, then added, "At least they don't have a hostage anymore." His words might have
sounded harsh, but Elladan saw the raw, near-panic in his eyes, and when Elrohir took
his hands and squeezed them, Elladan felt the clamminess of his skin.

He sent another thought, knowing he couldn't speak, praying it would somehow break
through. 'Elrohir, listen to me. I am stronger than they think. I won't fall to them.'

There was a pause, so long that Elladan dared to hope that the thought had gotten
through, but then it returned, slightly softer, but otherwise unchanged.

'But it was changed, just that little bit. There is hope.' And even as he watched,
Elrohir frowned, then smiled tentatively. He squeezed Elladan's hands again.

All this time, Elrond's voice had grown around them. Elladan wanted desperately to know
what the Ringwraiths were doing, but he didn't try to move again. Ruefully, he
complained, 'I feel weaker than a day-old puppy.'

Hoofbeats.

'Again?' Elladan wondered. 'Are the wraiths fleeing?' He listened for a moment, then
realised, with a sinking heart, that the horse was approaching. 'What rides? Not orcs.
Men?' He shivered.

"Stay with me," Elrohir roared.

Elladan blinked. Elrohir had seen his shiver… had taken it as a sign of surrendering or
being taken… 'I'm fine!' he sent loudly. 'I'm fine!'

'…iving…self…hibbie-jibbies…' Elrohir sent back, his voice annoyed and yet, despite the
danger around them, slightly amused and most definitely relieved that he could hear his
brother, at least partially.

'Enough, at any rate, to hear even when I don't send things to him,' Elladan mused.
'That's something…. Actually, that's quite a lot.' He grinned inwardly, his mouth still
refusing to respond. 'The block's all but gone. Thank the Valar.'

Suddenly, as the hoofbeats crescendoed, echoing almost as loudly as Elrond's call, a
welcome voice reached Elladan's ear and he longed to cheer.

"Hai, Gondolin! Hai, Imladris!"

There was no need to turn his head to see what might be happening to the wraiths as a
sudden, irrepressible light flooded the space between the trees. Elladan heard the
Witch-King scream and he sent at the wraith, his mental voice crashing thunder, 'Meet
your match! Glorfindel, Balrog-Slayer, will bring your end!'

Elladan doubted the wraiths heard him. They were busy howling, one to another, "Elf-
lord! Elf-lord! Fly! Fly!!"

It mattered not at all. Elladan listened to them ride away, happy only that they were
gone.

Suddenly, he felt exhaustion overtaking him. He gave himself over to it gratefully,
knowing now that all were safe. A single question, joyous with the hope that fueled it,
shimmered in his mind before he slept: 'Is the Shadow gone from Imladris?'

***

	Elrohir kept his silent vigil at Elladan's bedside. Others had come: Erestor,
Lindir, and Ada, but none had stayed long. Glorfindel had not come, and Elrohir felt his
face grow hot as he thought of that. If the Elda really loved Elladan, where was he?

"Shouldn't he be the first at Elladan's side?" Elrohir demanded furiously of the room.
"Or doesn't he love Elladan? Was it all an act?"

	An image, unbidden, came to him. When Glorfindel had chased off the Ringwraiths he
returned to bear Elladan back to Imladris.

'I ordered him to let me take Elladan myself. "You follow on foot," I commanded him. And
what did he do? He argued with me! Me, his master, son of Elrond!' Elrohir snarled in
the gentle glow of the candle light.

'He said, "I must go on two errands. First to Imladris, and then away for a while. I
must bear him." And before I could say anything, he scooped Elladan up as if my brother
were still a baby and rode away with him! Who does he think he is? And what was so
important that he had to rush off immediately and leave Elladan?' Bitterly, he
reflected, 'I was right. Slaves don't know how to love. Glorfindel never loved Elladan,
not really, and he never will.'

Clenching his fists, his nails biting into his palms, Elrohir cursed Glorfindel and
vowed that if he ever saw the blond again, he would see his head on a pike.

"I'm not much for man and orc customs," he told the still room, "but I think I'll make
an exception this time."



Chapter Forty-Two

Elrond gazed out over the fog-shrouded valley. Everything seemed to be waiting. No birds
twittered or flew, no breeze stirred the listless trees, and no elves sang. It had been
a terrible two days since the wraiths had dared to ride against Imladris. A leaden
depression had settled over all, making each minute into an hour, each hour into a year
of useless pacing.

"He should be awake by now! He wasn't hurt that badly!" So Elrohir had wailed, his eyes
swimming with tears.

"Yes, that is true," Elrond had answered calmly, trying to battle his own demons, "but
what should happen rarely rules our lives."

Now, alone in his chambers, Elrond felt himself able to drop the shields he'd erected to
deal with the crisis. As soon as he did, his mind went immediately to his eldest son,
but he turned it firmly in another direction. Worrying about Elladan (and wondering why
he hadn't awoken yet) wouldn't solve anything.

'Neither will grousing about Glorfindel's absence, or my own recent confusion, but I
would rather think on that than on Elladan's suffering.' Elrond tightened his hands on
the balcony railing, just as he had done two nights ago. 'How could I leave all of
this?' he berated himself. "I left Imladris unguarded- and that must have been well
known, because Sauron sent his Nazgul here.' He groaned. 'I was gone- at least to the
physical world- for years. Decades. How could I simply abandon it all?'

He could answer that: the world darkened about him, day by day, and he wanted
desperately to seek the serenity and sanctuary of the Undying Lands. 'I miss
Celebrain,' he admitted, 'and no matter what I use to replace her- studying, games or
sex- I will always miss her until I see her again.' Shaking his head, he added, 'And
it's becoming less important, at least to me, to keep this Last Homely House, this last
place of sanctuary, open to the people of Middle Earth. Rivendell isn't needed anymore.
Since Bilbo, has anyone else come here? No. Not Gandalf or Aragorn. Not even other elves
have journeyed this way. Why should I continue to hold this outpost in the wilderness?
The Dunedain don't even travel this way, and if they do they don't stop here. So why is
it that I fight to keep a kingdom of light flourishing amidst the growing darkness?'

He couldn't answer.

Bitterly, Elrond went on, 'It isn't even as if Imladris is pure anymore. I have let
slaves into my house, even whores. No other elves would do that. And now that there are
slaves, I would be hard-pressed to treat them as normal elves once again.'

This turned his mind, naturally enough, to Glorfindel and his disappearance. 'He has
another errand? And what might that be? Seeking his own freedom?'

But, unlike Elrohir, Elrond had known Glorfindel before he was a whore, when he was Lord
Glorfindel of Gondolin, reborn Balrog Slayer, and no man's servant. He had known (and
loved) Glorfindel when he, Elrond, had just become Lord of Imladris, before he had ever
met and fallen in love with Galadriel's beautiful daughter. 'Yes, I knew him… but he was
also made up of mysteries. No one knew Glorfindel completely; he had been through too
much to really open his heart to anyone. "Haughty Glorfindel" is what I called him in my
mind when he first came here, even though I was entranced by him and would have followed
him to the ends of the earth if he but asked.'

Elrond chuckled dryly at his own folly. 'But adult elves- even elves over three thousand
years old- can still act like children sometimes. I fell deeply in love with him,
ancient and wise and distant though he was, but then I fell out of love when I met
Celebrain.'

Shaking his head, he admitted, 'I wanted to punish him. And he allowed it. Because, over
the years, his coldness melted away. We became friends. But it was too late to become
anything else. I made him swear to serve me always… I began commanding him to serve me
sexually… He was the only whore here at first, the only slave. When I approved slavery,
other elves started taking slaves of their own. But Glorfindel was the first.'

Sighing, Elrond muttered, "Why did he submit? What made him submit to me?" He was forced
to consider the possibility that Glorfindel had loved him. "When I finally gave up on
you, did you fall in love with me, hope I would turn back to you?" Elrond laughed
humorlessly. "The world is a sick place, Glorfindel. I'm only sorry that I dragged you
into that diseased place."

He thought of Celebrain again. She had never approved of his keeping a whore, but she
never came right out and said she wouldn't allow it. And when Elrond pointed out that
their children would lose their virginity to someone that could be controlled, she had
allowed Glorfindel to become their whore as well.

Elrond still remembered the words she had said on the day before she crossed over the
sea: "Elrond, the orcs raped me. They destroyed me. Why are you letting our son" she had
meant Elrohir "destroy Glorfindel the same way?"

He hadn't been able to answer that, but had promised that he would free Glorfindel. He
had lied to her to avoid an argument just before she was to leave.

'And I felt no guilt about that lie. It was only right and good, it seemed to me, to
ease her mind before she left. And I was under no obligation to keep my word.' 

Elrond turned from the window, tired of staring out at the troubling fog. It mirrored
his own murky thoughts all too well. He marched to his desk, stared down at the
parchment there- it was the same one that had lain in that place two nights ago- and
then turned from his desk. 'Where might I go to be alone that isn't here?' Briefly, he
considered saddling a horse and leaving Imladris for a few hours, but dismissed that. If
Elladan awakened, he might need his father.

'Then where? Not the gardens or the Hall of Fire. Those places are too public.' Then he
knew. It was the only place practically guaranteed to be deserted. 'And Glorfindel won't
mind if I made use of his little room. Chances are, he won't be returning to claim it.'
His mind at last decided, Elrond brought the shields up around his mind again, just in
case he met another elf in the corridors, and strode purposely from the room, closing
the door behind him.

	He met no one- 'Thank the Valar for small favors'- and swiftly shut the door
behind him, locking it. Slave-quarters, strictly speaking, shouldn't have locks, but
Elladan had installed this one some time ago, Elrond knew, so that he and Glorfindel
could have some privacy.

'Did Glorfindel laugh at Elladan's folly?' Elrond wondered as he stared down at the
lock. Bitter as he felt, he still doubted it. 'Whether I want to admit it or not, I
think Glorfindel really loved Elladan.' Shaking his head, deciding to put it out of his
mind for the time being- he still didn't want to think about Elladan- Elrond turned away
from the door and gazed about the room.

His eye was drawn first by the neatly-made bed. A beautiful comforter, sewn in colors of
early autumn, lay folded at its foot. He glided towards it, his eyes unable to leave the
intricate designs and the rich, vibrant colors. 'Glorfindel was always strange that
way,' Elrond thought distantly. 'He always loved the change from summer to autumn. What
was it he always answered when asked about his strange passion for the dying of the
leaves? Ah, yes, I remember. He spoke it so often, with such feeling, that I don't think
I could ever forget. "The leaves are not dying. They are only resting for a time. They
will become the earth and bring forth new children, different from themselves, maybe
grander and more glorious than they ever dreamed of being." Oh, Glorfindel, how could
you be so hopeful in the face of everything? You never let the darkness of the world-
the darkness I showed you- distract you from the joys that still lived all around you.
What strange gift did the Valar give you to see the beauty amidst the ugliness? Was it
something they gave you when you were reborn, or did you acquire it? I think it was that
last, for you were cold as frost when you first came here, only looking for a place to
heal.'

Elrond frowned as he ran his fingers over the comforter. 'I came onto you too soon,
didn't I? You weren't ready yet for a lover. And what did I do? I pushed and pushed and
pushed, and always heard your cries of protest as flirtatious jests.' Turning away from
the bed, not wanting to see those dying-living colors, Elrond put his hand to his
forehead. 'I'm sorry I pushed you. I was a fool.'

He lowered his hand and gazed at the partially-open door of Glorfindel's closet.
Hesitantly, he approached it, smiling. Glorfindel had always been meticulous. 'It's
surely part of living as a soldier in Gondolin.' Elrond touched the doorknob
tentatively, then drew the door all the way open.

His eye fell at once on a midnight-blue robe. He reached out, his fingers brushing
against the velvety sleeve. This wasn't Glorfindel's. Elrond remembered the day
Celebrain had presented it to Elladan as a birthday present.

 "Why should I be surprised?' Elrond asked, and he felt both bitter and amused. 'They
have been living together- if not in name, at least in actions- for years now. I am sure
if I went to Elladan's room I would find something of Glorfindel's there.' He wondered
idly in which room the two spent most of their time. But he quickly pushed such musings
away. They were only distracting.

	Elrond turned again, and found himself gazing at a picture that hung over the
small dresser. A cold sheath enveloped him from head to foot. He took a step, then
stopped, unable to reconcile what he saw in the simple painting. 'They cannot be that
close!' flashed across his mind… but evidently, they were.

	The painting melded the two elves together; they were now one.

	Glorfindel, his golden hair cascading around linden-green-clad shoulders, was
curled into Elladan's arms. His gaze was cast to the side and a soft smile tipped his
lips up at the corners. Elladan's hands covered Glorfindel's, hiding them, blending the
two of them perfectly together. Elladan's hair, half-unbound, flowed over his left
shoulder to merge with the midnight black of his tunic. His eyes were closed and his
face was half-hidden by Glorfindel's hair.

	'Their expressions, their posture, their very being seems to bespeak contentment.
How can they be so when Elrohir and I took Glorfindel as a whore? How can they look past
that and be so serene?'  Elrond took two steps to the painting, reached up and slipped
it off its hook.

	His first inclination was to smash it, but when he saw the signature at the
bottom, he couldn't. In the tiniest, most fluid Elvish was written this legend: Husbands
in love: Elladan and Glorfindel   Painted in the spring of our second year of freedom by
Elladan, son of Elrond, Lord of Imladris

	'How could he paint the picture if he's in it?' But this question only held
Elrond's attention for a moment; it wasn't, after all, the one he wanted to ask.

	'What does he mean by 'second year of freedom?' Shaking his head, knowing that he
couldn't smash his son's art, Elrond slipped the painting back over the tiny bit of
metal that held it up. He stepped back, his hands falling slowly to his sides and simply
stared at the wonder of poetry and confusion and sadness that seemed to shine before
him.

	'And what will you do, Elladan, if he doesn't come back? If I'm wrong in assuming
that I know him well? What will you do if he abandons you?' Hopelessness opened inside
Elrond like a flower and he groaned, bowing his head. "Elladan," he whispered to the
watching room. "Elladan, I'm sorry I wasn't here to stop this- to stop your love. And
now it's too late."

	As he turned towards the door, Elrond reflected bitterly that he knew full well
what could happen if Glorfindel didn't return. Elladan might, in his quiet and
unobtrusive way, slip into death.

***

	Glorfindel rode swiftly, trusting to his memory and his senses. He had ridden this
way once, in the company of Elrond's sons, but it had been long ago. 'Even if I remember
every trail-mark along the way, the Dunedain may have moved their camp.'

"What if, what if, what if," Glorfindel muttered to himself. "It's the only word a
thousand letters long. I will find them, I will warn them about the Nine, and I will get
back to Elladan. It's as simple as that."

His mind wanted to drift to Elladan- was he awake yet? Was he wondering where his lover
had gone?- but Glorfindel turned it away again, fiercely determined that he wouldn't be
caught unawares. Light or no Light, reborn Balrog-Slayer or not, Glorfindel knew he
could still be taken if he wasn't careful. And was that a noise?

Glorfindel reined in Asfoloth and listened. There it was again. The sound of splashing,
too loud to be a fish or even a good-sized frog. It came from the glade to his left, the
sound drifting through the little grove of trees that stood close to the path.
Glorfindel dismounted smoothly and silently. With a look, he bade Asfoloth not to move.
The horse didn't even nod, but gazed at Glorfindel knowingly.

The Elda slipped stealthily towards the trees, his senses heightened to a fever-pitch.
Once he was among the trees, Glorfindel melded into the shadows cast by the boughs and
moved even closer. Dimly- it was a new moon, and clouds covered much of the sky- he
could see two figures in the small pond. He couldn't see their movements or anything
about them, save that they weren't orcs or trolls. Leaving the shelter of the trees,
Glorfindel crouched and sought the cover of a bush's shadow. Now he was close enough to
hear as the two spoke together.

"What now?" asked a man's voice.

A lilting voice- 'an elven voice, almost, yet with a man's inflections' Glorfindel
thought in puzzlement- answered, "It's not up to me. Or you. It's for both of us to
decide. We're equals; neither has power over the other."

"But you are the leader-"

"I don't want to lead. Or follow. I haven't been able to act as an equal for a long
time. Can we please just be two people swimming?"

"All right."

The second one- the one with the lilting voice- sighed. "Saru, do you want to be here?"

"I don't care."

"But… but…. You must feel something! You were so passionate before; what happened?"

"I… I like following. It's all I know."

"Even with Kehydi you followed?"

"Yes. He was the more experienced one."

"You mean, he was the master," the other grunted bitterly.

"No! I mean he knew a little more about relationships, about love… We were equals. I
swear we were. I never felt as if he was treating me as a slave."

"How do you know he knew more about relationships and love?"

"He had girlfriends before we were together. Well, one, anyway."

"For how long?"

"A few weeks," the man called Saru admitted after a pause.

The other laughed contemptuously. "You know more than he does! You'd had sex before him,
right?"

"Well, yes, but not… you know, real sex."

"What's real sex?"

"Sex where you love the person."

"You love Malacai, don't you?"

"Yes, but not like I love Kehydi."

"Still, it's love." He sighed. "Look, Saru, either it was trust and joy or it was rape.
Take your pick."

Saru gasped. "What's happened to you? You didn't used to be so cold."

"Aragorn made me like this. He broke his promise. Now answer the question."

"Aragorn didn't make you this way. You made you this way."

"How can you see me so well and be blind about yourself?"

Saru laughed freely. "Isn't that the nature of men, Legolas? We see everybody else's
problems so clearly and can't see our own."

Legolas didn't laugh. "Yes. But we aren't discussing that. Quit stalling. Answer my
question."

"Neither," Saru responded flatly.

"What?! It has to be one of them! Either it was good or it wasn't."

"You said, 'love' first, then you said 'trust and joy'. Now you're saying 'good or bad'.
I'm here to say it was duty. Yes, it felt good to pretend that Master Malacai loved me.
And when he held me, I knew he cared about me, Saru, and not just my body. But caring
isn't love, Legolas. Don't ever think that it is. And don't ever confuse enjoyment of a
slave- and a wish to take care of that slave so that further enjoyment can come- with
love. Maybe Master Malacai cares about me as something more than a slave who needs
looking after.  But if he ever did, he doesn't now. I am now a stone around his neck.
And if I pass through this marriage and I'm free to go back to his bed, I will be an
even heavier stone to him."

Legolas croaked, sounding shocked and lost, "You're so bitter, Saru."

"Aye, and what of it?" Saru snapped.

"Where did you go? What happened to you? You're… you're even more closed then when you
first came to the camp! Even if you were scared back then, when you were three, you
looked to me. You trusted me. And you trusted Malacai."

"I didn't know any better," Saru responded impassively. "All I knew for sure was that
you were like me, Legolas, and Master Malacai was gentler than Versh."
Legolas didn't answer.

"And, of course," Saru went on after a moment, "I was resilient. Most children are. You
were. You hadn't been a slave for more than a few months when Master Malacai saw you in
Nennid."

He sighed. "I'm bitter, Legolas; yes, I admit it. I cannot see a way out. If I could
marry Kehydi, or just be his whore, I would be happy. It's not slavery that bothers me,
Legolas; it's being without hope."

Saru uttered another laugh, but this one was chilling. "If, after two years, Master
Aragorn decides I can't go back to Kehydi, I'll kill myself. He is my last hope. There's
no hope of peace in duty, like I thought when I was younger. There's no hope in
friendship- we've grown apart, you and I. And there's no hope in freedom. I'm afraid of
freedom. I don't want to be free, do you understand? So when you say to me 'We can
decide together' I want to scream because I know that I can't be free. I'm not strong
enough."

Legolas moaned, "But I want you to live, Saru. I want you to be happy. I want you to
find something to stay alive for." His voice became muffled as he went on, "And I want
you to please still be my friend, even if we're both different now. I need you, Saru.
You're all I have now. Let me be there for you, too. Please. I want to be."

Silence.

"Saru…"

"Shh, Legolas. I'm here for you. I promise."

***

Glorfindel backed silently out onto the road. His hands were shaking. Silently,
vehemently, he cursed the first creature who ever thought up the idea of slavery. 'Valar
burn you alive. All slavery brings is torture.'

Sighing, thinking, 'And I can't change anything,' Glorfindel pulled himself up onto
Asfoloth's back and urged the horse to move on down the road. He left Saru and Legolas
alone in the pond with their sadness, but he took his own sadness with him like a
malevolent ghost.



Chapter Forty-Three

"Aragorn…" Malacai approached hesitantly, his eyes darting about nervously.

From where he crouched, head bent, studying the leaves of the plant before him, Aragorn
asked, "Yes?" A week had passed since he forced Legolas and Saru into wedlock, and he
sought distraction from his conscience in gathering rare herbs. He had traveled almost a
mile from the camp in search of foxglove and elleroot.

Malacai hesitated, took a step back, considered heading back to the camp alone. But he
knew better. There were problems that had to be addressed 'and whether I like it or not,
whether I feel equal to the task or not, I am his second. It falls to me to show him
what he hasn't noticed.' Malacai shook his head and amended, 'What he is ignoring.
Aragorn misses nothing.'

Steeling himself, Malacai said formally, "Lord Aragorn, your second begs audience."
Aragorn's head had snapped up at the first word and now he studied Malacai closely,
noting his nervous behavior and the troubled look in his dark eyes. He opened his mouth,
then shut it again. Nodding, he stood and sheathed his knife. "Would you speak here,
Dunadan, or is another place more to your liking?" He felt guilty at the relief that
shot through him as he realised he would be further distracted from the problem of
Legolas and Saru.

"I want this to be a private council, my lord," Malacai answered, his eyes still
flicking from side to side even though the two of them were obviously alone.
Aragorn pointed upwards. "Will the branches of that oak comfort you?"

Malacai nodded gratefully and stepped aside to let Aragorn scale the tree first.
Aragorn, aware that he was leading physically as well as with his words, aware that
Malacai needed him to be the knowing, confident chief, with no faults, at least for a
while, leapt and caught the lowest branch. He swung himself up and reached up, catching
the next branch. He could hear Malacai following close behind him.

'Whatever he needs, that need is a deep and stabbing ache.' With this insight, Aragorn
forgot his relief over the distraction and worried about his Dunadan, his friend.
When they sat on two nearly parallel limbs, Aragorn studied Malacai more closely. He
could see the circles under the man's eyes, and thought, 'He was like that, even in
Lothlorien, but I attributed it to the long journey and the confusing trouble with
Halbarad. Now that he is back, family and friends close by, he should have relaxed.'

"Tell me everything, Malacai. I promise I won't interrupt."

His Dunadan swallowed, then armed sweat from his brow.

'I haven't seen him like this in twenty years or more. What has happened to cause him so
much pain?' Aragorn waited, outwardly patient and open, inside fiercely worried and
determined that he would wipe that look of bewildered agony from his second's face.

"I… I have hurt Kehydi," Malacai began slowly. Then he shook his head. "No, that's not
what I meant to say."

"But you have said it," Aragorn countered, seeing that Malacai was going to backtrack.
"You are being honest with me, Dun- Malacai. Continue that way."

Malacai swallowed again, rubbed at the side of his face, and began once more. "I hurt
Kehydi when I told him that he would never be with Saru. I know you undid that, but the
fact remains that I lashed out at my son in a moment of weakness. And he is not the only
one I attacked needlessly. Saru does not bear them now, but he wore marks that were a
visible testament to my confusion and loss."

Malacai shivered. "Aragorn, we need you. The world is too dark to be without you. Please
don't ever leave us again. I wouldn't beg, except that I'm at a loss. I know I'm your
second; my father trained me for that station from the moment I was able to understand
and learn. I should be your spear, your shield, your sword. I should be strong. But I
look at the darkness gathering- more and more inside the camp- and I can't shake the
feeling that everything is going to end in torture and death."

He glanced around once again and Aragorn realised that what he had taken for a concern
that there were others near enough to hear was really a physical demonstration of the
feverishly high alertness Malacai must have been feeling for months. 'Or even years,'
Aragorn thought, deeply shaken.

"I can't talk in metaphors much longer," Malacai confessed, his eyes dancing with insane
laughter. "I'm terrified of the evil all around me… and in me, Aragorn, and I can't
fight against it anymore without you." He armed sweat out of his eyes. "Maybe even if
you're here, I can't do it. You should ask Mordecai- No. He can't, either, though he's
wise. I don't want my brother to crumble as I am. He is a healer, first and foremost,
and a diplomat next. You need a stronger second than I can ever-"

Aragorn's hands shot forward of their own volition and he grabbed Malacai's shoulders,
shaking him so hard that the other man's teeth rattled and both of them nearly fell out
of the tree.

Aragorn shook him again when Malacai didn't immediately focus on him.

Malacai reached up to bat feebly at Aragorn's arm and the chief shook him harder still.

"Dunadan, attend me!" Aragorn roared.

Malacai's eyes cleared instantly. "I-I-" he tried, his voice hollow and weak.

"What did I command you?" Aragorn snapped, his warning low and dangerous.

"You ordered me to attend you, my lord Aragorn," Malacai replied, humbled.

Aragorn nodded and released Malacai's shoulders. "The Dark Lord is a terrible enemy-
surely one more dangerous and unrelenting than any we have ever faced in the past. But
he was defeated once, correct?"

Malacai nodded mutely.

"Who defeated him?"

"Isildur."

"And who brought Isildur to that point? Surely not his father, who had to rally his own
men. And surely not Gil-galad, who fought close beside the king and had to lead his
elven force as well. If not either of these, then who helped him to that point? Who was
his unending friend?"

"Malacai the first," the man whispered. His voice shook, but he looked directly into his
chief's eyes unflinchingly.

"And you are?"

"I am Malacai the seventeenth, his descendant." His reply was a little stronger.

Aragorn nodded, well pleased. "From that time until this, your line has been
inextricably bound to mine. Is that not so?"

"Yes, my lord Aragorn."

"And as you have always guarded me, I would not leave you without defense, either for
your physical safety or your sanity. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, my lord." Two tears trickled down Malacai's cheeks, but he seemed unaware of them.
Aragorn didn't remark on them; they were healing tears, even if they were only two, and
he was glad to see them. "Then prove it to me," he invited, "and quit calling me 'my
lord Aragorn'. You aren't a page and this isn't Gondor."

Malacai laughed, and his eyes were slowly regaining their true cast: one of intelligence
and calm assurance. He saluted Aragorn brazenly. "Yes, sir, Strider, sir."

Aragorn leapt at him and the two swung precariously above the ground before Malacai
hooked an arm around the trunk and was able to bring them back to safe sitting position.
But now both were on the limb and it creaked under them.

"Aragorn, if you don't-"

Aragorn dropped from the branch and caught the one below just as the one Malacai was
sitting on gave way. As Malacai tumbled back, arms flailing, Aragorn caught him and
lowered him until he could reach the branch below the one where Aragorn sat.

They were both laughing now, and it occurred to Aragorn to say, "I will always be here
to catch you," but before he could indulge in such clichés (or honesty) he felt a chill
pass through him that was comparable to only one other from his past.

All the mirth flew from his eyes. "Malacai!" he hissed. "Up, now!"

Malacai didn't question; he grabbed a branch near Aragorn and pulled himself swiftly up,
following Aragorn as he climbed higher.

When they were a good forty feet off the ground, Aragorn held up a hand and tilted his
head.

Malacai, too, listened.

Then, coming to them as from a great distance (but both knew it wasn't that far away-
only the evil magic of the creatures made it seem so) they could discern the percussive
beat of hooves.

***

Glorfindel sensed the wraiths, but he understood something about them that Aragorn
didn't: they were licking their wounds. After being turned away from the Last Homely
house, they were trying to find something to take back to their master. They wanted to
kill some men.

'Some Dunedain,' Glorfindel amended as he rode, following the coldness that flowed all
around him but, unlike Aragorn, not through him.

In keeping with this attitude of frustrated maliciousness, eight of the wraiths had
abandoned their horses, leaving the ninth to keep the animals safe. These were their
only way back to Mordor, after all. Glorfindel's first instinct had been to send the
lone wraith fleeing into the forest and scatter the horses, but then he realised that
the other wraiths were hunting something.

Glorfindel, who had always hunted more with sight, hearing and sense than smell, could
nevertheless detect the stench of a man's spent terror. It was leading in two
directions: the heavier (yet older) trail led north and the other led a little distance
away to a stand of trees. The breeze had caused both trails to blur and spread and the
second one now seemed to come from further south than it had probably started. That gave
the frightened man some time, but not much. It was this second way that the wraiths were
following, and so Glorfindel followed them.

	But, knowing that the wraiths would surely reach the man first, Glorfindel set out
to put the unknowing victim on his guard. He rode hard, letting the stallion make as
much noise as possible. Asfoloth seemed to realise what was expected of him and drove
his hooves into the ground with surprising force.

Glorfindel chuckled darkly. 'You won't sneak up on him so easily,' he vowed as he
thundered towards where the man would hopefully by now have concealed himself.

'Hopefully that stench of fear has left him, or they will find him easily for all his
careful concealment.' With this thought in mind, Glorfindel rode harder.

***

In the tree, Aragorn sensed rather then saw the shadows crowding around the trunk's
base. His first thought was one of wonder rather than fear: 'What are they doing
wandering about at this time of day? It's obvious they know we're here somewhere, but
what could persuade them to roam about while the sun is up?'

He wondered, too, why the wraiths had come north and west, but mostly he wondered about
their changed stalking pattern. Aside from their strange appearance during daylight
hours, they weren't on their horses.

'Did they mean to sneak up on us unnoticed?' That was possible, Aragorn mused as he laid
a hand on Malacai's arm to keep him steady. His second's eyes were wide as saucers, but
his mouth was also turned down in a determined frown. 'Good man. We aren't lost yet
while you can still think clearly,' Aragorn thought as he watched the prowling shadows.

He had been hearing the hoofbeats swell for several minutes, Aragorn realised, but as
the horse and rider suddenly burst into the clearing, Aragorn knew that he had forgotten
them in the sight of the wraiths.

The lord atop the neighing stallion seemed to be on fire without burning. He bore down
on the shadows beneath the tree, roaring, "Hai, Gondolin! Hai, Gondolin!"

The shadows seemed to freeze and Aragorn heard a whisper of fear and consternation pass
through them like a stiff breeze through tall grass. Before he could blink, the shadows
faded from sight. That feeling of piercing, deadly cold went with them.

Malacai let out a soft breath, but then looked at Aragorn apologetically.

Aragorn scarcely noticed. He watched the rider draw up beside the base of the tree and
look up. As he drew nearer, the sense of flames without burning left him, first
departing from his clothes and then from his face.  

Shock and joy mastered Aragorn and he cried, "Glorfindel!" Without waiting for a
response, he began to scramble down the tree. He dropped from the last branch and stood
before the elf as the blond dismounted. Behind him, Aragorn could hear Malacai following
him.

As Glorfindel bowed to him, Aragorn caught his upper arm and made him stand straight.
"Glorfindel, what magic is this? What are you doing here? Are you alone? What did you do
to the wraiths? How did you know where to find us?"

Glorfindel ducked his head, hiding a blush. "Master Aragorn, I knew not that it was you.
The wraiths tried to attack Imladris and once the borders were safe I came here to warn
the Dunedain."

	Aragorn nodded. "We will go at once."

	"Master…" When Aragorn glanced at him, Glorfindel admitted, "There are two of your
Rangers swimming near here. They, too, need to be warned."

	Aragorn frowned, deciding. Then he turned to Malacai. "Take Glorfindel's horse to
the camp. Triple the watch and make sure there is a fire by each group of sentries. The
wraiths can be driven off with flame."

	Malacai glanced at the horse, who snorted derisively at him.

	Glorfindel spoke softly in Elvish. "Please bear him for me, friend. His need is
great."

	Asfoloth sighed and walked to Malacai's side.

	The Ranger, knowing it wasn't the time to argue with his lord, cast a surprised
look at Glorfindel, looked to Aragorn quickly for assurance, mounted smoothly and
departed.

	Aragorn gestured, and he and Glorfindel set out.

***

Legolas watched Saru dressing beside him. It was nearly fully dark, but the elf,
standing so close to his husband, could see his outline, tall and graceful, as Saru
stretched his arms up and shrugged into his tunic.

	'He's beautiful now,' Legolas conceded. 'Even if he wasn't when we were children,
he is now. And in a different way from… Aragorn.' Legolas endured the pang that his
master's name brought, then turned away from it deliberately. 'If Aragorn doesn't want
me, that's just fine. I can be happy without him.'

	Glowering furiously, Legolas focused again on his husband as Saru bent to slip
into his trousers.

	'Does he even realise I'm watching him?' Legolas wondered. 'How can he be so
relaxed?' As Saru slipped easily into his boots, Legolas couldn't help but feel slightly
jealous. 'It's like he's turned off the rest of the world, and it's just him here.
Doesn't he realise I'm staring?'

	'Obviously not,' he concluded in frustration as Saru buckled on his small, leather
pouch. Grimacing, Legolas began to dress. Even as he struggled with his trousers, he saw
that Saru was staring at a point in the distance.

	'Where is his mind?' Legolas demanded.

	'Why do you care?' challenged another part of his mind. 'It's not as if you love
him.'

	'But how can he just… disappear like that?'

	'Why does it bother you?'

	'Because… because… He's too good at it!' Legolas finished helplessly. 'He can let
everything go and just… be. Just exist. How does he do it?'

	'How do you know he's not thinking about Kehydi? You heard him before; he's
thinking about suicide.'

	'He won't really kill himself. He's too… calm, I guess… for that.'

	Again: 'How do you know that?'

	Legolas threw up his hands.

	Saru turned at the soft noise of Legolas dropping his hands to brush at his
trouser-legs. "What's wrong?" Instantly, he moved to Legolas' side and touched his arm.

	Legolas pulled away a little. "Where did you go?" he snapped.

	'I'm being unfair. I'm only like this because I miss Aragorn.'

	Whether this was true or not, Legolas found that he didn't care. He glared at Saru
as best he could, even though he knew the man couldn't see his expression. He hoped the
anger he felt was coming through in the tension of his arms.

	"Go?" Saru asked. "I didn't-"

	"Just now," Legolas interrupted. "You were very quiet. What were you thinking?"

	Saru fidgeted. "Nothing."

	Legolas snorted derisively. (If he had known it, he was using a hated reaction
he'd observed in Denethor many a time.) "Don't lie to me." He poked Saru in the middle
of his chest with a finger. "Tell me the truth."


	"I-I am," Saru whispered.

	Legolas grabbed the man's upper arm (another gesture, this time from the Dunedain)
and squeezed tightly. "Saru," he began warningly.

	Saru cringed. "Legolas, please…" He swallowed. "I'm not your slave, Legolas.
Please don't-"

	"Answer me," Legolas snarled. He couldn't know that he was becoming all the things
he'd hated in Denethor. He couldn't know he was acting like most masters. And he
certainly couldn't know that he was very close to breaking Saru for good.

	Saru sobbed. "Legolas, please don't ask me. Please."

	Legolas opened his mouth to demand an honest answer when he heard the crunching of
leaves behind him. He whirled, dragging Saru with him.

	Two figures stood near the line of trees.

	"Who's there?" Legolas demanded.

	"It's me, Legolas," came Aragorn's voice. "Who's with you?"

	Legolas let go of Saru and strode forward, putting all the hatred he felt into his
walk. He sensed Saru following at a distance. When he stood in front of his master,
Legolas stood straight and proud. "I'm trying to get an answer out of Saru. He's lying
to me."

	His answer was in the clipped tones of a soldier reporting to his captain. Aragorn
responded to that tone without realising it.

	"Report," he commanded, speaking as if to one of his Rangers who reported that
orcs had been spotted.

	Behind Legolas, Saru whimpered.

	Aragorn ignored him. So did Legolas.

Glorfindel, standing a little behind Aragorn, narrowed his eyes. 'The disease has passed
beyond Imladris. It has infested the Dunedain. Perhaps it didn't come with Aragorn, but
he has perpetuated it.' The Elda sighed. 'Should I even bother to help him to prepare
for the Nazgul?' Grimacing in distaste, Glorfindel turned on his heel and vanished into
the night. None of the others noticed his retreat.

"Saru is hiding something from me," Legolas reiterated. "We were standing by the pond,
and he was thinking about something very deeply. When I asked him about it, he said he
wasn't thinking about anything."

Aragorn turned to Saru, who fell back a step. "Well?"

The first light of day was creeping into the sky and Aragorn assessed Saru's expression
as well as he could in the gray predawn. The slave looked frightened… and more than a
little guilty.

"Tell the truth," Aragorn ordered.

Saru bit his lip. "I-I can't."

Aragorn took two steps forward and grasped Saru's arm. "You can," he growled.

Saru whimpered again and tried to look away.

Aragorn slapped him. "Answer!"

Saru's lip was trembling, but he raised his eyes to Aragorn's face. "I don't want
Legolas to know," he whispered. "Please… I'll tell you, but not with Legolas here.
Please, Master Aragorn. I don't want to hurt Legolas."

"Nothing you say could hurt me," Legolas interrupted before Aragorn had a chance to
think.

"Just tell me, Saru," Aragorn said, and now he sounded tired. "Stop playing games."

Saru's eyes were filling with tears, but he met Aragorn's gaze. His lips moved, but no
sound came out. He swallowed, tried again. This time, he whispered, but Aragorn couldn't
understand the words.

"What?" the Ranger snapped.

"I'm pr…"

Aragorn resisted the urge to slap Saru again. "Speak!" he thundered.

"I'm pregnant." Saru burst into tears, and when Aragorn's hand fell away, the slave
crumpled to the ground, burying his face in his hands, rocking back and forth.
Aragorn took a step back, feeling brief vertigo wash over him. He swore softly, not
knowing what he was cursing, then looked down at Saru. As he watched the huddling,
frightened young man, something 

(Nazgul) 

tickled the back of his mind. He didn't know what it was, but felt a warning rising in
his mind, fighting with the paralysis that was trying to steal over his body as the
vertigo left him. Gritting his teeth, Aragorn took a step. The paralysis fell off at
once, though he still didn't know the source of the warning in his mind.

Bending down, he lifted Saru into his arms. The slave was heavier than he looked (though
thin, Saru's body was covered with a sheath of muscle), but Aragorn managed to arrange
the still-sobbing slave so that he could carry him. With his burden held against his
chest, almost like a baby, Aragorn faced Legolas.

The elf stared at him, his mouth hanging open in a very man-like gesture and his eyes
wide and lost-looking.

"We're going home now," Aragorn announced. "Walk with me." And he added, as the alarm in
his mind rose to a roar, "And keep close."

Unknowingly, Aragorn's wits had left him. But so had the shadow, at least for that
moment. It would come back later; perhaps it would even be stronger for its rest. But
for that moment, the instincts Elendil had left to his descendents had taken over and
Aragorn was a slave to their will.



Chapter Forty-Four

Malacai paced. Even though Aragorn had loosened the noose of terror that had been slowly
but steadily tightening itself about his neck, he felt the restless need to fight. It
was a dangerous heating of his blood that he hadn't felt since he was quite young, and
he did all he could to hide its influence. But his legs would not be stilled, and after
he ordered the strengthened watch Aragorn had commanded, he retreated to his tent to
pace. Annaleh and Kehydi weren't there, and neither was Saru, and at first this only
added to Malacai's tension- they should be hiding, safe, from the Enemy's servants- but
soon that tension gave way to a more general feeling of rising anxiety.

Dimly, Malacai understood that this stress had come too soon, that he should have spent
a little while in peace, with Aragorn healing him, before coming back into the darkness.
But a Ranger's life was ever one of change and readiness; why should he expect that
anything should be different for him?

And with that question, Malacai stopped pacing. His mind reeled for a moment, but
settled with amazing speed. 'I am healed,' he thought, and felt the release that
accompanied such a truth. 'I could wallow in self-pity… doubtless, I would see the end
of my own life and the end of the Dunedain as well if I chose that path… Or I can simply
accept Aragorn's orders

(Attend me!)

for what they are: commands given by my captain, my chief, my king. And, if nothing else
will stir me: my former lover, a man I am willing to die for. But more importantly, a
man I am willing to live for.'

'Yes, all of that is true, but shouldn't you worry about yourself? If the Dark Lord is
so powerful- and you know He could destroy you just by looking at you- then don't you
own it to your wife and son to protect them?'

'The Dunedain are my family.'

'Don't fool yourself! Only those that are bound to you by blood or marriage are your
family, and you know it. If you want to include Mordecai in your protective circle, so
be it, but no others. And certainly not Aragorn, who easily turned away from you when
you started to fall in love with Annaleh.'

'It wasn't easy for him!' Malacai cried. 'Aragorn and I both cried the night we decided
that we couldn't be together anymore!'

'The night you decided, you mean. Aragorn surely wouldn't have parted from you. He loved
you, Malacai. He would have given up his soul to be with you if it was what you wanted.
Didn't he almost volunteer to be your consort? Didn't he?'

'I wouldn't let him…' Malacai whispered.

'DIDN'T HE?'

'Yes, but…' Malacai swallowed. Why, exactly, had Aragorn given him up without any hurt
feelings or anger?

'Oh, he was angry, and you know it. And he was very hurt. He cried for days after you
dropped him. You saw the evidence of those tears. You almost gave into them. But in the
end, your lust for Annaleh was too strong. Wasn't it?'

Fury overrode Malacai's confusion. 'I love her! NEVER accuse me of lust!'

'But you lusted after Saru. What's so different?'

Malacai snorted. 'You don't know me, then. You don't understand me.' And only when he
thought these words did he understand that he was fighting an internal battle, not with
himself but with some outsider's invading force. That knowledge dispelled the anguish
and confusion that had been chewing at him. It also wiped out the restlessness that had
been consuming him. Malacai felt the familiar cold shield of battle descend over his
mind. Now he could see everything clearly.

'One: This is no time to be maudlin about the past. It's in the past. And Aragorn and I
healed any pain long ago. We couldn't have become so close if we hadn't.'

'Two: If I try to protect only Annaleh, Kehydi and Mordecai, then I would surely lose
them because the key to the strength of the Dunedain is in our numbers and solidarity.'

'Three: I will fight through life, until death, even, for Aragorn and for my people. And
no amount of fear or longing or anything else can keep me from doing that.'

Malacai threw back his shoulders and stood straight. His eyes were still focused inward,
but he looked a very imposing figure, his dark hair hanging about his face and his
strong mouth tipped down at the corners.

'You will lead your family to death,' that other voice whispered, stabbing at him again.

'Death is outside the camp. Life is within. Whatever you are, leave me. I, Malacai,
second of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, command you!'

'They will all die… all die…'

Malacai laughed. 'Go fuck yourself."

***

While the men of the Dunedain (and some of those who were not quite men yet) mustered
and readied themselves for the Ringwraiths, Annaleh sat off to one side in Saru's and
Legolas' tent. She was their minder, their babysitter, she knew, and normally that would
have offended her. (At the very least, she, as Malacai's wife, should have been joining
with the women in the second line of defense.) But now she wanted to watch over Legolas
and Saru and learn what was wrong with them. When she first entered, she saw, despite
the tears that still trickled down his cheeks, the hope of new life in Saru's eyes. She
had never seen it in a man's eyes before, but it was still recognizable.

'How did Saru become pregnant? He isn't one of us!' But the 'hows' of the world had
never really held her attention, and Annaleh at once turned to the important fact: Saru
was pregnant. And none (maybe even Saru himself) knew who the… ahem… father was.

Pregnancy among the Dunedain certainly wasn't what it had once been (why, her great-
great-great-grandmother had given birth to no less than twenty-seven children in all her
long years), but it was still quite the common thing to see a Dunedain woman with a
child on her back, one on her hip, one (or three) toddling about around her skirts and
one swelling her belly. Annaleh often envied many of the other women. She, after all,
had only been able to bring forth one child. And though the babe was male (meaning he
could follow in his father's footsteps when the time came) and though he had grown into
a strong young man, Annaleh still often wished that she had been able to bring forth
more children. When she kindled in her first year of marriage to Malacai, the two of
them were overjoyed to think that they would have to work together and build a bigger
tent, that they would have to build a cradle that might be used by six or ten or twelve
babies. But after Kehydi there were no more pregnancies, not even ones that ended in
miscarriage.

'That's why I always looked at Saru as my second son,' Annaleh mused. 'He was all I
had.' And as she watched Saru, who sat on the bed, his knees drawn to his chin and his
face hidden by his hair, she felt a mother's need to go to him and wrap her arms around
him. 'Whoever made you pregnant, Saru, you can trust your baby to me. I'll help you
raise it. I'll take care of you, my son, no matter what.'

But duty kept her in her chair.

She turned her eyes to Legolas and quickly squelched a flare of irritation. Legolas had
changed drastically from the giving, loving boy Aragorn had brought to the fireside so
long ago.  Who had changed him?

'The Shadow,' she thought at once, but knew that was like saying, 'It snows because it
does.' Shaking her head, Annaleh added, 'The Dark Lord changed him, but not directly. He
changed Legolas through the men of Rohan, through the men of Gondor… and through the
Dunedain, too. Even through Aragorn, who seemed so ready to protect him.' Sighing, she
wondered, 'And will he ever change back?'

This held her attention, even though it was usually outside of her normal thoughts,
because she realised, 'Yes! He could change. I could help change him.'

Duty couldn't stop her now; she had a way to start the healing process and offer more
than transient comfort.

Purposefully, she crossed to where Legolas stood and demanded, "Legolas, look at me."

The slave raised his fierce, angry eyes and glared, but Annaleh refused to back down.
'Legolas, you belong to yourself." She hadn't been sure what was going to come out of
her mouth, but she relished the surprised look on Legolas' previously sullen face. "You
belong to yourself whether you are slave or free. You are responsible for your thoughts
and for how you react. No one can take that privilege and responsibility away from you.
You have a duty to honor your own beliefs and to follow your own secret heart, that
central part of you that does not change with the winds or the seasons."

Legolas' sullen mask had started to slip back down, but Annaleh thought she had reached
him, at least in part. She continued, "What does your secret heart tell you, Legolas?
And if you answer right away, I will call you a liar and a fool, for you didn't even
look inside yourself before answering."

Legolas turned his back on her, but Annaleh sensed that this was either an automatic
gesture or one that Legolas performed so he could be free of scrutiny while he sorted
things out. Whichever it was, Annaleh was determined to stand there and wait for his
answer.

After a long moment, Legolas whispered, "I don't want to hurt Saru, but… but I don't
want to be hurt anymore, either."

"Will hurting Saru protect you?" Annaleh asked.

Legolas nodded, paused, then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. If he's afraid of me, then
there's no way he can fall in love with me. I'll be able to leave in two years."

"And what of the babe he carries?" Annaleh pursued, keeping her own, horrified reactions
to herself.

"It's not mine," Legolas answered at once. He still wasn't looking at her, and he had
hunched his shoulders as if he was cold.

"Who's is it? Do you know?"

"No." Petulantly. His tone said clearly (or lied clearly, perhaps) that he didn't care,
either.

"How do you know the babe's not yours?"

Legolas shrugged again, but this time it was a disdainful gesture. 'How can I not
know?' that shrug seemed to say.

"Tell me why you're so sure," Annaleh pressed.

Legolas balked for a moment, then sighed. His shoulders relaxed minutely. "We only were
joined a week ago. How could he possibly know?"

Annaleh almost laughed. Here was a common misconception among men that Legolas had
inherited. "Sometimes, a mother is granted with that knowledge. She- or he- can't say
how they know, but they know."

Legolas turned completely around and stared at her. "It could be my baby?" he squeaked.
She nodded sympathetically.

Legolas spun towards Saru, and was only kept from leaping at him by Annaleh's hand
dropping onto his shoulder. "Who's baby is it?"

Saru huddled more deeply into himself.

"Who's is it?!" Legolas roared. "Answer me!"

Saru muttered something that Annaleh heard quite clearly, but Legolas seemed too fired
up.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

Saru raised his head, then uncurled and rose from the bed. He crept forward, watching
Legolas cautiously, lest he escape Annaleh's grasp. But when he was standing before
Legolas, he met the elf's eyes. There was a look of stricken fear in his gaze, but he
looked at Legolas nonetheless. And spoke five words in a quiet, yet strong voice.

"I am not your slave."

Legolas' jaw dropped for the second time that day.

Saru continued to look at him. "I'm your friend, Legolas, not your slave. And not your
whipping-boy. We're equals, remember? If I can't be equal to anyone else, at least let
me be equal to you."

Legolas' expression slowly changed from one of shock to one of anguish. He groaned far
back in his throat and clenched his hands at his sides as he fought for control. After
swallowing several times, he answered, "You are my equal, Saru. I won't hurt you again.
I swear." Then he knelt (Annaleh had released his arm when she heard the promise) and
whispered, "Please, Saru, forgive me."

Saru drew Legolas to his feet at once. "Don't kneel. We're equals, remember?" He smiled
tentatively.

Legolas didn't ask how Saru could forgive him so easily; he didn't need to. It was
simply part of Saru's nature to do so. The elf thought, 'And he'll be walked on his
whole life because of that, but… he will never harbor hate in his heart. He will die, I
think, at least if he has one friend, a happy man.'

He managed, after a moment, to whisper, "Thank you. I love you, Brother."
Saru hugged him. "I love you."

Legolas leaned into the embrace- he hadn't realised how lonely he'd been feeling since
he pushed everyone away- but Saru drew away a little and met his gaze once more.
"I've known for a month, Legolas. So 'tis not your child. As to whether it is Halbarad's
or Kehydi's-"

A shrieking, paralyzing cry wailed through the camp. It came from the eastern border.
"Nazgul," Legolas whispered, though he'd never heard one.

Saru nodded, willing to believe it. "We should go help fight."

Legolas nodded and the two of them left the tent together.

Annaleh followed them and headed to join the other women in guarding the children.
'Nazgul or no Nazgul, I feel better,' she mused.

***

By the time Glorfindel approached Elladan's room, the sun was blazing overhead, and all
the morning's fog had been burned off. The blond slipped towards his lover's chambers,
hoping that he could curl up in the expansive bed, and hoping that Elladan would come in
to find him there. It would make the dark-haired Peredhel smile.

But when Glorfindel ambled around the corner, a sense of foreboding washed over him.
Lindir was standing sentry outside Elladan's door, his hands crossed in front of him and
his eyes focused straight ahead. The other slave glanced at Glorfindel as he approached,
and the worried frown that crossed his features sent a chill through the Elda.

"What is it?" asked Glorfindel as soon as they were close enough to speak. "Is Elladan
well?"

"He's asleep," Lindir answered.

Glorfindel sighed in relief. He had thought Lindir was going to tell him Elladan had
been hurt worse than he had thought when he'd left.

Lindir continued to look troubled and he reached out to catch Glorfindel's arm in a
steely grasp.

Glorfindel blinked at him in surprise. If Elladan was fine, then why-?
"Elrohir is waiting for you," Lindir announced. "And he wants blood. Elladan hasn't
stirred since he was brought back to Imladris and Elrohir is afraid, confused and…." He
paused, as if to consider the right word "murderous." He tightened his grip on
Glorfindel's arm. "In fact, if I were you, I wouldn't even go in there unless and until
Elladan wakes up."

"But…" Glorfindel fumbled. "But it's normal for an elf to sleep for a long time after
dealing with the Nazgul! Especially an elf who hasn't faced them before."

Lindir raised an eyebrow. "Do you tell me?" he asked, and his sarcastic tone shocked
Glorfindel. "Then maybe someone should tell Elrohir and Lord Elrond that, for they are
both very worried about Elladan. And while Lord Elrond is keeping calm, Elrohir has
already broken the arm of a slave and has sworn that he will break mine if I let anyone
besides his father or one of the healers into this room." He released Glorfindel's arm
and even shoved him back a step. "I suggest you run while you can, Glorfindel. Elrohir
is convinced that you've disappeared, or he would be out hunting you. Leave Imladris and
never return."

Glorfindel opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and closed it once more. His
shock had given way to anguish. He longed to cry, 'But I must see Elladan!' He couldn't.
He understood that now. If he did, he would end up spilling his life's blood on
Elladan's floor. And though he wasn't afraid of death- Valar knew that he'd died once
already- he didn't want Elladan to see his blood. He didn't want to frighten or hurt
Elladan, and he didn't want Elladan to be angry with his brother.

'They have just reunited as brothers. I will not shatter that bond,' Glorfindel vowed.
'Let him be angry with me, let him be separated from me, but I won't allow a wedge to be
driven between my lover and his twin.'

Glorfindel stared down at the floor. "I'll go. If Elladan wakes, please tell him I went
to Lothlorien. But don't tell anyone else." He raised his gaze so that Lindir could see
the need in his eyes. "Please promise me that much, at least, Lindir. Please."

"I have only ever wanted to protect you, Glorfindel. You have suffered more than anyone
else here. Go, and be sure that I will tell Elladan where you are, and that you still
love him." His tone lifted slightly at the end, almost questioning whether he should do
this final thing.

"Yes," Glorfindel answered, "tell him that for me. Tell him, too, that I will explain
all when we meet again and that I long to see him."

Lindir bowed slightly. "Go in peace, Lord Glorfindel."

The blond blinked at the title, but let it go. He turned and fled back the way he had
come.

When he was around the corner, Lindir sighed. 'Imladris may be healing- I can feel the
shadows drawing back- but I see no happy ending for Glorfindel and Elladan.' Again he
sighed, thinking that their love story would just become another in a long line of love-
until-death ballads that the elves would sing.

'Perhaps,' he reflected, thinking of days long gone, 'Elladan will compose the lay
himself. Doing so would probably even help him heal.'

***

Saru found Kehydi quickly and set himself up as his former lover's rearguard. The two of
them hadn't exchanged half a dozen words since the freeborn had returned from Lothlorien
with Aragorn, but Saru still had hopes that Kehydi would want him one day.

'It's a fool's hope,' Saru thought as he drew his sword and stood ready, 'but that's far
better than no hope at all.' Even as he thought this, the child within him stirred and
Saru added, 'Fear or no fear, babe or no babe, I will fight at Kehydi's side until I
die.'

But there didn't seem to be immediate need for battle. The Dunedain stood ready, their
fires lit, their eyes questing through the darkness, but no enemy showed itself. Saru
had a little time to reflect. He passionately hated the dead time, knowing only that the
same questions would come and chase each other around his head.

'How can I be pregnant?'

'I don't know. It doesn't matter. I just am, and there's nothing I can do about it.'

'But I'm not a Dunadan, nor an elf! How can I kindle a child?'

'Kehydi is Dunadan. Perhaps this is his fault.'

'But I don't even know whose child this is! Is it Kehydi's or' he couldn't help but
shiver 'Halbarad's?'

If it was Halbarad's, the freeborn might demand the child for his own.

'And certainly he has a line to preserve, so the others would listen to him.' Saru
grieved to think of his babe in Halbarad's arms. 'I don't care if he's a changed man. I
will never trust him. Never. And I don't want any flesh and blood of mine in his hands!
What if he rapes the babe when it first comes into the world?'

As sick as the thought made him, Saru knew it was possible, perhaps even probable.
Hadn't he been told often enough by Versh that he was lucky to have survived infancy?

'I could have raped you when you were still mewling,' Versh had proclaimed the first
time he took Saru. 'And I would have enjoyed it. But I had hopes that you would grow, if
not beautiful, at least less bony and thin.' He had found Saru's entrance and teased it
as he added, 'So much for that. But at least your hair is long enough to hide your
stupid troll's face.'

'I was never good enough for him. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I
could never make him care about me. The others who were beautiful were cherished,
pampered and even fawned over.' He grimaced. 'I was beaten, exhibited and enjoyed by
five or six men each night.'

He wondered fleetingly how he could remember all of this so clearly, but then he
grunted. 'How could I forget? I've had enough nightmares to remember. And his was the
first face I ever learned to recognise.'

'And again, I am back where I started. Wherever I'm from, I'm surely not a Dunadan or an
elf. Then how can I kindle?'

'I don't care! All I want is to bear this child and be shed of it!'
But that wasn't true, and Saru knew the lie at once. 'I could not abandon this babe,' he
thought. 'I can't hurt any child, especially not my own. I will do everything I can for
him- or her- and that includes protecting my babe from Halbarad.' He sighed, and added,
somewhat reluctantly, 'Or from Kehydi, if I am ordered to give the child up to him.'
Saru touched his abdomen lightly and mused, 'What will I call my babe?'

A snarl of thunder almost overhead made Saru jump and his eyes darted to the sky. Thick
clouds had rolled in. He couldn't see any more stars. As the wind picked up, he shivered
and drew his sword. A little in front of him and off to one side, Kehydi had also drawn
his sword.

'It's too dark for bows and arrows,' Saru thought grimly. 'Even with the firelight, and
maybe even because of it,' he added as the wavering light made the shadowy world
uncertain and strange.

The thunder roared again, and this time it was accompanied by lightning. Before him,
Kehydi's form was cast into brief, sharp relief, and Saru saw the tension of his
muscles. Kehydi turned to the Ranger beside him and asked, "Where is Aragorn?"

"Over there. Don't you see him?" It was Aaron, Saru realised, and he moved a step
closer, seeking the safety the older man's presence offered.

'I'm a fool if I'm afraid of a little storm,' Saru thought, but when another bolt of
lightning broke open the sky, bringing the rain, he saw Kehydi jump and felt a little
less childish.

The rain didn't start slowly, but pounded down all at once like water falling out of a
briskly-overturned bucket. In moments, Saru was soaked. In another instant, he was
drenched and he had to shake the water out of his eyes.

That was when their enemies chose to attack. As the fires were doused, a horrible
screeching, jagged like glass and cold as death, rent the air. And just behind that
scream, strengthening it and adding thunder under its lightning-sound, came the snarls,
growls and war-cries of orcs.

Gripping his sword with a hand that had suddenly grown slippery because of the rain,
Saru took a step forward, wanting to meet his foes head-on. It was ever the best way to
fight when you were surprised, because maybe you had a chance of catching them as they
were still in a clump. You could get three or four in a row, and quickly, if you knew
how and where to strike.

He got his chance less than a minute later as orcs pounced upon Kehydi and Aaron. Others
slipped between the two and Saru met the first of these blade to blade. He noted that
these were short orcs, probably out of the mountains far to the south, and thought, 'If
we can fight until sunrise, the light will bother them. I only hope the rain lets up.'

He slit open the throat of the orc that had engaged him. Another immediately took its
place, and Saru had time for only one more thought before the battle-chill closed over
him: 'I must protect my babe if I can. And I must try to keep Kehydi safe.'

***

Aragorn met the Nazgul- he knew not which one, only that it was not the Witch-King- with
Anduril's blue fire. He wondered if the rain was merely bad luck or some construct of
the Enemy. Did Sauron have such power? Aragorn wasn't sure, but he thought it possible,
perhaps even likely.

Surely it helped the Nazgul. They swarmed all around him, screeching their terrible
noise that could freeze a man's blood.

'Freeze a man's blood… my Rangers!'

Realising that his men were in danger of being frozen by terror, Aragorn roared, "Fight,
Dunedain! Meet them head-on and bring them down! Kill them, Dunedain! I command you!"

He wasn't fool enough to shout, "I, Aragorn, command you!" but he longed to. So that
there could be no doubt in their minds who yelled through the hellish storm of rain and
bodies. He settled for the second best thing.

"Fight, Dunedain! Strider commands you! Fight!"

"We fight!" roared Malacai somewhere to his right, and Aragorn laughed in the face of
the Nazgul as others took up the call. He couldn't distinguish all voices- he was
pressed too closely and the wind made a mockery of the voices of his people- but he
thought he heard Mordecai's voice, and Aaron's. Possibly even Saru's. He longed to hear
Legolas, to know that his… whatever… the elf was all right.

He shoved the Nazgul back, and the shadow-being retreated, perhaps in search of easier
prey. Orcs took its place, and Aragorn slew them by the dozens.

When the cold blade entered him from behind, he scarcely felt it. But the paralysis was
almost instantaneous. As he fell to the ground, Aragorn tried again to shout for his
Dunedain to fight. Before he truly formed the thought, darkness took him.

It would have never descended upon him so quickly if he hadn't already been weakened by
his brush with the Dark Lord.

***

Legolas had been driven back by the flood of orcs, and found himself fighting back to
back with a young slave he didn't know. The girl was scarcely eighteen, if she was that,
but she fought like a demon, her eyes flashing and an endless stream of impressively
creative (and vulgar) curses jumping from her mouth. She scarcely paused to draw breath.
And her twin knives were as fierce as her words. She was easily holding her own.

"If you haven't passed your initiation into adulthood, I'll tell Aragorn how stunningly
you fought," he promised, too amazed by her and too preoccupied by his enemies to feel
anything else.

She laughed. "Would you? Well, I'm already an adult, and have been for two years."

"You came to it early," Legolas noted as he opened an orc's windpipe. At once, another
foul beast leapt, shrieking for his blood. Legolas disarmed that one, then cut its eyes
out before sending it to join the other one.

"That's what my master said," she answered. "But not too early for him. Now I can bear
his son children." She dispatched another orc as she spoke.

Legolas' mouth twisted at the free way she said this. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it? Cock-sucking tree fucker!" she continued, leaping at the next closest
orc.

Legolas let the subject drop. He fought on, putting all of his reawakened anger at
Aragorn and at slavery in general into his movements. His face was twisted with fury and
there was a fell light in his eyes. Some of the orcs he came up against looked almost
afraid to face him.

But face him they did, so he continued to kill, using the knives that he had grown to
love more than the sword that Aragorn had originally taught him.

They had lost much of their connection, though through anger and the Shadow instead of
drugs, and so Legolas felt Aragorn's pain as only a slight distraction of his attention.
He focused again and slew orc after orc.

***

The orc that had circled around the battle, to attack from the rear, considered himself
stronger than most, and certainly smarter than all others of his kind. He watched the
more dangerous men moving forward and sought out a lamb that looked defenseless.

There were none such, but he saw one with a wounded paw and moved in.

***

Saru had staggered under the blow the wraith had managed to inflict. He nearly fell. But
as the wraith had raised its sword again, it was blindsided and driven back by a raging
tower of muscle, a miracle in the flesh.

Kehydi inserted himself between the wraith and Saru, threatening and cursing, his sword
a blur in his hand as he struck again and again.

Saru stared at him, shocked that Kehydi would react so violently in his defense. His
heart rose as he realised that maybe this meant Kehydi still loved him.

He heard a snuffling grunt behind him and turned, his own sword rising. But the weapon
was knocked out of his hand by a large, leering orc. Saru backed away, grasping at his
knife, which hung in a sheath at his belt. He knew reach would be lacking, but a short-
range weapon was far better than no weapon at all. Saru wondered how he could have
possibly left the tent without his arrows. One of them was longer than his knife and
could have been used like a spear.

The orc leapt, and Saru was forced to retreat. He was as hard to catch on his ever
shifting feet as a breeze. Still, the orc kept on.

Behind him, he heard Kehydi now taunting his assailant. Saru wondered if this was wise,
but found that he didn't care. It felt so good to know that Kehydi was trying to protect
him.

'And if the child is his…'

***

The lamb wasn't quite as weak as the orc could have wanted. Infuriated, the orc swore
and suddenly threw its sword. True, if the manflesh batted it aside, the orc would
probably die. But the orc was past caring.

And its ingenuity paid off when the manflesh was run through the left thigh. The orc's
victim fell, crying out in surprise and pain.

The orc closed in.

***

"Saru!" Kehydi whirled and leapt, intercepting the snarling orc just in time. He cut
down on the juncture between the orc's shoulder and its neck, forcing it to step back.
Kehydi didn't pursue it. He stood protectively over Saru, his eyes moving everywhere as
he struggled to keep his Saru safe.

***

Malacai sensed the wraiths drawing back, and though he didn't understand this he was
grateful for it. The Nazgul had been a dangerous distraction. They couldn't be defeated,
seemingly, and they exhausted the Rangers, making them easier prey for the orcs.

Above him, the sky still thundered and the rain fell in sheets. But as the wraiths
retreated, Malacai found he didn't care so much about the rain. Even the orcs, perhaps
sensing that they were being left behind, were starting to fall back. Or maybe they
sensed nothing, and only realised that the Dunedain were stronger and more well-
organised than they had counted on. In groups of two, three and four, they fell back,
turned on their heels and fled.

"Don't drop your guard!" Malacai shouted. He knew it was most likely an obvious order,
but let the orcs know that the Dunedain would not be taken by surprise again. A part of
him knew that Aragorn should have already shouted that order, but most likely his chief
was still fighting. The servants of the Enemy always seemed to back away from Aragorn
most reluctantly, as though he was the prize they dreamed of at night.

"Well, roaches take you all," Malacai muttered. "He's not yours, nor will he ever be. He
belongs to the Dunedain, and we to him."

As the last of the orcs ran off, melting into the darkness, Malacai waited for a moment,
then sheathed his sword. He knew the others would keep theirs drawn, but until Aragorn
took over for him, it fell to Malacai to see who was wounded, where the gaps in their
defense were, and fill them.

He marched along the sensed, if not seen, outer border of the battle, counting heads and
faces, nodding in approval when he saw the other Dunedain tending those around them and
still keeping a watch on the darkness.

He found Aaron and ordered, "Go find Aragorn. Tell him I'm seeing to those on the west
side."

Aaron nodded. He moved quickly away.

When the man stepped aside, Malacai saw Kehydi and Saru. Kehydi held Saru against his
chest as he tried to slow the flow of blood from a wound in the slave's leg.

Saru was very pale, and his eyes kept drifting closed. Even as Malacai moved forward he
heard his son urge, "Stay awake, Saru. You can't sleep just yet. Stay with me."

The cloth- a piece of his own shirt- that Kehydi was using was already soaked, but
Malacai thought that was as much from the rain as from blood. In either case, the cloth
wasn't doing its job. Malacai strode forward, nudged Kehydi out of the way and lifted
Saru into his arms. Adrenaline gave him strength. Some was caused by the battle, yes,
but the rest… That other part, the greater part, of Malacai's sudden strength was caused
by fear and concern.

Malacai headed for his tent, cradling Saru carefully. When Kehydi tried to follow,
Malacai barked, "Stay where you are. I'll handle this. You're needed."

Kehydi opened his mouth to protest, realised that all he was doing was distracting his
father, and turned away. He called over his shoulder, "Take care of him."

In the tent, Malacai lowered Saru onto a pallet (Malacai's own) and grabbed up a dry
shirt from the floor. He wrapped this around Saru's leg and cinched it tight. With this
done, he turned his eyes to Saru's face.

The slave was looking at him fearfully.

'Well he might,' Malacai thought bitterly.

He tried a reassuring smile that felt alien on his face. Letting it drop, Malacai tried
his voice. "Everything will be all right, Saru. You'll be fine. Just try to stay awake.
Talk to me."

Saru bit his lip. He had been ordered to talk. What could he possibly say? He grasped
the first thing that came to mind, afraid that he would be punished for hesitating.

"Master Malacai, I'm pregnant," he began, speaking quickly and hoping that he would be
allowed to live. "I don't know if the father is Master Kehydi or Master Halbarad, but I
know it isn't Legolas because I realised I was pregnant almost a month ago."

He glanced at Malacai's face, saw it was blank, and rushed on, still afraid, "I don't
want to give my babe up. I'll do anything to keep him. Please don't hurt me. It would
hurt my babe. Please, if the babe lives, don't take him away." He was babbling, and he
knew it, but was unable to do anything else. The loss of blood was starting to make him
feel light-headed, and there was a faint ringing in his ears.

'Pregnant? How can that be? He is no Dunadan!' But the distress in Saru's eyes forced
Malacai to set that question aside for the moment.

"Saru," he urged, and the slave met his gaze. "No one's going to take your child away
from you." He paused, took a breath, then asked, "Are you sure you're pregnant?"
Saru nodded. "I've known for a month."

Malacai blinked at that. "Why didn't you tell anyone? If you've been pregnant since
before your marriage to Legolas… Well, maybe you wouldn't-" Malacai stopped, having no
desire to finish that sentence with 'have been forced to marry Legolas.' Instead, he
asked, "Do you know who the father is?"

Saru hesitated. His eyes were starting to drift shut.

"Saru, stay with me," Malacai urged, though his voice was more gentle this time.

Obediently, Saru opened his eyes all the way and gazed at Malacai. "It's either Master
Kehydi's… or Master Halbarad's." He swallowed once more. Now was the time for truth if
it was going to come at all. "I want my babe to be Master Kehydi's, but I think it's
Master Halbarad's because I haven't started to show yet and it's been a long time since
K- Master Kehydi and I were together."

"Did you have sex that day you snuck in to see him?" Malacai asked.

Saru shook his head. "At first, we only held each other, then we fought. There was no
time for…"

"Lovemaking?" Malacai asked delicately.

Tears were shining in Saru's eyes, but he nodded. "For lovemaking," he agreed. He licked
his lips, then asked again, not daring to trust Malacai's first answer, "Can I keep my
babe? Or will he go to his father?"

Malacai avoided the question, even though he had already promised that Saru could keep
the child. After all, Aragorn might think differently. "Are you so sure your child will
be a 'he'?"

Saru shook his head. "I can't know, but I hope it's a boy."

"Why?" Malacai pursued, truly curious.

"I think… I think it's harder to hurt a boy than a girl."

'Why would he think that?' Malacai wondered, 'Especially after he was hurt so badly.' He
considered Saru, who was staring past him, his eyes glazing over. He noted that the flow
of blood was easing slightly. 'Thank goodness for small favors.'

Malacai took a deep breath. "Saru, I won't decide what to do with your babe. That is
your decision, Legolas' decision- for he is your husband- and the baby's father's
decision. We'll know more once the baby has been born."

He removed the cloth and studied the clotting wound. "This will heal," he said, mostly
to himself. Then he met Saru's gaze once again. "I want you to stay here and don't move
about. Someone will come and make sure you eat." He stood abruptly, uneasy with the
thought that he couldn't decide what to do about Saru's baby. And he was starting to
wonder why Aragorn hadn't come in to check on Saru. Surely Kehydi had found him by now
and told him. Maybe there were more injured Dunedain than he had first thought. And if
that was true, he should be out there helping.

The tent flap was shoved suddenly inward with such force that Malacai heard it tear
slightly. And the double-sewn deerskin was very strong. Aaron burst in, his hair wild
and his eyes frightened. "Aragorn's gone!" he moaned. "No one's seen him. But his sword
was left behind and there were hoof-prints near him." He was panting, but Malacai saw
that this was more from nerves than from exertion.

He stepped forward swiftly and caught Aaron's shoulders. "Tell me everything, but
methodically," he ordered, glaring into the younger man's eyes.

Aaron took a deep breath. "All right… I'll try."

***

Saru listened, shoving his exhaustion to one side. He needed to hear this. If Aragorn
was gone (taken by the Nazgul, was Aaron's opinion) then the Dunedain were doubly
defenseless. 'They'll need every hand,' Saru thought, and he vowed that he would be
ready when he was called for. Unable to do anything else, Saru closed his eyes and gave
himself up to healing sleep.