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Crusade
by Arctapus
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"You look well."

He nodded and extended his hand, shaking Thranduil's once more as behind him, sitting silently in a chair, the dark eyes of Oropher looked on.

"And you, Thranduil," Elrond replied, glancing around the room at the assembled Elves, nodding to each. Celeborn was there, having greeted him earlier and so was Cirdan, Galadriel and Thranduil's seneschal, Ellan of Mirkwood. Galdor of another time, of the city of Gondolin shook hands with warmth, a smile on his lips. Erestor and Glorfindel nodded, smiling, as did Haldir of Lorien and lastly, Turgon the Wise. He rose to greet Elrond, holding out his hand and Elrond gripped it in shocked surprise.

"My Lord," he managed, his eyes filled with emotion as he greeted his great grandfather for the very first time. "I am...speechless."

Turgon smiled and shook his head. "As, at last, I am as well. It is good to greet you finally, my dear one."

Elrond nodded numbly, his surprise overpowering. Turgon smiled, moving aside as Elrond walked to a chair to sit. They all settled, taking wine served by a young girl and for a moment it was silent in the room. Then Cirdan cleared his throat, glancing at Gil-galad, who was sitting by the fire, silently watching.

"I did not tell you, Lord Elrond, that your kinsman was going to be here. I am sorry for that in a way but pleased in another. Lord Turgon is of the same mind as we are, the first to agree openly among those who have lived here since the fall of our people in the first ages of the world."

"I was cajoled, my Lord Gil-galad, and silkily persuaded but my inclination is to support your ideas for the relief of Middle-earth," Turgon said, his gaze falling upon his grandson once more. "It is an old story but as raw in its lessons as the day we stepped from these shores to pursue our obsessions to the doom of us all. Those of you, innocents born without stain, have paid for our folly in too much blood and suffering. I will tell you myself, I am no friend of Feanor or his family." For a moment, he sat silent, emotion and rage surfacing even now and then he sighed, shifting in his seat. "I have not forgotten anything and I do not deny my part but I also have a responsibility to assuage the fires that rage across the lands of the hapless people left behind. Such is all our duty." He looked at Elrond, a faint smile forming. "As you have done your entire life, my noble grandson."

Elrond nodded, uncertain how to articulate the terrible emotions that played through him. "My lord..." he said, pausing to swallow hard. "I cannot turn away from what is happening. There are many there who have my love and respect and I cannot abandon them to this fate."

"Then it is our obligation and challenge to do something to even the odds. As it is, I can imagine that time is running out and that many are being harmed even as we sit here," Turgon replied. "I have discussed the idea of appealing to the King of Aman, asking him to make an intervention in this matter. After all, we are talking about a renegade Maia, this creature of doom, and we are not equipped to defeat him now that his power is consolidated by the use of the Ring."

"It is so, my Lord," Elrond replied, Celeborn nodding and rising. He began to pace, as was his wont when greatly aggravated and Galadriel watched him with worried eyes.

"Our families have been sundered, not all of our people making for the safety of this shore as yet, or perhaps ever. Then there are some of us whose kin are of a different nature," Galadriel began, glancing at Elrond.

Elrond nodded. "My brother's kin, Aragorn of Gondor, is the last of the line of Isildur and he is alone in Middle-earth, leading the resistance. I have much word of his deeds, of the slowing of the unrepentant tide that will inexorably overtake them in the end without help."

"Elros' descendents," Turgon replied, nodding. "I never had the pleasure of knowing your brother. That joy will have to wait until the end of the World and of Time itself. For now, I have a familial obligation as well as a moral one to see to it that the distant grandson of my great-great grandson is assisted in his duty to the people he rules, even in the disarray that exists now."

"Then you agree, my Lord," Celeborn said, pausing and turning to the assembled group. "We have to step forward and avenge our losses."

Turgon smiled slightly, shrugging gently. "I suppose that it could be said so but I am one for whom loss is as natural as breathing, my friend. Vengeance is a bitter path to trod."

"Not for me," Celeborn hissed, his face filled with rage. "My country is in ashes and I feel the presence of the Demon King in the lands that are mine . Lothlorien, I burnt with mine own hand. Elrond did same in the Valley of the Bruinen. Our beloved homes, sanctuaries and refuges for the people of the world... they are gone forever. Someone needs to pay in kind," he said, turning and pacing once more. "All the light of the world is gone. All the joy and the hope. We owe the suffering multitudes the opportunity to be free once more and I cannot live here in peace if nothing is done. I will take a sword and leave these shores, for I would rather die there defying the Beast than live here blind to suffering."

Glorfindel sighed, glancing at Ellan. "Your argument sways me, my Lord. I came back from mine own time in reflection in Mando's Halls to serve the House of Elrond. I could have stayed here, living in comfort and bliss but I could not even as my Lord was in danger in the world. Can we sit here and not act? I would think not, not if we aspire to call ourselves moral beings."

Celeborn nodded and turned to the window, looking out at the sea. Beyond the window the dark waves chopped and bounded in steel gray restlessness against the sandy shores. It was raining here, Celeborn thought, watching as the sky wept tears against the window pane. Somewhere in the world, real tears where being shed by people suffering and dying in darkness.

He sighed and closed his eyes in misery.

Later that night...

He sat by the window, sharing a plate of fruit and cheese as they talked together. Gil-galad smiled, listening as Elrond told a tale of Celeborn and his grandsons when they were still small children.

"You love your children."

"They are the jewels of my existence," Elrond said, sighing softly. "I am gifted with sons and a daughter of great goodness."

"Your wife..." Gil-galad ventured. "She wishes you in her bed this night?"

Elrond sighed and nodded, tension suffusing his entire persona. "She is happy to see me again. I do not know what to feel myself."

"Do you love me?" Gil-galad asked, hating himself for doing so.

Dark eyes met his and an expression of almost painful desire formed on Elrond's face. "Do you have to ask me something so obvious? I am so filled with love for you, I cannot bear the weight of it."

Gil-galad nodded, sipping his wine. "That was not a fair question to ask."

"Nothing is fair anymore," Elrond whispered. "Nothing in the world is fair."

"You despair. I find that difficult to ascribe to you, my brother" Gil-galad replied.

"You did not see the aftermath of your passing," Elrond said, looking away. "You do not know the meaning of despair. It surpasses all other emotions that have visited themselves upon me but for love for you. That is the greatest desire and token that I bear and I give it to you without reservation."

Gil-galad put down his glass and took Elrond's hand, squeezing it. "You must go to her. I will not detain you."

"You have my heart, as ever you did," Elrond said, looking at him glumly.

"I know," Gil-galad whispered, pulling Elrond to him. He kissed him with passion, with possession. He mastered his lover and then sat back, looking at him with darkling eyes. "You must go and I will see you when you rise in the morning."

Elrond nodded, pausing for a moment and then rose and walked toward the door. He hesitated and then turned, gazing at Gil-galad before returning to him and kneeling, placing his head in his lover's lap, his arms slipping around Gil-galad's waist. He closed his eyes, the sensations of misery and desire warring in his heart as he felt the soft touch of Gil-galad's fingers stroking his hair. He leaned up and Gil-galad kissed him, crushing his mouth with his own lips. Elrond groaned, pressing back. Then it was over and he rose, turning and hurrying away, the door closing behind him.

Gil-galad stared at the door, sighing sadly, his glass still in his hand. He drained it and refilled it, settling back more comfortably, images of Elrond in his mind as he whiled away the night until the dawn.

In a chamber elsewhere...

She lay on the bed, her silk gown barely adequate to cover her lovely pale beauty. Silver hair, like unto her father's, lay like a spray of flowers over her pillow. She had bathed and dressed, lightly perfuming as she waited for her husband to return.

He was as the earth, solid and unchanging but solemn in a way she had never seen before. Guilt clung to her, guilt and sadness that her frailty had driven her from his side. He had stood on the dock, their children gathered around him, his face grieving even as he offered support to those who could not and would not go with her.

He was here now and she would be for him what she knew he needed, a support, friend and comrade. She would also be a lover, assuaging centuries without companionship of the kind that only she could give to him. The door opened and she saw him come in, moving to the bathing room to do his nightly routine.

She listened to the familiar sounds, the rush of water and the silence once more as he paused before coming out to join her for bed. He moved from the shadows to the light of the candles, clothed in his dressing gown and nothing more. His hair was long and black, thick and straight, and she longed to touch it once more.

He stood over her, staring at her as if memorizing something faintly forgotten, something that he had to prompt himself to remember. She looked at him, at the faint hesitation of his manner and made a vow to help him past his reticence. She offered her hand and he took it, squeezing it as he shed his robe. Entering the covers, lying beside her, she turned and looked down into his handsome face.

Care was there, care and something else but she wasn't sure and so she leaned down to kiss him. It was soft and tentative, sweet and loving and she deepened it as he touched her hair. She smiled at him, at his shy and withdrawn demeanor and vowed to love him like once they did.

"Do not be shy, my beautiful husband," she whispered as she moved to cover him with her body.

It was soft and smooth, her skin like cool silk and he felt her weight as if it were a feather. Her hair was beautiful, her most lovely feature and he threaded his fingers through it in pleasure, charmed as ever by its lustrous silk. He sighed, unmoved by her efforts and so he began to apply himself before it became too obvious.

He loved her as he had before, gently and kindly but without any of the fiery passion that animated him with his King. For that, he gave to Gil-galad and to no one else and by the time they lay together, he had done his duty. For duty it felt, even more so than before, like sleeping with an acquaintance for whom you were only fond. The love that she needed, he no longer felt, if even he felt it in the years before.

She wanted him, he knew, even as the king did. The world beyond was in despair. He was torn in too many directions, with too many demands and too many obligations. The shock of his great-grandfather's appearance had nearly undone him, casting before him other possibilities. He lay in bed, his wife entwined around him, his King nearby, his presence keenly felt. And even as he considered the twists and turns of the present, he felt a deep need to see someone else, someone who had haunted his dreams for the whole of his life.

Somewhere, someplace, his parents resided and they were the ones who he most wanted to see. Earendil and Elwing, the parents who had left him, never to return in the course of his life. They never saw Elros again, nor their grandchildren, nor him of course. He could hardly bear being here in this place filled with ghosts and he hoped as he lay miserably alone that he could see his father and mother again.

This was heaven, the place of peace and refuge, he considered. Yet, he felt none of the things always promised to him in lore. There was no peace here, no hope, no happiness as long as the world lay in darkness beyond the sea. There could be only sadness and the loneliness of abandonment if he did nothing here.

Abandonment.

This was something he had some knowledge about and so he made up his mind. He would be ceaseless in his efforts to find a solution to this problem and perhaps in the effort to do so he would find his parents as well. He wanted to see them, to touch them and talk to them, to find out why they never came back, all the child questions that he had held inside. Then he would tell them of his brother, of his beloved Elros and all that they accomplished in the long and strenuous autumn of the world's decline.

He closed his eyes and entered into reverie, the image of his brother coming to comfort him once more.

Nearby...

Glorfindel stood in the doorway, staring out into the night, drawn by something ill-defined. The sea was becoming even more unsettled and so he walked into the darkness, sensing a call. Something urged him forward, something enormous and ancient. Someone was calling to him and down the stairs he walked. His eyes fixed on the buoy that bobbed off shore, a faintly moving figure that warned ships of the shoals.

He paused on the sand, the fresh air bracing as overhead the sky was as black as pitch. Then he felt it, the rising of enormous energy and before him the swells raised to the sky. He wasn't afraid, the sensation of peace and awe overcoming reservation and as he watched, a dark figure formed. Taller than a man, ever rising higher, he watched as the figure became cohesive and clear.

Huge and overwhelming, he knew in a moment who it was. Kneeling, he stared up into the fierce eyes of Ulmo. Water dripped from his armor, green as the ocean and his trident was enormous, his giant fist clutching it tightly. He didn't move his lips but Glorfindel could hear him as he imparted his message from his mind to the Elf's. Then he resided, falling back into the ocean and the sea became calmer as he faded away.

Glorfindel sat a moment and then rose, turning and hurrying up the steps to the King's chambers. He knocked gently and entered as bidden, pausing to pour himself a drink.

"You look like you have seen a ghost, Glorfindel," Gil-galad said, smiling from his chair, where he sat lounging, glass in hand.

"I have, my Lord," he said, swallowing his drink before pouring another and taking a chair. "I heard a siren call and I answered it, meeting the great Lord of the Oceans out on the shore."

"Ulmo?" Gil-galad asked, arching an eyebrow. "What did he impart, unless it is private?"

"It is not," Glorfindel said, sipping his drink. "He said to me, 'take heart and then he faded away."

"Take heart," Gil-galad repeated, mulling over the cryptic message before rising and walking to the wine bottle. He took it and walked to his chair, pausing to refill Glorfindel's glass before filling his own and sitting, the bottle on his lap. "I will take it as a good sign."

"I think I will too," Glorfindel said, raising his glass in salute. "To hope."

Gil-galad saluted back, images of Elrond's face coming to his mind. "To hope," he whispered as he drained his glass.

In a cavern in the Misty Mountains...

Frodo was sleeping, Sam watching over him, Gimli talking to friends as he made plans to leave. Aragorn was alive, so they were told and operating near to their sanctuary in hit-and-run missions. He would be going tomorrow, taking his Gondorian and Rohirrim companions and Sam made a vow that the two of them would leave with them also.

The fire flickered nearby as Sam sat watching, Frodo sleeping fitfully as he dreamed of the Ring.

In the shadows near their camp...

Éomer pressed against him, the full length of the Elf flat against the trunk of a great tree. He savored the soft flesh of Legolas' neck. He had been dragged into the darkness away from prying eyes and into the angry and needy arms of his partner. They had grappled with each other until Éomer had the upper hand, his size and strength overpowering the will of the Elf.

Legolas let Éomer manhandle him, giving in to the pulsating force of nature that held him firmly as Éomer ground against his body, seeking relief from his own burning rage. Éomer was gasping, rubbing harder and faster, nearly incoherent with desire and the need for release. Legolas could barely stand, his legs spread and his mind in flames as Éomer made him dance to his own tune.

When Legolas came, it was with a groan that Éomer swallowed, the two sliding to the ground and falling back in a tangle. He wanted to cry, the tears in his eyes brimming, but Legolas willed them back as he gripped Éomer. The horseman was silent, his arms around Legolas and as they lay on the ground for a moment they were alone. The grief and rage that drove them both receded in the haze of their orgasmic release. In a short time, too short, they would be back to themselves and the horrors of their life would once more slam home.

The stars peeped through the clouds as tiny breaks came and went in the gathering breeze. Far above them, a lone star shone brightest as it continued its journey across the dome of the night.

On the trail...

They lay together, Aragorn spooned behind his lover, his fingers threaded through Faramir's as he slept. The palantir lay near to him, safely in a bag and he knew that the Beast had slackened his guard. He felt the arrogance, the sheer overweening pride of the Demon as he enjoyed his slow progress abroad. Sauron had left his palantir in Barad-dur. He had no idea that Aragorn could see him, the palantir so small a flicker on the cosmic scale upon which he roamed as to be overlooked and as he lay on the ground, Aragorn considered what he would do next.

Weariness was his companion and so he settled closer to Faramir, nestling his cheek against his lover's shoulder. Soft blond hair touched his lips and he sighed, wishing they were alone some place peaceful, just the two of them. They never would be, he considered. They would never have that luxury because the fate of the world was strictly in his hands. He held Faramir close, the only gentleness in his life now and willed himself to sleep before the dawn's first light.

He would almost succeed.

On the trail...

Gimli led the way, moving along the forest cliff side with skill. Behind him, wending their way silently were men of Gondor and Rohan, of the Dale and the south lands and following as best they could, Sam and Frodo of the Shire. They passed signs of travelers, footprints on the trail and cast off items scattered here and there. They moved onward, heading for a pass that would take them into defended territory and hopefully to Aragorn.

Frodo moved much swifter now, his hand healing slowly and his weariness assuaged somewhat. He needed a more skilled healer than he had seen thus far, that much was clear to Sam. Aragorn would be able to help him, his skills a natural part of his noble heritage and when he did, Sam would feel better.

Sam brought up the rear, his eyes focused on Frodo, the little hobbit moving as best he could with the men. Gimli was their guide and they would find their way to sanctuary eventually, the tentative respite from the dangers of the east.

The sky was steel-gray overhead, a sign of the times he considered, the fallout of losing to the Beast of Mordor. The sun seldom reached them here on the surface of the world and the darkness of the forest was menacing. The cool breeze felt good, he would have to say and as Sam hurried along, he prayed the hope he felt in tiny measure would last the day.

In a cave in the mountains...

They arrived finally, reaching the sanctuary of the cavern that had become their home. Aragorn and Faramir moved to the center of the vast defile, listening as scouts dispensed their bounty of information. Rohan was under the complete sway of the Beast and from there it was decided that Sauron would launch his armies. They were being formed, grown up from scratch and gathered together but it would take time to be a force beyond the harrying menace that they were now.

The river was their line of demarcation and sorties came steadily, repulsed by archers and roving bands of hunters. They had taken a night strategy, slipping in and slipping out, leaving in their wake piles of silently slaughtered enemy. The fear that they were building was ever growing and it showed in the reluctance of orcs to press forward. They feared the night riders, killers with no mercy and for now it was their edge against the slowly growing tide.

Aragorn nodded and turned, walking to the curtained off alcove that was his home. Faramir followed, pausing in the doorway, watching as Aragorn set the bag with the palantir down gently against the wall of the cavern.

"That thing is frightening. The Evil One can see you when you use it."

"He cannot, or he chooses not to," Aragorn replied, sitting wearily on the bunk that sufficed as his bed. "I do not think he has taken his own with him. He does not perceive that anyone is watching, so clear is he reveling in his own victory."

Faramir nodded, moving inside, the curtain falling behind him, shutting out the activity beyond. He stood for a moment, staring at Aragorn who sat wearily rubbing his face with his hands. "You are weary. Let me get something for you to eat."

"Dine with me," Aragorn replied, looking at him with his dark eyes. He reached out and took Faramir's hand, squeezing it gently. "You are dear to me," he said quietly, kissing Faramir's hand. "Thank you."

Faramir knelt, a soft smile forming on his lips. "And you to me, my Lord," he said, leaning in and kissing Aragorn softly.

Strong fingers threaded through his hair as Aragorn held him, savoring his mouth. It was a kiss of possession and Faramir returned it, the two falling away from the world and its cares. Another hand joined the first, Faramir held fast in their grip as the King of the free peoples of the failing world took his pleasure. He leaned forward, their chests touching and Aragorn moved his leg, bracing it around his lover to hold him in place.

Faramir sighed, slipping his arms around Aragorn as they took a brief moment for themselves. Intimacy was difficult here and so they took care to ensure their privacy. He longed for his bed in the House of the King, in the White City of Gondor. He longed to be there, lying in passion with the love of his life, the Lord and Heir of the kingdom of Gondor.

But it never would be. This was all they had and so Faramir made sure to let Aragorn have what he needed. That it filled him with a pleasure he had never felt before was a bonus. Affection, aside from his brother, was not freely given in his family and the alienation he had felt from his father, he had fought against all his life. He was a warm person, a man for whom a gentle disposition was a natural calling. He had love to give someone and he needed it from others, especially now that his brother was in all likelihood gone.

He sighed, holding Aragorn close, resting his head on the King's shoulder. It was quiet in their alcove, the rest of the world a muffled presence farther off and for a moment, he considered more than an embrace. Then Aragorn sighed, slowly disentangling himself, sitting and staring into the loving eyes of his unexpected prize.

"I did not expect you, Faramir," he said, smiling slightly. "Now I cannot imagine continuing without your strength and your love. That coldness...that winter...it is not something that I would care to face."

Faramir smiled slightly, tears burning in his eyes. "I miss my brother. He was the only one in my family that I was close to. You are an unexpected gift."

Aragorn smiled and leaned down, kissing his partner softly on the lips. "Someday, maybe...it might be better. I would hope so, Faramir. I dream...when I dare...of a quiet place with you alone."

"I dream of Minas Tirith, of lying in my chamber with you. I dream of lying on white sheets."

Aragorn smiled and kissed him, sighing sadly. "I think I would like to take food with you."

Faramir smiled. "I will fetch it."

He rose and turned, slipping out silently, Aragorn's eyes upon him. He leaned back against the cave wall, tired and thoughtful, images of destruction and chaos in his mind. The palantir would be helpful, more than a bonus and as he waited for Faramir he considered what would come next. Maybe he could contact the Elves... maybe someone in Valinor would hear his pleas. He did not know if that was possible, his tired mind unwilling to parse it out. Tomorrow, he considered as he waited for his lover. Tomorrow.

On the trail...

They reached the guarded borders of the rebel army late in the night, pausing to prove their bonafides to the sentries. Then they were led through, going to the heart of rebel territory. Pausing outside the cavern that was the main home of the fugitive army, a sentry went inside to talk to the Lord.

It was dark and cold, the starless sky deeply black overhead. Pretty soon, he returned, gesturing for them to follow and they entered the cavern and disappeared from view.

At the same time...

The sound of footsteps roused them both and they raised their heads, peering up into the apologetic face of a guard.

"My Lords, we have refugees from Gondor and Rohan. Among them is a dwarf and two halflings."

Aragorn felt electrified and moved to get up, nearly climbing over Faramir as he did. They rose and moved into the main cavern, passing sleeping and resting soldiers before reaching the door and pausing. Faramir glanced at Aragorn and then the group waiting. A booming voice cried out and then Aragorn smiled. It was genuine and delighted, the most naturally fine expression Faramir had seen given to anyone but him since the great ordeal had begun. Aragorn stepped forward and hugged the dwarf, exclaiming his joy.

"Gimli!" he said, shaking his head. "I thought you had perished on the Fields of Pelennor."

"That was a misapprehension," the dwarf replied, his cocky self-confidence endearingly evident. "I was detained is all." Then he turned and gestured behind him to small figures standing together. "Look who we found."

Aragorn's eyes opened wide and he smiled again, reaching out and hugging Sam off his feet. Then he turned to Frodo and kneeled, taking his bandaged hand into his own. "Frodo. You are injured."

"It was that Gollum. He bit poor Mr. Frodo's finger off takin' the Ring."

Aragorn glanced at him sharply and rose, gently guiding the hobbits toward a quiet alcove. Gimli and Faramir followed, the group settling on boxes and sitting silently while Aragorn unwrapped the bandage. It was healing, he could see and he whispered to a captain of the guard what he could need to re-bandage the wound. Turning, holding Frodo's hand gently in his own, he noted Frodo's ill complexion and his sadness.

"Gollum turned upon you then," Aragorn said sadly.

Frodo nodded, glancing up at the man, his large eyes filled with pain. "I was at the brink when it overtook me. Sam had it and then I grabbed it back. I turned to throw it when Gollum jumped and knocked me over, biting my hand. The Ring was lost and I was undone. I am to blame for what has happened. My weakness."

"There, there, Mr. Frodo. No one else could've gotten the Ring that far. It wasn't your fault, was it, Strider?" Pleading eyes looked into Aragorn's and he nodded, looking at Frodo sadly.

"No, it wasn't your fault, Frodo. You did what you could and it didn't work out."

"Where's Gandalf?" Frodo asked, glancing up as the guard returned. Aragorn took the bandages and water, settling Frodo's hand into the warm basin, drawing a wince of pain from him.

"Gandalf has not been seen since the battle," Aragorn said sadly. "I last saw him near a Nazgul."

"This is terrible. We're lost without him," Frodo said, closing his eyes in sorrow.

"Gandalf, if he is still alive or aware, will not desert us. He has always been a friend of Men and Elves. I cannot believe he would turn away from us now," Aragorn said, hoping silently against hope. "This wound is healing, Frodo. I will dry it and apply this salve," he said, nodding to a small white pot next to bandages. "Then I will wrap it. You should be reasonably healed and agile within the week."

"Then we can stay here," Sam said, looking pointedly at Aragorn.

Aragorn glanced up surprised. "Of course you can," he said, nodding.

"We were afraid, you see," Sam began haltingly. "We had the Ring and it...we...that is to say -"

Aragorn cut him off with a gesture. "No one is blaming you. It did not work out as hoped. It was attempted against great odds to begin with. Now we must do what we can with what we have."

"The world will fall," Gimli said, watching Aragorn wrap the bandages.

"Perhaps. Maybe it was written thus long ago. I do not know. I just know that as long as I can hold a sword, I will not give in."

"Sounds reasonable to me," Gimli replied, smiling slightly. "Have you seen the Elf?" he asked, a gravely tinge to his voice betraying his deep worry.

"The...Elf ," Aragorn began with a grin, "Is alive and well and moving back to base camp with his patrol. I am sure he will be delighted to see you once more, all hale and hearty."

Gimli shrugged, pleased but not too showy and grinned. "I have a tale or two to tell," he said.

"I am sure you all do, but let us get you food and a bed. We are most pleased to see all of you. You are most welcome." Aragorn turned and whispered to the captain and he rose, leaving the area to gather food and sleeping accommodations for the new members of their army.

"I am glad you survived," Frodo said, sighing wearily. "I despaired of ever seeing anyone again. I did not believe we would survive to get as close as we did."

"We made our way from the battlefield, retreating from the enemy and gathering men as we went. There are more out there, making their way to the mountains because the word out there says that here is where you come," Gimli said, taking a pint of ale from a man who held more.

They took their drinks and began to eat from a platter of cold meat, cheese and bread and butter. The food was plain but very welcomed and by the time they were finished, the mood had improved.

"What are your plans, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, glancing at the silent and pale figure of Faramir, who sat near to Aragorn without saying a word. Faramir had left for a moment and then returned, his face strained as if from hearing bad news.

"We will hold our own, protecting and retrieving our people and make it dear to the Enemy to come into our lands. We have created a Pale that is the length of the river, a no-man's land for our security. That is the plan, such as it is. Doing more is a pipe dream and an exercise in futility."

"You would delay the inevitable," Gimli offered.

"There is nothing more we can do without intervention from the Valar or Aman."

"There is no likelihood of that is there?" Sam asked, his face hopeful in spite of his deeply held belief that there would be no rescue in the end.

"There is always hope," Aragorn said, wishing he felt it more in his heart.

Frodo sighed, leaning against Sam in his weariness and Aragorn rose, tugging him gently to his feet. "Come, sleep," he said kindly, watching as a guardsman took them away. "Master Dwarf, we have a place for you to rest, unless I have insulted you with the merest suggestion of frailty."

Gimli grinned and rose, his cocky self emerging once more. "I will forgive you, laddie, so pleased am I to see you once more."

Aragorn nodded and watched as he left, Faramir and himself alone once more. Faramir rose and they walked through the cavern, entering their alcove again. Faramir paused, allowing Aragorn to lie down first before joining him on the bunk. They settled again, Aragorn spooned behind his lover, silence falling once more.

"It is good to see the halflings again," Faramir whispered, his voice glum.

"You met them before?"

"In Ithilien," Faramir replied, sighing softly. "My father...I provoked his wrath when I allowed them to continue onward. They held the future of us all in their hands."

"They did," Aragorn replied, nuzzled the bend of Faramir's neck.

Faramir closed his eyes, shutting out the angry and cold face of his father, the warm laughing eyes of his brother and the gleaming white beauty of his home city. They were all gone now, only the moment remaining and so he turned over and offered himself to his lover. If he could push away the ghosts and the weary and overwhelming gloom of despair that was his constant companion, he would be able to continue onward for another day.

Aragorn shifted, covering his body and buried his face in the warmth of Faramir's neck. Strong arms encircled him and strong thighs gripped his side as Faramir surrendered his body to Aragorn's dominion. He raised his head, staring into Faramir's face, stilling at the sight. Faramir's eyes were closed and his face sad, tears silently slipping down his cheeks.

Aragorn leaned down, kissing them away one by one until they were gone. He kissed along Faramir's jaw, the prickling of his beard soft against his lips. Leaning down again, he kissed Faramir's lips, whispering to him soothing words of love and comfort. Boromir was there, a ghost between them and he did what he could to assuage Faramir's pain.

It was his custom to speak with every new refugee from Gondor and ask questions about the fate of his brother. Once again he was disappointed and it pained Aragorn deeply, impelling him to soothe the sorrow of his partner.

The morning would be difficult, more uncertain than today but at least some of their friends were being accounted for one by one. He pushed it all out of his mind, concentrating on this moment of lying together in peace. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

The next morning...

"You look fit and hale."

Elrond turned, gazing coolly at his lover. "You have a terrible sense of humor."

Gil-galad grinned slightly. "Consider my position. I have lain with my lover for the first time in eons only to see him go and lay with his wife."

Elrond flushed, moving closer, gripping the King's arm as he steered him to one side. "You would shame us both if you spoke any louder. I am caught in a vice not completely of my own making."

"You only have to choose, Peredhel," Gil-galad whispered, staring heatedly at his soul mate. His eyes were kindled with lust and possession and for a moment time fell away to the very first interlude when that look had captured his innocence and claimed it away. Esquired to his king, he would do whatever he asked and when Gil-galad had come to him that night, nothing could he deny to that overpowering force of nature. They had lain together for the first time and Elrond had become something other than just an intensely conscientious and competent young squire with an illustrious and fabled pedigree. The great intellect and cool reasoning that he brought to every eventuality was lost when that piercing and heated gaze took him in.

He had stood in his doorway wearing only a dressing gown, his long hair falling about his shoulders in dark sheets. Gil-galad paused, captivated by Elrond's beauty and then they struck the deal without a word between them. Gil-galad asserted and Elrond capitulated and by the morning's rise he had given up his soul. The King would possess him, completely and without reservation and he would serve him until the end and love him beyond his demise.

That it came in so fast a manner, catching him off guard in the extreme had been the bitterest moment of his long and event-filled life. They had been together, fire and ice, the rational and the emotional and then it was over and he was alone in the peak of his years. That he had taken a wife was not unusual. What should have been a signal that all was not well was the age at which he had done so. Celeborn was his friend, his colleague and his ally. He wanted his only daughter loved by a good man. Elrond was all that and more he wagered and so Elrond had agreed against any reservations that he might have held.

At no point in his marriage, at no point in the endless years did he ever forget the heat of that gaze. It came to him unsolicited and he coped as best he could, falling into routine with a good woman and children. Now he was here, the heat returned and he felt the grip of a vice on his heart and his mind.

"You break my back with your demands," he whispered, watching the expression change on his king's face, a look of longing and pity combined.

"I will not ask until this situation is decided and then it must be put forward. I know what I want and I know what it will cost you but I know that I cannot live without your presence in my life."

Elrond closed his eyes and sighed, swaying as a strong hand stroked his cheek. "One calamity at a time, I beg you."

"One at a time," Gil-galad replied, sighing himself with pent-up need. "We have to go now."

Elrond nodded and joined his side, the two walking down the corridor to the talks that were to begin.

On the east slope of the Misty Mountains...

He looked up, scanning the tree line and knew they were close, if not on top of the place where they needed to be. The rebels were there, hiding in the forests and he had to get there and help in the fight. Boromir looked over his shoulder, nodding to his band and then without a backward glance, they moved forward. In seconds, they had melted into the trees and were lost to view.

Dawn came and he rose, sore and discomforted from the previous evening. Aragorn was already up and he cursed his fatigue, washing up and joining the rest at table. Aragorn was in conversation with Gimli, their friendship reasserting itself and for a moment irrational jealously flashed through him. He quashed it, unwilling to begrudge his lover all the years he had before they met even as it stirred him in his precarious state.

"Good morrow, my lord," he said, sitting at the table, taking a plate that was handed to him.

Aragorn smiled, his eyes warmed at the sight of Faramir. "Good morrow. Faramir, do you know Gimli, son of Gloin?"

"Only in passing, amid the bustle and rush of war in Minas Tirith did I meet this worthy person," Faramir said formally. He smiled slightly, his heart aching and turned to take a glass of ale as well.

"Good morrow to you, Lord Faramir," Gimli replied with a smile. "It is a long time since Pelennor but I have not forgotten your hospitality to a stranger."

Faramir nodded, glancing at Aragorn who was watching him with a quizzical eye. He turned to his meal, the conversation again rising and for the duration of his breakfast he said nothing. As they made ready to rise, a Rohirrim hurried in, leaning down and whispering in Aragorn's ear. A look of hopefulness crossed his face and Aragorn rose, turning to his lover. "Faramir, join me."

Faramir rose and together they turned, hurrying out of the alcove to the main cavern beyond. They hurried to the entrance, Gimli behind them and when they emerged in the growing sunlight, they paused. Standing and sitting in the foreground of the sanctuary, dozens of men at arms waited. There were men from all parts of the world, Rohan and Gondor, the Dale and the mountains, bows in hand, swords at their side. Standing before them, obviously their leader, Boromir of Gondor waited, a look of grim determination on his face.

Aragorn stepped forward, gripping Boromir by the shoulders before embracing him in a bear hug. Boromir laughed and hugged him back, his exhaustion and relief evident, then he stepped back and held up his sword. "I am here to join you and I bring reinforcements, men of quality who will die for the West."

" Live for it, Boromir," Aragorn said laughing. "I accept you into our company, one and all."

Boromir nodded and then paused, his face stilling with shock and surprise. Standing near the entrance, himself transfixed, Faramir of Gondor watched silently. "Faramir..." he gasped, moving haltingly and then quickly, enveloping Faramir in his arms.

For a moment Faramir didn't move and then he embraced his brother, gripping his cloak with his hands. No one said a word, no one moved as they held each other. Then Boromir gripped Faramir's shoulders, looking him over anxiously, checking him for injury before turning to Aragorn.

"How is this possible ? What hope can there still be that such things can be so fervently wished for and then come true?"

Aragorn smiled, glancing at his lover. "There are still miracles, Boromir."

Boromir nodded and looked at his brother, unwilling to release his grip on him. "Faramir," he whispered, shaking his head in amazement. "I had given up hope for you."

Faramir nodded, unwilling to speak and raised his hand to his eyes, brushing away tears. "I am dumbstruck, Boromir, for I had given up hope that anything good could be anticipated anymore."

"You need food and drink," Aragorn said, turning and nodding to his men.

They moved and the men went with them, disappearing into the cavern as the three and Gimli stood watching. Then Gimli turned and moved away, releasing Boromir's hand from his tightly-held grip. Aragorn squeezed Boromir's arm and then turned and left the brothers alone. They watched him go and then Boromir gripped Faramir's shoulders, looking at him with an intense gaze.

"You are well?" he asked, anxiety in his voice.

"I am well now," Faramir replied, sniffling and shifting his feet. "I am sorry for my weakness, Boromir. I just...I..."

Boromir pulled him into his arms, squeezing him tightly. "Do not apologize for anything, Faramir. I am without words to describe my happiness. You are here and alive, something I never expected to see and I can die happy now, knowing you are well."

"You came from Gondor? What of Father?" Faramir asked, dreading the answer.

Boromir swallowed, turning and tugging Faramir and they walked to a fallen log to sit and talk. "Father was last seen near the Citadel. He was fighting the Enemy as they began to overcome the city."

"Then he's dead," Faramir said, tears coming into his eyes. He gripped Boromir's hand, holding it tightly.

"I have no hope that he lives," Boromir said, his throat tight with unshed tears. "But then I had no hope for you, dear brother."

Faramir smiled weakly, wiping his eyes and sighed deeply. "At least we can face the end together."

"Aragorn leads us now?" Boromir asked, Faramir nodding in agreement.

"Aragorn is our King and our Captain and we follow him now. He has devised a pale between here and the river and nothing crosses without paying a dear price."

"I noticed," Boromir said, nodding. "We were unmolested after we crossed the river. Coming here was less a task than a trek."

Faramir nodded. "There are four of us making the battles. Éomer of Rohan, now the King since Théoden is dead and Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

"My companion on the trek to Mordor. I am heartened to know he lives. Gimli is a stout companion as well."

Faramir nodded. "Two halflings, Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee are here as well. They failed due to the ghoul, Gollum. Baggins had the Ring taken from him, finger and all."

"They failed then," Boromir said, sighing deeply. "I figured as much."

"They are deeply disheartened and Baggins is ill. They would have had it differently if the world were fair."

"The world is not fair, brother," Boromir said grimly, squeezing Faramir's hand. "But such are the times we live in. We can make a good account of ourselves before we die but promise me one thing on the life of our father."

Faramir nodded. "Anything."

"Promise me that when the end comes you are by my side. I do not want to die, Faramir, not knowing your fate. Be by my side and we shall stand and fall together."

Faramir nodded, a tear trickling down his cheek. He wiped it and nodded, unable to speak for a moment around the lump in his throat. "You have my word."

Boromir nodded, relaxing slightly and then rose, tugging his brother to his feet. "Come. I am hungry and weary and there is much to discuss about what is happening."

Faramir nodded and together they turned, walking into the darkness of the cavern once more.

In the Undying Lands...

He finally arrived, a regal and ethereal figure riding a white horse and attended by his court. The great king of the Vanyar, Ingwe of Aman had ridden up into the courtyard of the house where discussions were being held. He dismounted and turned, smiling at Gil-galad as the two greeted each other. Turgon greeted him in turn, the group chatting together as nearby, waiting quietly, Elrond stood with those junior in status among those gathered. Other Elves stood with him, Glorfindel moving to greet Ingwe, protocol giving him pride of place.

Ingwe turned and the group moved closer, pausing before the younger Elves. They bowed and Ingwe returned it, though somewhat less due to the greatness of his station. They were introduced, Ingwe enormously gracious and kind and then they entered the great house and refreshments were had. People talked together, Gil-galad and Turgon mingling, mixing the different actors in this tense and fateful drama. When at last the moment for discussion came, they were ushered into a great room where chairs were arrayed in a circle.

Ingwe sat with his herald and his advisors, while around the circle others took their chairs. Celeborn sat with Galadriel, Haldir standing behind him, while Oropher and Thranduil sat side-by-side. Behind them, standing as a statue, Ellan of Mirkwood attending his lords with his usual perfect and dignified attention. Elrond sat beside Gil-galad, as befitting a king's herald and behind him stood his sons, while beside him sat his daughter. Celebrian stood by the window, too nervous to sit and Erestor stood by the fireplace, ever watchful and attentive. Glorfindel, pausing to chat with Ingwe, smiled and nodded and moved to his seat. Others sat, great figures from history but the greatest trial ahead was to seek Ingwe's help.

It was silent a moment and then Turgon rose, beginning the discussions as the eldest petitioner there. He looked at each, resplendent in their finery and felt the crush of expectation fall upon him. "My brothers, my sisters, long has it been since a gathering of Eldar this illustrious has been commenced over such a serious matter as that before us. Great realms, both here and in our heart home are represented in this room as well as hosts of people who depend upon our wisdom. This trial that we discuss today had its roots in the very beginning of the world, both here and in Middle Earth. It is as if the past is reaching out to reclaim us, to make us take amends and do what should have been done long ago.

"Each of us, excluding you, my great Lord," he said, nodding to Ingwe, who nodded back, "We all have our hearts on another shore even as we are grateful that this one is here to grant us shelter as was willed long ago. A terrible calamity, perhaps the worst ever faced, is unfolding in Middle-earth and we have to take stock. I left the world long ago, falling into Mando's Halls, slain defending my city against invasion. In the darkness of that limbo, I took stock of my life. There were many terrible grievances that I had to work through. I had many obligations, many sorrows and unfinished tasks and now I am here, compelled by my heart to try to do right once more.

"For that is our nature, doing right for the good of doing so and the question before us is simple indeed. Are we as moral as we truly hope we are or will we turn away now, allowing the forever night of tragedy to enfold our brothers, the men and women who cannot flee to these shores through no fault of their own? I am inclined after eons of rumination to believe that I cannot in good conscience call myself moral if I turn away. I am here because I believe that I have an obligation to the suffering that is just beyond the reach of our sight.

"Each of us have a duty to search our consciences, to see if those ideas and morals that we hold so closely oblige us to act. I feel with the benefit of reflection that we do and so I am here to weigh in on the matter." He paused and sighed, shaking his head. "In the dark days of the oath, when we turned in madness upon each other, I was lax in coming to the aid of my kindred sometimes. I felt that I could not and I did not reach out when perhaps I had that duty. That I will have to bear as my burden alone. But I think, my good friends, that we have to think of larger issues than just the one small place that we now call our home. The Beast is loose and the world is in shadow and we cannot think that it will only end there." He turned and nodded to Celeborn, the next highest in age and honor in the circle of the decided. He nodded back and rose, staring at each in turn as he gathered his thoughts about him.

"I torched my homeland, burning everything rather than letting it fall to the Beast. I am still suffering from the wrath of doing so and so I know that should I be the only speaker, I would lose your goodwill. My heart is filled with rage, of the like I have not felt in ages. I am suffering for the people left behind as well. A darkness has overtaken us, a night without end and the people left behind are blameless." He turned and began to pace, pausing by the fireplace, Erestor's dark eyes meeting his. "There is much to atone for among us from our history. Much lies between the kindreds even now because of it. The Kin-slayings... they are like stones in our bellies, weighing us down and keeping us apart. But those times are past and we can not change them. But we can atone for much by what we do now." He turned and looked at Ingwe. "We asked you here, lord, because we require your intercession, your fabled gift for speech and friendship to bridge the chasm of the past.

"We need the goodwill of the people and the Valar, we need their help to save the world. There are others more gifted with words right now. I am torn asunder and they fail me." He smiled slightly, shaking his head. "I, the counselor. I, the one to whom nations came for advice. I am without any comment that is not clothed in wretchedness. I would therefore give you my broken heart and my sorrow, my anger, my hopelessness and my fears. The world lies in war, in plague and pestilence and we, I believe in my deepest heart, still have a part to play." He turned and nodded to Gil-galad, himself the next senior in obligation among the designated leaders.

Glorfindel watched him, his face impassive as the King of the Noldor rose to speak. "Perhaps it is the respite in Mandos that makes the morality of this moment so clear to me. Beyond the sea, on the shores of a world so beautiful it was among my first returned memories, people suffer and die. They are not our people, most of those are already here and the rest are coming as fast as they can. But others are there, good and decent people, born into the world long after the tragedies of the past.

"And tragedies they were, these events that have shaped this moment, all of them stemming from unresolved conflicts. The Nameless One...the one who ravages the world now...these monsters were of our time, not theirs. But they are left to fend for themselves and I cannot bear it. I cannot bear it. How could any of us live here and prosper now? How could we enjoy peace and health when the end of the world is just off our shores? Some of the people who are fighting the long defeat...they are the children of our most ancient friends. Numenoreans. The Atani. They are there too, Elf friends of the ancient times dying without succor.

"I do not have the words either that this moment demands, so I concede to others more gifted that way." He turned and stared at Elrond, his face filled with emotion and turned to Ingwe, clearing his throat. "This person before you is Elrond Peredhel, the great-grandson of Turgon and the son of Earendil and Elwing. He is here to speak to you from the ashes of his great sanctuary, Imladris, which he burned with his own hand." Gil-galad turned and nodded to Elrond, who nodded back as he rose to his feet.

"My lords and ladies, I am honored to speak. But the seriousness of the occasion fills me with dread. I have to find words to make you love the world across the sea and the people who live there. I must move your hearts and your wills, making you care as much as I about the horror unfolding and cast your lot with us, those of us who know the best what is at stake. I must tell you in words things that are intangible, the beauty of the land and the great heart of its people. It is a terrible burden to make you understand what is at stake, to make you care with the same degree of devotion that we feel about what will be lost. It might be impossible to make the wonders of Middle-earth visible before eyes that have not seen them as they lay before us now, populated and settled by good people. But it is my terrible task and I shoulder it willingly as the last best duty of my lordship in the lands of my birth."

He paused and turned to Ingwe, noting the kind expression on that great lord's face and sighed. "I know you have not been there for ere a long while. It is a beautiful place, our home land. People live there, mostly in peace and prosperity but now there is no respite from the coming of the end. There will be enslavement and death, tears and wailing. All of this is true. It is already happening. But now, here in this room, we must define who we are and hold that up in the light of what is happening.

"Are we truly good people? Is the common thread of decency that seems bound through the volumes of the ages of our lives the truth? Or is it a fallacy, a mirage...a falsehood that we comfort and applaud ourselves over when we speak about our achievements and our culture? Have we drifted so far from our most sacred thought, that here in the end times we can turn our backs on our age old enemy, a Maia of great wroth who would destroy all that forged us? He is our foe too, this soulless and godless beast, this demon from the beginning of the world. They cannot defeat him and without help will perish and take all with them that is good and fine.

"We can stand here and watch it or ignore it or fret over it but I believe to remain who we truly are, we must act in concert. Long has it been when the hosts of Valinor stood forth with banners and trumpets to sound our resolve. Long has it been since the great kings of our people stepped onto foreign shores to do what was right. But it happened once when the world was younger and now I beg for it again without the faintest hint of shame.

"It is in our hands, great lord of the Vanyar and we beseech you to help us find a way. You are most beloved of our greatest lord, the King of Arda and we seek your intercession for the sake of our souls."

It was silent a moment and then Elrond turned, concern on his face over the effect of his words. He paused, his eyes meeting Gil-galad's and then he walked over, sitting wearily in his chair, his hand rubbing his eyes. Glorfindel watched him and then he rose, breaking the stillness of the room. He turned to Ingwe, smiling slightly, sighing as he did.

"You know our heart, all of us gathered. We seek to know yours, my lord. You have the greatest honor among us for you are without stain. The Lord of us all loves you best. The Fair Folk, they call you, you and your kindred and we need your great service to save the world. You do not have to step in and lend us your support but I am one who would believe that you would regret it someday. I had a chance to stay here when I came back from Mandos but the suffering of Middle-earth drew me away. I do not regret it for I have assuaged some small part of the suffering that has been borne since these many years. But I ask you as a brother to search your good heart and see if there is any place in it for our request."

Ingwe sat a long time silently and then he rose, pausing before them. He was brilliant and golden, as beautiful a figure as any ever devised and then he sighed deeply, a thoughtful look on his face. "You move me, all of you. I am not without sympathy for your request but I put one caveat on what you ask. Cajole and enlist Elwe and I will be able to act more swiftly and with more collective agreement." He stepped closer, peering into Celeborn's disappointed face. "We know of your loss and your sorrow. We know of the suffering beyond the sea. But the past is ever prologue and we must make sure that the very real grievances of all are also addressed. Talk to Elwe and commit him to the venture and I will personally intercede with the lord of us all."

He turned and bowed to Gil-galad, Turgon and Elrond and with the tip of his crowned head to Celeborn, he turned and walked away. Down the steps he went, entourage in tow and by the time they had mounted, the rest of them were watching nearby. He rode away, like a shining god and was lost to view as he headed for his home in the foothills of Taniquetil. Elrond sighed, shaking his head, glancing at Gil-galad who stared after Ingwe, a thoughtful look on his face. He turned to Elrond and nodded toward the house, walking away from the group without comment.

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, nodding to his smile and turned to follow his king. The others stood together, talking for a while and then the group broke up, Turgon going to his home. Elrond walked down the hallway, following his king and when they reached a paneled and book-filled library, they entered together. Elrond walked inside and Gil-galad poured them a drink, handing a glass to his lover. They tapped them together, Elrond waiting as he watched the wheels turning in his master's head.

"You are not discouraged," Elrond said.

"I cannot be discouraged. I am the king," Gil-galad said, reaching out for Elrond, gripping his neck gently as he considered his thoughts. His fingers threaded through Elrond's hair, then he pulled him in for a kiss, a possession freely taken from the only one he would ever love. He sighed and caressed Elrond's cheek, then walked to the desk and poured another glass.

"You are a single soul," Elrond said, gauging the bull necked stubborn set of Gil-galad's shoulders. "What do you think you could do to make Elwe change his thoughts about the affairs of Middle-earth?"

Gil-galad turned and smiled at his herald, walking to stand before him once more. He gripped Elrond's head and kissed him on the mouth, taking from him that which he desired. A demanding thing it was and Elrond savored it, the forceful nature of his lover as soothing and intriguing to him now as it always was. He let his lord have what he needed and wanted and when Gil-galad relented, he smiled like a cat.

"You are beautiful when you are kissed to the degree that you require," Gil-galad said, smirking slightly. Elrond smiled, a defiantly bemused look on his face. "You are like a storm at sea. It is much easier to sail with the wind than to break apart on the shoals."

Dark eyes narrowed and the hand gripped his hair, holding him still. "Break apart...you have no idea how I thought I would, missing you so terribly across the sea. Now you are here and I am in need of you, my Peredhel. I want you in my bed tonight. There are eons of loneliness that I must satisfy between us, so long have I yearned for your blessed company. Tell me that you will come, Elrond, or I shall perish from sorrow."

Elrond nodded, swallowing hard and when the King kissed him again, he was completely in his thrall.

Éomer led the way, the group between them and Legolas at the rear. They had not talked about their changed status during the days they had been on the trail but each night they slipped away into the darkness to fulfill some painful need. During the day, they worked together seamlessly, developing a wordless shorthand of gestures and looks that made their work easier, coded though it was and when they camped they would wait until the evening was nigh.

Éomer would stare at him heatedly, then rise and go into the bushes, finding a place where he couldn't be seen. Legolas would follow, sensing where he was and when he reached Éomer they would fall into lust. Éomer was slightly taller and broader of shoulder, his armor of leather compromising his availability but it didn't matter to Legolas, since it was usually a brisk tussle and then he would lie on the ground between Éomer's legs.

He could lose himself in the act, bringing his partner to a level of passion that was painful to watch as Éomer silently and violently thrashed on the ground. When it was over, Éomer would sit up and gaze at Legolas, himself usually squatting on his haunches, wordlessly waiting for his own gratification. He would silently stare at Éomer, almost willing him to do violence but when Éomer pulled him into his grasp it was invariably gentle.

He loved Legolas' face, his delicate bone structure and he loved Legolas' mouth and his soft lips. The Elf would lie back and let him have what he needed, biting his lip as the flames rose. The first time Éomer took him it was an unexpected surprise, a new chapter in his growing book on the strange ways of men. Even as he lay on his stomach, the touch of his lover surprisingly soothing, he was not clear that he would be taken until it was too late.

He gasped, startled and then willed himself to relax, finding in the rough gallop a pleasure unknown. Éomer lay on him, pressing him to the ground and the friction was stunning against his own groin. But more so was the pressure and the electrical sensation of his lover thrusting himself inside. Éomer's face lay on Legolas' shoulder and his breath with each jolt felt warm on his cheek. He grunted and groaned, thrusting into his lover until with a shuddering groan he arched and then relaxed.

Legolas lay beneath him, his own mind in tatters and when Éomer rose, he didn't move for a moment. Then he rose himself, pulling himself together, catching Éomer's glance as he tightened his belt. They paused, staring at each other, their intense expressions revealing everything. Then Éomer leaned forward and kissed Legolas softly.

Without another word, they returned to their camp and lay down next to each other on the cold hard ground. When morning came, they ate their camp breakfast and then without fanfare, left with their men. They would be home soon, as the cavern had become to be known and maybe, Éomer thought, they would talk together. Glancing back at the Elf, he wondered what he was thinking now that they had crossed the last boundary that could exist between men. Turning, his eyes ever watchful, he led them onward until at last they were lost in the forest from view.

Nearby...

Frodo sat at the entrance to the cavern, his injured hand resting on his lap. He had washed up that morning, Sam helping him and now he sat in the middling sun out of the way. All around him men were moving, coming and going, delivering and taking away whatever they would. He felt useless but he was desperately glad to be there and he looked down at Sting, which hung on his belt.

As he did, someone passed him, someone tall and fair-haired and he watched the figure as he paused in the foreground. He had been stopped by someone, a Ranger from Ithilien and they talked together of things he couldn't hear.

It was Faramir, tall and handsome, the son of the Steward and Aragorn's right hand. They were close, Aragorn and Faramir and it warmed Frodo to know that the solitary Strider had company. Then Faramir turned and paused, noting Frodo, turning and walked toward him to sit for a moment.

"How do you feel?" he asked, looking at the bandage on Frodo's hand.

"Better," Frodo said, smiling slightly. "Aragorn has the healing touch."

Faramir smiled, nodding. "That he does."

"Your brother is here. I am glad for you."

"Boromir is dear to me," Faramir replied, nodding. "Do you know the King well?" he asked, his curiosity rising.

For a moment Frodo pondered and then he nodded, temporarily derailed by the question. "I am slightly well versed in his history, courtesy of many who lived in Rivendell."

"What can you tell me, Frodo, son of Drogo?" Faramir asked, leaning back against the cavern wall.

"He is The Dunadan, the King of Men, the Heir of Isildur and beloved of many."

Faramir nodded, smiling slightly. "He is beloved by all of us."

"He grew up in Rivendell under the tutelage of Master Elrond and when he was old enough, he learned who he truly was."

Faramir nodded. "He is rightful heir of Gondor and if it mattered any more, we would make way for the rightful king. As it is now, we have anointed by acclimation, giving him sovereign dominion over all of our company."

"He is a good man," Frodo agreed, nodding. "Many have said so, many here and there. She felt he would one day take his rightful place on the throne of his fathers."

"She?" Faramir asked, looking at the hobbit, a small niggling worry creeping into his mind.

"Arwen Evenstar," Frodo replied innocently, unaware of the feelings of the man sharing his company. "She is the daughter of Elrond and the most beautiful woman ever to live since the time of Luthien, or so they say."

"She was a friend of Aragorn?" Faramir asked, modulating his voice to cover his disquiet.

"They were more than that, I think," Frodo replied. "I think they were to be married but this trouble interfered. He loved her dearly and he wears her token, a necklace of silver and jewels."

Faramir nodded, his heart squeezed painfully. "And now? What of the two of them?"

"I am sure she has gone over sea to the safety of Valinor," Frodo replied, watching as Aragorn walked up. "Good morning."

"It is a bit after the morning. How do you feel?" Aragorn asked with a smile.

"Much better, thank you," Frodo replied, watching as Aragorn knelt down in front of him, checking over the bandages that secured his hurts. "I wish to be useful."

Aragorn smiled, nodding and glancing at Faramir. "There are things to do when you feel more well. In the meanwhile, I suggest that you rest and recover your strength."

Frodo nodded and sighed, glancing at Faramir as Aragorn gracefully rose. He turned to his partner and nodded. "I need your advice," he said quietly, Faramir rising to follow his king. Aragorn nodded at Frodo and smiled slightly, the two disappearing into the cavern once more. Overhead the sun was shining, a rare occurrence lately and so he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Faramir followed Aragorn, pausing by the table where maps and reports were kept. Aragorn glanced at him and began to outline the sorties that he had planned for their men over the course of the coming three days. They were loathe to plan farther ahead, nothing being certain. Faramir watched him as he detailed things to several group captains.

He didn't add anything, nothing more to be required but he noticed that Aragorn didn't delegate him away. Faramir was never sent off with groups that did not include himself, even though his skills were extraordinary, so set in his mind was Aragorn that he would stay with him. Boromir stood nearby, watching the planning and then glanced at his brother, his gaze fixing.

There was something about Faramir that caught his attention, something ill defined that tugged at him. Faramir sighed and glanced his way, a mask immediately covering the vulnerability that had illuminated his face. For a second it was there and then it was gone and Boromir made a promise to himself to ask him about his woes. For surely they were there, as ever they were and now Faramir was taking more effort to hide his hurts.

Aragorn wrapped things up and glanced at Faramir, turning at the same time from the sound of voices nearby. He put down a map and walked with his men, moving toward the door of the cavern. In the light streaming in, he saw a sight that warmed him, Legolas and Gimli greeting each other at last.

Standing behind him, his face filled with disquiet, Éomer of Rohan watched the scene. For the first time since they had found the mountains, Legolas had joy in his face. He hugged Gimli, gripping his shoulders and laughing aloud, so relieved was he to see the Dwarf again alive and well. Éomer walked past, nodding to the Dwarf and continued past Aragorn to the place where he slept. Aragorn grinned and glanced at Faramir, stilling once more at the ghost of his pain.

"Faramir? Are you not well?" he asked quietly, searching Faramir's face for some sign.

"I am well, my lord," Faramir replied, squeezing Aragorn's hand in his own.

Behind them, watching closely, Boromir caught the exchange. He frowned slightly, surprised by the intimacy and promised to talk to his brother later that night. This was his first day here, he was a stranger and even if friends were around him, he was yet odd man out. He would feel his way and fight with the warriors, securing his position in the hierarchy here. People moved here and there as Aragorn talked to Legolas and Faramir turned, moving toward the back of the cavern. He noted Éomer and walked to his side, pausing by a man for whom he felt good company.

"What did you find in your adventures?" he asked, sitting on a barrel.

"Many orcs, all now dead of course," he said, smiling slightly. He looked back, a frown forming. "The Dwarf has returned I see."

Faramir nodded, catching the odd inflection in Éomer's voice. "Are you bothered?"

Éomer turned his dark eyes on Faramir, shaking his head as he straightened stiffly. "No. Should I be? For what reason?"

"I do not know. You seemed angry."

"Perhaps," Éomer replied, pouring water in a bowl. He pulled off his shirt, rubbing a sore arm muscle and then began to bathe himself of the trail grime.

Faramir watched him, noting his powerful musculature and his tall rangy build tempered by a lifetime of hard and prolonged work. A bruise gleamed darkly on his neck, the kind only a lover could put there. Faramir looked at it and wondered who might have made it since there were no women in camp or around. Glancing toward the other part of the big open cavern, he considered Éomer's remarks about the Dwarf.

"What has made you angry, Éomer?" he ventured. "You seem angry about the return of the Dwarf."

"I am not bothered," he lied, toweling himself off. "What care I for a Dwarf or no?"

Faramir considered those words and then he considered Legolas and the partnership that the two had forged from their ordeal. Things seemed clear to Faramir as he studied Éomer, pulling on clean clothing as he finished his spit bath. His long hair was then washed and by the time he had fashioned it in the custom his people commanded, he seemed less irritated than before.

"Have you eaten?"

Faramir nodded, rising from his seat. "I will keep you company."

The two turned and walked to the table to dine.

In a chamber in the great house...

Celeborn stood by the window, his bare chest pale in the moonlight as the clouds parted for a moment. Lying in bed, her hair in long plaits, Galadriel watched him with worried eyes.

"Come to bed, husband," she coaxed gently.

He glanced at her, sighing deeply, too troubled to sleep. "I am too filled with torment to sleep just yet."

She sighed and relaxed, lying like a goddess against the snow white of the sheets. "You must not be harried by this, husband. We have hope yet."

"Do we?" Celeborn asked. "Do we have any? You must appeal to Melian and get her support. Thingol takes her counsels."

"I will do what I can," Galadriel replied.

Celeborn nodded and sighed, settling on a chair, staring at the moon as it weakly shown. "What is happening in the east, wife? What can we hope will be left when the talking is over?"

Galadriel didn't reply, her thoughts filled with terrible images as they spent the night together waiting for the dawn.

In another chamber...

She lay in bed, curled around her husband's pillow, watching the shadows play on the floor. The window was open and the breeze was fresh. She had dinner with her family and Elrond had excused himself, making his way to the king to make plans for the next step. She had gone to see her mother, the two enjoying the interlude and then had returned to her lonely bed.

The children were out, spending time with friends, too restless to relax until more was known. She knew her father was outraged and that something would have to happen or she couldn't guarantee that they would remain here.

The thought of going back disturbed her greatly as did the idea that their beloved valley lay in ashes. Closing her eyes, she settled on memories of happier times in far away places. The sun was shining and the children were little and her husband was invincible against the cares of the world.

In another chamber...

He groaned, gripping the sheets, his eyes closed tightly as sweat trickled down his face. He hunched on his knees, his forehead pressed against the sheets. Behind him, gripping tightly, the King of the Noldor was taking his pleasure. He had returned to the King's chamber, falling into his arms as if magnetically drawn and in the ensuing match found himself pinioned upon his knees. He was shivering with intense anticipation, memories of other times filling him as even the king did without hesitation.

He groaned and shifted, bearing the invasion stoically, bracing himself as the king took his leave. It was madness, the pleasure and the pain mixing together and he knew he would be sore in the morning. The King was beyond reasoning now, taking his herald with abandon and as he did, he felt the years fall away. They weren't in Valinor, they were back in Harlindon and Elrond graced his bed every day they were together.

Gil-galad slowed, willing himself to last and to extract as much pleasure as he could from the pliant body of his lover. Elrond was beautiful and he would bear the King's marks on his thighs and his neck when he left this night. Madness it was that made him do it and madness it would be if they were ever discovered.

But he didn't care, so much did he desire Elrond and so he made him his own in his inimitable way. He surged and then leaned down, pressing his face against Elrond's back, exhaling painfully as he came. It wasn't very pretty and it wasn't very delicate but in the moment he found himself, it was what Gil-galad needed. He reached down and entwined his fingers through Elrond's hands, squeezing them until he heard his lover grunt in pain.

It had been so long, too long for him and he needed this person to the point of pain. They were stilled a moment and then Gil-galad sat back up, peering down the back of his lover. Black hair, damp with sweat, splayed over his flushed skin like a web. He was kneeling forward, his head on his arms as he gasped and shifted beneath his lover's hands. Gil-galad released him reluctantly, helping him settle and lay down beside Elrond, his hand resting possessively upon the round of his buttocks.

"You are a wonder to me, melme," Gil-galad whispered, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

"You have maimed me," Elrond replied, his voice muffled by his arm.

Gil-galad smiled. "You bear my brand now."

Elrond snorted and turned over, settling his sore ass with a flinch and a groan. "I shall have to soak."

"You will. I made sure of it," Gil-galad replied with a grin. He rolled over, laying alongside his lover, splaying his hand over Elrond's breast. He could feel the dark nipple harden, a rough pebble beneath his palm and he gripped it, rolling it gently in his fingers.

Elrond sighed, allowing the longed-for intimacy as he had allowed the king to possess him once he crossed the threshold of the door. It had purged him of eons of solitude and grief and even as he knew he should, he didn't regret a thing.

"You have a lovely body. Even age improves you."

Elrond smiled and looked at his lover. "You have not changed a day."

Gil-galad smiled, a cocky look on his face. "I do not recall that you ever complained."

"I never did," he said, caressing Gil-galad's hand, the sensations of his teasing fingers entirely welcome to his starved desire.

Gil-galad rose onto his elbow and leaned down, kissing Elrond firmly. He lingered, making his point and then lay back down, lacing his fingers through Elrond's hand. "You will leave me soon enough," he said, sighing. "I want you to have something to remember me by."

"As if I could forget you," Elrond said wistfully.

"As if I could ever let you go," Gil-galad replied. He rose again, staring into Elrond's face, memorizing that beloved visage against the night alone. Then he leaned down, capturing Elrond's mouth, kissing him until he groaned before leaning back once more. "I will not release you from the past, my Peredhel. No matter what happens, I will always love you."

"And I, you," Elrond replied, his voice soft with love and pain. "You and I, we are star-crossed."

Gil-galad nodded. "We are. And we will settle this before it is all said and done."

Elrond nodded, closing his eyes, moving to settle into Gil-galad's arms. They would lay together, then Elrond would bathe and dress and after many kisses would leave Gil-galad alone. His King would bathe later, dressing against the morning and sitting by the window, wait for the sun to rise.

Far away...

"You are quiet tonight," Aragorn said, watching his partner wash up, pulling on clean clothing for the next day. He had already done so, sitting on the bunk, tired and ready to sleep.

"I am all right, my lord," Faramir offered, turning and gazing at his lover.

Aragorn rose and walked to him, slipping his arms around Faramir's waist. "You call me 'lordin private? I thought we settled that already."

Faramir swallowed hard and nodded. "Forgive me. I am just overcome at the return of my brother."

Aragorn smiled slightly, kissing Faramir softly. "I am happy for you at the return of Boromir."

Faramir nodded and then tentatively, raised his hand to Aragorn's neck. He touched the silver chain and gently tugged the ornament into view, holding it in his hand even as he himself was held. "What is this? I have always wanted to ask you."

"It is nothing," Aragorn replied, taking it from Faramir. He released his lover and removed the jewel from his neck, holding it in his hands for a moment. Then he turned and put it in his pack, returning to Faramir, gazing at him with concerned eyes. "It is a gift from an old friend. It means nothing to me anymore."

"Where is this old friend? Who were they?" Faramir asked as Aragorn slipped his arms around his waist once more.

"She is gone to the Undying Lands to be with her people. It is no one you would know."

Faramir nodded and leaned forward, kissing Aragorn softly on the mouth. He tightened his grip, laying his head on Aragorn's shoulder, relaxing into the gentle touch of the King's hands on his back.

Aragorn held him, loving him deeply, the emotion of it filling the hole in his heart. That part of him, the past, was gone over sea and all he had now was the present. Faramir kept him human when all the rest fell away and he dedicated himself to the youngster in his arms.

Faramir sighed, holding onto to his security as all around him the shadows of the world pressed in. Boromir was here and that helped him a lot but it also added to his burdens at the thought he might be killed. There was no refuge for him but in the arms of his lover. Only there could he pretend that what was happening might end differently.

The ghost of another hovered nearby and he pushed it away with all of the rest. They were on their own and the end would come eventually. What they had right now had to be enough.

Beyond the curtain, others were sleeping including hobbits, men of many lands and a mountain Dwarf. Slipping out through the entrance, an Elf made his way, determined to find one man in the quiet night. Éomer stood by a fallen tree, waiting for his lover and when he arrived, they fell to the ground together.

Far away a demon loitered, enjoying the spoils of his victory as his armies slowly gathered to finish the war. But for now in isolated places individuals took small comfort as ever the Shadow pressed onward to the sundering sea.

He slipped in and found his place in the bed, his wife sleeping silently beside him. He closed his eyes, sighing softly, the duplicity of his actions throbbing in his conscience. He turned and faced the door, curling up slightly, unwilling to touch Celebrian lest he disturb her. He didn't want to awaken her, fearing her questions and so he lay on his side and waited for dawn.

In another place...

"It is not what I expected."

Elladan glanced at his brother, his cool gray eyes considering him thoughtfully. "We are not meant to be here as long as the world is in chains. When it comes time to go back, I will do my duty."

"Mother looks well," Elrohir replied. "I am glad to see the two of them together again. It has been so very long."

Elladan nodded. "I am too. But the King...he worries me."

"Do not let it disturb you. The marriage bands are not to be taken lightly. And all of that was ages ago, when there were less obligations and diversions in Father's life."

"Maybe," Elrohir replied, shaking his head. "It is all too strange for me to be among the people who for me were only names on parchment for the whole of my life."

"I know," Elladan replied. "Our grandfather...who would have believed that we could know our family from the Elder days?"

Elrohir smiled, nodding his head. "I know," he said, turning to go. "I am hungry."

"You are always hungry," Elladan said, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

With a grin, they continued in, heading for the kitchen and a late night meal just the two together.

In Middle-earth...

"I lost track of you in the fighting," Legolas said, smiling at his friend.

Gimli grinned. "I was busy. What of you? What about all of this?"

"We fled here, those of us who could and we have been gathering people everywhere we could. It is the last refuge for us here in this world and I fear that it will not stand long when the demon gathers his strength at last."

Gimli nodded, shifting to lean back against the side of the cave. "And you? What have you learned about your family?" He asked tentatively, watching the play of emotions on the normally serene face.

"I have heard very little. They burned our home and the people retreated westward, apparently making it across relatively unscathed. At least as far as I can find out." He paused a moment, staring at the sky. "I do not know about individuals. I just hope that they are alive and well."

Gimli nodded, uncertain about what to say. "I am sure they are safe. Your father is a redoubtable man. He would have made it happen."

Legolas smiled, staring at his hands, picking at the calluses on a finger. "I hope so, Gimli," he said, looking at his friend with a smile.

Standing nearby, pausing before entering the cavern, Éomer watched them, sitting near to each other, heads bent together as they talked. A frisson of anxiety hit him, searing through his gut. He watched them, old friends and colleagues and considered what it might mean. He wasn't sure what they had, the two of them together, but he had come to depend upon it. With a silent sigh, he turned away and went inside.

Nearby...

"You seem pensive."

"I am tired. It was a shock having you come back."

Boromir nodded, staring at his brother with a knowing expression. "I am at wits end to know that you are alive and by my side. I did not dare to hope, for hope has forsaken us, brother."

Faramir nodded, staring at the toe of his boot. "I have only the hope of each day rising. There can be little beyond that, this small begrudged cadge of hours. Yet I hope somehow, in some unknowable way, that there can be more. I hope so for more than just myself."

"You and Aragorn, you are close?"

Faramir nodded, glancing at his brother. "We were together on the battlefield and the retreat brought us into close quarters. From there one thing led to another and we are here, fighting against the Enemy as best we can." Boromir nodded, considering his next questions. "He is admirable, that one."

"Aragorn?" Faramir asked, looking at his brother.

Boromir nodded. Faramir sighed and leaned against Boromir's shoulder. "He is a very worthy man."

"I must ask you and you know me...I am not a man of subtle ways."

Faramir nodded, sitting straighter, his arm around Boromir's shoulders. It was silent a moment.

"I must ask if there is more than comradeship between you and Aragorn. I must ask if there are...feelings between you."

Faramir looked at his brother, struggling for the right kind of answer, unclear on Boromir's mind on such a subject. "I...why do you ask?"

"I thought I saw more than brotherhood between you," Boromir said, taking his brother's hand. "I just was curious, that is all. I am concerned about you because you are my brother."

Faramir nodded, laying his head on Boromir's shoulder. "I esteem him above all others and accept his love with gratitude and joy. I give him my own and hold him close in my heart."

"Then you are more than comrades..."

Faramir thought a moment and then sat straighter, staring at his boot once more. "I am his lover."

It was silent a moment and then Boromir nodded, the pounding of his heart shrill in his ears. "That is something for me to digest."

"You do not approve." Faramir didn't look up, afraid to see disappointment in the eyes of his brother.

"I did not say so," Boromir replied.

"Please don't," Faramir said softly, glancing up with anxious eyes. "I am filled with weariness, Boromir. I hang on day-to-day sometimes but I must be strong, for it helps him and the others. That is a heavy burden for me to bear all in all of late, such is the state my feelings following the death of our kingdom. I am struggling to revive my heart and your return does me more good than I can express. Yet I am filled with disquiet. Do not take from me what comfort I can find with your disapproval."

Boromir took his hand and squeezed it, nodding. "Very well."

Faramir exhaled tiredly and rose, pulling Boromir to his feet. "Come. I will show you your bed."

They walked past hobbits and men and elves and when they entered the cavern it was quiet again.

A short time later...

He moved to the side of the bunk, staring down at the sleeper. Then he knelt, placing a hand on the chest of the occupant. Éomer opened his eyes, blinking as he looked over and stilling as he saw Legolas in the dim light of a torch. For a moment they didn't move and then Legolas turned, sitting on the bunk and tugging off his boots. Moving backward, he stretched out, settling his back against his lover while Éomer spooned behind him and enveloped him in his arms.

It was silent a moment and Éomer took Legolas' hand, squeezing it in his own as his anxiety receded a little.

Morning in another place...

He ate with his family, sharing small talk and when he excused himself, they watched him go with intense, unwavering eyes. The door closed and Elladan sighed, looking at his brother for a moment. Then he smiled and rose, excusing himself, leaving the room and walking down the corridor. He paused and stepped back into a shadow as ahead, Gil-galad and Elrond were talking together.

The King was very close, his fingers entwined through his father's hair and then he leaned forward and kissed him possessively and well. He felt ice pierce him and his feet were rooted as he stood watching as the King had his way. Then they turned and walked on, moving out of view but Elladan stood a long while staring, coldness filling his heart as he digested what he had seen.

At a meeting...

Celeborn sat, his fingers steepled and waited for the rest of their council to arrive. They would have to move Thingol, getting him to agree to the plan. That would be monumental, for there were few among them so entrenched in the past. He had been angry enough to ban Quenya from being spoken in the world of his control, which was pretty much everywhere at the time and it had faded to become merely an ornamental language. A few spoke it in private, mostly traditional Noldor, but it had fallen from common use under his command.

Now they had to woo him, to bring him into the picture or Ingwe would not go to Manwe with their plea with the blessings of other chieftains. They would have to win this one to make it easier for the Vanyaran Lord to secure enough of his brothers to make it work. He sighed, considering the lovely days of life in Doriath and the love that Galadriel had for Melian. She would be key, the one to appeal to and so it would be as they waited for Elrond. All of the others were there but Elrond and the King and he considered that pairing, another relic from the past.

It was sensible that things would intersect, that the past and present would stand side-by-side here in this land of second chances. He was considering all the miracles he himself has encountered, his parents and long gone friends and felt the divided loyalties that surely plagued Elrond. He knew that the King and Elrond had been lovers and that his son-in-law's inclinations were probably toward men. But he had married his only child to the Elf he felt would be best positioned to give her the life he had hoped for her to have in the uncertain world where they lived.

They had children between them, they had honor and years but there was a tension here that could only come from the past. Elrond was with his deepest and most passionate lover and it could bode no goodwill when the crisis was resolved. He pushed that away as he considered Thingol and the difficulties they faced. Nothing could detract from the road ahead.

The door opened and Elrond entered, followed by the King and they took their seats in the circle of friends. For the next four hours they would debate and conference and at no time during the meeting did they not rue Gandalf's absence.

In the mountains...

The patrols stood out, moving like ghosts in the early morning dawn. Éomer and Legolas led their own, Gimli in tow. Others of Gondor and Rohan and scattered places left on their way to the battle that lay in the flat lands nearby. Faramir stood with Boromir watching the sun rise. They would go with Aragorn and see to the incursions at the river. Scouts of the enemy had been coming, stirring through the forest fringe and they were worried that their sanctuary would no longer be safe.

Gathering his bow and quiver, he strapped it firmly in place and turning to Boromir, smiled. "We begin again."

Boromir smiled and clapped Faramir's shoulder. "As ever we did."

Aragorn came from the cavern and joined them in the clearing, men filling their ranks and then they left. Frodo and Sam watched them, big grim men moved swiftly and then it was silent as they faded away. Sam glanced at Frodo and then the woods, wondering once again where it would all end.

In a great house in Valinor...

She sat in an anteroom, waiting for an audience with the Lady of the House. Her gown was white, her hair golden and for a moment the years fell away and she was just a young woman aching for adventure. A door opened and a radiant woman appeared, standing and smiling at her with joy on her face.

Galadriel rose and curtsied, her own smile blinding and then the Lady stepped forward, embracing her protégé. They held each other tightly and then Melian smiled, looking Galadriel over. "You are as lovely as ever you were, Alatariel."

Galadriel laughed, the first time since the fall and smiled through her tears. "I have missed you, my Lady. All the sad years that have deprived me of your company and counsel weigh like stones on my heart."

"Then come and talk to me, like we once did long ago and tell me of your life in the ages past."

They walked together, hand-in-hand to a room filled with flowers and sunlight. The clouds overhead parted for a moment and it seemed that time had turned backward. They sat together hand-in-hand as Galadriel of the Golden Wood poured out her heart.

On the trail...

They passed through the woods, silent as cats, unseen but seeing all that moved. Beyond was the silver ribbon of the river, slicing the flatlands into two pieces. Scrub would be their only hiding places when they left the forest but it was also the only shelter for the enemy. Faramir paused and gripped Aragorn's arm. Pointing beyond, they all knelt and looked.

A thin wisp of smoke rose from a thicket of bushes, a campfire made by someone who by simple odds could not be friend. They settled down to wait, dispersing along the tree line, pausing to see if they would show themselves. The sun was hot and Boromir shifted, glancing back to look for Faramir. He was sitting on the ground, arrow made ready as he stared at the fire on the slope below.

It seemed like forever before the bushes began to rustle and three orcs stood, staring around. All along the line, bowmen made ready, fixing each enemy with the point of their arrows. Another orc rose and then two more and they made ready to continue their journey to the hills. As they stealthily moved from the bushes to the open, Faramir caught the nod from Aragorn.

He raised his bow and his arrow went flying, piercing the head of the orc who lead the group. More arrows flew and before they could make a sound, six orcs lay dead on the gravel. They sat in the trees, watching all around them and then a small team moved forward to search. They took back their arrows, pulling the carcasses down to a vine-filled defile and threw them in. In seconds they had regrouped and fallen back, the land undisturbed once more.

Valinor...

"I saw them."

Elrohir nodded, glancing at Arwen. Arwen sat pale and pained. "We cannot let Mother know. She is so happy to have Father here."

"I hate him," Elladan hissed, pacing in the chamber. "He touched Father like he had the right ."

"They were together for ages," Elrohir ventured, drawing a sharp look from his brother.

"Father is married , sealed before the Valar. You know what that means."

Arwen sighed and rose, coming between them. "We must not talk of this to Mother. No one must do this. I will speak with Father myself."

For a moment they didn't speak and then they nodded, identical responses and identical gestures. Then she smiled slightly and walked to the door, pausing before looking back. "You cannot treat the King any differently. He is the King of our people and that must not be trammeled." Then she turned and walked out, down to the beachhead and there she paced for the rest of the day.

Middle-earth...

They found bands of orcs right away and the fighting was fierce, slaughter the general outcome of each event. They seldom lost their own people, each attack so planned to their favor but the enemy fell, orcs one and all. Legolas considered what it would mean with Uruks, the well armed and smarter foes being tougher to fight. As it stood now, he thanked the Valar for the orc foe they invariably faced and moving with his patrol, made his way down the slope.

Éomer followed, his eyes ever roving as they headed for the shoreline of the silvery rolling river. Orc sign was there and they would have to clean them out, killing them where they stood whenever they were found. It soothed him, this carnage because it helped assuage the pain of not knowing what had happened to his sister in Edoras.

The thought of her falling into the hands of the Enemy was a nightmare that came to him all too often. He took out his rage on the necks of the enemy, praying some day to even the score.

In a meeting in a mansion in Valinor...

Glorfindel entered the room, a smile on his face and he walked to the group who paused to hear him.

"He has agreed to see a delegation tomorrow morning. Lord Elrond is welcomed and so is Cirdan. I have been given leave to come but no other Noldor."

Turgon nodded, smiling slightly. "No kin-slayers."

Gil-galad sighed. "He bears a grudge to the grave and back again."

"That is to be expected. The only worse thing to send to see him is a delegation of Dwarves," Turgon mentioned, smiling slightly. "I am considering others that might be persuaded to join us tomorrow at the King's house. But I will not tell you in case they demur and dash your hopes before we begin."

"That would be deeply appreciated," Elrond said, nodding to his grandfather. He leaned back and glanced at Gil-galad.

"You are going because you are the son of Earendil and Elwing and he holds them in esteem," Gil-galad said, musing on his lover.

"Your parents are held by us all in esteem," Turgon said, nodding in agreement. "It would do you well to see them before much time goes by."

Elrond glanced sharply at him, his eyes narrowing. "I was not sure that could be accomplished."

"Why not?" Turgon asked.

"I do not know," Elrond replied, shifting in his seat. "I do not understand how he sails and if it means that he comes here when the night is over. I am unclear of much."

"You are," Turgon said. "They come here at the break of dawn and they are here all day. You must go and see them, Elrond. It would do you all a good service."

Elrond nodded numbly, a task he had filed away as impossible beckoned him onward. Glancing at Gil-galad, he rose from his chair, pausing uncertainly as he stood. Gil-galad rose and took his arm.

"Do you wish company, brother?" he asked.

Elrond looked at him, uncertainty written large on his face. "I would," he replied. "Please."

"Here. Drink this."

Elrond took the proffered glass and sipped it, feeling the burning liquor slide down his throat. His hands felt tingly, rather like the aftermath of electrical shock and he sat light-headed and suffused with dread.

"You look very pale," Gil-galad said, fussing as he sat next to his lover. "Perhaps you need to lie down."

"I...just give me a moment," Elrond stammered.

It was silent a moment and then the King reached out and pressed a stray lock behind Elrond's ear. The Peredhel looked at him, holding his glass in his hand and seemingly unaware that he was doing so. Gil-galad removed the glass and moved closer, stroking Elrond's face with the back of his hand. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I...I have gotten used to the idea that I am alone essentially, estranged from that part of my life over which I had no control," Elrond said, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. "I cannot give myself any hope of things being different. My brother is going to always be gone from my life. It is as if I have been cleft in twain, so bitter was that parting from me. I have lived an entire life knowing that my parents would never be in it and now I am told that this is not true." He swallowed and rubbed an eye. "My father sailed to find his parents. They were never found. Are they here? Who else among my dearest kin is here?"

"Dior," Gil-galad replied. "He is here. So is his wife, your grandmother. Your father and mother and his parents. Tuor and Idril are here, long here. It is the biggest relief of Turgon that he can have his daughter near to him again."

"He said nothing to me," Elrond replied, painfully.

"He has not told you as I have not told you. There is little time, my brother. We have to make our way to rescue the world and leave personal matters to later and better times. It is the curse of our station."

"They could have come to see me," Elrond said, images of his brother as a child filling his mind. "I know I am...my rational mind agrees with...with your words but my mother and father should come to me. They should ask me to tell them of Elros." Elrond looked at Gil-galad with eyes filled with tears and misery. "How can they ever know about Elros? There are no words for him..." He fell silent and stared at the floor and then with characteristic strength of will he gathered his emotions together. "It must come later," he whispered sadly.

"It will, melme," Gil-galad replied. "I swear to you on the lives of my mother and father that you will see them again."

It was quiet in the room as they sat together, Elrond telling tales of his brother as a child. Gil-galad smiled and listened, nodding and adding details of his own as they sat together in the privacy of the empty room.

On the trail...

They made their way along the river bank, hugging the shrubs and scrub brush. Old tracks of orcs led to the river but they would find no game to hunt today. Éomer stood on a rock and peered into the distance, seeing nothing moving on the plain beyond. He climbed down and rejoined the group, resting on rocks in a small recess in the cliff side.

"Nothing on the other side," he said to Legolas.

The Elf nodded and rose to stand. "We had better move back then. The night will be coming and I do not like the open when the stars are out."

The clouds had broken and the sun was shining, an added warmth and a welcomed sight. They rose and moved away, heading back toward their own lines and in seconds they were gone without a trace.

In Lothlorien...

He sat on his chair, watching the water dripping off the eaves of his shelter. In the morning he would leave for Mirkwood. The forest kingdom was his as well and he wanted to spend time perusing his acquisitions. Lothlorien would become the domain of spiders, the filth of the south forest could have this bastion too.

Around him, scurrying to pack up their things, orcs moved with haste. He himself sat in splendor, garbed in rich clothing, his evil visage topped by an iron crown. He was the diminished echo of Melkor, a parody written smaller of the greatest and most evil menace that the world had ever seen.

"My Lord."

He turned his dark eyes, the piercing gaze that could not be sustained and nodded.

"He has been located. Our people are seeking to bring him to you."

Sauron nodded, filled with satisfaction that such news could be given.

"I want him brought to Mirkwood, to the house of Thranduil. Do it as soon as can be accomplished."

The orc nodded and bowed low, scurrying out into the dim and smoky forest beyond. Sauron smiled, considering the things that Saruman would suffer because of his treachery. Sitting back, filled with contentment, he considered what he would do with the Wooded Realm.

Morning...

He rose, considering the task before them. He had risen early enough to elude his family, preferring silence to prepare for the problem at hand. It was a two-fold ordeal, this meeting with Thingol. First, there was the problem of getting his support against Sauron. That would be difficult and he prayed he was up to the task. Secondly, he would be meeting his great-great-great-grandfather and grandmother. That part was daunting, this familial tie.

Luthien and Beren. They were names in his family tree but nothing more than that until now, merely delicious and inspiring tales to be read as a youth. But the idea that he could touch any of his family, to make real any of the names didn't seem possible. Sure, he could come here. Sure, it would seem reasonable that many, if not all of them would be released at some point from Mandos Halls but the idea of actually seeing them was something he could not gather into any reasonable frame of reference, the actuality of it was still too new.

His parents has been the shadows of his existence, people he could barely remember, whose good name he had tried to carry forward on his own shoulders. They had done everything they could to make peace and to end war and he had always been spurred to follow their example. The years of captivity, of living with the enemy had moderated him and made him almost clinically rational about any number of things. You did what you had to do in your acceptable code of conduct and guarded your innermost core, ensuring a future of your own choosing at some point in time. He had done that and for all of his illustrious life, he had tried to conduct himself in a way that would make his parents proud.

Now he could see them, how, he didn't know. But he would when the time came and he could put aside this new burden. Pausing by the window, he stared at the rough and steel-gray sea and wondered once again how many of those he knew still lived. Filled with determination, he turned and walked to the door, heading for the courtyard and the horse ride to Thingol's home.

Standing in a window, their gray eyes ever on him, his children watched as he mounted his horse. Cirdan was with him and Glorfindel and Erestor and others who would ride with him in his honor. Ever by his side, resplendent as befitting a monarch, Gil-galad of the Noldor had pride of place.

On the trail...

They ate their hard tack, sipping water and resting as the sun continued its journey toward home. Faramir sat beside his brother, leaning against his shoulder, immensely gratified to have him there. Boromir smiled, handing his canteen to his brother and turned then his gaze upon Aragorn nearby. He was kneeling beside Halbarad, his kinsman and his comrade and talking together in a low tone about the trail ahead.

Boromir studied the rangy figure who loved his brother and wondered what could have happened that this should be so. Faramir was gentle, kind and courtly with wonderful manners, yet he had never known that he had infatuations of any seriousness. He was beloved by many, his qualities admired and there was no lack of opportunity for the son of the Steward.

Yet Faramir had not taken anyone into his heart, preferring solitary pursuits, driven by their father to be something he probably wasn't. Faramir had become a Ranger of great skill, with a military mind for maximizing resources while minimizing risks. Boromir had noticed with enormous satisfaction that his men loved Faramir greatly, even as he, Boromir was loved. They were a good match, these two different personalities and Faramir was his closest friend, the only one who he would confide to over any serious matter.

Being the older brother, he had worries of his own. Their father had faltered in his reign and so the burden had fallen ever heavier upon his shoulders. He had picked it up manfully, doing the best he could, tempering his stubborn hot-headedness against the seriousness of the situation that had become their last duty to defend.

In the end they had fallen, the city in flames, their father most likely slain, sword-in-hand. Now they had only each other, the two of them miraculously finding each other alive and for that Boromir would ever be grateful.

"What are you thinking?"

He glanced at Faramir. "Just...everything and nothing. You?"

"I was thinking it would be good to be gone from here before dark. I am filled with foreboding."

Boromir glanced at him, more than aware of his foresight. "What do you see, brother?"

"Nothing specific," Faramir replied, resting his head on his brother's shoulder. "Just a foreboding, that is all."

Boromir nodded. They sat together a while longer and then they all rose and melted into the woodlands once more. Behind them, the river was a silver strip sparkling as it paralleled the mountains, the dividing line between the lost world and the free.

On the road...

They rode together, a dazzling sight of lords traveling in formal splendor to greet other lords of great power, not that common a sight in these parts in spite of things. Elrond sat straight, his eyes taking in the beauty of the world that would be theirs forever. The journey to Thingol's mansions was a long one and they would be in the saddle for many hours. By the time they reached the home of the great lord, lunch would have been had on the trail.

Gil-galad rode beside Elrond, Glorfindel and the others behind as banners snapped in the crisp morning breeze. Cirdan was slightly to Elrond's left and rode silently, his mind occupied by many things. The King sighed, sitting as straight as an arrow, well aware of the import of the moment on all.

Thingol was Elrond's grandfather, three generations removed, the father of Luthien and the grandfather of Dior. He hoped that Dior would be there as promised, adding another edge to the game they would play. Thingol was a stern man, a hard man about his honor but the state of the world could move him if it were put to him correctly. He hoped that Elrond would be able to pull out another miracle and make things happen that he, himself, for many reasons couldn't even ask.

They rode together, clouds drifting across the sky, blotting out and freeing the sun on her journey. Far away in lands uncounted the shadow of Mordor made its inexorable way.

Night fall...

They arrived at the cavern, weary and hungry. Aragorn paused at the door to gather reports. Many more orcs were seen and many of them neutralized by the skill and surprise of the roving patrols. The only way they would be able to breach the rebel defenses would be to do so in force. They were sure it would come eventually to that but for now they would hold the enemy to a line of demarcation and hope for the best, even as they knew they had no future ahead.

Boromir paused by the door, Halbarad with him and watched as Faramir excused himself and joined Aragorn. They stood together, their arms almost touching and Boromir wondered again at the enigma of his brother. Turning, he grinned. "I'm bloody hungry."

"You read my mind," Halbarad replied with a smile.

They turned and entered the cavern, finding food and drink, eventually making room at the table for Aragorn and Faramir. They made no mention of the news, at least while they were eating and when Éomer and Legolas arrived, listened to their reports.

"Then the enemy is making incursions south of us. They must be making for Orthanc," Aragorn mused.

"I suppose it could be a fortress from which to rove out," Faramir replied. "But it is a drowned and useless thing without enormous amounts of work."

"They could do it," Boromir ventured. "Of course, it would mean drawing away orcs that otherwise could fight."

Aragorn nodded, smiling at Frodo, who brought him something to drink as he served others. The hobbits had made themselves useful, cooking meals and taking care of things that the soldiers were too weary or untrained to do. The level of the cooking had risen greatly and morale had been improved among the men. The hobbits were glad to be useful and were very diligent, earning the friendship of the troops as they came and went.

Aragorn watched Frodo, pleased with his healthier complexion and then turned and gave his attention to the matters at hand. "They are probing our defenses and we must be diligent. If they find a weakness they will come through in force."

The others nodded, resolving to do their best because more than that was out of their hands. Faramir sipped his ale, thinking about summer in Minas Tirith when he was a young man. Then he turned and looked at Aragorn, stilling for a moment for even though he was talking, Faramir couldn't hear his voice. He looked at the others, seeing but not hearing and then his vision turned to black.

For a moment he just sat there and then he rose, his vision clearing once more. They were all sitting around the table talking together, but there was no chair for him to sit and they didn't notice him standing there. He stared at them, unreality suffusing him and then he turned and walked toward the cavern door and the yard just beyond. He stood by the opening, staring up at the sky, the vision of a great sailing ship clear to his eyes.

He stared at it, the white ship gliding through the heavens and on its bow there beamed a great light. It illuminated the darkness and pushed back his fear and weariness, giving him an enormous sense of peace of mind.

He smiled and waved his hand, although to whom he didn't know and then he turned toward the cavern and it was gone. He was standing in the alcove that was his quarters with Aragorn. The King was sitting on the bunk, his head in his hands. Faramir felt his grief and he knelt to touch him when the grip of another jolted him back.

"Faramir?"

He looked blankly around, blinking, then staring into Aragorn's concerned eyes. He licked his dry lips as he gathered his wits. "I...I am sorry. I guess I just drifted off. I must be more tired than I thought I was."

"Faramir...did you have a vision?" Boromir asked, concern on his face.

"I just...I just lost track of where I was," Faramir replied, rattled by the eyes that focused upon him. "I am fine, Boromir. Truly I am."

They sat a moment and then turned back to their conversation, Boromir and Aragorn giving him brief glances from time to time. When the dinner broke up and they went to rest for the morrow, Aragorn gripped his arm and steered him into their alcove. When they were inside, he grasped Faramir's shoulders, staring at him anxiously for a moment.

"What did you see?"

Faramir considered his question and then sighed wearily. "I think I saw the Mariner...Earendil. At least, I think I saw his ship sailing across the sky with a great light at the bow."

"The Silmaril," Aragorn replied, nodding his head, his eyes focused on Faramir's face. "And? Was there more?"

"You took my arm and I lost the vision. I just felt a sense of peace from it that I have not felt in a long time."

"Earendil," Aragorn considered, thinking through his store of lore. "I do not know what it means. But it might be something good, something you needed for yourself alone."

Faramir nodded, smiling weakly. "I cannot interpret it but it made me feel hopeful."

"Then that is good," Aragorn replied softly. He leaned in and kissed Faramir gently, pulling him in as Faramir responded. They held each other in the quiet of their alcove, the rest of the world at bay for the moment. "You must tell me when you have a vision, Faramir. I need to know what you see."

"Do you think that it matters?" Faramir asked, rubbing his cheek against Aragorn's.

"It did last time you had one," Aragorn replied. "The 'sword that was broken... it made a difference. It brought Boromir to the Quest."

"The Quest failed," Faramir gently reminded. Then he kissed Aragorn softly.

"Perhaps. But then perhaps as well, the Valar are trying to tell us something through your keen senses."

Faramir nodded, smiling slightly. "I will tell you, Aragorn, all that I know."

Aragorn smiled and hugged him tightly, images of his ancestor filling his mind. Tonight he would go out and wait for the night star and pray to his kinsman that something might change.

Continued...

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