Round Robin
Chapter 14
By Iridia

Author's Note: Thanks goes to Meril, who withstood my repeated questions about Elladan's horse, as well as giving me advice and opinions and ferreting out proper words and generally being a very good beta; and Rina, who stayed up way too late to let me write this.

--------------------------------------------------

The being that looked like Elrohir did not know why he waited to carry out his Lady's orders. He had no concept of disloyalty; but the heavy sensation at the back of his mind made him hesitate repeatedly, vacillating between returning to claim his Lady's prize, and releasing the prisoner... though that last thought soon slipped away, drowned by the cloying scent of over-ripe fruit.

Neither he, nor the inhabitants of the coastal town, saw the true violence of the struggle. All they saw were the unreadable eyes of the tall, thin man wearing the odd cloth headband.

--------------------------------------------------

Moririme had chosen her battleground well. The fallen rocks and sunken-in caves of the great ruin that had once been Angband still held the memory of the horrible torment that had afflicted those once held captive in its depths. Very few trees grew here, and those that did were stunted, huddled against more than just the cold. Here, Elrond was at a disadvantage; in this barren wilderness, where little grew and evil lurked, he could not count on any innate connection with nature to aid him.

As Elrond watched, the heavy black clouds grew even darker and thicker; and as Moririme laughed, a cold wind whipped the gritty sand and dust into the air. From the clouds, stinging sleet fell, and was caught up in the gale to scour the already blighted earth.

"You call yourself an elf-lord?!" Moririme mocked him, driving the winds to even greater ferocity. Now, lighting began stabbing down from the clouds, towards Elrond; but somehow, the lightning always seemed to miss; and though the wind twisted and tore at his now-tattered robes, he himself stood erect and unbowed.

--------------------------------------------------

The trail of the cart was easy to follow, though Elladan had to circle far around Moririme in order to avoid detection. Once out of danger, he urged his horse to run. Like any horse owned by elves, this one was able to sense its rider's urgency; and so it was not long before Elladan approached the coastal town--a rough, seedy sort of place that repelled him much more than human settlements usually did. But now, his family needed help; so he ignored his disgust.

Elladan tore some cloth from the bottom of his tunic and tied it around his head. He left his horse in the wood on the outskirts of the town, bidding the horse to stay until he returned.

--------------------------------------------------

The tall stranger in the harbor finally seemed to make up his mind, and began walking toward the slave ship. He felt strangely--and unaccountably--tired; but the heavy perfume of his lady, ever-present and insistent, was still in his nostrils. She would let him rest, he thought wearily, when his mission was accomplished.

--------------------------------------------------

Yes; that *was* Elrohir, sitting straight and stiff in the boat that was being rowed out to the black-sailed ship. Elladan only hoped he was not too late. He started running to the docks.

"Sir!" he called, addressing a figure that sat in a boat tied to the docks. "I need to get out to that ship!"

A surly-looking bearded man glanced up from his lunch pail and grunted, "You wait until I'm done eatin'. And, mind, it don't come free," he said.

"I'll make it worth your while," Elladan said tersely. "Will this suffice?" He pulled the brooch from his cloak; it was set with a large pearl worth many times the price of a ride to the ship.

The man's eyes narrowed and he grabbed the brooch, rubbing the pearl with grimy fingers. "Get in," he said, picking up the oars. "An' if you kin afford it, I'll say you weren't never here," he offered.

Elladan ignored him. "Just get me onto that ship," he said.

A rope ladder still hung down the side of the ship; Elladan climbed it swiftly and quietly, swinging himself onto the deck of the ship unnoticed. Deliberately nonchalant, he began walking along the deck, glancing quickly around for any sign of either his brothers or Legolas. The ship, black-sailed in the tradition of the ships of Umbar, was very obviously carrying human cargo; the moans and shouts for water which issued from a heavily chained hatch in the deck revealed that this particular ship was fully loaded.

Elladan's next move would have been trying to find a way into the cargo hold; but as he walked past a cabin door, a familiar voice caught his attention. "Your death," it was saying, "will greatly please my lady."

Wasting no time easing the door further open, Elladan peered inside. The occupants of the room did not notice him; but the scene he beheld affirmed his worst fears.

Aragorn, his hands tied, lay on the floor, Elrohir's knife at his throat; Legolas, who was still chained to the wall, watched in horror. The elf seemed semi-conscious--not a surprise, considering the many injuries Elladan could see, and probably many more still hidden.

"Elrohir..." Aragorn said softly. "This isn't you! Fight it, please, brother..."

The shadow of his brother paused for a split second, as though something familiar disturbed his thoughts; but then he growled and pressed the knife slowly into Aragorn's flesh. A drop of blood appeared, trickling down Aragorn's neck and onto the floor.

TBC...