Disclaimer: Don’t own any of it, never did.

A/N:  Whoa!  Sorry it’s been so long guys!  I moved, and then my computer got fried in the process, so I had no internet access for a WHOLE MONTH! *dies*

Anyways, here’s the next chappie, it shouldn’t be so long until the next one!

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Sound the bugle now

Play it just for me

As the seasons change

Remember how I used to be

Now I can’t go on

I can’t even start

I’ve got nothing left, just an empty heart

I’m a soldier wounded so I must give up the fight

There’s nothing more for me

Lead me away

Or leave lying here

Sound the bugle now

Tell them I don’t care

There’s not a road that leads to anywhere

Without a light I feel that I will stumble in the dark

Lay right down and decide not to go on

But from on high

Somewhere in the distance

There’s a voice that calls

‘Remember who you are’

If you lose yourself your courage soon will follow

So be strong tonight remember who you are.

You’re a soldier now

Fighting in a battle

To be free once more

Yeah, that’s worth fighting for!

            ‘Sound the Bugle’

            Bryan Adams

            From the Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron soundtrack.

~*~

Arwen wishes she could fidget.

Many years ago, when she was alive and had a corporeal body, she would rub her hands together and fiddle with her nails when she was this nervous.

Her father would always say, ‘don’t fidget Arwen, it’s unseemly.’

Things are getting worse, her strength is waning, it is only a matter of time before Morgoth will see through her various tricks and disguises and find the children of Valinor. 

When he does, he will destroy every one of them; he will not risk defeat from any quarter.

Arwen considers forming a body, so she can have fingers to fidget with, but that would take up precious energy; energy she needs to keep the little ones hidden.

She gives a little sigh as she feels Aragorn pass through her momentarily; their link is stronger now than it ever was in life.  He brings news that Elladan has been killed by Morgoth’s assassin. 

Elladan’s spirit is wandering, lost because there is no one to guide him to the Halls of Mandos; Aragorn promises to take care of him. 

It will only be a little while longer now; already her uncle Elros, known as Tar-Minyature to those who study ancient mortal history, has guided Maglor to Elrohir and Legolas.   

Maglor holds the key. 

Arwen feels a slight quaking in the shield around some of the pregnant maids, among them her sister-in-law and Legolas’ wife.  She strengthens it, and focuses her attention on protecting the little ones once again.

~*~

Elrohir cradles his brother’s body for a long time, though how long he cannot tell. 

Behind him, Logan has moved to Legolas, most likely tending his wounds.

Tears course down pale Elven cheeks as Elrohir stares up at the sky, searching for Earendil’s star, and whatever bit of hope he might draw from it.  But the star does not shine this night, nor will it ever shine again, should Melkor have his way.

As he kneels there, seeking the absent star and remembering thousands of years of companionship and love from Elladan, a hand lands gently upon his shoulder.

A voice speaks, soft and gentle in his ear, “Come, you cannot linger here, my friend.”

Elrohir turns his head, as though in a daze, and sees a tall, pale man with coppery hair standing behind him.  The longer he looks, the more he realizes this is no man at all, but an Elf, “…Maglor?”

The Elf nods quietly, and gently takes Elladan’s body in his arms.  “Bring your wounded friend, we will go to my home and tend him there.”

Elrohir obeys unquestioningly; picking Legolas up off the ground and helping him walk along. 

Maglor says something to Logan in the tongue of Mortals, and the little company follows along behind the ancient being.

He leads them to a warehouse; it looks dark and forbidding in the dim light from the streetlamps.  They walk inside and follow Maglor through to a small door at the back of the large room, which is filled with dust, cobwebs and ancient machinery.

Through the door is a cheerfully lit apartment, with several couches and other furniture strewn about.  Nothing matches, and most of it looks tattered and torn as though they were cast-offs thrown away by someone else.

Maglor gently lays Elladan on a small bed in the back, and Elrohir helps Legolas to sit on a couch then returns to his brother’s body without a word.  Maglor vanishes from the room a moment, quickly returning with a box of healing supplies with which he sets to work on Legolas’ wounds.

Legolas, for his part, does not fight the Noldo as he cleans and binds the cuts on Legolas’ trunk and face.  “The wound on your eye is grievous indeed, my friend.”  Maglor speaks softly as he works, “The eye itself is wounded, and I do not have the skill to heal it.  Indeed, I do not think there is a doctor on all of Arda who can heal it, though their skill at healing is far advanced from what it was when Elessar ruled Middle-earth.”

Looking at the Elf in wonder, Legolas whispers, “Who are you?”

“I am Maglor, second son of Feanor.  I have wandered these shores alone for many long centuries, and it brings joy to my heart to hear the Elven-tongue once again.”  Maglor smiles, green eyes crinkling at the corners as he wraps a bandage around Legolas’ head neatly.  “It is lucky for you I speak many of the tongues of men, for you would be unable to communicate with your mortal friend here, otherwise, am I correct.”

Legolas nods, “Yes.  Is he alright?”

Maglor turns his head toward Logan, who is sitting on the floor near Elrohir with his dark head bowed in grief.  “As well as he can be, I suppose.”  He helps Legolas to his feet, and leads him to Elladan’s body.  “He died bravely in battle; He will have a place of honor in the Halls of Mandos.”

The full weight of his loss sinks in, and Elrohir begins to sob openly.  Logan places a hand on the younger twin’s shoulder, and weeps with him awhile.

Legolas does not move for many long moments, before joining his companions in bidding farewell to their brave brother and friend. 

Maglor, for his part, slips quietly from the room for a few minutes, then returns again, this time bearing a white sheet.  Stepping around the weeping companions, he carefully binds Elladan’s body in the sheet and hands the knife that killed him to Elrohir.  Then he hefts the body and carries it outside to the river, “May Ulmo bear him to the sea, where he can be forever at peace.”

Logan helps Maglor set Elladan’s body in the water, where a swift current carries it away from the dirty water in the city and out to the pure, clear water of the bay.  They watch as Elladan’s body sinks beneath the surface of the water, and vanishes from their sight forever.

When he is gone, Maglor turns to the still weeping Elves and speaks once again.  “I know what you came to me to find, and I will give it to you, on one condition; bear me to Valinor with you!  I am weary of wandering among mortals, forever apart, and I am ready to bear whatever judgment the Valar will give me.”

“Our ship is destroyed; we don’t know how we will return to Valinor.”  Legolas speaks softly.  He is leaning heavily on Elrohir’s shoulder, for his strength is failing him at the moment, the loss of his longtime friend and the loss of a lot of blood, not to mention his eye has weakened him considerably. 

“I can get you a ship, we must return immediately; for I have received word from beyond that we are needed there.  The few spirits who are not entrapped in the Halls of Time are rapidly failing; their strength is waning.  We must end this now, however we can.”  With that, Maglor kneels down and begins fishing underneath the docks with his hands for something.

After a moment it seems he finds it, for he grins exultantly and pulls out a small package wrapped in fine linen and hands it to Elrohir.  “I cannot touch it myself, but you can!”

Elrohir takes the dripping package with a look of confusion, “What is this?”

“Open it.”  Maglor smiles kindly, though a shadow of sorrow shows in his eyes.

Turning the bundle in his hand, Elrohir carefully unwrapped it, while Legolas and Logan peer over his shoulder in curiosity.  As the linen fell away, it disintegrated and a brilliant light began to peek out. 

At last, Maglor’s gift is revealed.  “A silmaril,” Elrohir whispered in a breathy voice.

Lying beside it is a strand of golden hair bound in a clasp of silver, Maglor carefully picked it up and handed to Legolas, who took it with a look of reverence. 

“He left it behind when we left for Valinor…He left this on the shore!  How did you come to it?”  Legolas looked at Maglor in confusion.

“I was there, watching when you and Gimli Elf-friend sailed away.  I had a feeling you would need it again someday, if only to remind you of a friendship, both rare and strong.”

Maglor grinned, “Are you ready to set sail now?”

Taken aback, Elrohir spoke softly, “What about Elladan?”

“He is beyond our help now, do not worry; he will be well cared for until you can be together again.  I promise.”  Maglor placed a gentle hand on Elrohir’s shoulder.

Nodding, Legolas laid a hand over Elrohir’s, covering the silmaril.  The light continued to peek out between their fingers, so that it seemed they clutched a star between them.  “Let us go, Elrohir; we can do no more here.”

Maglor turned to Logan and spoke in English, “And you, Master Human, will you be journeying to Aman with us as well?”

“Well, ‘Dan was my friend, the first I’ve had in a long time.  I think I’ll go along, if only to get a chance to stop those jerks that had him killed.”  Logan smiles grimly, nodding to Elrohir and Legolas. 

“Wonderful, then let us go!”  Maglor repeats the sentence in Sindarin, then leads the way to the harbor where they can commandeer an appropriate vessel.