Disclaimer:  This story is non-profit and written for purely entertainment purposes.  All recognized characters and places are property of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema.  I own nothing but my name.

Oh WOW!  Thank you for the amazing reviews!!!  Please check the bottom of the page if you sent one.  :)

A/N: I think I managed to get most of this written before the all the sinus medication kicked in (is it legal to give a person three prescriptions???). Of fuzzy mindset and hey, it kind of feels like I’m floating.

I’m playing around with the style of this story, so it may seem dark at one moment and lighter at the next.  Yes, the meeting of Aragorn and Halbarad is direct text from ‘marinus stiria.’  It was the little side-plot that started it all…  

In which I ponder the word “company”:

 ‘…it chanced that [Aragorn] returned to Rivendell after great deeds in the company of the sons of Elrond…’  --Tolkien, J.R.R.  ‘The Lord of the Rings:  The Return of the King,’  Appendix A, (v), The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen.  Ballantine Books 2001 edition.

Company as in companionship, or company as in small army?  And who in their right mind would give the sons of Elrond a small army?  (I blame this on Celeborn, sneaky little Sindar lord.  By way of Galadriel.)

And last:  Why Does Glorfindel Put Bells On the Reins of His Horse?  Perhaps the orcs start to drool when they hear ringing, `a la Pavlov’s dogs…

************************************************************************

~ Chapter 2:  Company ~

*****************************

The parting from Aragorn was no less bittersweet for Elladan and Elrohir.  The two returned to their own camp the following noon, somber-faced and low in spirit.  It was an unassuming site, nestled safely within the confines of a wind-swept thicket.  Stretches of rolling field and copse lay before them, and a jagged stream tumbled cheerfully at their backs.

“Ai,” remarked Imdir, the company’s captain, “you two shall wilt the grass with such stricken looks.”

 Elrohir sighed heavily as he dismounted his grey steed.  Their party numbered seven—six, now that Aragorn was gone.  The group seemed extraordinarily tiny without the young man’s presence, though the company of the sons of Elrond had always been small in number. 

Elrohir’s bright grey eyes traveled over the warriors, each face as familiar to him as his own.  ‘Imdir, Nanalor, Orofim, Belethil, Elladan, and myself.’  They had ridden together for countless years—since that first frantic chase after Celebrían’s captors and the twins’ ensuing retribution. 

They did not deceive themselves.  Their journeys were fueled by vengeance and rage.  Each had been wounded by the Enemy in some manner, and now they rode in defiance of the Shadow, seeking to wreck if only a small bit of their own pain and suffering.

Lord Elrond’s apparent complacency moved Elladan and Elrohir to perhaps even greater retaliation. The twins took personal offence to his habit of reaction as opposed to action.  “You do nothing!” Elrohir once accused him in a moment of heated tempers.  And perhaps the words rang true.

Elrond, gifted with foresight and already having witnessed much bloodshed, had made no attempt to stop his sons when they first gathered the revenge-bent company.  The Elf lord’s displeasure was apparent, but he spoke naught of it.  His silence, in turn, provoked the twins even further.  Often were their deeds of a rash and questionable nature. 

Aragorn’s father was victim of this carelessness.*  He had not been the first, nor was he the last.

“I liked them not.”  Elladan swung off his horse with inherent grace.  “The Dúnedain were not as I remember.”

Elrohir nodded.  “More brutish, they seemed.”

“And weary,” Elladan added.  “Weary and without hope.”

“Then it is good you have given them Hope,” called Nanalor, one of three Elves seated in a semi-circle.  He glanced up from the blade he was whetting.  “It would seem they need him more so than we.”

Elladan gratefully accepted a flask of sweetened water from Imdir.  “Perhaps,” he replied to the dark-haired warrior, “but I worry nonetheless.  I would not see Estel’s spirit diminished by their dour mannerisms.”

Nanalor gingerly tested the blade on his fingertip, smiling in satisfaction as he found its sharpness to his liking.    “Worry not for Estel.  He is neither fragile nor inexperienced.”

“There is truth to your words,” Elladan smiled briefly at some battle memory, “yet I find little comfort in them.”

“He chose to join the Dúnedain,” said Imdir.

Elladan grimaced, and did not miss Elrohir’s barely perceptible flinch.  Aragorn’s reasons for entering the wild were still a delicate subject.  Although Elrond had outright informed the young man he was in no way fit to marry Arwen, the sons of Elrond remained tight-lipped on the matter.  In truth, Elladan was not sure what their exact thoughts were.  They were understandably distraught, yet held fierce love for both sister and foster-brother.  Some things, Elladan reasoned, were best left alone.  

“Am I to believe you found nothing of great importance during our absence?” Elrohir asked, wishing to divert the conversation down pleasanter paths.  Blood and body counts were much more preferable to matters of the heart.

Imdir glanced at Orofim and Belethil, indicating the two brothers should report their finds.

“It is difficult to track the Enemy in these lands,” said Orofim, the more talkative of the two (though both did not favor speaking to any great length).  “The land seems to aid dark creatures…  Belethil and I find it strange.”      

The Wilderlands were oft said to be a strange and cruel domain: the forests more dark, the rivers more cunning, and the natives more terrible and fell.  And while perhaps this was so, the land’s ruthless beauty was not lost to Elladan and Elrohir.  There was something pleasing in its raw nature; some strange gratification found amongst the wild free-for-all.  Any self-respecting Noldor might call such attractions vulgar.  But the minute flow of Sindar blood within the sons of Elrond relished such lures, and the twins were without shame.  

“The land aids those that know its secrets,” responded Elrohir, exchanging wordless glance with Elladan.  “Have the Enemy appeared greater in number?”

Orofim, ever a careful warrior, pursed his lips.  “Again, it is difficult to tell in these lands.”

“I think,” interrupted Nanalor, “our enemies have been more active as of late.”

Elladan’s grey eyes sharpened.  He was about to question Nanalor when he felt Elrohir tense at his side.  He immediately turned to his brother.

“A rider approaches,” said Elrohir.  He narrowed his eyes, listening intently while the others instinctively reached for their weapons.  One slender eyebrow shot up in perplexity.  “It is an Elvish mount,” he announced in surprise.

The company loosened their weapons and drew back into the thicket.  All Elves were kin, but the Morquendi inhabiting the Wilderlands tended to be suspicious and easily provoked.  It was best to leave them be.     

They did not have long to wait, for soon a horse and rider accompanied the approaching drum of hoof beats. 

Elrohir’s smooth brow furrowed as the rider drew near.  “Elladan, that cannot be—”

“But it is!”  The elder twin could scarcely contain his disbelief.  “For my eyes see the same.”  He quickly left the thicket’s tangle and stood in the clearing, one slender hand raised in greeting.  The rider lifted a hand in turn.

“My Lord Glorfindel.”  Elladan’s words came out in a tone of utter bewilderment.  Upon finding himself staring at the other, he gathered himself and bowed to the golden-haired Elf lord.  The rest of the party followed suit.  None could recall the Imladris captain setting foot beyond Imladris’ borders in at least two hundred years.  His sudden appearance was shocking, to say the least.  “A star shines on the hour of our meeting.  What brings you to these lands?” 

The Captain of Imladris politely inclined his head in return, though did not dismount.  His ageless face, which normally bore a calm smile, appeared unusually grave.  “I bear only ill news, I am afraid.”  His mount stamped impatiently, and Elladan’s ears caught the distinct jingle of bells.

Elrohir arched an eyebrow in curiosity.  “My Lord, there are bells upon your reins.”

Glorfindel paused and blinked.  “Ah, yes.  My travels took me through Mirkwood.”  The golden-haired Elf grimaced.  “I was forewarned Thranduil’s kin have habit of shooting first, and then pondering the sagacity of their actions.”

“And what of those not of Thranduil’s kin?”

Peril gleamed in Glorfindel’s ancient eyes.  “If fell creatures are foolish enough to cross my path…”  The golden-haired captain shrugged gracefully.  “Who am I to deny them swift death?”

Elrohir’s second eyebrow rose to join the first.  He had not seen Glorfindel in action since the fall of Dol Guldur—and that had been he and Elladan’s very first battle.  It had also been the only time he had ever seen his father lift a blade.  For some reason it was very easy to forget Glorfindel was a fierce and battle-hardened warrior.  ‘And yet,’ thought Elrohir, ‘seeing him armed and atop a steed is strangely fitting as well.’

“I was not aware Thranduil’s realm still existed,” said Elladan, returning the conversation to more important matters.  “I thought perhaps they had all journeyed West, as there has been no word from our Wood-Elf kindred in years.”

“Nay, they remain still, but are pushed to further corners of Mirkwood.”  Unfamiliar lines of tension furrowed Glorfindel’s brow and the corners of his mouth.  “Dol Guldur breeds foulness yet again—it is occupied by three of the Nazgûl.”

All motioned ceased at his words.  A sickening silence blanketed the small encampment.

“Your father bids me tell you of these tidings,” Glorfindel continued, his face growing more shadowed, “and I have seen much with mine own eyes.  Sauron has openly declared himself.  Mordor crawls with fell beasts, and Barad-dûr stands once more.”

Choked murmurs of disbelief rippled through the thicket.  “How can this be?” cried Elladan.  “How did the Wise remain blind to its coming?”

“Barad-dûr could not have been rebuilt in a day,” added Elrohir, fists clenched in distress.

Glorfindel sighed wearily.  “The wise cannot see all.  Well do you know this.  Your father’s attention has been drawn elsewhere as of late, and even Saruman the White was misled.”  He shook his head as both twins’ mouths opened in protest.  “I leave the matter at that.  But come, I was charged to summon you to Imladris.  Our time grows short; we must make haste.” 

“But what of Estel?” asked Elrohir.  “We will not abandon him.”

Elladan glowered at Glorfindel in agreement.

“Aragorn,” Glorfindel pointedly replied, “now walks his own path.  You are not to interfere.”  

*          *            *

“What are you doing?”

Aragorn spun around and flushed, embarrassed at having been caught dancing.  He was supposed to be adjusting Foliar’s tack; the Rangers’ journey would be a long one this day.  But the morning sun had been so pleasant and the birdsong so sweet…  What started as humming the simple tune Elladan taught him grew into full-blown choreography.

Shamefaced, Aragorn went back to tightening the saddle strap.  “It was nothing,” he quietly replied, glancing at the tousle-haired Ranger before him.  Noting the other’s cocky stance and youthful face, which lacked the dark glower and tense lines of veteran Rangers, Aragorn decided they were of similar ages.

The young man nonchalantly pushed aside his steed’s head as the horse nudged him.  “Did the Elves teach you that?”

Aragorn nodded stiffly.  He was unused to residing solely in the company of Men, and a scant two days in the Dúnedain camp had done nothing to quell his discomfort.  Men lacked the elegance and soft-spoken ways of the Elder.  Their voices were harsher, their movements less controlled, and their emotions more jagged and raw.  Loud, scruffy, and brutish they seemed. 

Aragorn wondered if his kin—‘Nay,’ he corrected himself, ‘the Elves’—saw him in a similar manner.

“Did they teach you to stare like that as well?”

Aragorn blinked.  “I beg your pardon?”

“If your gaze turns any more severe, I fear you shall burn holes into my head.”

Aragorn placed one hand over his heart and bowed.  “I apologize, Master Ranger.  It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

The young man’s lips curled into an amused smirk.  “And polite, too!”  He absently ran a hand through his dark and tousled hair.  “If I had but half the manners you possess, my mother would be reduced to tears.”

Aragorn frowned.  “You would rather I be rude?”

The other peered over the shoulder of his mount and blinked.  “I did not say that.”

“But you implied such a wish.”

“Did I?”

Aragorn nodded.

“That was not my intention,” replied the young Ranger.  “And that is well, for I do not think you would be any good at it.”  He shook his head in exasperation.  “You have an odd way of manipulating the words of others.”

Aragorn stiffened.  “I do not seek to manipulate others.”

“See!  You are doing it again.”

“You are mistaken.  If I truly sought to—“

The young Ranger crossed his arms over his chest and snorted.  “Poor soul.  You argue like an Elf.  What did they do to you?”

Aragorn paused, wondering if he ought to take offense to the remark.  Men were sometimes so blunt it was painful—this Man in particular.  And how did this one know of his association with Elves?  “You speak of the Elves,” Aragorn began, approaching the topic of his upbringing with caution.

“Indeed I do.”  The Ranger moved to help Aragorn tie his bedroll to the back Foliar’s saddle.  He craned his neck over the horse’s back, a mischievous light in his grey eyes.  Aragorn was vaguely alarmed.  Such looks never played out to his favor when Elladan and Elrohir were involved.

“I know who you are,” the Ranger whispered furtively.  “Aragorn son of Arathorn—Heir of Isildur!”

Aragorn drew in a sharp breath and snapped upright to glare at the man.  His hand instinctively went to his sword.  “How do you know of my name?  I have told no one but the chief of our order.”  Was this Ranger a spy?

The tousle-haired Ranger took several steps backward, somewhat alarmed by Aragorn’s reaction.  He held up his hands in submission.  “Calm yourself!  I spoke of it to no one, nor is it my intention to do so.”  The self-assured smirk Aragorn had begun to associate with the man again flickered over his face.  “I passed by old Guttarion’s tent the night you and the Elves arrived.”  He winked cheekily.  “And I happen to have very good ears, you know.”

“Do you?”  Aragorn shook his head in exasperation, smiling in spite of himself.  He was not sure which left him more amusingly perplexed:  the fact the young man referred to the Dúnedain chief as “old Guttarion,” or that he openly admitted to eavesdropping.  Aragorn could very well grow to like him. 

The Ranger grinned and stuck out his hand.  “Halbarad.”

Aragorn, upon remembering the customary warriors’ greeting among Men, grasped the other’s forearm.  “Well met, Halbarad.”

Halbarad clapped him on the back in delight.  “Come, I smell breakfast sausage.”  He sniffed the morning air appreciatively.  “If I am not mistaken, Malthus will be calling us to eat in a moment or two.”

As if on cue, a gruff shout to join the morning meal echoed throughout the glen.  Halbarad turned to Aragorn, mouth quirking as though to say, “See, I told you so.”

Trained to obey commands the moment they were received, Aragorn immediately turned towards the Dúnedain camp.

“O for love of the Valar!”

Aragorn stopped abruptly and glanced over his shoulder at Halbarad’s oath.

“Aragorn, you must not walk in that manner.”

The Heir of Isildur turned, brow furrowing in confusion.  “What is wrong with the way I walk?  I have always walked as thus.”

Halbarad washed a hand over his face and groaned.  “You shall need some work.”  He shook his head and pulled a face.  “Elves may be able to walk in that manner, but Rangers, my friend, do not prance.”

“I do not prance.”

Halbarad snorted.  “If you say so.  Come along, Strider.  I do not wish to miss breakfast.”

“I do NOT prance!”

********************************************************************

*Aragorn's father took an arrow to the throat while riding in the company of Elrohir and Elladan.  I don't doubt the twins feel some guilt over that.  Maybe that's how Aragorn ended up in Rivendell in the first place.  (Oh look, there goes a plot bunny...) ;)

*E2's first battle: "Third Age 2063:  Gandalf goes to Dol Guldur.  Sauron retreats and hides in the East.  The Watchful Peace begins..."  Tolkien, J.R.R.  The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.  Appendix B: 'The Tale of Years (Chronology of the Westlands).'  pg 406.  Ballantine Books, 2001 edition.

--There is no specific mention of a battle taking place.  However, I'm willing to bet Gandalf didn't just meander up to the front gates and go, "BOO."

*     *     *

THANK YOU

fliewatuet-  You're an Aragorn fangirl?  Really?  Oh well he'll get plenty of stage time in this story.  :)   *lol*  I was thinking of the old tan-colored tents they used to throw us in at Girl Scouts camp.  They always seemed musty and damp.  It's great to hear from you again!  Thank you for the review!!!  :)

Elemmire-  Ummm, well, there will be a little humor, too...  But all in good fun.  Halbarad can be a real trouble-maker, you know.  ;)  Thank you for the review!

Miriel-  *lol*  I was told I wasn't allowed to start a new story, but this one just wouldn't go away.  And it's not going to be horribly long, so I decided I might as well write it.  Hmm, yes, Halbarad and the dress...  ;)  Thank you for the review!!

daw the minstrel-  This one has been bugging me for a while, so I finally gave into it (and it's not going to be that long).  Thank you for the review! :)

Miss Aranel-  I warn you in advance--I'm a notoriously slow updater (all the other stories were completed when I posted them).  Once a week is near-record pace for me.  *lol*  Thank you for the review! :)

Sphinx-  *lol*  Oh I like the "How do you do?"  The poor Ranger would probably be so surprised he'd faint.  Maybe Aragorn can teach them all some manners... ("Now hold your pinky up, and sip... You there!  I said SIP!")  Thank you for the review!!!  :)

*********************************************************************************