Elrohir followed the men at a careful distance, hoping to find out more of their plans.  Who were they?  Where were they from?  And most importantly, where were they heading? 

They made a great deal of noise as they rode through the wood, and seemed quite unafraid, talking in loud voices and laughing.  The horses’ harness jingled.    As he listened, he learned names – Danvor, Harman, Chadric – and more of their deeds.  Several of them bore the brand of an outcast across their faces.  They were easy to follow, and never once looked back.  Perhaps they were confident that no one would dare confront them – there were twelve of them, a number he would prefer not to tackle alone.  Had he been with Elladan …

His thoughts drifted yet again to his brother.  Where was he?   He knew Elladan was alive, but their bond felt oddly fuzzy, like a piece of thread that had been frayed at one end.  He could sense confusion and despair – why?  He concentrated on thoughts of love and reassurance.  “Do not fear, brother – I will find you.  All will be well.”

He wondered briefly if the outlaws had come across Elladan, alone and injured, but then dismissed the idea.  If that had happened, Elladan would be dead.  These men were killers, that was clear, and now two of them were describing with great relish what they had done to a young woman at the last homestead they had raided.  He listened, sickened by their boasts.  They were utterly ruthless, and would kill any who crossed their path.

Night had fallen as the gang of men left the shelter of the trees.  Ahead lay a wide empty meadow, and on the far side a small, single-storeyed farmhouse and a low barn.  The men rode openly across the meadow towards the farm, but Elrohir remained out of sight, staying beneath the eaves of the trees as he circled the edge of the meadow and drew nearer to the farm.

His mind ran furiously.  What could he do?  He would warn the occupants of the farmhouse of course, but what could a handful of farmfolk do against such ruthless raiders?  He could not count on them being able to fight.  No, he was alone against a dozen outlaws.

As the men began to circle the house, he raised his voice and shouted.  “People of the farm – look out!  You are under attack.  Beware!  Defend yourselves!  Look out!”  He paused, then repeated the message.  The outlaws had already surrounded the farm, and flaming torches flickered against the night sky.

As some of the raiders turned to face him, he rode forward, emerging from the shadow of the trees.   “Danvor!”  he shouted at the leader.   He fired an arrow to get the man’s attention.  It struck the pommel of the saddle, missing his leg by a mere inch.  “Danvor, hold – stop this madness!  Leave these people and go.”

Danvor paused, glancing down at the arrow in shock, but then kicked his horse forward.  Before the beast could move, another arrow struck the ground at the horse’s feet.  Danvor stared at him in blank amazement.  Then, as Elrohir moved further forward, several of the men burst into laughter.

“You are bold, for a man who is alone,”  Danvor remarked.  “Bold, but foolish.”

Elrohir cast back his hood, revealing his face and features.  “I am no man,”  he pointed out.

Another voice came from the darkness of the trees a few hundred yards away.  “And he is not alone.”

Startled, Elrohir flung a swift glance sideways.  “Glorfindel?”

Whether the man thought him distracted, or whether he thought the two warning shots meant Elrohir lacked the ruthlessness or determination to kill, he never knew.  Suddenly Danvor launched a swift attack, firing an arrow at him, and spurring his horse forward. 

Elrohir was already moving, and the arrow missed him by a wide margin.  He returned the fire, hitting Danvor in the chest.  Slowly the man toppled from his horse and lay motionless on the ground, two further arrows with the fletching of Imladris piercing his body.

The other outlaws scattered.  Some rode forward, determined to avenge their leader, others wheeled to renew their attack on the farm.  Some disappeared into the shelter of the trees, fleeing for their lives.

More elves appeared from the trees, silently pursuing the outlaws.  Glorfindel glanced over with a grin.  “Greetings, elfling.  You do seem to have a knack for finding trouble.”

o-o-o

In the farmhouse, the one they called Ohtar rummaged through drawers and cupboards, searching for anything they might use as a weapon.  He snapped instructions over his shoulder.  “Finn – barricade the doors, and close the shutters over the windows.  We do not want them to get in.  We can still see what is going on through the cracks.  Gareth – fill all the buckets and pails you can find.  Fill the bathtub as well.  They may try to burn us out.”

Gareth hurried past towards the pump when he stopped and stared.  “Who are you?”  he asked.  “You’re not a squire, that’s for sure!”

Elladan shrugged.  “Who am I?”  he echoed.  “I wish I knew.  But it seems that I know how to fight cowards like these!”

With a long kitchen knife in his hand, he returned to the window to watch, peering out through the shutter’s broken slats.  It was difficult to be certain, but there seemed to be at least twelve of them, a number he would prefer not to tackle alone.  Had he been with … 

He snatched at the thought.  There was something – someone – a name … hovering on the edge of his mind.  Who?  He groped further, knowing he was almost there, but the thought remained elusive, and the name slipped from his grasp again.  He sighed, shaking his head.  It had been so close this time!  Soon, perhaps, the memory would come again, and perhaps he would learn the name that remained hidden from him.

A voice shouted from outside, and Finn peered out anxiously.  “There’s someone else out there!”  he whispered.  “How many more of them are there?  What’s he saying?”

The voice shouted again, sounding oddly familiar.  Elladan smiled suddenly, and his heart leapt.  “It’s not one of the outlaws.  It is someone else, warning us that we are under attack – someone on our side!  Can you hear?”

Gareth shook his head, white-faced.  “Just shouting.  Are you sure?”  He joined Finn at the window, squinting through the narrow gap.  “They’re coming closer!”  He turned to Elladan.  “Ohtar, what are you doing?”

“There are only four of them now.”  Elladan heaved aside the cupboard Gareth and Finn had dragged in front of the door.  “Now, we fight!”  He flung the door open and ran outside, brandishing two long knives, a third thrust into his belt.  One of the dogs barked excitedly at his heels.  Without even thinking about his reaction he dropped and rolled as one of the outlaws shot an arrow at him, and threw one of the knives as he rose to his feet.  The man fell to the ground and did not move. 

A burning arrow streaked past him and struck the thatched roof.  Behind him, Finn gave a cry of dismay, then darted back into the house.  “Gareth!  Get those buckets, now!”

Leaving the brothers to tackle the fire, Elladan ran forward.  One of the attackers loomed in front of him, a rusty sword raised above his head.  Again acting on instinct, he stabbed, twisted the knife, and pulled it free.  The man was dead before he hit the ground.

 A third ran for the cover of the forest.   An arrow fired by one of the cloaked figures across the meadow dropped him in his tracks, and the remaining man looked at Elladan, glanced at his fallen companions, and threw down his weapons.  The three dogs surrounded him, snapping and snarling.  “All right!  All right!   I give up – just get these bloody dogs off me!”  He kicked out at the nearest dog, which darted away, circled round and ran in again, this time biting him.  The man gave a roar of pain, and Finn, who had now extinguished the fire, began to laugh.

“Good dog, Bracken!  Good girl!”

The brief battle was over.   Three men lay dead near the farm, and there were six dark, motionless bodies further off across the meadow.  The rest were either captured or had fled, and as Elladan watched, another man was dragged out of the forest, still struggling and protesting. 

Leaving their unlikely saviours to round up the rest of the outlaws, Elladan bent to tie up the man who had surrendered.   Some of the strangers approached, and Elladan looked up as he heard Gareth call.

“Ohtar!”

Strangely, he was addressing one of the newcomers.  Elladan returned his attention to his prisoner, only half listening.   “Ohtar?  Why do you call me that?  I am no squire.”  Elladan looked up again, a strange feeling coursing through him.  He knew that voice.

Gareth continued.  “We found a young man – injured – down by the river.  He had no name, so we called him Ohtar.  He could be your double!”

Elladan tied the last knot and tested it, then slowly stood up and walked across to join Gareth, a feeling of excitement growing in him.  As he drew near the stranger turned to look at him, and a shock of recognition ran through him.  It was like being drenched in icy water, washing away the fuzziness and confusion that had clouded his mind and memory since he had awoken to find himself with Gareth and Finn. 

“Elrohir!”  “Elladan!” 

They spoke as one, and Elrohir caught him in a bone-crushing embrace that took his breath.  He returned the hug, full of joy.  At last Elrohir released him a little so they could both breathe.  “Valar, El,”  Elrohir murmured.  “I thought I would never see you again!  Where have you been?”

Elladan gestured at the farmhouse, and at Gareth and Finn, who were staring at them in astonishment.  “Here,” he explained simply.  He turned to the brothers.  “Thank you.  Thank you for your care.  I am Elladan – and this is my brother!”

Gareth nodded, still open-mouthed.  “Aye.  I can see that,”  he managed at last.

The other elves who had battled the outlaws now approached, dragging the bodies of the slain and prodding two captives before them.  Elladan gaped at the sight of so many familiar faces – had the whole of Imladris turned out to search for him?    Elrond led them, and once again he was enveloped in a great hug.  “I am glad to see you safe, my son,”  Elrond said softly.  “Are you well?  What happened to you?”  He frowned over Elladan’s shoulder at Elrohir.  “I thought we had left you safe in Imladris!”  he pointed out.  “How do you come to be here?”

Elrohir shrugged, grinning broadly and quite unrepentant.  “I promised El I would come back.  And did you really expect me to abandon him?”

Elrond sighed and shook his head.  “No.  I should have realised – it was wrong of me to make you stay behind.”  He turned back to Elladan again, looking from him to the two brothers.  “What happened?”

Dawn had broken, and the sun was high in the sky by the time the explanations were over.   Elrond and Elrohir both examined the deep cut to Elladan’s head, and bombarded him with questions before finally agreeing that his memory was intact.

“And with luck, it will have knocked some sense into you!”  Elrohir joked, his relief obvious to all.

Elrond smiled.  “I cannot thank you enough for your care for my son,”  he told Gareth and Finn.  “If you had not found him, and those murderous rogues had come across him first … how can I repay you for his life?”

“We don’t want anything!”  Gareth exclaimed.   “We just – we just did what’s right.  That’s all.”

“We don’t want anything,”  Finn repeated stubbornly.

Elladan frowned.  There was something … when he had first regained consciousness, where his memory was still hazy … someone else                                                  had been there.  Yes …

“They called a healer to me,”  he remembered.  “And paid her with one of the lambs.”

Elrond regarded the two men, and smiled.  “I know you did what is right – and a great deal more – and you do not want payment.  But will you accept a token of my thanks and gratitude?  You saved the life of my son.”  He cast a glance at Elrohir.  “Both my sons, perhaps.  The house of Imladris will not forget that.  What can I do?”

Finn hesitated.  “Well … we could do with a new door to the barn.  It got blown off its hinges last winter, and it’s not been the same since!”

Elrond nodded.  “A new door.  Of course.  What else?”

“The thatch needs repairing – Danvor and his men set fire to it in an attempt to burn us out,”  Elladan added.

“A new door and rethatching?  It seems a very small price to pay.”

Gareth glanced at his brother.  “Well – if you’re sure you mean it –  what we really need’s another dog, to help us round up the sheep, and keep off wolves and the like …”

“A dog?”  Elrond raised his eyebrow.  “Elrohir?” 

Elrohir grinned.  “One of the stable dogs had a litter two months ago.  The pups will be ready to leave in a week or so – I think they will make excellent sheep dogs!”

Gareth nodded with delight.  “Thank you!  And my lord – Elrond …”  He gestured towards the barn, where the three captives were under guard.  “What’s to become of them?”

“They will be escorted to the nearest town and handed over for trial there.  The others are dead, so folk in these parts are safe now.”

Gareth nodded.  “Aye.  Thanks to you – and your sons.  We’ll not forget your help and generosity.”

Elrond shook his head.  “I told you – it is I who should thank you.  And now – it is time for us to return home.   Some of my warriors will take the three outlaws to Runenost, and other will stay here to help you with the repairs.  The rest of us …”  he glanced at Glorfindel, Erestor, and his sons – “will go home.”

Home.  From being a homeless, nameless stray, Elladan now had a home, a name, and a family.  He knew he would always remember Ohtar, and the kindly men who had taken an injured stranger in, but he longed to see the valley again.  He pictured the rainbows dancing in the mist of the waterfalls, the tranquil house with the setting sun turning the windows to fire – and Celebrían, waiting at the top of the steps, her arms outstretched in welcome.

“Yes.  Let’s go home,”  he agreed.

The End