Here it is!! We thank you all so much for you patience. :D

______________________________________________________________________________

Darkest Night

Authors:

Two of the 'Write' Sisters:

Sarah (the bookish, plausibility-mad realist)

and Hannah (Siri) (the crazy, starry-eyed visionary)

E-mail: [email protected]

Rating: PG-13 for angst, character-torture, battle violence, and tense situations

Note: THIS IS UTTERLY NON-SLASH!!! *ahem*

Timeframe: Year 2956 of the third age — the year following our first fic Death or Despair — Aragorn is 27.

Spoilers: None that we can think of…

Background: Oddly enough (because our combined collection of stories couldn't possibly have ALL happened to Aragorn and Legolas) much of the background for our fics are based on Cassia and Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles. You can read their stories under Cassia's name here on ff.net, or else on their site: www.aragorn-legolas.5u.com (Note: If that link didn't show up, then see Cassia's bio here on fanfiction.net)

Background (Tolkien): We're going to take a cue off Cassia and Sio and tell you: if you want to know our take on the whole Elladan/Elrohir/Elrond/Aragorn thing and the whole Aragorn/Legolas thing, as it is portrayed (or not portrayed) in the books and movies, please see our other fics.

Boring Disclaimer: All recognizable characters (but two) and places in this fic do not belong to us, but are rather the creation of one of the most incredible authors of all time: J.R.R. Tolkien. Moranuen and Celboril are the property of Cassia and Sio, used with permission. All other characters and places are ours. We have no permission to use Tolkien's characters and places, but are not being paid for our work either. : )

Feedback: We welcome your opinions, one and all, and the more the better! A couple of notes though: please no swearing (for any reason), and no flaming. Also, literary critiquing is welcome (grammar, etc.) and we will be sure to take note of it for the future, but just so you know: it is unlikely we will be re-editing this story as we post. Thanks! : )

Summary: Joint fic by Sarah and Hannah(Siri): The Dúnedain, with Aragorn at their head, have long protected the north and their old realm of Arnor. Now a new shadow is looming — the work of an evil king long ago — and with his best friend Legolas at his side, Aragorn must defeat it as well.

In Honor Of: w for encouraging us not to grow lazy but instead keep improving our writing. We appreciated the criticism as well as the praise and hope we have at the very least not backslidden from our previous work (maybe improved a little…? hm. that seems a little too much to hope for.). Thank you for reading! :)

and

Lina, RainyDayz, Maranwe, Mercredi, sabercrazy, reginabean, phoenixqueen, Asen, Anarril, Gwyn, None, Saige, crazy/evil, Larus, Staran, Mouse, Belothien and all the other regular reviewers of Thorongil! Your feedback made our day and prompted us to write more! :D

and

Chloe, not because you're especially clever (though now that we think on it, you are), not because you're especially amusing (even if you constantly keep us in stitches *glares at little blue alien* no we didn't mean you!), and certainly not because you're a complete nut (aside from the fact that you're really certifiable), but rather because we are attempting to butter you up so that you'll write more for us to read. That's all. ;D

Text: //thoughts//, *italics*

Prologue

Lightening clawed the sky: many tongued, violent and edged with blue. A second crash and the reaching fingers spread net-like across the night sky, leaving their image burned in upon the retinas of those who watched from a distance.

The third volley reached in through the window of a dark room, throwing into harsh relief the angles of the jet-colored stone. The light receded and with it all shape, for the room was utterly black from vaulted ceiling to carved walls to shining floor. It was a strange building material, and though cold as death, there was a smell that clung to it as if it were living. A strange, cloying sense of decay. The room seemed to close in upon itself until another prying flash seared through the air as through a physical barrier and again thrust back the thick darkness. A table was there, also of stone, and shallow alcoves in the walls, and though one wall was smooth as a glacier, the opposite one held a door. These things appeared for but an instant, and then vanished as suddenly and stood unmoving in the cacophonous roll of thunder that followed.

A splintered heartbeat before they disappeared, however, the door moved. In the returned darkness the groan of stone against stone could be heard as the door was thrust painfully open.

Outside the unnatural storm continued its battle with and against itself, thrashing like a tormented bird of prey. Lightening, inexplicable and bringing no heat in its wild surge, tore again and again at the sky, bringing with it clouds of endless black that blotted out the stars like a blindfold for all of Middle Earth. Yet these clouds gave no rain. Against the raging darkness, a still darker splinter stood out like a clean cut: a tower, built half into the side of a high, lone crag; the details of its design hidden from view, but its midnight sides glimmering with reflected lightening.

Feet now entered, heavy, but not enough to vibrate the formidable black stones on which they trod. The tower room swallowed both breath and sound, pulling into itself in hideous greed — drawing life into its lifelessness. There were two figures now within its walls and though one seemed to hesitate, the other did not. Purposeful strides crossed the dark chamber, flinching neither at the crackle of the lightening, nor at the heavy clamor of the thunder. Erect the figure seemed in the dim after-light of the flare and as dark even as the room itself. There was a whispering sound of fingers probing along the face of the smooth face of the far wall, seeking with an insect-like dexterity for… something.

The second figure seemed to gather strength from his companion and moved to the alcoves, his own hands groping with more firmness than delicacy, searching out the far recesses of the shallow spaces. The hunt continued and no word was spoken for a long time between them.

There was the echo of a tree falling full length from the raging winds, but it was distant. Those trees that remained in the wasteland about the tower clung tenaciously to the soil with the unearthly grip of death.

A voice came from the direction of the furthest alcove, hoarse from long silence: "It is not here."

"It is here," his companion responded, the words careful and measured. The lithe fingers whispered along a moment longer before resting at last on the one rough place in the whole of the icy wall. There was an exhale of satisfaction as the fingertips pressed in, imprinting the engraved emblem on themselves. Nothing changed. Keeping a hand upon the place so as not to loose it in the dark, the figure hissed, "Search the floor."

A long pause ensued, punctuated only by the ripping of the storm and the occasional scraping sound of the second intruder searching about on hands and knees. At last there was a soft sound of triumph, quickly deadened by thunder.

"Bring it here," the tall figure ordered imperiously.

"But what of the book?"

"What of it?"

"It is not here! We need—"

"We need nothing. Nothing but what you hold in your hand. Now bring it here."

Hesitant footsteps crossed the room and as they passed in front of the window the lightening revealed for an instant the frowning features of a dark haired young man with granite-gray eyes; his fist was clenched about something. Then darkness swallow him whole and the sounds of two hands meeting in the dark were barely heard as he passed on what he had found.

A chanting came from the tall figure and filled the chamber — a repetition of a phrase in a strange language. Through the roiling clouds there broke for an instant a ghostly beam of moonlight, striking the side of the tower and piercing in through the window of the black room, bathing it in a blue glow. There was an echoing and reechoing of thunder, like the smashing of rock upon rock, and the fingers pressed once more in upon the round seal.

Down the center of the smooth wall a black line appeared and shone about the edges with blue light that matched the moon, curving into strange runes and ugly symbols. Then something like smoke began to creep forth, snaking through the crack and taking hold of the edges like ghastly hands. Still more blackness leaked through and began to fill the chamber, blotting out the runes and moving on, chasing the moonlight back to its source and closing the rift in the clouds once more.

The thunder seemed suddenly muted as the two halves of the wall eased still further apart and the young man unconsciously pressed himself against the door that had led him in.

His companion moved not an inch, but stood, straight as an arrow, and lifted a hand as if in greeting.

Chapter 1

The Sunless Woods

Silence lay over the trees. A breeze rustled and there was a hesitant whisper amongst the leaves, but it was swiftly stilled. The night air was as chill as the overcast day had been, and neither stars nor moon could be seen in the heavy canopy above. There was no sound of owls on the hunt; no sound of wolves in the hills; no sound of insects. And there ought to have been.

An almost inaudible crunch sounded in the dead leaves that carpeted the forest floor and the trees seemed to hang even closer together. Strange things had been traveling the wood of late. A crouching man slid into view, his sword held skillfully at the ready with a tense furtiveness that suggested he was being stalked. The breath that fogged from beneath his hood was controlled, but rough with weariness, and his head turned from side to side in an attempt to keep all things in view. Blood traced a crimson line down his leg, but he paid it no heed. The trees might almost have relaxed — rangers were common and meant them no harm.

A change in the air was the only warning Aragorn had. A scream, high in pitch and ear-shattering, sounded from immediately behind him and a heavy weight piled down upon his shoulders — a weight with glistening claws. With a reflexive cry, the ranger dropped to the ground and twisted, getting his sword up again and stabbing towards where his attacker seemed to be. Above him there hung like a thick blackness the body of the creature: lithe and pulsing like smoke, yet next to impossible to see in the darkness.

Again the ranger stabbed, and there came another scream as the beast tried to roll its prey over and break the struggling man's neck. Aragorn recognized its intentions and tried to wrench himself free of its painful grip, but the muscles of the creature seemed strong as triple-forged steel and its steady pursuit almost unearthly. Why, Aragorn wondered, had it singled him out so quickly? Swinging his sword instead to the side, he nicked the beast's front leg at the joint and caught for a splintered moment a nauseating smell that was nothing like the blood of wargs or even trolls. The claw suddenly released its grip on his arm and he seized his chance of escape. Throwing his whole weight to the side, he tore his other arm free and rolled back onto his feet, slicing his sword forward to meet the angered creature's next attack. It came at an unexpected angle: whistling towards his face. Jerking his blade up in response to the sound, he felt a shiver run up his arms as the sword connected with the incoming danger and turned it aside, causing it to miss him completely. It was too long to have been one of the beast's legs, but the glitter of claws confused him and he wished again that he could see more clearly. Oh, for a sight of the moon!

A scream even more terrible than before made his whole body tingle and the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened as he placed his back against an oak and lifted his sword to en garde position. There was a rushing, all the more terrifying for its cat-like silence, and Aragorn braced himself for the claws at his throat once again — but they didn't come. The creature seemed to rear in mid-charge and suddenly Aragorn felt a crushing against his whole body. The world seemed to tilt beneath him and he felt his body scraped away from the tree as he fell once more towards the ground, but there was no fear any longer of a broken neck. He was crushed — pinioned against the earth by the full weight of whatever had attacked him — his sword arm trapped — his chest unable to expand — his face smothered in fur. Distantly he recognized the stench of death in the beast's coat as his lungs began to cry out for air. Unwilling to give up, the ranger struggled against the deadly weight and felt the creature shift to keep him down. White spots flashed inside his eyelids as his head began to spin; his movements became weaker.

Suddenly the creature rolled free of him. For a moment he lay gasping, thinking of nothing but breathing, and then felt again the heavy forefeet of the beast on his chest. This time he had no strength to strike back. A bark of triumph echoed through the night air as again there glittered above him the strange claw that was aimed for his head. And then a second cry sang through the wood — fair and high, yet terrible. A light seemed to appear amidst the heaviness of the night and then it split into two figures, glittering with the fire of Elbereth herself as they approached. The creature froze in the midst of its victory, distracted for a few precious seconds. With the last remnants of his strength, Aragorn again twisted to the side and felt the beast's grip loosen almost unconsciously as he pulled away. Using his elbows to ease himself clear, he sank once more to the earth, closed his eyes, and tried desperately to regain his breath as behind him the sounds of battle began to shred the air.

Again and again the creature screamed, charging forward and rearing away from its attackers as they called warnings to each other in their own tongue, moving faster than eyes could follow and filling the hollow with their light. Yet still the creature seemed cloaked with shadow, its appearance difficult to distinguish, and even as it retreated from its original prey it moved as if completely uninjured. At last with a final volley of arrows the beast turned away and sprinted through the trees, its cry searing the leaves as it passed. As if from a great distance, there was a faint echo as of a cock crowing on some peaceful farm far from danger. Dawn was approaching.

Aragorn shakily pushed himself to a half-sitting position and leaned against the base of a tree, his eyes still closed. There was the feeling of approaching footsteps, though these too were silent as the creature's had been. A faint glow seemed to shimmer through his eyelids as he smiled faintly. "There you are."

A sigh of relief, which could have been a snort, came from one of his rescuers and the other retorted, "There *you* are! Run off like that again, Estel, and we won't be able to find your remains; have you taken leave of your senses?"

The ranger smiled ruefully again, "A long time ago, yes."

"This is serious, Estel. We know you to be a capable fighter, but…"

Aragorn opened his eyes and met Elladan's worried gaze. "Not everything we've ever fought has been orc or wolf, you know. Unheard of things of stalked these woods before," he said.

"Yes, but none have ever been like this either." The elder twin was crouched easily on his toes, his skin glowing in the darkness and a fire still lingering in his eyes from the elven wrath of a moment before. Elrohir was standing a bit behind him, almost a mirror image in both face and expression. Their dark hair was gathered carefully out of their way, revealing easily the points on their ears.

"Which is why I have you both to keep me from harm," Aragorn teased wryly, trying to lighten his brothers mood and calm his own beating heart. He knew how close he'd come to death a moment before and imagined his brothers knew as well. "Where were you both?"

The twins exchanged glances and there was silence for a moment before Elrohir replied soberly, "Fighting the second one."

The ranger sat upright suddenly, his blue eyes startled, "There is a second one?"

"No, there are two more at least," Elladan admitted, and reached out quickly to support his brother as Aragorn now struggled to his feet again. "Idhrin and Bartho came upon one unawares when they responded to your warning call. They left it alone for fear they would be unable to come and aid us if they stopped to engage it. It did not seem to note their passing."

"Three," Aragorn murmured, his face pale as he exhaled slowly. "What is happening?"

"Nothing that we've ever seen," Elrohir shook his head. "And whatever it is, it went after you."

The ranger wiped his sword clean, ignoring Elladan's subtle gestures that he should sit again. "It went after Erynbenn; I merely lured it off."

"No, Estel, you cut your leg and it went after *you*; Halbarad saw it happen."

"Most animals respond to blood," Aragorn reminded, starting off through the silent trees with his brothers flanking him.

"Erynbenn was bleeding before you were," Elrohir insisted. "And these are no ordinary animals we are fighting. We must be more cautious than we have been, else they will succeed in getting past us."

There was the sound of running feet approaching and a moment later three men, dark haired and clothed in similar garb to Aragorn, appeared out of the night, their weapons at hand.

"Peace, the creature has fled!" Aragorn said quickly, raising his hand to forestall their rush.

Halbarad — who had been slightly ahead of the other two — exhaled in relief, unaffected by his run. His dark eyes inspected Aragorn briefly before he relaxed his hold on his bow, but though reassured that his chief was on his feet he did not put his weapons away just yet. "Good. We may rest for a little longer, then."

"Rest?" Bartho asked in grim astonishment. "Perhaps. When fell things no longer roam the north at will."

"'Tis truth," Halbarad conceded calmly.

The third Dúnadan, who had been farthest to the rear, now approached — his light and easy footsteps belying the age that showed through his gray hair. "Are you injured, Aragorn?"

"No, Idhrin," Aragorn responded promptly, "or in no fashion that a little rest will not cure. My brothers have ever been dependable when I have found myself cornered."

"So long as you take a moment to warn us before you pursue danger single-handedly," Elladan muttered.

"Or allow *it* to pursue *you*," Elrohir added, also under his breath.

"Where is Erynbenn?" Aragorn asked, ignoring the twins.

Bartho tilted his head back over his shoulder, "His leg was no good for running or fighting so I sent him up a tree."

"Good," Aragorn said, accepting the cryptic comment.

Carefully the small patrol wended its way back through the wood, ever alert for more danger, though they doubted any would come with morning approaching. Occasionally another dark figure, green clad and blending almost invisibly with the undergrowth, would join the party and at last they reached a small clearing that was an oft-used camping site of theirs. The thirty-odd men set about silently laying down their bedrolls, with the exception of Aragorn and his companions. Following Bartho a few paces to the north of the camp, they looked up into the thickly covered branches of a pine tree. A young man was perched there like a wounded sparrow, his face still possessing the slight roundness of youth, but pale with pain.

"It is time to come down," Bartho called gruffly. "Can you find your way?"

The man nodded, understanding that he was being offered help if his injured leg was too stiff to hold him. Using arms already strong from many days practice with his bow, the young Dúnadan eased himself back to the ground, catching quickly at the hands that waited to steady him. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Aragorn still whole, but it turned into a barely concealed groan as he tried to step forward.

"Easy, Erynbenn," Aragorn murmured, helping the young man into the camp and seating him beside a tree with his leg stretched out in front of him. "That is no small gash you have there and it would be unwise to press it."

With Elladan helping him Aragorn made swift work of bandaging the leg; Erynbenn remaining stoically silent throughout the whole ordeal. He had been thrown by the creature against a fallen tree, with one of its many broken branches impaling his leg as he landed. Cleaning away the dirt and splinters was a painful but necessary process and it left him almost as white as a wraith.

Elrohir handed water around and for a time they were all silently immersed in their thoughts.

Finally Aragorn asked, "What of the other two creatures?"

Halbarad shrugged fractionally, shaking his head, "The one we fought seems to have departed as quickly as it came; just as has happened for the past two weeks. We came to find you as soon we were sure it was away."

"Yes, but fled or no: before there has only ever been one," Aragorn pointed out. He paused again and seemed to be considering something, then finally he turned to the twins and asked, "When were the beasts first sighted?"

Elladan stared thoughtfully ahead, searching his memory, then said, "We saw one the night immediately following that lightening storm. That is rather odd, isn't it?"

Elrohir was now frowning as well, and in a moment he murmured, "It is. For I have seen a storm like that before…"

His twin glanced sidelong at him and said, "It did seem familiar somehow, but we've seen many storms."

Aragorn shook his head, remembering a terrifying clash of the elements and the cold night his patrol had spent in a shallow cave. "I would hope you had not seen many like that before."

But the twins could recall nothing more of what had shaken their memory.

"Is there no way to slay these things?" Idhrin asked softly from a little ways away, his lined face heavy with weariness if not inclined to defeat.

"How can we slay what is not flesh?" another of the Dúnedain demanded, his voice pitched high with fear and frustration. "Night after night we have fought, and still not one have we managed to fell! We cannot keep on forever."

"We do not know that these things are not flesh," Aragorn reminded him. "Several times we have wounded them, and I have upon my cloak foul blood not my own. They have claws, we know, and their bodies are fur-covered and quick, but such are the wargs in many respects and we slay them by tens and twenties."

"But they are not wargs," Bartho shook his head, "and can any one of us even speculate on what they are?"

There was silence. Not even Elladan or Elrohir could venture a suggestion, and the listening company seemed to sink lower still under the weight of their exhaustion. Aragorn looked about at his brothers and his men. One thing at least was certain: they could not keep on forever. And when they fell at last, as he had nearly done that very evening, what of the lands south of them? And what of the men themselves?

With a sudden resolution, Aragorn rose to his feet. "Come, we must rest while we can. Halbarad and I will take the first watch and I will depart as early as I may."

The others looked up with either surprise, dismay, or on the part of the twins: suspicion.

"What do you intend to do?" Elladan queried, clearly expecting a wild suggestion that his younger brother go, discover the beasts' lair, and destroy them all single handedly in one battle. He still forgot from time to time that Estel, in spite of occasional dangerous inclinations, was no longer a reckless young man.

"We have all admitted that we do not know what it is we are fighting and it is clear we cannot continue in our ignorance. We must therefore request answers from someone who will know," Aragorn explained briefly. He turned to Halbarad, "I am leaving you in command when I depart, though I do not expect to be gone longer than a few days time. With my brothers here the absence of a single man should prove no great hardship for you."

"Who do you intend to ask?" Elrohir pressed, seeing that Aragorn was settling in for his watch.

"Father."

TBC…