Ungraceful. There is no other word to describe it, this futile clambering up hills, searching in the dark for a foothold, only to feel it give way under my boot, clutching at the gravel as he slipped, caught himself and started again, measuring his progress in a few meters. . He had peeled his hand and stood wondering, the deep meadows illuminated by moonlight. A child's wound, he thought; not a shattered bone, nor a blade piercing skin: just the surprise of simple, pure, easy pain. Then a cloud passed over him, obscuring the moonlight, and called him to it. He began again, running upward, an escape that, if it eased his pain, at least distracted him with mild discomfort. By keeping his mind focused on the burning of his muscles and the path ahead, he could almost pretend his heart was about to burst from shortness of breath rather than desperation. He hadn't gone very far from the fields, but far enough. Below, the small kitchen fires flickered like distant stars. With little bait and an eye more on safety than comfort, in any case they had not put out more heat than a star. He thought, with uncharacteristic [spoilment] that if he had been given more foresight, he might wish to have one last night of comfort, with a hot meal, a crackling fire, and a soft bed. Friends around him, voices that sweetly intertwine conversations and songs. But even under the best of circumstances, this had not been the life he had chosen, but rather an occasional ___. And it was now too late to regret the path he had chosen, even though he had been given the opportunity to choose. We are all at the service of destiny, his father had once told him, and he didn't know if he was referring to men. in general, or the Dunedain in particular. In service of the sword, plus the... middle of the paper... continues, "a servant of Elu Thingol, or a brother-in-arms of Beleg Cuthalion." He paused for a moment, then, suddenly present again, he shifted his gaze to Halbarad "I too am the servant of destiny; I go where I am needed, and I am needed here more than there." The silver star of Earendil shone on Elladan's forehead, reflecting the brilliant light of his own Earendil. In their long years together, he often saw Elladan dirty or dirty. bloodied, mud-stained or road-weary, so much so that their noble stature could easily be overlooked. Tonight it stood like a beacon against the darkness, dark and beautiful,” he replied, finding the words hard to say those years…so much wasted time…you could have…” “--No.” Elladan's answer contained all the finiteness of the indisputable, but he relented and said, in an almost ironic tone: "One great drama is enough for my family, I think.”