Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

Hello, and welcome to this story! I think this is the first time I've written a direct sequel to one of my other stories. This one takes place eleven years after the War of the Ring, and about six months after the end of an earlier story called The Rise of the House of Telcontar. That one is not too terribly long if you want to read it. I don't think you'll be completely lost if you don't read it, though. Briefly, Aragorn had an impromptu trade summit with one Lord Ghayur of Harad. They agreed to keep an eye on each other, then resume their negotiations one year later. That time has now arrived.

I should warn that this story will involve people doing cruel and violent things to others. If you want to stop reading, I will not be offended.

I think that's all I want to say for right now. Enjoy the story, and I will see you at the end.

It had been an unusually long day. Diplomatic correspondence had eaten up much of Aragorn's time, leaving him nervous and frustrated. He was good at diplomacy, but loathed drafting and revising the lengthy formal letters that the art appeared to require. It was difficult enough when his correspondent was Éomer of Rohan, a man he was honored to call a friend. However, today's correspondence had been with Ghayur, Lord of Harad, whose intentions toward Gondor were far from clear. The twin efforts of trying to divine all the possible layers of meaning from Ghayur's elaborate writing style and then composing a reply that was courteous and informative without revealing anything of substance had left Aragorn with a sour stomach and a massive headache building just behind his right eye. He was therefore far less than appreciative at the sight that greeted his eyes as he walked into the royal suite.

"What do you think?" Arwen asked, presenting their six-month-old daughter Ninniach for inspection.

Aragorn stared at the baby, unable to do much more than blink. Ninniach wore a little yellow dress so covered in frills and lace that it had to have come from somewhere near the Shire. A tuft of her fine dark hair, which had only recently grown in enough to show, had been gathered up on top of her head and tied with a large yellow bow. The Princess of Gondor stared open-mouthed at her father, and a thick ribbon of drool spilled over her chin and down onto the ruffled dress. Aragorn glanced from Princess to Queen and said the first thing that came to mind.

"She looks like a startled Hobbit." As soon as the words left his mouth, he was mortified, but Arwen burst out laughing.

"You are right," she said. "That is exactly what she looks like." She bounced Ninniach, who giggled along with her mother. "Is that not true, baby? Does Ada's little girl look like a startled Hobbit? Yes, she does."

Aragorn reached over and took Ninniach into his arms, kissing Arwen's temple as he did so. "And how did Ada's little girl come to look like a startled Hobbit, if I may be so bold?"

"The dress is a gift from Sam Gamgee," Arwen explained. "The package arrived today, so I tried it on Ninniach to see if it would fit her."

Aragorn examined Ninniach again. It was difficult to say if the dress fitted underneath the frills. As far as he could determine, it covered her body while leaving her plenty of room to squirm, as did the rest of her clothing. "Do you think it fits?" he asked.

"It is big enough that she will be able to wear it for several months while she grows." Arwen smothered a fresh round of laughter at Aragorn's horrified expression. "Do not fear," she said. "Ninniach will not have many occasions to wear this before she grows out of it."

"Good." Aragorn held Ninniach above his head and jiggled her. "Ada's little girl must hurry and grow big and strong so she can stop wearing so many ruffles without hurting the feelings of good Mayor Gamgee."

"Good Mayor Gamgee need never know if Ninniach wears this dress again or not," Arwen laughed. "I will put it away, to keep it fresh and lovely against the day Mayor Gamgee decides to visit us here in Gondor. And that day may never come, at least not while Ninniach is still small enough to wear the dress."

"Then I hope that Mayor Gamgee finds plenty of business to occupy him in the Shire," Aragorn said. Ninniach, sensing that she was no longer the subject of the conversation, reached up and grabbed at her father’s nose. Aragorn caught her hand and kissed it, then pretended to gobble up the fingers. Ninniach squealed with laughter.

"I think that someone is hungry," Arwen said. "And that someone should not wear fine new clothes from the Shire while she eats, for she enjoys her food too much."

Grateful for the excuse, Aragorn carried Ninniach to the window seat, laid her down, and examined the dress to locate its fastenings. He pulled the ruffled dress off of his daughter and draped a plain muslin tabard over her head.

Arwen arranged the pillows on the great bed, reclined, and began to unlace the bodice of her gown. Aragorn placed the baby in her arms. "Thank you, Estel," she said. "There is a bowl of barley porridge cooling on the window sill. Will you bring it to me?"

Aragorn located the little pot of porridge and tasted a drop to make sure that it was only lukewarm. "This is terrible," he said. "It has no flavor. I can well understand why our daughter prefers to spit it out rather than eat it."

"It is different from milk, and that is enough for now," Arwen said, as Ninniach began to nurse. "I will not waste flavorings until she has learned to swallow more than a few spoonfuls."

"I suppose that is fair enough." Aragorn lay down on the bed beside Arwen, ready to offer the barley porridge after Ninniach took the first edge off her hunger. "Have you had any other interesting news today besides the latest style in baby clothing from the Shire?"

"I did." Arwen gazed dreamily into Ninniach’s eyes. "A letter arrived from the Elves of Ithilien. The lady Doronrîn will be arriving shortly for a visit. I have already given instructions that a chamber is to be prepared for her."

"Doronrîn? Our midwife? She is coming here?" Aragorn’s eyebrows shot up. "I find that most peculiar; I was under the impression that Doronrîn did not care for the cities of Men."

"She does not. However, she writes that it is her custom to visit each child whose birth she attends when it is six months of age, to examine it and make certain that it is healthy and growing well."

"That is kind of her," Aragorn said. "Especially as it means that she must make a long journey to a destination she does not enjoy, simply to visit our child. I can see why Legolas thinks so highly of her."

"You asked for the best midwife he knew," Arwen replied. "He is a good friend. Ninniach, I believe you have had enough milk for now. Would you like to try some lovely barley porridge?" She gently detached Ninniach from her breast. Recognizing his cue, Aragorn leaned in close, holding a spoonful of porridge ready.

"Yes," he said brightly. "Is Ada’s little girl ready for her second course? Is Ada’s little girl ready for bland, watery gruel that is not interesting in the slightest? Yes, she is." He crossed his eyes and waggled his tongue. Ninniach laughed. Arwen glared at him.

"Perhaps I shall ask one of my maidens to assist me at her next meal," she said.

"I am sorry." Aragorn turned back to his daughter. "Ninniach, forgive me. Your loving Ada lied about the gruel. It is, in fact, thick and delicious, flavored with rosewater and almonds." Ninniach opened her mouth to try and imitate the sounds of his speech, and Aragorn tipped a little of the porridge inside. Her expression changed to one of puzzled interest, her limbs twitched, and her mouth waggled as she explored the interesting substance inside it. Some of the porridge spilled out of her mouth, but Aragorn was fairly sure that some had gone down. He wiped her face with her mealtime tabard and prepared another spoonful of porridge.

"See how she flails her arms when you feed her," Arwen said. "Truly, I think this is the most amusing time of her day."

"And of yours, I would imagine." Aragorn fed Ninniach another spoonful of porridge. "At any rate, it is by far the most amusing moment of my day. Ninniach, your face is fair enough; you do not need to ornament it with porridge."

Arwen wiped Ninniach’s face. "I take it that you devoted today to correspondence."

"I did. Éomer writes that horse thieves have been raiding the herds at Rohan’s eastern borders and asks that Gondor and Ithilien be on guard against similar attacks. I will write to Faramir and Legolas, though I suspect that Éomer has done so as well. And, of course, there was another letter from Lord Ghayur concerning our meeting."

"Have you settled on a place to hold it?"

Aragorn sighed. "I believe that the trading post at Poros will satisfy all concerned, especially since we will ostensibly be conferring about trading policy. That is not what concerns me at the moment, however. Lord Ghayur has asked if you will accompany me." He gave Ninniach another spoonful of porridge.

"I do not wish to be separated from you for so long," Arwen admitted. "But Ninniach is too small to travel to Poros, and I will not have her abandoned by both of her parents. Will this conference proceed smoothly without my presence?"

"I suspect so. Ghayur will miss the opportunity to be swayed by your charm, and I will miss having your cool head at my side, but if you do not wish to come, you need not. "

"Then I think I will remain in Minas Tirith." Arwen wiped the last of the spilled porridge from Ninniach’s chin and allowed her to resume nursing. "And, since it seems we must be separated soon, let us enjoy our time together now."

"That is an excellent plan." Aragorn got up and returned the porridge bowl to the windowsill. Then he reclined again on the bed and slipped his arms around Arwen, basking in the warmth of his little family.

The mule picked its way delicately along the edge of the field. Thano had to admit that he was amused by his mount’s almost respectful gait. It was almost as though the beast imagined that a real crop grew there instead of the scraggly mixture of rye and weeds. Thano reined the mule to a halt and surveyed the field. There would not be much of a crop this year, if indeed any of the grain survived to maturity. And more than likely, any grain that the people did manage to harvest would bring the curse of the summer madness upon those who ate of it. But people could survive the summer madness; hunger was worse, for it would kill more surely.

Thano caught sight of a small knot of people huddled together in a far corner of the field. Curious, he rode towards them, stopping just close enough that he could see what was happening. Peering over their shoulders, he saw a woman kneeling on the ground next to a hole, weeping, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle. A burial, then. Another child had died.

The woman keened as the others pried the child’s body from her arms and placed it gently in the hole. Thano allowed himself to feel a twinge of grief, but reminded himself that this child was fortunate; even in death, it had the honor of a real grave. It had not been so long ago that the people had been slaves and their dead had been butchered to feed the hunger of their Orc masters.

Thano had been present at that final battle, and had cowered in terror as the power of Sauron’s fall shook the earth. Later, he had rejoiced to hear that the new King of Men had granted the slaves freedom. He had imagined himself the owner of a peaceful farm where he could start a family and enjoy the fruits of his own labors. To a certain extent, that dream had become reality. The people farmed, and even managed to raise the occasional successful crop. Thano had his pick of the women, and had sired many children upon them. Some of the children had even survived infancy. He could not say that his dreams had been entirely fruitless.

Children died. Children had always died. Perhaps fewer of them died now that the people were free. The woman’s grief over this one would heal, and she would have another. Thano turned the mule’s head around, and rode away from the burial. The sun was setting, and he prodded the mule into a trot. A mile over the open plain he rode, until he reached his own dwelling.

Once, it had been a barrack for Orcs. After the great defeat, Thano and his gang had fought the Orcs for it, driving them out with a ferocity they had not expected to find in themselves. Now it was his, and his heart never failed to exult in that fact when he saw the place. Flickering light glowed through the windows. The women would be inside cooking the meal. As Thano dismounted, he noticed two strange horses picketed by the door. They were dainty but well fed, with brilliant trappings of gold and tooled leather, and they moved aside amiably as Thano picketed his own mule. One of the women came out of the house.

"Thano. The foreign visitor has returned. He awaits you inside."

Thano nodded his acknowledgement and followed the woman inside. She squatted by the fire and scooped chickpea stew from a pot into three bowls. One she handed to Thano, and the others she gave to the two men who sat on rush mats near the fire. Thano tasted the stew and found it to be made with thick broth and many peas.

"It is good," he told the woman. "You may go." She vanished silently into the shadows. Thano turned to face his guests. "We may eat."

One of the men craned his head, looking where the woman had gone. His soft white robe and brown surcoat rustled as he moved. When he turned back to Thano and grinned, his even white teeth gleamed in the firelight.

"She is obedient," he said. Thano nodded.

"She was once a slave."

"And now?"

"She is not."

"I see." The man ate a few bites of stew in silence, then turned and conferred briefly with his companion. Then he turned his attention back to Thano. "She is your favorite?"

Thano shrugged. "I suppose so. She is still young and strong. The children she bears live."

The man looked at him with dark, shining eyes. "She could become a Queen."

"Like the Elf of Gondor."

"More beautiful, perhaps, if she acquires wealth and prosperity."

They had come at last to the meat of the conversation. Thano still did not understand why his visitor always took so long to arrive at whatever topic he had come to discuss, but he did not mind. He was a free man now, with the leisure to be patient. He regarded his visitor coolly and decided that it was time to confirm something he had begun to suspect during the man’s last few visits. "This plan of yours, the one that you come seeking my help for. It will help her to acquire the wealth and prosperity to become a Queen."

His visitor grinned again. "The wealth and prosperity will be yours, Thano. You will become a King of the nations of Men. Then you may take her as your Queen, the jewel of your heart."

"The result is the same," Thano said. "I lend my aid to you and your plan, and she will become a Queen in the end."

"I would not have said it quite so bluntly."

Thano nodded. "I know that, Nasir. What do you wish me to do?"

Some time after sunset, the gatekeeper knocked at the door to Faramir’s study. "The Elf woman has arrived, my Lord. I have ordered that her horse be taken to the stable, and she awaits you in the entrance hall."

"Thank you." Faramir set his book down on the desk and followed the gatekeeper to the entrance hall, where a maid had just taken a light summer cloak from the slender Elf woman who stood there. When she caught sight of Faramir, she dropped a graceful curtsey.

"Lord Faramir," she said in a low voice. "My thanks for your hospitality tonight."

"You are most welcome, Lady Doronrîn," he said. "My lady wife is currently occupied putting our children to bed, but she will join us momentarily. In the meantime, may I inquire if you have dined this evening?"

"I have eaten."

"Doronrîn!" Éowyn appeared at the top of the staircase, a delighted smile on her face as she hurried down. "It is wonderful to see you again. Faramir, where are your manners, keeping our guest cooling her heels in the entryway? Come, we shall go into the drawing room. Has my husband offered you something to drink?" She extended a welcoming hand, and ushered them into the drawing room.

Doronrîn eased her pack from her shoulders. "Lord Faramir had no time to do more than greet me," she said. "However, perhaps this evening, it is I who shall offer something to drink." She pulled two bottles of wine from her pack and offered them to Faramir and Éowyn. "My Lord Legolas bade me bring these to you with his greetings. He has also written a letter." This she extracted from her sleeve and handed to Faramir.

"Thank you. I shall read it first thing in the morning, when I am able to act on whatever news Legolas writes." Faramir examined the bottles of wine. "This is a treat. From the Elvish vineyards?"

Doronrîn nodded. "It is our latest vintage."

"Then we must try it. Éowyn, will you bring glasses?" Éowyn moved to a cupboard while Faramir used his belt knife to open one of the bottles. He poured the deep red wine into the glasses that Éowyn set before him, then raised his own high. "To the Elves of Ithilien, who have restored the valley to its former beauty and fruitfulness, and whose vineyards produce wine to lighten and restore our spirits." He sipped the wine and rolled it around experimentally in his mouth.

"Is our Elvish drink to your liking?" Doronrîn asked, sipping at her own glass.

"Indeed. There is a certain body to this wine that I like very much indeed. It is rich and smooth. I think your vintners' skills are improving. Éowyn, what say you?"

Éowyn drank, then shrugged. "It is good wine." She took another sip. Doronrîn lifted her chin.

"I see that you do not waste words, Éowyn. You simply drink. That is perhaps a more honest compliment to the wine."

Éowyn laughed. "I would not be so sure of that. I was raised to drink ale, not wine. I fear that I never developed my husband's sensitivity of taste. I can say no more than that I like a wine or that I do not like it."

"That is a finer start than most," Doronrîn said.

"How long will you stay in Minas Tirith?" Faramir asked. Doronrîn considered the question.

"I do not know. I do not intend to visit the city itself. My purpose is primarily to examine Ninniach and answer any questions the Queen may have concerning her care. Perhaps a few days, but no more than that."

"I know that Mistress Ioreth would be delighted to see you again," Éowyn said. "She would love to have you in residence at the Houses of Healing, to teach your lore about herbs and midwifery to the young healers there. She was impressed by your skills, and has sent me several messages asking after you."

"Mistress Ioreth is quite competent in her own right," Doronrîn replied. "Indeed, in the matter of midwifery to the Secondborn, she is far more experienced than I. She has no cause to be ashamed of her own skills."

"You know that," Éowyn said, "and I know that. And I believe that Mistress Ioreth knows it as well. But she is always eager to learn bits of ancient lore and see that others learn it as well. And I think also that she considers you a friend and would like to visit with you for friendship's sake."

"Ioreth is an old woman, as Men reckon age," Faramir put in. "Many of the friends of her childhood and youth have died, and I think she is lonely at times. It would cheer her heart to have you visit for a time."

Doronrîn blinked, then looked thoughtful. "I had not considered that. I have lost many people I loved, but I suppose that mortals would lose more. Mistress Ioreth is a good person, and I do not wish to cause her grief. If she wishes, perhaps I will extend my visit."

"She would appreciate that very much," Éowyn said. "If nothing else, she will have a new audience for her stories about her latest grandson."

"I will not mind," Doronrîn said. "I might even go so far as to return the favor, for I myself will once again be a grandmother in a year's time. Saelind, my daughter, has decided at last that Ithilien is a safe place to live, and has chosen to bear another child."

Éowyn's face split into a broad grin. "Oh, Doronrîn, that is wonderful!" she cried. "My congratulations to you and your daughter."

Faramir looked at Doronrîn's smooth, ageless face, bright eyes and dark hair, and snickered into his wine glass. "I only wish that I could see the look upon Mistress Ioreth's face when she realizes that you have grandchildren," he said. "I think she has not yet comprehended your true age."

"Then that will be something else for her to learn about the Elves," Doronrîn said calmly. "I think that I will enjoy that lesson. Perhaps my stay in Minas Tirith will not be merely a duty after all."

"Welcome, Lady Doronrîn!" Aragorn shouted over the noise of Ninniach’s piercing screams. "It is a pleasure to see you once more!"

"My thanks, King Elessar!" Doronrîn shouted back, dropping an elegant curtsey. "I bear gifts and a message from my Lord Legolas as well!" Swiftly, she knelt down and opened her pack. Arwen, by dint of much bouncing, petting, and soothing words, managed to calm Ninniach.

"Look," she said. "Lady Doronrîn is taking something out of her pack. Is that not interesting?"

Ninniach had recently learned about insides and outsides, and the fascinating notion that an object could be taken out of a container and put inside again. She loved to play with little wooden pots and blocks, putting the blocks into the pots and taking them out again. Now she saw that the strange person in the throne room was about to take something out of a bag, and that was an event well worth watching, especially since her mother held her close and safe. So Ninniach stopped screaming, snuggled close to Arwen, and stared at Doronrîn. Doronrîn took two more bottles of wine and a letter from her pack and presented them to Aragorn.

"This is wonderful," Aragorn said, much more quietly than before. "My thanks to you and to Legolas. Your vineyards appear to be improving rapidly."

"Indeed," Doronrîn said, with just a trace of smugness in her voice. "We have begun to send our wine north to Eryn Lasgalen, and I am told that folk there believe it will soon be a worthy competitor to the Dorwinion wines."

"In that case, the gift is especially welcome," Aragorn laughed. "We will serve this at dinner tonight. You will join us, I hope?"

"Gladly. My thanks."

Aragorn extended his arm to Arwen and Ninniach. "Our little Rainbow seems to have quieted enough to greet you as well." Ninniach burrowed a little closer into Arwen's shoulder. Arwen, her arms full of baby, nodded a simple greeting.

"I do apologize for my daughter's behavior. Ordinarily, she is very well mannered and friendly when she meets strangers. I cannot think what has come over her."

Doronrîn nodded. "I can. It is no cause for shame; rather, it is a sign that your daughter is quite intelligent." She turned her attention to Ninniach, and her voice became lighter. "Hello, little one. You have grown big and strong since last I saw you, and I am glad of that."

"This is Lady Doronrîn," Arwen said. "You need not fear her. She caught you when you were born, and she is a very kind lady." Ninniach put two fingers in her mouth and sucked them thoughtfully while contemplating Doronrîn.

"I think that she has just learned who her Nana and Ada are," Doronrîn said. "And she has also learned that there are people who are not Nana and Ada. And that is a frightening new thought. She will outgrow her fear as she meets more new people."

Arwen gave a relieved smile. Aragorn blinked in surprise. "I had not considered that," he said. "I had assumed that she already knew us from the time she was born."

Ninniach had accepted the presence of a strange person in her world, and now began to fuss and push at Arwen’s chest. Arwen chuckled. "I think you are hungry, baby," she said. "Is Nana’s little girl hungry? Is Nana’s little girl starving for her dinner?"

"Once, she was the dignified daughter of Lord Elrond, the Evenstar of her people," Aragorn said. Doronrîn favored him with a little smile.

"That, too, is an expected effect of motherhood. I behaved that way myself when my children were small."

"Come," Arwen said. "Let us go to the kitchens and see if there is any porridge for Nana’s hungry little baby. We have started feeding her a little porridge at mealtimes in addition to her nursing. Mistress Ioreth thought that it was time." Doronrîn nodded.

"Very likely. I would be intrigued to see what children receive for their first food in the world of Men."

She curtsied once more to Aragorn, then left the throne room with Arwen and Ninniach. Aragorn summoned a page to take the bottles of Elvish wine to the kitchens with orders that a bottle be opened at dinner that evening. Then he set off for a small side chamber where Lords Peredur and Húrin waited to plan details of the royal journey to Poros.

"Stop!" Fréadric shouted. "Stop in the name of the King!" His éored thundered across the plain, in hot pursuit of a band of thieves. They had murdered a small freeholder who kept a herd of horses in pastures along the Entwash, and were currently driving those horses eastward towards the borders of Rohan. Fréadric's éored had passed by the area too late to prevent the murder, but they could at least make the attempt to fulfill Éomer King's orders and capture the horse thieves who had plagued Rohan recently.

Fréadric rode hard. He was sure that the éored was gaining on the thieves. The éored was under tight discipline, after all, and the thieves were attempting to control a herd of terrified, riderless horses. He shouted out again for them to stop, but they only leaned lower over their own horses' necks and spurred them to even greater speed.

Something sparkled on the horizon, and Fréadric saw that it was a river. They were approaching the Entwash delta, Rohan's eastern border. The countryside of the delta was damp and treacherous, full of tall grasses in which men and even horses could hide, and great swamps, concealed in the grass until an unlucky horse and rider stumbled into one. The thieves headed for the river, clearly intending to swim the stolen horses across it and escape into the shelter of the delta's swampland.

Fréadric knew he had a decision approaching rapidly. Once he crossed the river, he would be in Gondor's territory. He was fairly sure that relations between Gondor and Rohan were such that he could continue the pursuit unhindered, but he was not certain if the local lord would know that. And he was less than confident in his ability to lead a full éored of armed riders through treacherous, swampy ground searching for an enemy who had already proved swift, maneuverable, and deadly.

The thieves had reached the river, and were driving the stolen horses into it quickly. Fréadric's own horse shuddered beneath him, and he realized that the éored's strength was waning after a long, hot day on patrol followed by a hard chase. If he tried to make his horses swim the river, he could not guarantee that they would not exhaust themselves and drown. Reluctantly, he raised his spear and wheeled around, bringing the éored to a halt. The horses shivered and blew, and the Riders began to walk them slowly to cool them.

The last of the stolen horses climbed out of the river on the opposite bank. The thieves risked a look behind. Realizing that the Rohirrim would not follow them, they vanished into the tall marsh grass. Fréadric swore, then turned the éored and began to lead them westward.

"I will not ride my horses and my men to their deaths," he grumbled to his second-in-command. "I will send word to Éomer King that more soldiers are necessary to keep this area safe. The raids come more often, and there are not enough of us to hold the entire territory."

His second-in-command nodded, but did not speak. With heavy hearts, the Riders made their way westward, to locate the murdered horse farmer's family so that they might give him a proper farewell.

Arwen set a dish of barley porridge to cool while she changed Ninniach's baby napkin and traded her blue linen gown for a meal tabard. "Lady Doronrîn, will you hand me a fresh tabard?" she asked. "They are in the small chest near Ninniach's cradle."

Doronrîn located the tabards, handed one to Arwen, and then examined the porridge. She tasted a drop from her finger and grimaced. "This is terrible. It has no flavor."

Arwen burst out laughing. "That is exactly what my husband said when he tasted it!"

Doronrîn sniffed. "Then he is wise."

Arwen curled up on the window seat, and Doronrîn laid Ninniach in her arms. Ninniach gurgled with anticipation as Arwen began to unlace her bodice. "That is the same porridge my brothers and I were fed when we were infants," Arwen said. "Elrohir located the recipe among Father's old papers and sent it to me. And Ninniach appears to enjoy it well enough."

"All the same, she will soon begin to long for more flavors in her life." Doronrîn thought for a moment, then her face brightened. "I will teach your cooks how to make a tasty pulp from apples; you have them in abundance here."

"Apple pulp," Arwen said, watching as Ninniach began to nurse. "Is that what Wood Elves feed their children?"

"When the trading is good and we have plenty of apples," Doronrîn said. "And soon we will have plenty of our own apples. Even before we moved to Ithilien, Lord Legolas encouraged apple seedlings to grow in pots, so that we might take them with us to create our own orchards in this fertile new land. The trees are yet young, but they bear more fruit each year."

"I am not surprised. Legolas loves apples. I think they are his favorite thing to eat." Arwen's smile grew mischievous. "Perhaps that is because he was fed apple pulp as an infant."

"That, and gruel made from nut meal," Doronrîn said. "But all of the babies liked the apple pulp best. It is pleasant indeed to live in a land where food grows quickly and abundantly. Do not waste that good fortune."

"I will not. Will you show the cooks your recipe tomorrow, after you have rested?"

"I will do that."

"Thank you." Arwen lifted Ninniach up for her second course. "Barley porridge today, apple pulp tomorrow. I am glad that you are here, Lady Doronrîn. My husband will be leaving for Poros soon, and it would gladden my heart to have a companion. Will you stay in Minas Tirith for a while?"

"You are not the first person to suggest that," Doronrîn said. "Éowyn hinted that Mistress Ioreth might value my presence as well."

"Éowyn is a wise woman," Arwen replied, spooning porridge into Ninniach's mouth. "I have learned over the years that her advice can be well worth heeding. I am afraid that you have made friends in Minas Tirith, Doronrîn, and now they wish to visit with you."

Doronrîn smiled. "Very well. I will stay for a time. Tomorrow, after I have taught the cooks to make apple pulp, I shall call on Mistress Ioreth. My friend," she added.

Thano's usual ride around the community to determine what problems needed attention was different today. He had invited Nasir to accompany him. "We are now allies," he said. "You should know our land." Nasir had quickly agreed, and now rode at his side, his fine-boned mare stepping delicately beside Thano’s trusty old mule. They gazed at fields full of pale, weak crops, and pastures of scrawny livestock tended by equally undernourished children. The children gazed at them dully and without interest as they rode by. Thano’s cheeks burned with shame, but he reminded himself that his people’s lowly condition would soon improve, now that he had accepted Nasir’s offer of assistance.

Nasir reined his horse to a halt and surveyed the landscape. He gazed long and hard at the shimmer on the southern horizon. "What is that?"

"That is Lake Nurnen. We are not far from one of the four rivers which flow from it."

Nasir frowned. "I do not understand. The land is as green and fertile as any oasis in the desert, from which spring dates and figs in abundance. Why then do your people suffer? Why do the crops fail and the children and beasts exist as shades?"

Thano forced himself to sit tall on his mule. "We do not know how to farm," he said. "We were slaves to Orcs once, for many generations. Over the years, we spoiled as much of the crops as we dared. Now we are free men, and the fruits of our labor are ours. But after spoiling so much, we have forgotten how to grow things." He clenched his jaw, unwilling to show his shame in such an admission.

However, Nasir seemed to understand. "The courage of a man admitting his need for help is as the dew sparkling in the sun. I and my followers will assist you and your folk. We will teach you how to enjoy the fruits of your freedom."

"My folk?" Thano gave Nasir a sidelong glance. Nasir merely smiled.

"You are their lord, are you not? You are wise and clever, and you see with a piercing eye what ails your land and what you must do to remedy that ailment. You are a Lord of Men, Thano, though you do not yet fully know that. You are the Lord of the People of Nurn."

"If I am a Lord, what are you?"

Nasir twitched, as he always did when Thano asked him something direct and personal. An instant later, his implacable mask was back in place. "An emissary. An emissary come from the court of my Calif, may his name endure forever."

Thano nodded. "If I am a Lord, then Wen is my Lady."

"I do not understand. Who is Wen?"

"Wen is the woman. My woman. From last night. Wen is she who will be as noble as the Elf of Gondor."

"Ah. The jewel of your eye and the delight of the land."

Thano wondered if Nasir was mocking him, but the emissary seemed to have spoken in perfect earnest. He turned his mule’s head away from the sight of the failing crops and dying beasts and set off for his home. "If I am a Lord, and Wen is a Lady," he said after some time, "should we not have a fairer dwelling place? My house was once an Orc-barrack, and the stench of the vile creatures still lingers."

Nasir pointed to a decayed, yet still elegant, stone structure on a ridge overlooking the settlement. "What is that place?"

"That was the Overseer’s house."

"Does he still dwell there?"

Thano gave a harsh, barking laugh. "We drove him out along with the Orcs who tormented us."

"Then why should it not become the abode of the victorious Lord of the People of Nurn and his beloved Lady?"

Thano did not answer immediately. He reined the mule to a halt and stared thoughtfully at the stone structure. "It would not stink of Orc. It is a house such as a free man ought to dwell in."

Nasir gave an approving nod. "The trappings of freedom already settle about your mighty shoulders, Lord Thano of Nurn. Do not fear to claim the privileges of your exalted status. Your abode shall be a place of feasting and glory, where those of your household are cared for, their every need fulfilled by willing and obedient servants."

Thano looked again at the house on the hill. He imagined torches blazing in every window, abundant food on the tables, and himself and Wen seated on high, entertaining guests, served quickly and efficiently by humble, obedient hands. If that was the true meaning of freedom, then it was a more attractive prospect than Thano had anticipated, and a goal worthy of his effort.

Hidden in a tree, Neldorín of Ithilien watched as a small band of Men drove a herd of horses through the northern edge of the Elves’ territory. He guessed that they were among the thieves of whom Legolas had spoken, who had been plaguing Rohan. Neldorín’s immediate instinct was to whistle for the other members of his border patrol and intercept the horse thieves, but Legolas had been specific in his orders. Neldorín was to observe the first band of horse thieves he saw, and then describe their appearance and demeanor, as well as the route they took through North Ithilien.

So Neldorín and his company faithfully trailed the thieves as they galloped eastward through the countryside, veering north as they approached the boundaries of the Nindalf marshlands. Neldorín committed as many details of their appearance as possible to memory, particularly their armor, which was of a sort he had never before seen. After the thieves had passed through the Elves’ territory, Neldorín mounted his own horse and rode swiftly to the settlement.

He arrived in the afternoon of the next day to find Legolas sorting through the day’s pick of strawberries. At the sound of hooves, Legolas looked up and nodded a greeting to the captain of his guard. "Welcome, Neldorín," he said. "You return from patrol early and alone. Does this mean that you have news for me?"

Neldorín dismounted and bowed low. "It does, my Lord." He described the band of horse thieves, from the tops of their oddly shaped helmets to the strange mixture of yellow metal and drapery that was their armor. "They drove the horses northeast," he said. "They appeared to be heading in the direction of Dagorlad."

Legolas frowned as he considered Neldorín’s report. "Perhaps they hail from one of the eastern lands of Men. Your description of their dress is familiar, but I cannot place it. Perhaps if I saw these thieves myself I would remember the source of the armor."

He finished sorting the strawberries, walked to a small well, and drew a bucket of water to wash his hands. "I cannot identify them," he said, "but perhaps others can. Neldorín, please write out four copies of your description. We will keep one copy, and I will send the others to Éomer, Aragorn and Faramir. Perhaps they might find it helpful. After you have done that, you may take a day’s leave for your pains."

Neldorín grinned. "Thank you, my Lord," he said. Legolas filled a small basket with strawberries.

"Take these to your wife and son with my greetings. Bring me three copies of your description in the morning, and I will have messengers ready to ride out."

"I will do so, my Lord." Neldorín accepted the strawberries, bowed, and hurried off.

Legolas summoned his three swiftest riders and bade them prepare to ride out the next morning. Then he sent pages to the rest of the community to announce that dispatches would go out to Gondor and Rohan. Anyone who wished to send a message to either of those lands should prepare it promptly and leave it by the door of the messengers’ stable by dawn. After he had given these orders, Legolas withdrew to his private study and wrote a letter to Gimli in Aglarond, sharing all the news of the settlement with his friend.

Nasir and his companion helped Thano and Wen to move their meager household into the Overseer’s home, for which Thano was grateful. Wen and the other women carried the bedding upstairs to portion out the sleeping rooms, while Nasir accompanied Thano to explore the lower levels of the house. They found two cellar levels, each divided into a series of small storage chambers. The doors were locked, but Thano found a ring of rusty keys lying in a wall niche where a servant of the Overseer had abandoned them years before. Thano tried one key after another in the lock on the first door until he found the one that fit. The hinges screamed as he pulled the door open, and a rush of musty air flowed out.

Nasir brought his torch closer, and by its light they saw an assortment of ancient harnesses and battle standards. Thano smiled when he saw them. "Now we have harness," he said. "We can put our beasts to work in our fields. And we can turn these flags into clothing and warm blankets."

"Do not plan so hastily, Lord of Nurn," Nasir said. "You have yet to uncover the treasures concealed in these other chambers. Perhaps you will find clothing and jewels ready to adorn your most august person. You will have need of flags and standards before long."

They moved on to the next chamber, which did indeed contain a chest of gold ingots. Further chambers held silks, spices, and perfumes. Many of these had rotted away from long storage in damp underground vaults, but some of the silks were whole, and a few tantalizing scents still clung to the unguent jars. One chamber contained rusty armor and a rack of swords. Nasir’s companion darted forward, selected a sword from the rack and examined it.

"Its edge is dull and dimmed by rust, but this is a fine desert sword," he announced. "The armor and weapons in this chamber should be cleaned, that they may once again serve their masters in glory."

Thano snorted. "Weapons and armor will not help us farm," he said.

"But they are powerful servants when they are needed," the man countered. "And even as a father cares for all his children besides his heir, so too should a lord maintain all the tools at his disposal."

Thano turned to Nasir. "Tell me," he said. "Who is your companion who speaks so rarely, but who now rattles on in praise of these old weapons?"

Nasir smiled. "Did I not introduce him to you before? His name is Haytham. He is a prince of a noble lineage in the land of my Calif, and he honors me by deigning to be my boon companion on my wandering."

Haytham bowed. "Lord Nasir is wise in the ways of Men, and it is my privilege to travel at his side, that I may see, hear, and learn."

"Then, since we are both students, let us ask the teacher," Thano said. "What say you, Nasir? Will I have use for armor and weapons?"

"I have traveled far in the sunlit lands," Nasir said. "Many strange and wondrous folk have I seen. Further, I have studied in the libraries of the Calif, may they never grow smaller, and I have learned the histories of the glorious lords of old who came from over the seas to our lands. In all my study and in all my travel, I have never yet heard tell of a lord who did not maintain a mighty army against time of war."

"The wise man keeps and maintains that which he does not presently require, so that in time of requirement, he need not lament the lack of that which he needs," Haytham added.

Thano considered their words. "Very well," he said. "I will clean the armor and the weapons after I have seen to the other wealth in this house. But this will take time, and I do not know when I will come to this job."

"You need not do it yourself," Nasir said. "Such a task may well be entrusted to servants, whose delight is in pleasing their lord."

Thano glanced sharply at him. Nasir traded a look with Haytham. For a moment, no one spoke. The two visitors saw a new thought take shape behind Thano’s eyes, and they gave it time to implant itself and begin to grow.

"A lord has servants," Thano said at last. "I had forgotten that. There is much that I must yet remember. But I remember that now. A lord has servants."

"Their pleasure is in attending to their lord," Haytham said, "and their reward is his protection. That is your task, Lord Thano. You will be as a father to your people, giving them shelter from the storms which will blow over the land, even as they offer you the gifts of their love and labor in return." He seemed to remember that he still held the sword he had taken, and pressed it into Thano’s hand.

Thano stared at the blade, entranced. He held it out and tested its weight, beginning to learn the feel of it in his hand. His eyes turned inward, and he seemed to retreat within himself as he contemplated all that he had heard and seen that day. Nasir nodded to Haytham, and they withdrew quietly, leaving Thano alone with his newfound riches and the ideas stirring in his mind.

Aragorn sorted through the papers on his desk one last time. He had nearly completed the preparations for his long journey to Poros. He had written out orders deputizing his chosen proxy lords to assume their portions of his regular duties during his absence, and he had left instructions as to his will in various minor matters of state that he anticipated would arise during the coming weeks. He had sent a message requesting that Lord Peredur accompany him as his aide, and Peredur had agreed to do so. There remained one last letter to write, and Aragorn was happy to do that. He pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from his desk and wrote out a message to recall the Prince of Ithilien to the Citadel to take up his duties as Steward in the absence of the King.

When he had finished, he sanded the ink, folded and sealed the letter, and summoned a page. "Take this to the message stables," he said. "Have the fastest messenger there carry this to Emyn Arnen and deliver it into the hand of Lord Faramir."

"Yes, my Lord." The page clicked his heels and took the letter away.

Aragorn stretched until his spine crackled. He would miss having Arwen with him, but he found that he was looking forward to traveling again and seeing a portion of his realm that he visited all too rarely. He and Peredur would sail down the Great River to the port of Pelargir before continuing on land to the crossings of Poros. Aragorn smiled, anticipating the pleasure of the sailing, with the cool river breeze in his hair and the gentle rocking of the ship’s deck beneath his feet. He had always enjoyed traveling by boat, and he supposed it was a part of his heritage from Númenor.

Before the river trip, however, he would have the opportunity to enjoy his last few days with Arwen and Ninniach and plan a special dinner to welcome Faramir when he arrived. Aragorn always enjoyed spending time with his Steward, and regretted that their duties often kept them from meeting on a more regular basis.

At midday, Doronrîn set out for the Houses of Healing to call on Ioreth. She was pleased to find that she remembered the route through the maze of stone streets. The buildings of Minas Tirith seemed dreadfully tall and cold, and she looked forward to walking in the gardens in back of the Houses of Healing. She made her way carefully through the streets, trying to ignore the stares and surprised gasps of the citizens upon seeing an Elf in their midst. As she approached the Houses and pulled at the bell rope, she could feel their eyes upon her, and she gave a sigh of relief when the door opened and a young apprentice looked at her.

"I am Doronrîn of Ithilien," she said carefully in the Common Tongue. "Is Mistress Ioreth within? I wish to speak with her."

"I remember you," the apprentice said. "You were here during the Queen’s confinement. Oh, Mistress Ioreth’ll be pleased to see you, Lady. She’s not stopped talking about you since you left. Saving your presence, of course."

Doronrîn sighed. Clearly, this lad was under the tutelage of Mistress Ioreth herself and had picked up more than a few of that good woman’s habits.

"Oh, there I go, forgetting my manners again," the apprentice said. "I do apologize, Lady, but ‘tis not often that we see Elves in the city, and here I am, leaving you out here in the midday sun while I chatter on. Come inside and sit down, and I shall fetch Mistress Ioreth directly."

"Thank you." Doronrîn slipped inside and sank down on a bench, grateful for the door that shut out all of the staring eyes. The apprentice bowed, then scurried off deeper into the compound, crying out for Ioreth.

In a few minutes, Ioreth herself appeared. The creases in her weathered face deepened as she smiled broadly. Doronrîn rose to greet her, clasping the old woman's fragile hands gently.

"Well, I never!" Ioreth said. "If it isn't Lady Doronrîn, large as life! Why, just this morning, I was thinking to myself what a pity it is that you're so far away in Ithilien, for I have missed having you around to talk to. I would hardly have guessed it, since you were always so quiet, but I suppose that it is only when someone is gone that we realize how much they were present. It is good to see you back in our city, Lady, and I do hope that you will stay with us for a while, if it would not be too much of a burden."

Ioreth did look genuinely pleased to see her. With that observation, the stone city suddenly felt slightly warmer. Doronrîn dipped her head and fastened her gaze upon Ioreth's gnarled hands held in her own smooth ones. "If you wish it, I will stay for a little while," she said. "Should you require it, I will assist you in your work. But I must leave before the year is out."

"Well, you are most welcome as long as you care to stay, Lady Doronrîn," Ioreth said. "And I'll not deny that the aid of your hands will be a blessing to me. But I hope that you will not take ill if you are kept confined in the city too long. I would not hold you here against your will."

"Do not worry about that. My reasons for limiting my time in this place are much simpler and more practical than that." Doronrîn raised her eyes, and a tiny note of mischief crept into her voice. "It is merely that I am expecting another grandchild within the year, and I wish to be home in time to oversee the birth."

Ioreth's face turned several different shades of red, and her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. The corners of Doronrîn's mouth quirked into a little half-smile of satisfaction at Ioreth's reaction to that news. After a moment, Ioreth found her voice.

"Fancy that. You, a grandmother. Well, I never. I knew you had borne children, but I had imagined them to be, well, little ones." Ioreth's blush deepened. "Bless me, but you don't seem half old enough to have grown children, let alone . . . you did say 'another' grandchild? More than one?"

Doronrîn nodded. "My daughter's daughter is full grown and lives in our settlement in Ithilien. She is skilled in training horses. Her mother has recently decided that our situation is comfortable enough to bring another child into the world."

"Well. What wonderful news. Congratulations, Lady Doronrîn!" Ioreth beamed at her, then linked her arm confidently through Doronrîn's. "Come. It is clear to me that we have much to discuss. I will call for tea, and we shall sit out in the garden . . . you remember how lovely our garden is, especially at this time of the year . . . and we will discuss the matter of grandchildren, for I would dearly love to know about the dealings the Fair Folk have with their grandchildren."

The prospect of sitting in the garden cheered Doronrîn immensely, and she allowed herself to be steered through the building. "How quickly do the children of Men adapt," she said. "When first we met, you could barely speak to me, and now, it seems, I am as a companion of the heart."

Ioreth's dried-apple face wrinkled some more with her smile. "But we have gotten to know each other since then," she said. "And, after all, we are both grandmothers, and that counts for plenty, among our folk at the least."

"I see." And with that, Doronrîn realized that not only did Ioreth in fact consider her to be a friend, but that sometime over the past year, Ioreth had become her friend as well.

"I play with Papa."

Faramir looked up from the music on the stand in front of him to see his three-year-old daughter Olwyn looking at him with adoring eyes. He smiled at her, and she trotted over to him, remembering just in time that Éowyn had warned her never to touch her Papa's viol. Faramir could not resist the temptation and gently tickled Olwyn's stomach with the bow, just to hear her giggle.

"Play with Papa," she said again. Olwyn had been fascinated by Faramir’s viol ever since she was a little baby, and hearing it could still draw her out of all but the worst tantrums. His daughter’s interest in his music sometimes surprised Faramir, but it cheered him as well, especially since seven-year-old Elboron showed no interest in the art at all.

"Come here, Olwyn," he said. He placed the bow carefully into her hand, then showed her how to move it over the viol’s strings. Olwyn chortled at the noise she produced. As her bow strokes grew bolder, Faramir slowly moved his fingers over the frets, and a simple melody emerged.

"There you are," came Éowyn’s voice from the doorway. "My two musicians. Whenever I lack one, I need only follow the music, and there I will find both." She strode across the room and settled herself on a bench. Olwyn smiled at her.

"I play, Mama."

"I see that, Olwyn," Éowyn said. "You and Papa are playing together."

"I think that she will soon be big enough for an instrument of her own," Faramir said. Éowyn snorted.

"It will be longer than ‘soon,’ Faramir. That viol is still taller than she is. But I did not come to discuss our daughter’s budding musicianship."

"What, then?" Faramir continued to finger the frets.

"I have been thinking about the message we received from Legolas," Éowyn said. "The description of the horse thieves seemed very familiar to me. It has taken several days, but I think I have placed it in my mind. I believe that what the Elvish scout described were Haradrim; at least, they were Haradrim as they appeared eleven years ago on the Pelennor fields."

Faramir looked up, startled. "That cannot be," he said. "How could Haradrim invade Rohan and trouble the northern border of the Elves' colony and we know nothing about it? That is simple geography, Éowyn. Southern Ithilien lies between Harad and the rest of Gondor. Were they truly Haradrim, we would have some notice."

"I avoided thinking of the Haradrim for quite a while after I first read that letter for that very reason," Éowyn shot back. "But as I read this scout's description, the only image that sprang to my mind, time and again, was of a warrior from Harad. I have not forgotten what they looked like."

"I am sure you have not. I simply think that, between this scout's eyes and your memory, something has been lost."

Éowyn shrugged. "Perhaps. In any event, you may discuss it with the King shortly. A messenger arrived from the Citadel late this afternoon. You have been summoned to Minas Tirith to oversee the land while the King is away." She held out the order, neatly rolled and tied. Faramir broke the seal and glanced over it.

"It appears that I will have to leave you for a time," he sighed. "May I leave Emyn Arnen in your capable hands?"

"Of course."

Olwyn stopped sawing the bow across the strings of the viol and turned an expression of shocked disbelief on Faramir. "Papa go away?" Éowyn quickly scooped Olwyn onto her lap.

"Papa must go to Minas Tirith," she said. "But he will come back to us when his business there is finished, and he will bring you a present."

Olwyn's face crumpled, and she began to cry. "No go away Papa!" she wailed. "No go away!" Faramir leaned over and stroked her hair.

"I will return, Olwyn. I promise you that. It is only for a little while that I must be gone."

Olwyn continued to cry. Faramir reached for the bow that she had dropped on the floor and began to play her favorite lullaby. Gradually, Olwyn grew calmer, leaning against Éowyn and snuffling a little.

"Papa must go to visit the Queen for a little while," Éowyn said. "But he is not gone yet, and we will sit and listen to his lovely music until bedtime. We will both miss him, but he will return to play music for us again."

When Thano saw what Wen and the other women had done to the main hall of the Overseer's house, he was stunned into silence. Large swaths of faded, blotchy silk hung over the walls and draped the single long table in the center of the room. The Overseer's large chair had been draped with a woolen blanket with only a few moth holes in it. The table was set with real pewter dishes instead of the crude wooden plates and cups that the People of Nurn made for themselves in the days of freedom. And for a final touch, someone had placed a weapons rack containing the cleanest of the pikes behind the great chair. To Thano's eyes, it seemed a place of fabulous splendor, truly fit for a Lord of Men. A sharp, warm feeling shot through him when he pictured Wen laboring to decorate their new home so fittingly, and he resolved once more to ensure that she became a lady as fine as any queen.

He turned and gestured grandly to Nasir and Haytham, who were to join in the evening meal once again. "Welcome, my Lords," Thano said. "See! At last, the Lord of Nurn is master of a hall where you may be properly entertained."

Nasir and Haytham stared at the decorated hall. Nasir blinked several times as he took in the surroundings. Haytham's mouth opened and shut, but no words came out. Thano smiled, certain that they were as impressed with the place as he was. At last, Nasir found his voice.

"The glory and beauty of this hall are but the most fitting of reflections. How much greater is the glory of its master and the beauty of the Lady who dwells herein!" He nudged Haytham, and both of them bowed low before Thano.

Pleased with Nasir's speech, Thano seated himself in the great chair and indicated that Nasir should sit at his right hand and Haytham at his left. Two of the household women carried a great pot to the table, and Wen followed, carrying a ladle.

"Two roosters fought in the yard today, and one was killed," she said. "I have put its meat in the stew, for today is a day of celebration." With that, she dipped a ladleful of broth with chickpeas and chunks of chicken meat onto each plate. A young girl sliced dark rye bread to soak up the broth. Thano squinted at her.

"You were not part of this household this morning," he said.

"I have come to serve in the house of my Lord," she replied.

"Others have come," Wen put in. "Now that there is a house again, all desire the privilege of working within."

"You see, Lord Thano," Nasir said. "It is as I told you. The delight of the servant is in pleasing the master. You need not fear for the upkeep of your most glorious dwelling."

Thano nodded at the girl. "You may stay." She bobbed her head, and the women withdrew. Thano, Nasir and Haytham began to eat, and Thano decided that the pewter dishes and the chicken meat made the everyday chickpeas and rye bread taste different. Nasir and Haytham ate delicately, and did not touch the bread.

When the meal was over, Nasir bowed deeply to Thano. "You have done well today, o magnificent Lord of Nurn," he said. "My humble companion and I beg the courtesy of one night's hospitality in this great hall, and then we must depart. My Calif will have need of my presence shortly."

"You may stay," Thano said graciously. "My thanks for your aid and assistance. When you see your Calif, you will convey to him greetings from Thano, Lord of Nurn."

"I hear and obey." Nasir retreated soundlessly. Thano sat back in his great chair and began to turn over in his mind the first great problem of his Lordship. All of his people wanted to work in the large house. Thano could not blame them; working in the Overseer's house had been a privilege even before the days of his childhood. He wanted to grant that privilege to as many of his people as he could, but some must stay behind to work the fields. As he considered how best to choose his house servants, he fell asleep, exhausted by the wonders of the day.

The first stars were twinkling in the sky as Faramir rode across the Pelennor towards Minas Tirith. The sight of the city’s flickering lights cheered his heart, and he urged his horse into a canter for the final stretch. As he approached the gates of the city, he put his horn to his lips and blew three short, sharp blasts. Almost immediately, two guards pulled the gates open, and a third sprinted out to meet him, carrying a torch to light his way.

"Lord Faramir! Welcome back!" As the guard approached, Faramir saw that it was Bergil, his friend Beregond’s son. Delighted, he reined the gelding to a halt, dismounted, and embraced the lad.

"Bergil, look at you!" he said. "You have certainly filled out since last I saw you." In three years’ military service to Gondor, Bergil’s shoulders had broadened, and the lines of his jaw had grown firmer, but when he smiled at the compliment, he still wrinkled his nose as he had done throughout his childhood.

"I think I have grown taller, too," Bergil said, "though not by much. But come into the city now, Lord Faramir. You must be weary from your journey, and the King and Queen await you in the Citadel."

Faramir grasped his horse’s reins and led him through the gates. "I am looking forward to seeing them as well. Will you escort me there? I promised your father that I would look in on you, and now is as good a time as any."

Bergil rolled his eyes and grinned. "I must remember to write him more often. Of course I will accompany you, my Lord, if my Lieutenant permits it."

"What am I asked to permit?" A young lieutenant emerged from the guardhouse and bowed when he caught sight of Faramir. "My Lord Steward," he said, "be welcome in the city."

Bergil stood at attention. "Lieutenant Dafyth, request permission to accompany Lord Faramir to the Citadel."

Dafyth nodded. "Permission granted. I do not think we will have so many travelers that we cannot spare you for an hour or so."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Faramir said. Glad of the chance to stretch his legs, he walked beside Bergil, leading his horse, until they were out of sight of the guardhouse. Then he draped his arm companionably around Bergil’s shoulders.

"How does the military life suit you?" he asked. "It has been three and a half years. You have not had your fill of long hours and hard training yet?"

"It is a good life for me," Bergil answered. "I do not mind the hard work, and I dream that one day, I may provide real service to Gondor as my father did."

Faramir nodded and gave a small, wistful smile at the memory of Beregond’s service to Gondor. "It seems that you are a soldier for life now," he told Bergil. "Just as your father is and my brother was. But come now, let us change the subject, or else I will grow maudlin with weariness. I have a message for you from your father, which he bade me tell to you upon my arrival."

"What does my father have to say to me?" Bergil asked with a laugh. Faramir stopped walking. He turned to face Bergil, put on his sternest, most serious expression, and looked deeply into the lad’s eyes.

"Your father," he intoned, "bids you keep your nose clean." After a moment, Bergil burst out laughing, and Faramir chuckled along with him. As they continued up through the circles of the city, they laughed and joked, sharing news of Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen, until they reached the Citadel, where Faramir knew that the King would be sitting up to welcome him home.

A warm meal and a glass of wine later, Faramir and Aragorn sat together in the royal drawing room, discussing the news of the world and the plans for Aragorn’s meeting with Ghayur.

"I do not envy you this journey," Faramir said. "There was something about Ghayur that made my skin crawl merely from being in the same room with him."

"And it was not even your wife he gazed upon with lust in his eyes."

"There is that." Faramir shook his head at the memory of Ghayur’s visit to Ithilien the previous summer and the initial trade conference that had happened as a result. But there was little time to spend reminiscing with his friend. Aragorn would depart the next day, and they still had much to discuss about present affairs. "Ghayur may represent a problem more difficult than simply lust for the Queen," he said. "Did Legolas send you a copy of his scout’s report on the horse thieves who have been plaguing Rohan?"

Aragorn nodded. "He did. I read it twice, and I am still not certain what to make of it. The description is precise, but it was admittedly written by someone who did not know what it was that he looked upon. I respect Legolas’s honesty in not speculating on the identity of these thieves, but that does not make the task of apprehending them any easier."

"Éowyn and I discussed them last night. She is convinced that the description is of Haradric soldiers as they appeared during the War."

"I see." Aragorn considered this statement for a while. "I admit that the description would fit in that circumstance, and the Lady Éowyn has a keen eye. But the spies I have set in Ghayur’s court have reported nothing to me of horse thieving on Ghayur’s part, or on the part of any member of his court. Though this may be a relatively recent development. Éomer did not inform me of the problem until only a few weeks past."

"Still, I urge you to be cautious in your negotiations, my Lord," Faramir said. "At the very least, we have founded suspicion of Haradric invasions into an allied land. I find this turn of events unsettling, to say the least."

"Indeed." Aragorn began to gather the papers on the table together. "In light of this news, I fear that I will have to extend the negotiation period. I will not begin it properly until I have discussed the issue of the thieves with Ghayur and I am satisfied both that he is not involved and that I have a clearer idea of who these thieves might be."

"I do not envy you that task. How long do you think you will be gone?"

"I do not know," Aragorn said. "Much depends on Ghayur's willingness to disclose the truth about his intentions, and that may take some time. And with the added issue of the raiding in Rohan . . . I cannot imagine that I will return within a month's time." He glanced at Faramir with concern in his eyes. "Are you able to stay in the city for that long? Arwen will assist you in some things, but Ninniach occupies much of her time lately. Lord Peredur will accompany me to Poros, but Húrin of the Keys will remain behind . . . "

Faramir held up his hand. "I will stay as long as my King and friend requires," he said. "Éowyn is quite capable of governing Emyn Arnen, and Beregond is there as well. I will miss them, but it cannot be helped."

Aragorn's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Very well. But if I may offer a word of friendly advice . . . do not neglect your wife. You may recall what happened the last time a Lord left her in command of his home while the man she loved went away to his duty."

Faramir laughed. "I prefer to recall that that adventure ultimately led to my wedding with the White Lady of Rohan. If Éowyn is not where she is supposed to be, it is often because she is where she needs to be."

"Good. I am glad that you think so. And now, much as I would enjoy spending the entire night in conversation with you, I must retire. We will make an early start tomorrow, in hopes of an early return as well."

"Goodnight, my Lord." Faramir bowed to his King. Aragorn gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and they both retired to their chambers.

In the morning, Faramir accompanied Aragorn and Peredur and their retainers to the great harbor on the Anduin, where a sleek gray ship awaited them. Arwen and Ninniach had come as well, and Faramir and Peredur busied themselves with the baggage to give Aragorn a private moment to say his farewells. He kissed Arwen and cuddled Ninniach, then strode to the gangplank and formally requested permission to board from the captain of the ship. The captain complied, and the boatswain piped him aboard. Peredur and the rest of the negotiating party followed, and the royal ship set sail down the river.

Arwen raised Ninniach's hand and waved it at the departing ship. "Say farewell, baby," she said. "Say farewell to your Ada, for he is going on a long voyage."

"But he will return again soon," Faramir said. "You will not be too lonely here in the City, I trust?"

Arwen smiled. "I have my maidens after all, and I have Doronrîn to bear me company. Ioreth has persuaded her to remain in the City at least until the King returns. And, of course, there is Ninniach. She is becoming a little person, Faramir, and though she is not especially friendly to others at the moment, I find that I enjoy her company more and more."

"It was the same with our children. I am still amazed at how much I enjoy spending time with both Elboron and Olwyn." Faramir straightened and turned his gaze to the city. "And that reminds me that I have things to do. I must write to my family and let them know I have arrived safely, and then there is a city waiting to be governed."

In many ways, Thano's life had become more pleasant. He dwelled in a real house that was both sturdier and more comfortable than the old Orc barracks. It was larger, too, and each of his household women had a separate room for herself and her children. Though his food was as plain as ever, he ate from pewter dishes every day, and at night he slept in a bed in a chamber that was all his own.

He also had servants now, and he found that he had many more idle hours because of that fact. Not knowing how else to fill up his time, he would often take his mule out for long rides, passing streams, meadows, and failing crops. On these rides, he began for the first time to think about the conditions of his life and about possibilities for the future.

He and his people were free; the King of Gondor had said so in the days after the fall of Barad-dur. He had let them live, and had even given them the lands around Lake Nurnen as their own, and they had been satisfied with that. They had dreamed of the riches that freedom would bring. But in the years since, no riches had appeared. There were no overseers with whips, and they buried their dead instead of sending them to the tables of the Orcs, but in most other respects, the lives of the People of Nurn were little better now than they had been in the time of slavery. Thano thought long and hard during his rides about what it was that his people lacked, what he should find for them that would allow them to live in comfort, but the answer did not come to him.

Not long after Thano moved to the big house, one of the men who worked a field to the north of it came to see him. "Visitors are coming," he said. "There are very many of them. They ride quickly from the north. My Lord," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Curious, Thano shrugged into a dark cloak that Wen had made for him from one of the many bolts of linen they had found in the storage rooms. The only visitors to enter Nurn since freedom had been Nasir and Haytham and their retainers, and they had come from the south. Thano strode out of the house and drew himself up to his full height, to receive his guests as a lord should do.

There were five of them, great broad Men with flowing hair and beards. They were filthy from the long ride over Gorgoroth, and their chests gleamed strangely in the sun. Thano was confused for a moment, and then realized that these Men were wearing armor similar to the sets from his own storage rooms, which his servants were cleaning. Though there were only five strangers, they had a great herd of horses with them, and Thano wondered at that. The leader dismounted and bowed to Thano. Thano’s heart surged with pride at that gesture.

"Welcome to Nurn," he said. "I am Thano, Lord of this land. What do you want here?"

"You are a blunt man, Lord Thano," the stranger said. "Lord Nasir told us that was so. I like directness in a man. I am Zmarak. My home is in the land of Rhûn. I have been acquainted with Nasir for many years now."

Thano inclined his head graciously. "A friend of Nasir is my friend as well. Do you want shelter for the night? I am the master of a great house, and you may stay there as my guests."

"I would appreciate that," Zmarak said. "And this evening, I will tell you many things that you do not know about the lands which border yours. But first, let me discharge the duty which Nasir laid upon my head some time ago." He turned and gestured at the herd of riderless horses. "I am instructed to offer these beasts to you."

Thano studiously kept his features impassive as he surveyed the herd. Though they were exhausted from their long march over the dry plateau, he could see that they were fine, strong horses. They would plow the fields and pull sledges for his people, and in his mind’s eye, he saw Wen seated proudly on a tall, graceful mare. He thought about the gold ingots in his storage chambers, and decided that he was a rich man. "What is their price?"

"There is no price," Zmarak said, then smiled at Thano’s hurt, puzzled expression. "That is, there is no price yet. You may take them now, if you want them. You may consider them payment for services yet to be rendered."

"Who wants my service?"

"Lord Nasir, of course."

Thano considered that. Nasir had given him so much aid and assistance already that Thano felt he should return the favor. The horses would be yet another debt, but what was one more? And Thano could not deny that the People of Nurn would all benefit from the gift of horses. "I will take them," he said. "We will transform the Orc barracks into stables. For now, they may graze in the northwest pasture." He pointed to a small meadow. "Leave them there. You and your men may come to my house and be my guests for a time."

Zmarak proved to be a fascinating dinner guest. He regaled Thano and the women with tale after tale about the rich, fertile lands of Gondor and Rohan, which lay just west of the mountains. Men and Elves lived there, and Zmarak had heard rumors that Dwarves also dwelt nearby. It seemed that the westward lands were full of green growing places. Thano listened to Zmarak’s description of the gardens of Ithilien and the vast fields of grain that waved on the Pelennor and wondered why his own land was not like that. Nurn was close to Gondor; it received the same sunshine and rain, and had an ample supply of water from the rivers. But the crops flourished in Gondor and withered in Nurn.

He was still considering the problem when he bedded down for the night. The secret, he decided, must lie with the people of Gondor. Clearly, they knew how to farm, whereas the people of Nurn could only ruin crops. He thought about Zmarak’s herd of horses, and slowly, an idea took shape in his mind.

The King of Gondor had given his people freedom, but that was all. No food, tools, or assistance had come their way since then. Thano decided that such a gift was no gift at all. He suspected that it had simply been a way for the King to prove his power over a defeated people, condemning them to a slow death by starvation instead of a quicker one at the point of a sword. Against all hope, the People of Nurn had survived, and they had made powerful friends. Thano had defeated the King of Gondor once by not dying; perhaps it was time to defeat him a second time by acquiring the tools of survival that the King had not seen fit to give him.

And Thano knew now what his land lacked. They had sun, rain, and fertile earth. There were people to farm it, and now they had horses to help them do so. There was a Lord to govern, and servants to assist him in doing so. The People of Nurn lacked only slaves of their own.

The trip down the Anduin had been every bit as pleasant as Aragorn had anticipated, and he had taken full advantage of the opportunity to relax, and rest on the deck feeling the sun on his face. All too soon, though, it was over. The ship had docked at Pelargir, and the King and his company had traded the comfort of a river voyage for the long overland trek on horseback through the scrub desert that was South Gondor. The days had been long and dull, filled only with the endless jouncing of the horses. At night, they would pitch their tents, and Aragorn would refine his negotiating plan with Peredur until it was time to sleep. Much as he dreaded the prospect of an open-ended period in the company of Ghayur of Harad, it was with a profound sense of relief that Aragorn approached the trading post at the Crossings of Poros.

By the elaborate tent village pitched a discreet distance from the trading depot, Aragorn knew that Ghayur had already arrived, and that he would not be granted much respite before seeing the man. He directed his company to pitch their tents just as the Master of the trading depot hurried forth to greet him.

"Welcome, my Lord Elessar," the man said. "There is no need to pitch tents. My people are happy to accommodate my Lord and his party within."

Aragorn shook his head. "No, though I thank your people for their offer. Lord Ghayur and our other guests from Harad dwell in tents here, and so I will do likewise. I will begin this meeting on equal terms with him."

"If that is what my Lord wishes, so be it," the Master said. "I have taken the liberty of arranging a preliminary social gathering between both camps so that all may become acquainted before negotiations begin. If my Lord would care to attend in the main building at sunset, a selection of cool drinks and dainties will be provided."

"I would be honored to come," Aragorn said.

By the time he and his company had finished pitching their tents and arranging the living quarters to their satisfaction, the sun had gone down. Aragorn, Peredur, and the retainers walked to the trading compound, where guards ushered them into a cool stone reception hall. "My Lord Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor!" the guard announced.

The assembled dignitaries in the hall turned and applauded his entrance, and Aragorn graciously acknowledged the applause. Almost immediately, he spied a knot of Haradrim in their brightly colored court robes, and he made his way over to them, determined to be pleasant. "Lord Ghayur!" he said. "I am honored to see you once more."

Lord Ghayur, Calif of All Harad, turned around and performed an elaborate bow. His attendants knelt briefly before Aragorn. When he rose, he wore a wide smile that showed a great mouthful of teeth. Aragorn returned the smile, wondering what was behind it.

"My Lord Elessar," Ghayur said. "At the end of the appointed year of watchfulness, we meet again. May our meeting be blessed with good fortune and a thousand joys, and may our negotiations on the morrow signify the forging of a friendship between our nations that will rival the jeweler's diamond itself in its steadfastness."

"I thank you for your kind wishes, Lord Ghayur, and I, too, hope that our meeting will be productive." Aragorn extended a hand to Peredur. "May I present my aide and second, Lord Peredur of Dol Amroth, a valued member of my ruling Council."

Peredur gave a short half-bow. "Your servant, Lord Ghayur."

"Your King's, surely," Ghayur laughed. He pulled a tall, thin man in deep blue robes from his knot of attendants. "And may I also present my aide. This humble one is my Vizier, Lord Nasir, called the Eagle-eyed and the Loyal. He will assist at my side."

Nasir bowed deeply, took Aragorn's hand and kissed the Ring of Barahir. "Long have I desired to look upon the Heir of Isildur. I, too, anticipate an interesting and profitable future."

"Tomorrow we face each other as cobras in the dance of combat," Ghayur said. "But tonight we face each other as equals. Let us have music! I would hear the dulcet strains that soothe the souls of Gondor."

The Master of the trading depot signaled to a quintet of musicians standing by in a discreet corner. They struck up a lilting dance melody, and the assembled diplomats began to relax, pick at the sweetmeats set out on trays, and make pleasant conversation.

Éowyn woke up covered in sweat. Though the sun had only just risen, the air in Emyn Arnen was already hot and humid. For once, Éowyn was relieved that Faramir was not in the bed with her, adding the heat of his body to the heat of the air. She stretched, then flopped back on the pillow, sprawling indecently over the middle of the bed. As she lay perfectly still, trying to muster the energy to rise and begin the day, the door to the master bedroom opened, and Olwyn toddled in.

"I hot, Mama," she whined. Éowyn smiled at her daughter.

"Come here, baby," she said. Olwyn approached the bed and allowed Éowyn to lift her up onto it, but refused to cuddle. "You are right," Éowyn told her. "It is far too hot for a hug." Olwyn burrowed down into the pillows, and Éowyn lay back down beside her. Just as she made herself comfortable, the door opened again, and Elboron came in.

"It is too hot to sleep any more," he said. "My hair itches." He climbed up on the bed and inserted himself between his mother and his sister. Olwyn began to whimper and push at him, and he tweaked her nose. In return, Olwyn grabbed a large handful of her brother's hair and pulled. "Ouch!" Elboron cried.

Éowyn laughed and separated her children, settling one on each side of her. "That should take your mind from your itching hair, Elboron," she said. "I beg both of you, be calm. It is too hot to quarrel. In fact," she went on, "it is too hot to do anything of consequence today. It is perfect weather to go out into the woods and pick blueberries. Would you like to do that?"

"Yes!" Elboron said. Olwyn squealed her agreement. Éowyn hauled herself off the bed.

"Then that is what we will do. First, we will have nice cool baths, and then we will dress in our very oldest clothes and pick blueberries all day. And we will eat blueberries and cream for dinner tonight." Olwyn slithered down from the bed and bounced eagerly. Elboron followed on her heels.

"Can we invite Borlas to come along?" he asked. Ever since Bergil had left to join the military, Elboron had attached himself to Beregond's sixteen-year-old second son.

"I think that is a splendid idea," Éowyn said. "We will invite Borlas and Beregond and some of the ladies and their children. It will be a regular little party. How does that sound, a blueberrying party?"

For answer, both children cheered. Each seized one of Éowyn's hands, and they dragged her down the corridor to the bathing chamber with more enthusiasm than they had ever before shown for baths.

Several hours later, Éowyn and Beregond led a sizeable party from the manor house out to the woods beyond the town. In addition to Éowyn, Beregond, and their children, seven of Éowyn's ladies accompanied them, most bringing children of their own. They wore old, patched shirts, trousers, and dresses, and they carried an assortment of pails and baskets. Most of these were empty, but two of Éowyn's ladies carried blankets and field lunches, and everyone carried a skin of cool water.

It was nearly noon by the time they reached the large patch of wild blueberry bushes north of town. Éowyn and the ladies spread the blankets on the ground, and they ate the bread, cheese, hard-boiled eggs, and lettuce that they had brought with them. While the ladies cleared the remains of the picnic away, Beregond gathered all the children together and showed them the boundaries of the blueberry patch. "None of you are to pass these limits without an adult present," he said. "Borlas, that goes for you as well. The woods are not especially thick, but nevertheless, we do not wish to lose any of you. Within the limits, you may roam as you please."

Borlas proved quite helpful, as the older boys fought to stay at his side. They filled their pails halfway before deciding that it would be much more fun to wrestle among the bushes. The girls picked a few more berries and then settled down to feast. Beregond and the ladies picked the berries quickly and efficiently, though they ate more and more as the afternoon went on. Olwyn stayed close to Éowyn, and her face was sticky with blueberry juice.

Éowyn popped another berry in her mouth and breathed in the cool scent of the woods. It had indeed been a fine idea to come out here today, she decided. Her pail was full, and she walked over to the blankets to set it down. She rooted among the picnic things for a handkerchief with which to wash Olwyn's face. Beregond, comfortably full of sun-warmed blueberries, sat down beneath a tree to cheer the wrestling older boys.

"Leave the cart here," Thano said. "It will be difficult to take further through the woods, and noisy as well. One of you must stay behind to guard it. We should not be long." He looked at his small raiding party and hoped that he had spoken truly. Spurred on by a desperate need for mobility, the Men of Nurn had practiced riding their new horses diligently. Thano was fairly sure that they would be able to control their mounts for the time it would take to locate a suitable number of potential slaves and carry them off. Stealth and secrecy would be their best weapon for the return trip along the Morgul road, though they had brought along their old slings and bags of pebbles.

He led the raiding party through the sparse, sunny woods. They were beautiful, but Thano carefully allowed himself to feel only rage that this green, fertile beauty belonged to Gondor and not Nurn. After some time, Thano heard the squealing laughter of children at play. It seemed a strange sound to his ears; the children of Nurn almost never laughed. But they would laugh after this day, Thano decided. The new slaves would free his people's children from their hard labor and give them the leisure to play and laugh as children should.

As the party approached the source of the laughter, Thano began to catch glimpses of the children through the trees. There were not many, and they appeared to be guarded only by women. All of them wore faded and tattered garments, and Thano guessed that they must be high-ranking field hands for the Lord of this land. That was good. Farming was farming, and it would not take him long to break his new slaves to the ways of his people. At Thano’s signal, the raiders spread themselves out, keeping just beyond sight of their prey. They tensed, readying themselves for Thano’s order.

With a great cry and the noise of pounding hooves, a band of Men on horseback burst out of the woods. Éowyn whirled around, Beregond sprang to his feet, and the ladies froze in terror. The children screamed and tried to run to their mothers. The riders maneuvered to separate them, and began to scoop the shrieking children up by their arms and collars. As the ladies realized that their children were being taken, they rushed at the riders. Some fell beneath the hooves of the horses. The riders seized others by their hair and skirts and dragged them away as well.

Borlas grabbed Elboron, who was nearest to him, by the arm and tried to boost him up a tree. A rider hurled him aside and pulled Elboron onto his own horse. Borlas hit the tree hard, fell to the ground, and did not move.

Olwyn stood screaming in the middle of the chaos. Éowyn rushed to save her daughter, but the rider who had taken Elboron was faster. He stabbed down with a pike, speared the back of Olwyn’s dress, and hoisted her up before him on the horse. Enraged, Éowyn ran after him, only to find Beregond blocking her way.

"My lady!" he cried. "You cannot attack them. You are unarmed. They will kill you." Éowyn turned her full fury on him.

"Beregond," she snarled, "he has taken my children!" With an incoherent shriek, she bowled him over and charged at the rider who was carrying Elboron and Olwyn away. He kicked his horse in the ribs and galloped off through the trees. Éowyn ran after him, only to be lifted off the ground by another rider and carried off with the children. The rest of the kidnappers melted away into the woods.

Beregond sat up and shook his head to clear it in the sudden silence. He looked around, and his heart sank. Three of Éowyn’s ladies lay wounded, and one was dead, her neck broken in the fight. The rest had vanished along with the small children. A moan caught Beregond’s attention, and he turned to see Borlas sitting up, dazed and bleeding. He crawled over to Borlas and wrapped his arms around the boy just as Borlas began to cry. For a moment, all he could think was that his child was safe.

After a moment, Borlas brought himself under control. Beregond continued to pat his back absently, wondering what to do now. He hoped that the three wounded ladies could walk, as there was no other way to get back to the manor house. The dead one would have to wait until someone could return with a horse and cart to fetch her, since Beregond doubted that he had the strength left to carry her home and support the living as well. He felt Borlas’s limbs and was relieved to discover that none were broken.

"Can you stand, lad?" he asked. "We must return to town, and you must help me with the ladies."

Borlas nodded and pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook, and Beregond wished once more that he had a cart so that Borlas need not walk, but there was no other choice. "Who were they, Father?" Borlas asked. "Who attacked us?"

Beregond paused, then helped one of the wounded ladies to rise. "I do not know exactly," he admitted. "It happened so fast. Their armor seemed familiar." He assisted a second lady, and was pleased to see Borlas helping the third. "Come," he said. "You are wounded, and we must see you home."

"My daughter," one of the ladies wailed. "They took my little girl."

"And my little boy," another added. "And the Lady Éowyn as well. What are we going to do, Beregond?"

Beregond set his jaw. "We are going to go home," he said. "We will see you to the healers’ surgery, and then I will determine who these men were and where they might have taken the other ladies and the children." And with that, the remnant of the berrying party began to stagger home through the woods.

There was nothing to do now but sit in the cart and wait. After their captors had shoved the ladies and children into the cart bed and fastened the curtains tightly, Éowyn had immediately begun to investigate the possibility of jumping from the cart as it rolled away. But the riders arranged themselves around the cart such that any escape attempt would be seen.

"We will keep just off the side of the road," the leader was saying. "I have heard that Elves patrol the woods on the other side, and we should not be seen by unfriendly eyes." Éowyn swore quietly as that hope of rescue vanished.

Now the cart bounced and jolted its way through the woods of Ithilien carrying Éowyn and her ladies and children off to an unknown destination. Éowyn sighed. It seemed that there was little she could do at the moment to alter the future, so she decided to concentrate on the present. And the present involved a cart full of terrified small children, some of them separated from their mothers, who needed soothing and a calm adult presence. Some of the smallest had wet themselves in their terror. Éowyn and the ladies busied themselves cleaning the children as best they could with rags torn from the sacks lining the bottom of the cart.

Olwyn clung to Éowyn and whimpered in a soft, constant monotone. Elboron, who had recently decided to start behaving like a "little man," especially in front of Faramir, had now abandoned all pretense of bravery and huddled close at Éowyn's other side. Éowyn paused after cleaning up a little girl and gave Elboron an extra hug and a kiss.

"At least we are together," she told him. "And I will do my best to see that we remain together. Your Mama will not abandon you without a fight."

The slow walk back to town helped to clear Beregond’s head. He offered perfunctory support to the wounded lady who leaned on him, but his mind was back at the blueberry patch, picking through the details of the sudden attack. In particular, his thoughts returned again and again to the helmets that the kidnappers had worn. Though they were old and battered, they retained a distinct shape, and Beregond was sure he had seen that shape somewhere before. He cast his memory back to the War, and then beyond, trying to recall the faces he had seen underneath similar helmets in the past.

"Will they come back?" Borlas asked.

"I do not know," Beregond said, mildly annoyed at the interruption in his thoughts. "I will set a division of the White Company to guard the road. And I ought to send a messenger to Lord Legolas as well, for if these raiders do return, they might just as easily turn northward into the Elves’ territory. And then I must . . . " Beregond stopped dead in his tracks as an image flashed in his memory. "Oh, no," he breathed. "That cannot be."

"What is it?" Borlas asked. "Father, are you wounded? Does it pain you?"

Beregond pulled himself back to the present and turned to glance at his panicky son. "I am fine, Borlas," he said. "But I have remembered where I have seen armor like that before. Come, we must get the ladies back to Emyn Arnen without delay. This is much more serious than I had thought."

"Why? Where did they come from? Are they going to attack the town?"

"I do not know. They appeared to be Haradrim, though why they approached from the Morgul Road I cannot fathom." Beregond quickened their pace a little, walking as fast as the wounded ladies could move. "Borlas, I will need your aid," he said. "Lord Faramir must be informed of this assault as quickly as possible. I cannot bear the message myself, and I do not have the leisure to instruct another messenger. When we return to Emyn Arnen, you are to saddle the fastest horse in the Prince’s stable and ride to Minas Tirith. Tell Lord Faramir what you saw today, and tell him that they came in armor of Harad. Can you do that?"

Borlas gulped. "Yes, Father."

"Good lad. I know that you are hurt, but this message must reach Minas Tirith without delay. After you have delivered it, you may spend as much time at the Houses of Healing there as you need."

As soon as they approached the manor house, Beregond began to shout instructions. Staff members rushed outside to bear the wounded ladies indoors. One maid pulled out a handkerchief and began to dab at the scrapes and bruises on Borlas’s face, but Beregond pulled him away.

"There is no time for that," he said. "Saddle a horse and ride now. This message must arrive quickly."

Borlas hurried to the stable and selected a large bay stallion. His fingers shook, and he fumbled with the tack. A groom ran to assist him, and another filled a water skin and attached it to the back of the saddle. His heart pounding, Borlas hauled himself onto the stallion’s back. He swayed with dizziness for a moment, then took a deep breath. His father was counting on him to deliver the message, trusting him as he would trust a grown man. Borlas urged the horse forward, and he galloped away out of the stable yard, hoping that he would be able to stay in the saddle long enough to reach Minas Tirith.

To her surprise, Doronrîn had completely lost track of time. Ioreth had invited a quartet of apprentice midwives to gather in the Houses of Healing so that Doronrîn could instruct them in the tricks of the trade she had gathered over the centuries. "For you are very wise, Lady Doronrîn," Ioreth had explained. "It would be a crying shame to have you here in the city, you who helped the little Princess to be born alive, and for the girls not to hear you speak. Why, I have been catching babies in this city nigh on forty-seven years now, and I declare that I learned as much on the night the Princess was born as in all my born days. Think what the girls could learn from you now, and how many more babies will be born hale and sound because of it."

Faced with that argument, Doronrîn had not been able to refuse. She had been somewhat apprehensive about a prolonged lesson in a language not her own, with four strange children of Men, but the girls were bright and eager to learn. Soon, Doronrîn felt almost as though she were back in Eryn Lasgalen teaching small children to identify and use various herbs and plants. She was especially pleased that the four apprentices had clearly had prior training, and thus were able to ask intelligent questions. She became so caught up in the conversation that she failed to notice the setting sun, and was mildly surprised when Ioreth entered the room.

"I do apologize for interrupting your lovely discussion," she said, "but the sun is setting now, and the young ladies will be wanting their dinners. The cooks have prepared the new young beets today, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste."

"Of course," Doronrîn said. "I would never keep any young person from a meal." She inclined her head at the apprentices, and they rose to their feet and bobbed awkward curtsies.

"Thank you ever so much for coming to speak with us, Lady Doronrîn," the oldest girl said. "If it is not too bold to ask, might we come again to speak with you? There are still so many questions we would ask of you."

Doronrîn blushed, and Ioreth smiled her apple-doll smile. "It would seem that you have acquired a following," she said. "I am hardly surprised at that; we have heard tell of the great Elvish lore-masters of old, and I am sure that they could not hold a candle to you for useful instruction, and so elegantly delivered. Why, if you see your way clear to staying in the city for a few months, you might hold regular lessons in the art of midwifery. Perhaps you might even return each year, for there will always be new young ladies to teach . . . "

Doronrîn held up her hand. "Peace, Mistress Ioreth," she said. "I fear that your tongue runs faster than my plans. I will return tomorrow to speak with these ladies. If that goes well, then we may begin to consider regular lessons."

Ioreth beamed. "That would be wonderful. Now, what would you say to a little bit of a walk? You have been very kind, to stay cooped up indoors all day today, though I dare say you have had the best of it, as it has been so very hot lately. But perhaps a sniff of the evening air would do you good." She linked her arm firmly through Doronrîn’s and steered her out of the Houses of Healing. "I have an idea. We will go and stroll through that pleasure garden on the fourth level. It is a lovely place, almost as lovely as our gardens. Your own Lord Legolas gave that to us, did you know that? It was a wedding present for the King, it was, and such a kind one at that . . . "

Doronrîn allowed Ioreth’s chatter to flow past her as they walked through the streets of the city. The air had indeed begun to cool, and as they approached the fourth level, Doronrîn thought she could smell flowers and trees, very faintly.

At this hour, the pleasure garden was mostly empty. The two ladies were just about to enter when they heard the uneven hoofbeats of an exhausted horse and the ragged breathing of a rider in pain. Without a word exchanged between them, they hurried down the street to investigate.

Not far away, they saw a young Citadel Guard leading a stumbling horse. The face of the boy on its back was bruised and crusted with spots of dried blood, and he slumped over the horse’s neck, practically insensate. Ioreth gasped.

"Why, Bergil? What has happened? Is that Borlas? What brings him here alone and wounded?"

"He rode to the City," Bergil explained. "I told him he ought to go to the healers, but he said he had an urgent message for Lord Faramir and that something had happened in Ithilien. I do not know what to do, and now I am frightened for both my father and my mother. Can you help us, Mistress?"

Doronrîn reached up and clasped the boy’s wrist. "He is alive," she said, "and I think he will remain so. He is exhausted, but that can be mended with rest."

"Someone should be ready to take him in," Ioreth said. "And it should not be you, Bergil. The barracks is no place for a sick lad."

"Our Uncle Iorlas lives in the City," Bergil offered.

"That will do. Run and tell him that your brother is in town and may need to stay with him for a few days. Lady Doronrîn and I will take Borlas to the Citadel."

Bergil nodded, gave Borlas's hand one last squeeze, and hurried away. Borlas, only partially conscious, swayed on the horse's back. Ioreth glanced at Doronrîn.

"I cannot ride behind him," Doronrîn said, "not with that saddle in place. But perhaps I can help to keep him in his saddle." She reached up and placed her hand on his knee, and a look of intense concentration spread over her face. Borlas seemed to come back to himself a little and gripped the horse's body with his knees. Doronrîn nodded to Ioreth. Ioreth grasped the horse's reins and the little party moved slowly through the streets of Minas Tirith toward the Citadel.

Faramir heard Arwen’s gasp dimly, and his legs carried him backwards for a step or two. The back of his knees met the edge of the Steward’s Chair, and he sat down heavily in it, still reeling from the news that Borlas had just delivered. He wanted nothing more than to leap up and ride for Ithilien in that very instant, but he knew that there was, at that moment, nothing he could do there. And his duty was to stay in Minas Tirith and rule in the place of the King until Aragorn returned from Harad. That thought penetrated the fog in his mind, and he stared at Borlas, who knelt on the floor before him.

"Harad. You said these kidnappers were soldiers of Harad?"

"That is what my father told me," Borlas said miserably. "I did not take notice of their armor, my Lord. I was trying to get Elboron away." His face screwed up, as though he were trying desperately not to cry, and he began to shake. Doronrîn crouched down and laid a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder. Ioreth pursed her lips at Faramir.

"Saving your pardon, Lord Faramir," she said, "but this boy has had enough. He is wounded, and sick from his ride here. I wager you have learned all you will get from him tonight. He should see a healer and have his wounds treated, and then he should be put straight to bed."

Faramir nodded, still dazed. "Of course, Mistress Ioreth. Please see to it that he is seen by a healer."

"He will need somewhere to stay," Arwen said. "We cannot send him riding back to Ithilien immediately."

Ioreth drew herself up proudly. "I have already made arrangements for that, my Lady. When we found him in the street, I sent his brother, Bergil, to rouse up Iorlas. He is their uncle, you know, young Beregond’s small brother."

"Good," Faramir said. "That was well done." He took a deep breath and rose from his chair. After sending a page to summon an escort to the Houses of Healing, he knelt down in front of Borlas and took the boy’s hands in his. "Thank you, Borlas," he said. "Your father set you a difficult task, and you did well."

"I did not save Elboron," Borlas said. "I tried, but the rider came up behind me so fast —"

"You have now learned a lesson about warfare. A soldier on horseback always has the advantage over a foot soldier. Especially when the foot soldier is sixteen years old and has not even sworn himself to the service of Gondor." Faramir made the effort to smile at Borlas. "You were brave enough not to abandon Elboron in the middle of a battle, and I am ever grateful that my son has such a loyal friend. You have done well this day, Borlas, and now you shall have a soldier’s reward."

Borlas managed to look curious even through his pain and exhaustion. "What is that?"

Faramir laughed. "A clean bed and someone to look after you. To a seasoned campaigner, that is a great deal to be thankful for." Borlas cracked a little smile just as two footmen appeared at the door. Faramir stood and motioned to them. "Please escort this young messenger to the Houses of Healing," he said. "He has earned himself a rest."

The footmen nodded, and one helped Borlas to his feet. They led him out of the throne room. Ioreth started to follow them, then turned back and glanced at Doronrîn.

"Please go on ahead, Mistress Ioreth," Faramir said. "I would have a moment to speak with Lady Doronrîn." Ioreth dropped a stiff curtsey and left. Doronrîn looked expectantly at Faramir.

"What is on your mind, Lord Faramir?" she asked.

"I no longer consider the road back to Ithilien safe," Faramir said without preamble. "If you are bound and determined to go home before I have deemed it safe, I would ask that you accept an armed escort. However, I would prefer that you extend your visit here in Minas Tirith, where your safety on the road might not be called into question at all."

Doronrîn nodded thoughtfully as she considered this request, then turned to Arwen. "Have you aught to say in this matter, Lady Arwen?"

Arwen smiled at her. "I find your presence comforting, the more so in light of this news from Ithilien. I would appreciate having you at my side for your companionship and for your expertise in the matter of rearing children, especially in a hostile world."

"I see." Doronrîn dipped her head gracefully. "Mistress Ioreth has also requested that I prolong my sojourn in this city for the purpose of instructing her apprentices in the arts of midwifery. Faced with three such eloquent arguments, I suppose that I must agree. I will remain in Minas Tirith as long as there are those who would have me."

Arwen's smile broadened. "There is always a room for you in the Citadel," she said. "And I am sure that Mistress Ioreth has been arranging quarters as well. You may find yourself having to pick and choose offers of hospitality."

"I am most grateful, Lady." Doronrîn curtsied deeply and left the room.

"Very well," Faramir said. "That is dealt with. Now I must return to the problem at hand, the assault upon Emyn Arnen." He walked a few steps, trying to calm the shaking in his limbs.

"The King must be warned," Arwen said. "Especially if the attackers were in fact from Harad. He has Andúril with him, but he is only one Man, after all."

"I agree. I will send the fastest messenger in the stable to Poros before the evening grows much older." Faramir realized that he was pacing and stood still. He glanced at Arwen, and a thought crossed his mind. "You said 'if the attackers were in fact from Harad.' Do you have cause to doubt Beregond's message?"

Arwen frowned. "I do not know. It did not seem right. I would have guessed that Haradrim would attack from the south, yet these appear to have attacked from the north. I do not understand that."

Faramir blew out a long, frustrated breath. "That is a good point, my Lady," he said. "And it leaves me with two equally unpleasant options. Either the attackers wanted us to think they were Haradrim, possibly to disrupt the trading conference, or they were in fact Haradrim, and Harad's power has spread so far that it can present a threat to Ithilien from the north."

"I do not know which of those options is worse," Arwen admitted, lacing her fingers tightly together. Faramir flashed what was meant to be a reassuring smile at her.

"I do not know, either. But I do know that Gondor will not face this problem alone. I am going to send that messenger to the King now, and then I will order that the beacons be lit to summon Éomer King, for this matter concerns him as well. They have stolen his sister, his niece, and his nephew, after all."

"And you do not wish to face his wrath should he discover that you did not call him?" Arwen said cheekily. Faramir made an effort to laugh at that. Arwen's expression softened, and she embraced her friend. "I am sorry about the assault on your family, Faramir," she said. "If there is aught I can do to ease your worry, tell me."

Faramir gave the Queen a real smile this time. "You can stay at my side and whisper cool reason into my ear," he said. "And keep Ninniach close. It seems that high-born children are no longer safe in their homelands these days."

"My Lord!" a runner called. "A messenger arrives from Emyn Arnen. He says it is urgent and he must speak with you immediately."

Legolas set down his fishing pole and looked ruefully at Neldorín, then at the runner. "Send him here," he said. "Neldorín, you should go on ahead. I will join you at the brook when I am finished here."

Neldorín shrugged. "I understand, my Lord," he said. "I will try to save a few fish for you." Legolas laughed, and Neldorín left with his fishing gear. Legolas set his own pole upright in a corner of the entryway and headed for his reception hall. "Show the messenger in," he told the runner.

The Man appeared before him in short order, covered with dust from the road, and sketched a quick bow. "Greetings, Lord Legolas," he said. "I am Damrod of the White Company in Ithilien. Captain Beregond has sent me to bring you news and a warning."

"Oh? What has happened?" Legolas nodded to the runner. "Fetch some water."

Damrod smiled gratefully. "Just past noon today, Lady Éowyn, her children, and some attendants were out berrying just north of the town. They were attacked without warning by riders from the north. One lady was killed, and several more were carried off, along with Éowyn and the small children."

"What?" Legolas blinked several times, not certain he had heard the Man correctly. "Who attacked them?"

"Captain Beregond thinks they were Haradrim, but he cannot imagine why they would attack from the north. He bade me tell you of the attack and warn you to strengthen your guard along the Morgul road."

Legolas frowned. "Did these Haradrim come from Mordor, then?"

"I do not know," Damrod said. "I suppose it is possible. If they attacked us from the north but did not pass through your territory, they must have come along the Morgul road."

Legolas swore and stalked over to the map that hung on the wall. He studied it intensely, willing it to provide answers. The runner appeared with a pitcher of cool water and a cup. Damrod smiled gratefully at him and poured himself a drink. After a few minutes, Legolas turned away from the map.

"Thank you for informing me of this, Damrod," he said. "I will strengthen our guard to the south, as Beregond recommends. Does Emyn Arnen require immediate assistance from the Elves?"

"I think not," Damrod replied. "There is little to be done right now. Beregond sent a messenger to Minas Tirith, and we will wait for Lord Faramir's response."

"I will also send a message to Faramir," Legolas said. "This insult was to the people of Gondor, so I will not undertake a response without his agreement. However, the Elves of Ithilien are at his service in the aftermath of this attack."

"That is kind of you, Lord Legolas," Damrod said. "If it is your wish, I will carry this message myself."

Legolas smiled at him. "Are you not weary from the ride here?"

"This is more important than one weary messenger."

"So be it, then. Nevertheless, you and your horse should rest before setting out again. Go to the kitchens and ask the cooks to find you something to eat. Our grooms will care for your horse in the meantime. I will send for you when the message is ready."

"Thank you, Lord Legolas." Damrod bowed and hurried off in the direction that Legolas indicated. Legolas sent the runner to summon Neldorín from the brook. While he waited for the captain of the guard to arrive, he sat down to write his official message to the Steward of Minas Tirith.

Aragorn paced briskly through the halls of the trade depot, working feeling back into his legs. The morning negotiation session had been long, and he found that he was grateful for a small respite. He turned a corner and came upon Peredur standing in a corner and twisting his torso this way and that. King and counselor smiled ruefully at each other.

"I am not accustomed to sitting in one place for so long at a stretch, my Lord," Peredur said with an apologetic smile. Aragorn matched it with a grimace of his own.

"Nor am I. What say you to a quick tour through the grounds? I would see the Sun at least once today."

"That is an excellent idea, my Lord."

Aragorn walked out onto the porch with Peredur at his side. The sun blazed down hot upon them, and they made for the relative coolness of a grove of palm trees. Aragorn closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of baking ground mingled with living plant.

"I wonder who they are," Peredur said abstractedly.

Aragorn opened his eyes and saw Peredur squinting at a company of riders who had entered Ghayur's camp. They appeared to be resting easily as if they were among friends. Curious, Aragorn began to walk toward the Haradric camp. Peredur fell into step at his side. They had covered half the distance when Lord Ghayur emerged from the shaded veranda of the trade depot.

"Ah, most eminent Lords of Gondor!" he called. "You have also elected to partake of the free air and view the full glory of this excellent day."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "I do not know that I would describe the day as ‘excellent,’ Lord Ghayur, but I take your point. Perhaps it is fortunate that we have encountered you. We wished to know about that company of riders currently taking up residence in your camp." He indicated the riders with a gesture. Ghayur looked and nodded slowly.

"Your eye is as the eyes of the eagles," he said. "They are a company of horse traders from the far land of Rhûn. Lord Nasir entertains their leader to tea in the haven of his tent."

"What do they discuss at this entertainment?" Aragorn asked, carefully keeping his voice light and conversational. Ghayur smiled a wide smile.

"Simple business of Harad," he said. "For it is truly said that, even as the shifting of the sand takes no account of the wishes of man, so do our petty affairs continue despite the intrusions of great events in our time."

"Pardon me, Lord Ghayur," Peredur said. "You said that these men are horse traders?" Neither Aragorn nor Ghayur missed the suspicion in his voice. Ghayur chuckled appreciatively.

"Our desert steeds are as fleet as though foaled by the wind itself," he said. "Yet we may still desire beasts of different stature and bearing to complement the grace and delicacy of our own."

"That is true, Ghayur," Aragorn said. "But I am constrained to point out once more that Rohan, a true ally of Gondor, has recently been plagued by horse thieves of foreign origin. You have taken great pains to convince me of your innocence in this matter, and now Easterling horse traders appear in your camp. What now shall I believe?"

"The truth is that I have no knowledge of thievery in Rohan," Ghayur said. "What you will believe is your own business. Zmarak of Rhûn is a fair man, and the horses he brings are strong and hardy."

"I would like to see these horses," Peredur muttered. "Perhaps they resemble the steeds of Rohan more than the ponies of the East."

"But as you would be unable to prove their origin, such examination to you would be as a gold necklace cast before a camel," Ghayur said sharply. He turned to Aragorn, and his tone became smooth once again. "But let us not discuss such things while the sun is high and we are yet enjoying our respite from the negotiations. Let us speak of lighter matters. How fares your Queen, the Evening Star? I was sore distressed to learn that she would not attend upon you."

"Arwen Undómiel is well," Aragorn said. "She chose not to attend this meeting of her own volition." Privately, he decided that he did not blame Arwen in the least.

"Ah, of course," Ghayur said. "She now has care of your little Rainbow. A lovely name, and I am certain that the beauty of the child herself eclipses it as the moon does the stars. I believe I have a son by my first wife who is eligible. What say you to a betrothal?"

Aragorn blinked in surprise. "Betrothal? To your son? Lord Ghayur, Ninniach is not yet one year of age."

"The son of whom I speak, the delight of my eye, is but three years," Ghayur said. "When they are grown, it will be as though they are of an age."

Aragorn forced himself to smile politely. "That was not precisely my objection, Ghayur." Just then, a footman rang the bell in the tower of the trade depot, signaling that the negotiations were to resume. "We will discuss this in more detail later," Aragorn said. He nodded to Peredur, and they hurried back to the depot to prepare for further negotiations. In his shock over Ghayur’s suggestion, Aragorn did not notice a young man of noble bearing leaving Nasir’s tent and riding north as if on an errand of some urgency.

Éowyn blinked in the bright sunlight. After several days spent jolting in the cart through the mountains and over a plain with no food and little water, she could barely stand upright, yet she stood as tall as she was able. She was the Princess of Ithilien and a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, and she would retain her dignity to the last. Elboron followed her example, standing straight and silent, clutching Olwyn to his side. Around Éowyn, the three ladies who had been taken with her corralled the other children close to them.

They stared silently at their captors. Now that they were not immediately attacking from horseback, Éowyn saw that they were large, rawboned Men dressed in rude tunics and trousers of linen. They seemed ill at ease in the old Haradric armor they wore and stared suspiciously at their captives. Equally shabby women and children emerged from the doorways of the small, newly built houses that ringed a larger building on top of a hill. They stared at the newcomers with mild interest.

The largest of the strange men moved to plant himself directly in front of Éowyn. His black cloak swirled in the dust at his feet, and he looked Éowyn up and down appreciatively. "I am Thano," he said. "I am Lord of the People of Nurn. We will be your new masters. You are to work for us in our fields. Do not seek to return to the life you once knew. Nurn is your home now. You will make this land bloom as it should."

The ladies gasped and clutched the children close. Several of the older children went pale. Éowyn worked up sufficient moisture in her mouth and spat at Thano. "I am Éowyn," she said. "I am the Princess of Ithilien, and I will suffer no man to make my people common slaves." Elboron stared at his mother, impressed.

Thano stared blankly at her for a moment, and Éowyn wondered if he had comprehended what she had told him. Then a slow smile spread over his face. "Excellent," he said. "You are an asset I had not looked for. You will not be a common slave. You will instead serve to pay a debt I owe. That is a relief." He turned to one of his comrades. "Take the others to the barracks," he ordered. "They will begin work in the morning. We are not like the Orcs. The People of Nurn are merciful."

Éowyn was about to tell Thano exactly what she thought of his mercy when a large man seized her children. She cried out, and Thano grabbed her roughly by the elbow. He walked her up the hill toward the big house. Éowyn twisted around and saw the other men herding the ladies and children away. The man dragging Elboron and Olwyn followed Thano up the hill. Olwyn wiggled her hand free and raced to Éowyn’s side, crying "Mama! Mama!"

Thano regarded her coolly. "That child would make a lovely handmaiden for my Lady when she is grown," he said. Éowyn drew back her foot to kick him and then thought better of it, fearing that he might separate her from both children. Thano grinned at her.

"You see, Princess," he said. "I allow you to keep your children for the time being. The People of Nurn are merciful."

"We will see what my husband and my brother have to say about your mercy," Éowyn said. "Do not underestimate them. They will come for us."

Thano made no answer to that, but jerked her arm roughly. They exchanged no more words as they entered the large house. Éowyn had a brief impression of shabby, imitation finery before they descended to an underground cellar level.

"These are my storage chambers," Thano said. "I keep my treasure here. You will stay here as well." He lifted a large ring of keys from a hook on the wall and fumbled with it for a moment before selecting one. He opened a crooked, warped door and shoved Éowyn into the tiny, dark room beyond. Elboron and Olwyn followed quickly. Éowyn lunged at the door in a last, desperate attempt, but Thano shut it in her face. Éowyn heard the rattle of keys, and then she was trapped in a small cell lit only by dim flickers of light filtering through the cracks in the door. Olwyn whimpered, and Éowyn clutched her children to her, trying to swallow the beginnings of panic.

Five days after Faramir had ordered that the beacons be lit, two columns of soldiers appeared, marching across the Pelennor. Éomer King of Rohan rode at the head of one column. At his side, on a sturdy pony, was Gimli, Lord of Aglarond, leading a detachment of dwarves bearing wicked-looking axes. As the soldiers of the two armies made camp just outside the city walls, Faramir welcomed the two commanders into the Citadel.

"We came as soon as we saw the beacon fire," Éomer said. He saw that Faramir's eyes were red and hollow, as though he had been weeping. "What has happened? I see no threatening army."

"The threat is not here," Faramir said. "It is hidden from us, though we cannot doubt that it is real."

Éomer exchanged a glance with Gimli, but Gimli had no explanation for Faramir's strange behavior. At that moment, Arwen stepped up to Faramir's side and gave Éomer and Gimli a gracious nod of acknowledgement.

"Welcome, my Lords," she said. "I thank you for your swift response. Gondor may indeed rely on her friends when she is in distress, and today our distress is dire. Five nights past, the Steward and I received word of an assault upon Emyn Arnen in the land of Ithilien." Éomer sucked in a sharp breath, and Gimli bristled. Arwen laced her fingers together tightly. "During the assault, Lady Éowyn was abducted," Arwen said softly, "along with both of her children, several of her ladies, and their children."

"Abducted?" All the color drained from Éomer's face. He looked at Faramir, who seemed to be on the edge of despair. For a moment, he seemed to waver between fury at those who had taken his sister and compassion for her husband, prevented by duty from rushing to her rescue. Then he pulled Faramir into a swift, strong embrace, releasing him almost immediately.

"This is grievous news indeed," Gimli said. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Therein lies the heart of our problem," Faramir said, standing a little straighter. "They appear to have been attacked from the north by soldiers wearing armor of Harad."

"This is not the first time in recent days that I have heard of mysterious soldiers wearing armor of Harad," Éomer said. "Some time ago, I received a letter from Legolas of Ithilien."

"I also had a copy," Faramir said, "As did the King. Éowyn told me that she thought the description in that letter matched the Haradrim she saw in the War."

"It seems to me," Arwen put in, "that there is something similar about both of these attacks. In Rohan, horses are stolen in swift raids. Later, in Ithilien, women and children are taken in a similar raid. Something valuable has been taken, quickly and violently. It is not unlikely that the same power is behind both attacks."

"That still does not answer the question of why Haradrim would attack from the north," Gimli said, "or even if they are Haradrim at all. No one has laid eyes upon them save at a distance or in the heat of battle. All we may say for certain is that they wear the armor worn by Haradrim eleven years ago. I wonder if they are Haradrim at all."

"Who else would they be?" Faramir asked. "The Easterlings are not so friendly with the Haradrim as to ally with them in attacking Gondor and Rohan."

"But they would not be above donning Haradric armor to fool us into believing that it was Harad which attacked, and not Rhûn," Éomer pointed out.

Arwen frowned. "Or perhaps they are indeed Haradrim who seek to attack while the King is away from the city. We cannot be certain."

"Yet we may try to be certain," Gimli said. "Has Legolas had any more to say in this matter?"

Faramir indicated a letter that lay on a table cluttered with maps and sketches of armor designs. "He has offered his service at my request."

"Good. I will say this for the Elves: they are excellent scouts. Let us take advantage of Legolas’s kind offer. If you will, Lord Faramir, I will ride to Ithilien and ask Legolas and his folk to scout the area. Perhaps the trail of Éowyn’s abductors is still fresh enough for Elves to follow."

Arwen smiled a brilliant smile, and Faramir and Éomer relaxed visibly. "That is an excellent idea, Master Dwarf," Faramir said. "When we discover the identity of those who have taken my wife and children, they will rue the day they were born."

Éomer raised an eyebrow at the Steward. "That is, if my sister has not already made them rue it."

Faramir laughed, for the first time since he had heard the news of the attack upon Emyn Arnen. "Well said, Éomer King. Master Gimli, please relay our request of aid in scouting to Lord Legolas."

Gimli bowed. "I will leave within the hour."

One of the horsemen Thano had assigned to guard the perimeter of the settlement trotted up to the big house. "I have seen riders coming from the south," he called. "They will arrive here soon."

The advance warning pleased Thano, for it allowed him to don his fine black cloak, stroll out into the yard, and await his guests with an air of cool expectation. He did not have to wait long before Haytham arrived, leading a troop of men clad in bright silks and shining armor. Thano attempted to remain impassive, but could not stifle a gasp of admiration for the glorious soldiers. Haytham grinned as he dismounted and strode over to greet Thano.

"They are the loyal remnants of my father’s house, who have sworn their fealty unto me to the utter end," he said. "They advance with martial noise and glittering aspect, and their splendor is the last sight to dazzle the eyes of their enemy."

"Impressive," Thano managed. "Do you have word from Lord Nasir?"

"I do," Haytham said. "Come, let us find shade, so that we may discuss the future with cool head and calm heart."

Thano nodded and ushered Haytham inside the house. "What does Lord Nasir say?" he asked. "Why does he not come with you?"

"Lord Nasir is occupied at the moment with matters of state for the Calif. He bade me make his humblest and most sincere apologies, and has given me orders to act in his stead, doing his will in all things."

"Good." Thano pulled his lips back in the grin he had been using more frequently. "Then you may tell him that I will begin to repay the debt I owe him. I have acquired a gift for my fellow Lord."

Haytham blinked. "Indeed. I am most curious to see this gift."

Proud that he had managed to startle the normally unflappable Haytham, Thano led the way down the stairs to the cellar level. He took the ring of keys from its hook on the wall and unlocked one of the storage rooms. With a triumphant flair, he threw the door open to reveal the blonde Princess and her children huddled in the corner, blinking in the light. "That is the Princess of Ithilien," he said. "I captured her when I led my best men on a trip to obtain slaves to work our fields. I offer her to Lord Nasir to help pay my debt."

Haytham stared at the Princess for a long moment. "You led your folk on a slaving raid in Ithilien?" he asked. "Truly, I am astonished. I had not realized that you had the will and the capacity to do such a thing. You have progressed further in your lessons than Lord Nasir or I would have anticipated."

"I have done well?"

Haytham nodded. "You have done very well. I believe that this gift will please Nasir. To possess such a concubine, as golden as the desert sands in the morning, eyes as blue as the Sea from whence my father’s people came . . . that is no mean thing in life. Yes, he will be pleased indeed. I would suffer you to keep her a while longer, though, for I may not return to Lord Nasir’s side immediately."

"Why?" Thano asked, puzzled.

"I have come to offer you yet another way in which you may make partial payment on your debt to Lord Nasir," Haytham said. "Do not fear. It is well within the capacity of one who has stolen slaves from Ithilien, and I will be at your side in any event."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Do you know anything of the lands beyond the Ephel Duath?" Haytham asked.

"Some. There is Gondor, where the King lives with his Elf. I have heard that other Elves live nearby."

"They do," Haytham assured him. "But it is in Gondor where our concerns lie. Gondor’s King is away from his palace at the moment. He tarries in Poros to parley with the Calif. He leaves behind a jewel of great value, which the Calif has greatly desired of late. Were Lord Nasir to come into possession of the Jewel of the Evening, he would be assured of the Calif’s attention to certain of his . . . suggestions."

"You want me to help you steal this Jewel of the Evening?" Thano chewed his lip thoughtfully. "That does not sound too difficult."

"I will be more than happy to offer my assistance, of course."

Thano nodded. "What does this Jewel of the Evening look like? Can I carry it in my belt pouch?"

"No," Haytham laughed. "The Jewel of the Evening is a fairer thing than any lovely stone. The Jewel of the Evening is the living form adorning the arm of the King."

"The Elf of Gondor," Thano breathed. "You would have me steal the Elf of Gondor."

Haytham nodded. "Surely not an impossible labor for one who has stolen the Princess of Ithilien with the aid of no force but his own."

Thano drew himself up to his full height. "It will be done. Together, we will take this Jewel of the Evening. And Lord Nasir of Harad will see that Lord Thano of Nurn has become a power to be reckoned with." He glanced briefly at Éowyn. "We will deliver the women together. It will be easier that way." Then he shut the door, locked it again, and escorted Haytham back to the main level of the big house, where they began to flesh out their plans.

Moving slowly, Neldorín studied the forest floor, carefully banishing expectations from his mind. Legolas had assigned him the task of tracking the Men who had abducted Éowyn of Ithilien, but had been unable to specify how many Men Neldorín was to seek or where they might have gone. Neldorín had assembled a small party of the settlement’s best scouts, including his wife, Arasiel, and their young son, Faron, who was learning the art of tracking from his mother. Arasiel had taken Faron and two other scouts to the south side of the road, as Faramir had given them permission to expand their search into the territory controlled by Men. They would meet at sunset at a particularly old and gnarled oak tree that Neldorín had specified to share the information they had gathered.

At the moment, Neldorín had found little of interest. The tracks in the forest indicated that only Elves and other forest creatures had passed by, and the trees expressed nothing save idle curiosity. With a sigh, Neldorín reminded himself that finding out where an enemy was not was almost as important as finding out where that enemy was.

Suddenly, the song of the trees shifted to one of alarm. Neldorín became instantly alert, and heard the sound of running footsteps. A voice called his name, and one of the two scouts who had searched the south side of the road burst through the underbrush. "Neldorín," she said, "you must come at once. Arasiel has need of you."

Neldorín was on his feet in an instant, following the scout through the woods and across the road. Arasiel lay at the side of the road, her head cradled in the other scout’s lap. Faron was nowhere to be seen. Neldorín sank to his knees at Arasiel’s side. She was conscious, though dazed and weeping. He clutched her hand. "What happened? Where is Faron?"

"Gone," she gasped. "I am so sorry. There were too many of them."

"Too many of whom? What happened?"

Arasiel did not answer immediately. Neldorín gathered her in his arms and held her tightly as she wept. After a few moments, she was calm enough to answer. "It was the Men. A great party of them, armed and on horseback. Faron and I were following strange tracks that seemed to lead back to the road, when we came upon them suddenly. They were surprised at our presence, but before I could give a signal, their leader pointed at Faron and said something in a language I do not know. Then they attacked us, and one of them seized Faron. I fought, and I tried to call for help, but there were too many of them. And now Faron is gone. I am so sorry, Neldorín! What will become of him? He is still so small." Arasiel choked back a fresh round of tears. Neldorín’s heart tightened, and he glanced at the other two scouts.

"We came when we heard Arasiel’s call," one of them said. "But we were too far away to arrive in time to save Faron. We found two sets of tracks along the road. One rider turned and rode east, while a greater party continued west."

"Gather the others," Neldorín ordered. "We will report this immediately to Lord Legolas. The large party is heading for the Anduin, and perhaps to Minas Tirith or Rohan. And the lone rider is going eastward to the Dark Land. I guess that he is the one who has my son." He patted Arasiel’s back. "Can you walk if I assist you?"

"I think so."

Neldorín helped Arasiel to her feet, and the little party stumbled across the road, whistling to call the rest of the scouting troop together. Slowly, they made their way back to the main settlement. Legolas came running to meet them, with Gimli hot on his heels.

"My Lord, we have found our quarry," Neldorín said, "or, rather, it has found us."

"Let us take Arasiel to the infirmary," Legolas said. "You may give me your report after we have seen her safe." He looked more closely at the rest of the party. "Did you not take Faron with you today?"

There was a sudden silence. Gimli stroked his beard. "Thereby hangs a tale, it seems."

When they had helped Arasiel to the infirmary and laid her down on a soft bed where her injuries could be tended, Neldorín and the other scouts told Legolas about Arasiel’s encounter with the Men and the conclusions they had drawn from that. Legolas did not interrupt them, though his hands clenched and his eyes blazed with cold fury. When Neldorín had finished speaking, Legolas was still for a moment, then swiftly rose to his feet.

"Eleven years ago, we saw the fall of the Lord of Mordor," he said. "But it seems that the evil that stains that land has not yet washed away. I will not surrender a child to that darkness. We will go after the rider who took Faron, and we will bring him back." He turned to Neldorín. "Will you ride with me? We will wait until you are rested enough to travel."

Neldorín glanced back at the infirmary where Arasiel lay. "Give me an hour to wash, eat, and arm myself, my Lord," he said. "And then I will hunt the Men who took my son from me."

"Good." Legolas said. "I will send a messenger to Minas Tirith to warn them to watch for the rest of the Men of Mordor."

"I will take that message," Gimli offered. "I must return to Minas Tirith in any event. But I thought you had decided not to take your folk further than the Ephel Duath without Faramir’s word."

"The earlier insult was to Emyn Arnen," Legolas said coldly. "That is for Faramir to avenge. This insult is to the Elves, and we will go without leave of Men."

Éowyn took a deep breath and stroked her hands over the sleeping bodies of her children as she tried to calm the nervous fluttering in her stomach. It would not be long before the serving woman came to bring food for Éowyn and the children. Their cell had no window, so Éowyn could not be certain of the passage of time, but she guessed that they were fed twice a day. A burly, sullen man brought one ration of food, and a thin, tired-looking woman brought the other. The last time she had visited, Éowyn thought she had seen two skinny, rat-like children peering suspiciously out from under the woman’s voluminous shawl. She hoped that the woman would bring her children with her this time as well, for Éowyn’s plan depended on that.

With a sigh, she shook Elboron and Olwyn awake. The children squirmed, peering around in the dim light from the cracks in the door. "Has the lady with our food come, Mama?" Elboron asked.

"No," Éowyn said. "She has not come yet. Elboron, Olwyn, I want you both to listen to me now, for I am going to tell you something very important."

"What, Mama?" Elboron asked. Éowyn wrapped her arms around the children and held them both close.

"Do you remember those two men who were here earlier?" Éowyn said. "They mean to attack the Citadel, where Papa and Queen Arwen are. In a little while, we will go home and warn Papa so that he may defend against them."

"We go home?" Olwyn squealed. Éowyn wrapped a hand over her daughter’s mouth.

"Yes," she said. "We are going home. But it will not be easy, so you must both listen to me very carefully. The first thing is that you must be silent unless I give you leave to speak. If either one of you disobeys me in this, I will not need to punish you. Thano will do it for me. He will whip you and send you to work in the fields. So you must be silent."

The children nodded. Éowyn smiled unpleasantly in the gloom. "You are good children," she went on. "We will leave after the woman has brought us our food and water. We must be very quick about packing it once she has brought it. Elboron, do you still have your water skin?" Elboron held up the empty skin. "That is good. We will use it to carry the water she brings."

At that moment, the door scraped, then opened. The ragged woman reached into the depths of her shawl and pulled out a loaf of bread and a dish of water. The two stringy children watched with enormous eyes. Éowyn took a deep breath and suddenly seized the woman’s arm.

"It is a hard life for you, is it not?" she said. After a moment, the woman nodded. "Look at you," Éowyn went on. "You drudge yourself to the bone bringing food. Your children look like sticks. I wager that you are little more than a slave."

At this, the woman straightened, and her eyes blazed. "I am free!"

"Ha. What does freedom bring you? Toil and starvation." Éowyn gestured at her cell. "I am a prisoner, and I live better than you. I rest and lie idle here with my children. You serve me, and your children starve. Which of us is better off?"

The woman shifted her feet and averted her gaze. One of her children sat down, and she hauled it roughly to its feet.

"Would you like to rest?" Éowyn said. "Would you like to sit here and sleep? Feel your children breathing softly at your side as you slumber? Dream the dreams that only come from peace and quiet? There is rest here, if you wish it."

"Yes," the woman said hoarsely. "I want to rest."

"Then give me your shawl," Éowyn said, "and you shall rest in the silent darkness."

"They will beat me when they find me," the woman said, "but I do not care. I can bear a beating, but I am so weary." She unwound the shawl from her body and handed it to Éowyn.

"Thank you," Éowyn said. She poured the water from the dish into the water skin and tried not to think about how little it was. She tucked the bread away into a pocket in the shawl and drew Elboron and Olwyn under its dark folds. The woman entered the cell, and Éowyn took the keys from her. Éowyn herded her children out into the corridor and locked the cell door. Looking around to make sure that no one had seen the exchange, she pulled a flap of the shawl over her head and took Elboron and Olwyn by the hand. "Come."

Imitating the woman’s hunched, dragging walk, Éowyn left the big house and walked through the fields, breathing the free air. The sun was just setting in the sky in a sea of flaming golds and reds.

They were in Mordor; Éowyn knew that much. To the west lay the Ephel Duath, and beyond that, somewhere, was Ithilien and Minas Tirith. Éowyn turned her face to the setting sun and walked beyond the village. When they had left the fields behind, Elboron tugged at her sleeve, silently begging leave to speak. She nodded at him.

"How will we get home, Mama?" he asked.

Éowyn stiffened her spine and squeezed the children’s hands. "We have no choice. We will walk."

Aragorn leaned forward in his chair and leveled his gaze at Ghayur. "An embassy in Minas Tirith is certainly a reasonable request," he said. "For one thing, it would ease communication between Gondor and Harad, and I think that such communication will be sorely needed in years to come. I am certainly prepared to grant an embassy in return for increased shipments of peppercorns. However," he added as Ghayur’s smile widened, "I am not prepared to let those peppercorns, or any other cargo, pass uninspected through any of Gondor’s ports."

"That is absurd!" Nasir cried. Ghayur grasped his vizier’s wrist and gripped it in a way that looked most painful.

"Silence your monkeyish tongue," he said to Nasir. "If you do not know when to speak, then remain silent. I must apologize for the vizier’s outburst," he said to Aragorn. "But I find that his objection, though crudely phrased, is not altogether invalid. Word has reached me that Gondor receives goods in trade from Elves and Dwarves, and those goods pass uninspected into your fair land. Why then do you not trust in the goods delivered by Men, who are of your own kind?"

"The Elves and Dwarves of whom you speak are known to be friendly to Men and to Gondor," Aragorn replied. "Whereas you are, if no longer precisely an enemy, not yet fully an ally. Furthermore, you have admitted to employing poison to rid you of people you found inconvenient. It would be sheer madness not to inspect any cargo imported from Harad, especially edible cargo."

Ghayur was about to reply to that when the door opened and one of the aides moved swiftly to whisper in the ear of the master of the trade depot. The master nodded, then raised his hand for attention. "My Lord Elessar," he said, "an urgent message awaits you in the antechamber. Are both sides amenable to a brief recess?"

Aragorn and Ghayur both nodded. The master rapped sharply on the table to make the recess formal, and Aragorn hurried out into the antechamber. A young man in the livery of the messenger stables of Minas Tirith was waiting for him. When Aragorn arrived, he leaped to his feet and bowed. "My Lord, I bear a message from Lord Faramir."

Aragorn felt the blood pound a little harder in his veins at the thought of an emergency that Faramir could not handle without sending an urgent message to Poros. "Deliver it."

The messenger placed a sealed letter in Aragorn’s hand. The seal was that of the Prince of Ithilien, not the Steward’s seal that Faramir used for everyday business. Even more curious, Aragorn broke the seal and read the letter, written in Faramir’s strong, flowing script. He read it over twice to assure himself that what he had read was in fact there on the page and not some horrible, heat-induced dream. When he had finished, he summoned Peredur and bade him read the letter out loud, so as to be absolutely certain.

Peredur had no sooner stopped reading than Aragorn took the letter from him and strode furiously into the negotiation chamber. He slammed the letter down on the table and glared at Ghayur. "So," he said through gritted teeth, "have these negotiations been a complete farce? Was your intent ever to draw my attention away from Ithilien?"

Ghayur regarded him silently for a moment, then leaned forward. Enunciating each word, he said, "Do explain this outburst, King Elessar. In what manner have I caused offense?"

"My Steward, Lord Faramir, reports an assault upon his land of Ithilien by soldiers clad in armor of Harad," Aragorn replied.

Ghayur’s face grew stern. "I ordered no such assault, King Elessar."

"I am sure you did not. Such directness is not within you, Lord Ghayur. Perhaps there were those among your loyal staff who received wisdom that an assault upon Ithilien would be met with favor by their Lord Calif."

Ghayur glanced at the assembled Haradrim. "I could not answer one way or the other and maintain my honor."

"Your honor." Aragorn bit back a scathing insult. "I believe I know something of your honor, Ghayur. The same honor that compelled you to poison Maruf the Sea-Born, your liege lord."

"Maruf was an enemy to the greater interests of Harad," Ghayur said. "And of Gondor, for that matter. His removal, while unfortunate, was necessary."

"Your Lord placed his trust in you, and you betrayed him," Aragorn retorted. "It seems that I have been foolish enough to do the same and must pay the same price. Do you value these trade negotiations at all, Ghayur?"

"I believe them to be necessary to improve the glory and splendor of the land of Harad. Therefore, they are of great value to me."

"Then tell me, if you wish them to continue, what has become of the Lady Éowyn and her children?" Aragorn said.

Ghayur blinked, but quickly regained his composure. "Such knowledge is veiled from me as the sun veils the stars."

"In that case," Aragorn ground out, "these negotiations will proceed no further until I have satisfactory answers to my questions." He signaled to Peredur and the rest of Gondor’s delegation and strode out of the trade depot towards his encampment.

Ghayur turned to Nasir and raised an eyebrow. Nasir returned his Calif’s gaze, and his slight smile was lost in his mustache.

The sun beat down upon Éowyn's head, and a bead of sweat rolled slowly down her brow and into her eye, where it stung. She blinked and shifted Olwyn's limp weight in her arms. Elboron trudged quietly at her side. They had walked briskly through the night, when the activity had kept them warm in the surprisingly chilly air. But then the sun had risen, bringing blinding light and ferocious heat to a land with neither shade nor shelter. Éowyn had rationed the water carefully, but there had not been much to begin with, and the skin was alarmingly light. Olwyn had collapsed some time ago, and Éowyn carried her daughter. Olwyn lolled against her, too parched even to whimper.

Elboron began to wobble, and Éowyn grasped his shoulder to steady him. He must keep walking as long as possible. Éowyn could not carry both children, and she did not know what she would do when Elboron's strength gave out. She hoped vaguely that a source of water would appear, but she did not dwell on such a faint chance. Instead, she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground in front of her, willing herself to take just one more step, and then another and another. Every now and then, Éowyn raised her eyes and glanced dully at the shadow of the Ephel Duath far on the horizon, just to make sure they were still walking west.

Elboron stumbled again. Éowyn moved her grip to his arm, gently but firmly tugging him along. He would not last much longer in this heat with no rest. Éowyn lifted her heavy head and looked around once more for any source of water or shelter. Once again, she saw none. There was nothing else to do but continue walking.

Éowyn thought longingly of the cool, fresh water that she had once drawn in dripping buckets from the wells scattered over the grounds of the manor house. She remembered how she had hated carrying water as a child, and then she thought about the last time she had bathed her children, just before they had gone to pick blueberries. Olwyn had splashed water all around the tub in her excitement, and Éowyn found herself regretting the waste of that bath water. She scolded herself for not planning for their escape from the beginning, saving a portion of each water ration. "My cousin Théodred says that provisions are the importantest part of being in an éored." Someone important had said that once, but she could not remember who it was or why they had said it.

A sudden weight jerked at her arm, pulling her out of her dreams and nearly dragging her to the ground. Elboron had fallen to his knees. Éowyn tugged at his arm. "Get up, baby," she murmured. "You have to walk. There is no place to rest."

"Water, Mama?"

Éowyn fumbled for the water skin and gave Elboron a sip of warm, musty water. Obediently, he struggled to his feet and managed to walk a few more steps before he collapsed once more. He scrabbled at the ground, but did not rise. Eventually, he lay still, panting.

Éowyn stood where she was and looked around. There was nothing but scrub land as far as she could see. The shadows of the mountains did not seem to be any nearer. If there was no hope of relief in the immediate future, then perhaps the chance of pursuit had also lessened. Perhaps it was safe for the children to rest. Éowyn set Olwyn down next to her brother and propped both children up against a rock that offered the best shade available. Then she removed the dusty, voluminous shawl, and spread it over them like a tent, to serve as both shade and concealment. Finally, she left the water skin at their side, in case they should wake.

She stared at the little bundle for a long moment, then felt her feet begin to move. Almost from habit now, Éowyn stumbled westward towards the mountains, telling herself that she was going to discover a creek or a stand of succulent plants or even a slow, unwary lizard that would provide enough moisture to fuel the children through another long march. She would bring her prize back to them and revive them, and then they would continue their walk to Ithilien and freedom.

This idea sustained her for nearly a dozen steps. Then, without warning, the ground rushed up to meet her, and she knew nothing more.

Though not directly set upon the Great River, Minas Tirith was close enough to it to receive significant amounts of traffic. Merchants streamed in and out of the city, as did messengers and anyone, lord or common folk alike, who had business to conduct with the Crown. After they had removed their armor and packed it on the backs of their horses, Haytham, Thano, and their followers entered the city as easily as did any of the merchants. Once inside the gates, they paused in the corner of a plaza to take in their surroundings.

Thano could not stop staring at the great white city and its thousands of inhabitants. People walked through the streets with long, confident strides. Children ran and played. Some men and women sat idly in doorways, playing at dice or talking about nothing in particular. Shops displayed a rich variety of objects, and on nearly every street corner, one could buy hot morsels of food, fresh vegetables, or flowers. The dazzling color and strong smell of the city made Thano's head spin. He wondered if Nurn would one day boast a city as wonderful as this one.

"It is an astonishing place, is it not?" Haytham said. "To think that it was nearly destroyed but eleven years past."

"Where shall we go first?" Thano asked. "I do not see how we will ever reach the Citadel through all these hordes of people. They will turn against us, and we are sorely outnumbered."

Haytham laughed. "Do not fear," he said. "We are not entirely without friends in the White City. The Calif set spies inside it, even in the Citadel itself, a year ago. And certain of those spies were chosen by the hand of Lord Nasir himself. They will aid us when the need arises."

"And when will that be? I feel the need this very instant."

"When darkness descends to veil our faces, then we will discover our friends," Haytham said. "In this instant, I can provide what aid you need. Come, I will take you to an inn, and you shall enjoy the riches of Minas Tirith."

"An inn." Thano considered the idea. "Is it proper for a Lord to visit an inn?"

"The inns of Minas Tirith are fit enough for its own King," Haytham replied. "All the Men of Gondor live as Lords. Come, let us see this city. Perhaps you may find some trinket to delight the lady who waits faithfully for your return."

Thano followed Haytham, straining to see everything. He stared at the long, flowing dresses on the women and at the earrings, necklaces, and bracelets that glittered in the light. He had only to wait until dark, and then they would steal the Elf of Gondor. And after that, Thano was sure, all this finery would be his to bring home and lay at Wen's feet.

Doronrîn glided silently through the corridors of the Citadel, pausing for a moment to listen to the music that came faintly from behind the door of the Steward's apartments. Faramir sought to soothe his fears by playing his viol for hours every evening. The mode was strange to Doronrîn's ears, but she found the melodies plaintive and haunting. She would have stayed to listen to the end of the piece, but the Queen had requested her presence that evening. If Faramir's escape was music, Arwen's was companionship from the only other Elf in the city. Doronrîn had to admit that such companionship soothed her spirits as well, and continued on her way to the royal suite.

Just past dusk, a fire broke out in one of the kitchens. As the staff worked to contain it, a page reported that the drying area in the laundry was also ablaze. Soon, the chambermaids' dormitory and a storage room were burning as well. With four separate fires roaring where none ought to have started in the first place, Húrin of the Keys decided to summon the Steward to the scene.

Ninniach babbled happily as she wriggled around on a quilt on the floor. Arwen and Doronrîn had fed her, bathed her, and dressed her in a fresh gown and napkin. Now she could play for a while before her bedtime. She twisted her body and flopped over onto her back. Pleased with her effort, she crowed and laughed.

"She makes so many sounds now," Arwen said. "Sometimes, I feel as if I can almost understand her speech, as though it is a language that I do not know, or that I have forgotten."

"Perhaps it is a language," Doronrîn suggested. "Perhaps it is the language that the first Elves spoke when they woke by the shores of Cuiviénen. We have all forgotten it, save in the earliest years of infancy."

"I like that idea," Arwen said, "though it makes me sad."

Ninniach, bored with the view from her back, rolled over again and looked at the pattern of the quilt on which she lay. "Ah, boo," she said. Arwen giggled.

"That does not sound very much like the speech of the first Elves to me." She rose from the small table, picked Ninniach up, and settled down in the window seat to begin soothing the baby to sleep. Doronrîn picked the quilt up off the floor and folded it.

"Infants make many noises," she said. "Both my daughter and my son loved to sing a single note for as long as they could sustain breath." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes sparkled. "When Legolas was that age, he would sometimes let out a string of high squeaking noises. The King declared that he sounded just like a little mouse when he did that."

Running footsteps sounded in the corridor. Both Arwen and Doronrîn looked up, but nothing happened. "I suppose it cannot be too serious," Arwen said. "Faramir would come to inform me if anything were truly wrong." She looked down at Ninniach, who was half asleep in her arms, and delicately pushed a finger into the little mouth. "I think I feel a tooth coming."

"Then the peaceful evenings will soon be at an end," Doronrîn observed. "Fortunately, there is a remedy for the pain. Pour a large glass of strong wine. Dab a little on the baby’s gums. Then drink the rest in one large swallow."

Arwen stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "That is wonderful! I shall have to remember it and tell Éowyn."

"I am sure she is already aware of the trick. Most mothers learn it in due course."

Arwen moved from the window seat and laid Ninniach in her cradle, then spread a lightweight purple scarf over the cradle’s bow to mute the light from the wall sconces. For a moment, all was still in the royal suite. Then a cry came from the guard outside. Metal clashed against metal, the guard cried out again, and there came a loud pounding at the door. Ninniach woke up and began to cry. Doronrîn, instantly alert, seized her knife from the table. Arwen pulled a sword down from where it hung on the wall and moved to stand in front of Ninniach’s cradle. Doronrîn spied the heavy slab of wood propped by the door and ran to grab it.

Before she could bar the door, it burst open, and a troop of armed Men swarmed into the room. Reflexively, Doronrîn stabbed one in the hip, just below the edge of his breastplate. He toppled to the ground, yelling in pain, and one of his comrades tripped over him. Arwen extended her sword and moved it deliberately in a wide arc, trying to keep the Men from approaching the cradle. Doronrîn moved to her side.

Arwen parried a wild stab from a Man in front of her, but another seized her hair and jerked her away. One Man feinted at Doronrîn’s blade, then dodged around her arm to grab at her waist. Doronrîn twisted in his grasp, reached around, and slashed at the back of his knees. He went down, but another man had circled around behind the cradle. He grasped the back of Doronrîn’s girdle and pulled hard. In a swirl of skirts, Doronrîn fell backwards over the cradle, which rocked wildly and tumbled a crying Ninniach out onto the floor. Doronrîn landed hard, and found herself unable to move her right leg. Pain flared from her hip, and the leg lay at an awkward angle.

Beside her, Arwen lay gasping from a kick to the stomach that had knocked most of the wind from her body. The intruders hauled both women to sit more or less upright against the wall, a blade held close to each slim throat. "Your leg," Arwen gasped.

"Dislocated," Doronrîn replied, "but not broken, I think."

A handsome young Man who appeared to be in command of the intruders moved to stand before the women, forcing them to look up into his face. "This is a most interesting conundrum," he said. "I had come seeking the Queen, a beautiful, dark-haired Elf woman in a city of Men. I had not intended to find two such Elf women. Which of you is the Queen, I wonder."

Neither woman answered. On the floor, Ninniach screeched in terror and outrage. The commander turned to one who stood at his side, staring at the Elves as if struck dumb. "Thano," he said. "Bring me the baby."

"Yes, Haytham." Thano scooped Ninniach up roughly and set her in Haytham’s arms.

Haytham smiled at Arwen and Doronrîn. "This squalling brat is surely the Princess Ninniach, the Rainbow of Gondor. One of you is her mother, and therefore the Queen. Shall we see if this babe is wise enough to know the Elf who gave her life?" He deposited Ninniach in Doronrîn’s lap.

Doronrîn petted Ninniach, rocked her, and whispered soothing words to no avail. Ninniach arched away from her and howled. Haytham picked the baby up and handed her to Arwen. Arwen held her close. Ninniach, recognizing her mother's scent, stopped screaming, though she trembled and whimpered because Arwen was afraid. Haytham's face split into a wide grin.

"Take her," he said. Thano hauled Arwen to her feet, and the troop of Men escorted her out of the suite. Doronrîn had a glimpse of the bloody body of the guard outside just before the door closed. Haytham squatted down in front of her, gripping her jaw in one large hand.

"What will I do with you, hm?" he asked. "I should kill you, for you are a witness to what we have done here. And yet . . . " his voice trailed off, and he gazed at Doronrîn's sweaty, battered body. He rubbed his palm over her thigh, and her skin crawled at his touch. "The Queen is for the Calif. Thano will give the golden Princess to Nasir, and he has his own woman who waits faithfully for him. But what of Haytham? Should Haytham not have a prize as well? An Elf-woman of my own."

His eyes dilated with poorly concealed greed. He moistened his lips with his tongue and took a deep breath. Doronrîn tried to swallow her terror. Her heart pounded as if it would leap from her chest. Haytham moved his hand slowly from her thigh up the bodice of her dress to squeeze one of her breasts roughly through the fabric. Doronrîn tried to squirm away from his touch, but he held her fast.

"Take your hands off me, spider spawn," she spat.

"Such words, from such a lovely mouth," Haytham said. "A woman's mouth has better uses than cursing."

Doronrîn glared at him. "All that you will ever have of my mouth are my curses and my teeth."

Haytham's face twisted in shock and rage. "I should slit your throat for that remark, Elf woman."

"Do that," Doronrîn said. "And then I will be reunited with my husband in the Halls of Mandos."

"Very well. A wife's loyalty should have its reward." Releasing her breast, Haytham reached behind him and drew his sword. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, and Doronrîn saw his blade flash down.

The distant thunder in Éowyn's dreams resolved itself into hoofbeats as she returned to awareness. Her mouth was dry and tasted of dust and grit, her head throbbed with pain, and her body burned as if with fever. Dimly, she wondered if she should be afraid. Perhaps the People of Nurn had caught up with her at last. She should make some effort to escape them. But she found that she had no strength left and could not sit up, much less run away. She would have to lie where she was and hope that her punishment would be swift. The hoofbeats drew closer and then stopped, and then she heard light footsteps approaching her.

Cool hands smoothed her hair back from her face, and a pleasant voice called her name. She attempted to work up enough moisture in her mouth to respond, but she could only cough weakly. It was enough. Someone turned her onto her back and raised her so that she was half sitting, cradled in strong arms. A cool, damp cloth moved across her face, and she groaned in pleasure at its touch. Slowly, Éowyn opened her eyes and squinted until the blur in front of them focused. "You . . . are an Elf . . . "

The figure in front of her nodded. "Yes. I am Neldorín. I understand some of the Common Tongue. Speak less, but understand."

"My children." Éowyn could not remember how to raise her arm, so she turned her gaze. "Hidden. Behind a rock. Under a shawl." Neldorín considered her words for a moment, then rose and moved away.

"He will bring them to you," said the one who held her.

Éowyn's cracked lips twisted into a smile. "Legolas?"

"Yes." His embrace tightened. "I am astonished that you still live. When we spied you, we thought you dead."

"Thought so, too." She coughed, and Legolas squeezed a little water from a rag onto her tongue.

"This will wet your mouth so that you can swallow."

"Thank you." She could speak more easily now. "Where are my children? Do they still live?"

Neldorín and another Elf returned, each bearing one small body. They laid the children down and began to wipe them with damp cloths. Legolas spoke to the Elves in their own language, and after a moment, they replied. "They are not well," Legolas said, "but they are alive, and my folk will do what they can to keep them so."

"My babies," Éowyn murmured. "My strong, brave babies."

"Do you think that you could take water from a skin?" Legolas asked. Éowyn nodded. Legolas picked up a gloriously full water skin and trickled a little water into her mouth. Éowyn lapped it up greedily and moaned when Legolas moved the skin away.

"Only a little at a time," Legolas said. "You will make yourself sick otherwise. You may have more in a few minutes. Do you remember how you came to be out here all alone?"

Éowyn thought for a few seconds, then grimaced as the memory of the past few days returned to her. "Was captive in Nurn. A small, choking cell. Heard . . . heard news, enemy plans. They will attack. Faramir must know. Only way to tell him. I escaped, took the children with me. We walked." Éowyn’s voice trailed off, and she became aware that Legolas and Neldorín were staring at each other in shock. Neldorín chattered wildly in his own tongue.

"Did you see any Elf children?" Legolas asked Éowyn. "The Men who took you captive have also carried off Neldorín’s son. We came into this land seeking him."

Éowyn glanced over at Neldorín, and her heart twisted at the thought of losing a child. "I did not see any children save my own," she said slowly. "I could not tarry to look. My own ladies and their children remain captive. Must tell Faramir." She choked, and Legolas gave her another drink from the water skin.

"We cannot leave you here," he said. "But we must go on. I will ask some of my company to bear you back to Emyn Arnen —"

"No!" Éowyn cried. "Not there. To Minas Tirith. To Faramir. We must all go. Faramir must know what is in this land. You must take me to him."

Neldorín’s face twisted in pain. "My son," he said softly. "Cannot leave Faron. They kill him, perhaps."

"No," Éowyn said. "They will not kill him outright. They seek slaves. They are more than you think, and they are armed. You are too few. You will not defeat them now."

The Elves were silent for a long moment. Then Legolas rose, scooping Éowyn up in his arms. "We ride for Minas Tirith."

"Faron," Neldorín moaned. Legolas paused and said something to him that was too soft for Éowyn to make out. Neldorín took a deep breath, and brought himself under control once more. He nodded to Legolas and turned to pick up Elboron.

"Neldorín will care for Elboron as for his own son," Legolas said to Éowyn. "And we have Olwyn as well. You are all going home now." He carried Éowyn to his horse, lifted her onto its back, and swung up behind her.

"Thank you," Éowyn said, leaning back against Legolas. "After Faramir has heard my news, we will rescue the ladies and children. And Faron," she added, glancing over at Neldorín, who bore Elboron on his horse. Neldorín gave her a small, brave smile in return, and the party of Elves turned and rode swiftly across the plain.

Fréadric, standing guard over the encampment of the Rohirrim, was the first to see the Elves riding across the Pelennor. He ran immediately to fetch his King, who was passing the time uneasily with the Lord of Aglarond. In short order, Éomer and Gimli rode out to meet the Elves before the gates of Minas Tirith.

"Éowyn!" he cried. "Little sister, you are alive!"

Éowyn stirred in Legolas’s arms. "Once more, I remain alive to plague you," she said with a weary smile.

"You are my sister, never a plague," Éomer replied. "What of your children?"

"They live, Éomer," Legolas said, "but we must get them into the city without delay."

Éomer and Gimli glanced at each other, and Legolas wondered at the worried expressions on their faces, which had radiated such joy only moments earlier. Gimli turned to him and forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. "We will go with you."

Gimli and Éomer escorted them through the gates, and Legolas noticed that the wardens moved slowly, as if in shock. Their faces were grim, and they did not call out their usual cheerful greetings to the noble lords.

"The streets are quiet," Legolas said to Gimli.

Gimli nodded abstractedly. "We were not swift enough," he said. "Your arrival is the first moment of joy we have had since I left you in Ithilien. But you will hear the full tale when we reach the Citadel. Faramir will be glad to see you."

Puzzled, Legolas said no more, but followed Gimli through the streets of a city that appeared to be recovering from a terrifying event. The people seemed subdued, and they did not socialize as they transacted business, simply handing over their coin as quickly as possible. As they approached the Citadel, Legolas saw that several windows were broken and boarded over. Trails of soot stained the walls above them. He glanced at Gimli.

"The Citadel burned," Gimli said. "But the fire was extinguished, though it caused many injuries."

"Lord Faramir," Legolas ventured. "Is he . . . ?"

"He lives," Gimli answered. Then the guard at the gate waved them inside and sent a herald to announce their arrival. The Elves dismounted and allowed grooms to lead their horses away. Legolas carried Éowyn in his arms, not trusting her to walk after she had spent so long drifting between sleep and waking on the back of his horse. Behind him, two more Elves carried Elboron and Olwyn. Éomer opened the doors to the throne room, and they went in.

Faramir jumped up from the Steward's chair and ran to meet them with an incoherent cry. His pale, drawn face lit up with unexpected joy. Legolas set Éowyn on her feet, and Faramir wrapped her in his arms, gasping great sobs of relief. After a moment, he held out one arm and received his children. He kissed them both many times, then kissed Éowyn. "You are all burning hot," he said.

"They have spent several days unprotected under the sun," Legolas told him. "We have done what we could to cool them, but they will need further care, perhaps in the Houses of Healing."

"Papa," Olwyn murmured sleepily, twining her arms around Faramir's neck. Elboron said nothing, but clung to his father's waist, shaking and losing his battle against tears. Faramir held his family tightly and smiled gratefully at Legolas.

"How can I thank you enough?" he asked. "All that I love the most, you have returned to me."

Legolas returned Faramir's smile, though the deep rings under the Man's eyes worried him. "It is no more than one friend ought to do for another," he said. "But tell me, what has happened here? How did the Citadel come to burn? And where is Arwen? Why has she not come to meet us here in her own dwelling?"

Éowyn stiffened in Faramir's arms. "The Queen! Faramir, that is what I have come to tell you. I know who our mysterious enemy is, who has been harassing Gondor and Rohan, stealing women and children and horses. I was in a cell in Nurn, in Mordor, and the lord of the Men who dwell there was speaking to a prince of Harad. They planned to come here and take Arwen captive." She looked around at the bleak expressions on the faces of Faramir, Éomer and Gimli. "Oh, no," she breathed. "I have come too late."

"I did not arrive fast enough from Ithilien," Gimli admitted. "Their lead was too great."

"The enemy has already been here," Faramir said gently. "They set fire to the lower levels of the Citadel. I believe that was meant as a distraction. While we were occupied in putting the fires out and seeking the incendiaries, a troop of Men made their way to the royal suite. They killed the guard outside the door, and took Arwen and Ninniach." Faramir took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Legolas's stunned gaze. "They also killed Lady Doronrîn. I am so sorry, Legolas."

For a moment, there was silence. Legolas heard nothing but a pounding in his ears as a sick chill washed over his body. Then, behind him, he heard Neldorín cry out and drop to his knees. The other Elves helped him to his feet, and Faramir waved for a page to usher them to an antechamber.

"I am sorry, Legolas," he repeated.

Gimli laid a warm, callused hand on Legolas's arm, and Legolas grabbed it, desperate for the solid presence of his friend. "Where is she?" he asked, forcing the words through numb lips. "Where is Doronrîn now?"

Faramir glanced from Legolas to his family and back again. Gently, Éomer stepped in to rescue him. "I will escort my sister and the children to the Houses of Healing," he said. "You should go with Legolas." Faramir nodded gratefully and took Legolas’s other arm. Supported on each side by a friend, Legolas prepared himself to face the worst.

Doronrîn lay beneath a gold sheet on a bier in a cool cellar room. Two candles burned at the head of the bier. Ioreth kept vigil beside it, weeping silently. She looked up when the door opened, and her face shone in the candlelight.

Slowly, Legolas approached the bier and pulled back the sheet. Doronrîn’s face was livid beneath it, her eyes flat and sunken. Legolas’s hand moved convulsively to hover over the great gash across her throat, which was no less horrible for having been stitched.

"Her head was nearly severed when we found her," Faramir said softly. "I thought it best to ask the chirurgeon to stitch the wound, to preserve her body somewhat intact."

Legolas nodded his acknowledgement. He moved his hand from Doronrîn’s throat and gently stroked her forehead and her long dark hair. "She has grown cold," he murmured. "Please . . . we must bury her soon. I would ask the Steward of Minas Tirith for the use of a small plot of land outside the city walls."

"Of course," Faramir said. "There is a little birch grove just north of the city. Will that suffice?"

Legolas nodded again. His knees wobbled, and Gimli supported him as he sank to sit on his heels in front of the bier. "Do you think you can be alone for a short while?" he asked. "I must fetch my tools."

Legolas looked at him, puzzled. "What for?"

Gimli laid a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder. "If you will permit it," he said, "I will dig her grave. She will have a fine, soft resting place among the trees."

"Thank you, Gimli." Legolas made no move to wipe away the tears that spilled down his face. Gimli gave his shoulder a final squeeze and left the room. After a moment, Faramir and Ioreth left as well, allowing Legolas the privacy to say his farewells.

So they buried Doronrîn, wrapped in a fine linen shroud, in the center of the grove of birch trees north of Minas Tirith. Gimli waited at a respectful distance to fill in the grave after the Elves had laid the lady in it, but what he witnessed of the funeral rites he never told to another mortal.

Later that evening, Faramir knocked on the door of the suite he had given Legolas.

"Come in."

Faramir entered the room and found Legolas sitting curled in the window seat. Legolas glanced up at Faramir’s approach. Faramir decided that he seemed more alert and able to focus on his guest, though the shock of loss had not quite vanished from his face. Faramir drew a chair over to the window and sat down. "We need to talk," he said quietly.

"We do." Legolas stared out the window for a long moment. "How do Éowyn and the children fare?" he asked, without turning around.

"They are asleep. The healers bathed them and made a salve to soothe their skin. Elboron was the most severely affected of the three of them, but he will recover in a few days. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done."

Legolas shot a brief glance at Faramir and managed a faint half-smile. "I could not abandon so brave a woman as the Lady Éowyn to perish on that plain for lack of water. The Prince and Princess of Ithilien are neighbors to the Elves, and our friends as well."

Faramir smiled. "I am honored to hear that, and I thank you for your words. But how do you fare? I know that you and your folk held the Lady Doronrîn in great esteem."

"I have known her since before I can remember," Legolas said. "She attended my birth, and the births of many of the Elves who now dwell in Ithilien. She attended Neldorín’s birth and that of his son Faron, who is now captive in Nurn. She gave me my earliest lessons in herbs, and I dimly remember her caring for me after my mother died." He hugged his knees closer to his chest. "I cannot yet comprehend that she is dead. Perhaps it will seem real tomorrow."

Faramir did not know what to say to that. He and Legolas sat silently, looking out the window as the light faded. "What family had the lady left?" Faramir asked after a while. "I would like to write to them and offer what consolation a mortal may give to an Elf."

"Menellir her husband was killed in the War. Her daughter and her granddaughter live in Ithilien," Legolas said. "She will never meet the new child her daughter carries. Her son remains in Eryn Lasgalen." He shuddered. "I will have to tell my father of her death. It will be a blow to him. He does not have many close friends, but Doronrîn and Menellir were both dear to him, and now they are both dead." Legolas’s face twisted in his grief.

Faramir felt his own eyes begin to sting. "I did not know Menellir, but I think he and Doronrîn must have been as dear to you as to your father. I grieve for your loss, Legolas."

At that, Legolas buried his face in his hands, and his body shook. Faramir sat in his chair as Legolas wept, and wondered if he had ever felt quite so helpless in his life. At last, Legolas raised his head. His face was wet from his tears, but his eyes, though red and swollen, were focused firmly on Faramir.

"I had a long conversation with Éowyn before she fell asleep," Faramir said. "She told me all that she knew of these People of Nurn and the Haradrim who visit them and make alliance against Gondor."

"The People of Nurn?" Legolas asked. "Has Mordor arisen to plague us again?"

"Not precisely. They were once slaves to Sauron and his Orcs. Aragorn gave them their freedom and the land they now inhabit as their own when he assumed the throne. It seems that now they live in squalor, barely keeping themselves from starvation. Their leader blames Gondor for their current condition and has made alliance with a Lord of Harad because of that."

Legolas sighed. "I am well acquainted with the troubles of a lord who fears that he cannot feed his people. However, I find that I have little sympathy for these People of Nurn. Never once did my father assault his neighbors in hopes of taking slaves."

Faramir’s expression became grim. "They will not keep what they have stolen," he said. "I have had enough. Now that I know who is behind the troubles we have had, I intend to strike back. Will you assist me in this, Legolas?"

"I will. Indeed, had you not asked, I would have insisted upon it. The Elves have grievances against these Men as well."

"Good." Faramir sat straighter in his chair. "The first thing we will do is ride out against Nurn. I would ask you to lead a company of your folk in conjunction with the White Company of Ithilien. Éomer King will send an éored of Rohirrim as well. All the people injured by these People of Nurn will have a representative in this battle."

"That sounds like something that Aragorn would say."

Faramir smiled mirthlessly. "Very likely. I have learned much in the way of statecraft and strategy from him. Will you lead this alliance? I will write letters to Beregond and to the Marshal of the éored asking them to report to you."

Legolas nodded. "I will do that. I would also ask that either Ithilien or Minas Tirith send a company of healers. There remain captives to be freed, and they are mostly of Gondor. The Elvish healers do not have much experience caring for the children of Men."

"That is a good idea," Faramir said. "I will see that it is done."

"What do you intend to do about Harad?" Legolas asked. "I gather that you intend to do something, since you will not take part in the assault upon Nurn."

"The King is in the midst of negotiations with Lord Ghayur as we speak," Faramir answered. "I will not attack that land directly, for fear of endangering Aragorn. I have sent word to him of all that has befallen us and all that we have learned and I await his response. In the meantime, Éomer and I will prepare the armies of Gondor and Rohan to march on Harad should the King give that command. Such treachery must be punished."

Legolas looked at him for a long moment, then turned to gaze out the window once again. "I thought we had defeated the great Enemy," he said softly. "I thought that no more Elves would die in these lands from the evil of Sauron. Instead, it seems that his poison lives on in the hearts of Men. And so our folk will continue to die for it."

Faramir could not think of a reply to that. He reached out to Legolas and laid a hand on his shoulder. Legolas made a choking sound, and began to shake once more beneath Faramir's touch. Faramir gripped his shoulder for a few seconds, then quietly walked out of the room, leaving Legolas to grieve in privacy.

Aragorn stared at the scene before him, thinking feverishly to come up with a sufficient response that would not provoke an immediate murder. Unable to think of such a response, he settled for directness. He turned to the small man in black. "Release my wife and my daughter."

The man glared at him. "No. Lord Thano of Nurn does not take orders from the King of Gondor."

"Will Lord Thano of Nurn entertain the humblest of requests from the unworthy Calif of Harad?" Ghayur asked.

Nasir bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile. "Aptly put, Ghayur. You are indeed an unworthy Calif, if indeed a Calif you remain at the coming of the dawn."

"Ah." Ghayur smiled back. "That is the game, and the challenge. Very well, Nasir, I accept. We shall see who is Calif when the Sun sheds his beams across the sand."

"You forget that this sand is under Gondor's control," Aragorn put in sharply. "I refuse to play host to the internal quarrels of Harad. I demand the release of my wife and daughter, and then I will eject all of you from this land."

Nasir shook his head. "I think not, King Elessar," he said, with an elaborate bow. "The game is begun, and it may not be stopped. And the Lady, whose beauty causes the stars above to hide their faces for shame, is a most valuable piece in this game."

"The Queen of Gondor," Aragorn said through gritted teeth, "is not a piece in anyone’s game. She is herself, my beloved wife."

"She is also alive only at the sufferance of good Thano," Nasir snapped back. "If you continue to speak so carelessly, a piece may be sacrificed for the good of the game."

Arwen shuddered, and her arms tightened around Ninniach. Ghayur frowned slightly and raised his hand. "We may debate the lady's value as pawn or Queen until the rising of the last sun," he said, "but we forget that the Jewel of the Evening is a woman, and one who has been much abused of late. Let us at least extend her the courtesy of a couch upon which she may rest with her infant. She will not run, I think." He indicated a low form covered with carpets and cushions.

There was silence for a moment as Nasir considered the proposal. Finally, he nodded. "She may sit, for now."

Thano prodded Arwen with the knife, and she moved to collapse upon the couch. As she did so, something jangled, and Aragorn realized that her ankles were shackled. He swallowed a surge of rage and forced himself to remain calm. Arwen settled herself on the couch, and Thano positioned the tip of his knife just behind her ear. Ninniach fussed, and the man threatening Ghayur flinched at the sound. Aragorn had a sudden idea, and he turned to Nasir, arranging his face into what he hoped was a reasonable expression.

"This is no place for a child," he said. "Let us remove my daughter from this game of yours. Let Lord Peredur take her back to my camp, and my men will look after her."

Nasir laughed. "It is wisely said that a fool sees himself in others, King Elessar. You believe that I am a fool not to see the value in the only child of the King of Gondor. The Rainbow will remain here with her mother until I deem the time ripe to separate them. And you are a fool as well to place such trust in the good will of your advisors. Many have done that who have not lived to see another dawn."

At that, Ghayur began to shake and made a strange wheezing sound. Then he opened his mouth and laughed out loud. "Your insults curve over many paths, Nasir," he gasped. "The more fool was I for having trusted in you."

"And the more fool was Maruf the Sea-Born for having placed trust in you, Ghayur the Poisoner!"

At that, Ghayur stopped laughing, and a thoughtful look came over his face. "Ah," he said. "So the heat of the midday sun burns through the mists of night. Maruf was indeed a fool, Nasir, but not for the reasons you claim. I, too, am a fool, for having believed that you would be grateful that I spared your miserable life. And you are the third fool, for staking that worthless life on a gesture that is doomed to fail."

"How is it doomed to fail, Ghayur? I have won the game. I have you at the point of Haytham's knife, and I have done what you could not do, for all your scheming. I have brought the great realm of Gondor to its knees. See, even now, I hold the jewels of King Elessar's family in the palm of my hand. That is more than you have ever accomplished."

At that, Aragorn began to raise Andúril, but Ghayur caught his attention. There was a steely glint in the Calif's eye that Aragorn had only ever seen once before. It had been the previous spring, when Ghayur had, for once, spoken with complete honesty about Harad's internal strife. Ghayur was now engaged in a battle of words and courtesies and would not tolerate any distraction that might lead him to make a fatal mistake. Slowly, he lowered Andúril and compromised by moving himself marginally closer to the couch where Arwen sat. Ghayur gave him a nearly imperceptible nod of thanks.

"Tell me, Nasir," he said. "What do you plan to do with your accomplishment? It must be grand indeed, for you have ruined our impending business arrangements to bring it about."

"Business arrangement!" Nasir snorted. "That is the difference between us, Ghayur of the Forked Tongue. You speak of business, of gold and trade. I speak of much loftier things, of love and power. I am not a cruel man, and I am willing to speak to what we both understand. I offer you a trade of love for power."

"Indeed." Ghayur nodded slowly. "What, precisely, do you have in your possession that I would want?"

Nasir straightened. "I have the Queen of Gondor. Arwen Undómiel, the Jewel of the Evening Sky. I know that you have desired her from the moment you laid eyes on her at the home of the Prince of Ithilien. I have her at my mercy now, and I will offer her to you freely. In return, you will give up that title of Calif of Harad, which you took by murder and force."

Aragorn could no longer hold his tongue. "That is an act of war," he snarled. "The armies of Gondor and Rohan stand ready to march against Harad if either of you lays one finger on the Queen."

Ghayur merely smiled at Nasir. "I see that this is a dangerous offer to accept. Have you aught else to compel me to accept it in spite of the peril it represents?"

"That is my offer. If you refuse it, then your life is forfeit as well as your title."

Ghayur's gaze grew sharp once again. "And who would claim that title after me? You, Nasir? You have not the liver to perform the duties of Calif. You are fit only to serve greater men as Vizier."

"A position with its own degree of power, you must concede."

"Hmm. Yes. Especially when the Calif you serve is but a weak, sniveling boy. Is that not so, Haytham?" In a flurry of movement that neither Aragorn nor Nasir had anticipated, Ghayur seized Haytham by the wrist that held the knife to Ghayur's throat and swung him around so that Ghayur now held Haytham captive and gazed into the young man's suddenly frightened face.

Arwen took advantage of the confusion and jammed her elbow sharply into Thano's stomach. Thano gasped in pain, and Arwen leaped off the couch and into Aragorn's arms. Aragorn grabbed Ninniach and passed her to Peredur. "Go!" he cried, and Peredur sprinted away into the night with the baby.

Nasir whirled from one event to the other, unable to stop either one. Keeping one arm wrapped securely around Arwen, Aragorn raised Andúril level with Nasir's throat. Nasir did not move, but he did not drop his own sword, either.

Ghayur looked closely at Haytham, then shook his head sadly. "Again, the more fool am I for my mercy," he said. "I allowed you to live because of your youth, and see how I am repaid for my kindness."

"You murdered my father," Haytham spat. "You have no claim on my gratitude."

"His father?" Aragorn asked.

Ghayur nodded. "This pup is the son of Maruf the Sea-Born. His only son, and that by a concubine."

"But still my father's son," Haytham insisted. "The Califate was mine to inherit upon my father's death. You stole that from me as you stole my father. Lord Nasir -- "

"Lord Nasir promised to restore the Califate to you after he disposed of me, I suppose," Ghayur interrupted. "He would continue to advise you, because you are young and inexperienced. You would come to rely on him, and in time, Nasir would become the greatest Calif in history who never held the throne. Yet you truly believed him. I marvel at the idealism of the young."

Terrified, Haytham turned his head a little and tried to catch Nasir's eye. Nasir remained impassive and refused to meet Haytham's glance. Instead, he glared at Ghayur.

"Maruf was a true Calif," he said. "He understood the value of fighting for the pride and sovereignty of the land of his birth, of conquering all who dared oppose the glory of Harad."

"I presume," Ghayur drawled, "that we are speaking of the same Maruf who pledged himself to the service of Sauron of Mordor and saw his conquering army defeated on the fields of the Pelennor? At the hands, I might add, of our esteemed colleague who is now King Elessar of Gondor."

Nasir stiffened. "I have bettered Maruf's achievements. Today Gondor bows before Harad."

"You hold neither my wife nor my daughter hostage any more," Aragorn said. "The Lady Éowyn has returned to her husband, and your schemes are laid bare. Legolas of Ithilien has led troops against your vassals the People of Nurn, and I do not doubt that he will overrun them. Faramir writes that he and Éomer King stand ready to lead Gondor and Rohan against Harad at my command. Explain to me how it is that I bow before Harad."

Nasir stared at Aragorn, then turned to look at Ghayur. Ghayur smiled sweetly and pricked Haytham with his knife, causing a trickle of blood to run down Haytham's neck and eliciting a cry of pain and fear. Slowly, Nasir's hand opened, and his sword fell to the ground. Aragorn raised Andúril and advanced on Nasir. Nasir knelt before Ghayur.

"I resign," he said. "Truly, the game is yours." At last, he met Haytham's eyes. "I loved you as a son," he said softly. Haytham made no reply.

"A beautiful scene of filial devotion," Ghayur said. "But, alas, it cannot endure. To me, o my guards!"

Within a minute, two of Ghayur's soldiers entered the tent and bound Nasir. "He is Vizier no longer," Ghayur declared. He turned to Haytham. "Had you practiced the art of patience, you would have found that the sword is not the only route to power," he told the young man. "I am father to three beautiful daughters, any one of whom you might have had to wife. That chance is gone now, as though it had never existed. You will face my judgement along with Nasir. All that is left is to hope for my mercy." He nodded to the soldiers, and one of them moved to bind Haytham.

Thano, who had watched in disbelief as Nasir and Haytham were apprehended, gave a cry of rage and struggled to his feet. "The King of Gondor conquers once more with his Elvish magic!" he said, advancing on Aragorn. Aragorn swung around to face him, placing his body between Arwen and Thano.

"I do not wish to harm you," he began, but Thano spat at him.

"You have already harmed me!" he cried. "I am a free man, King of Gondor. You may conquer my land, but you will not make me a slave again. I will die a free man!"

With that, he reached out, grabbed the blade of Andúril, and thrust himself upon it. Arwen screamed, and Aragorn instinctively let go of Andúril's grip. The sword fell along with Thano. Aragorn pulled it free and knelt down by Thano's quivering body.

"I would not have enslaved you," he said. "Gondor does not keep slaves."

Thano said nothing, but turned his head away from Aragorn. He convulsed, and vomited up an enormous amount of blood. When it was over, he was dead. With a sigh, Aragorn drew his eyes closed. He wiped Andúril's blade clean on Thano's shirt and stood. "We will bury him here at Poros," he said. "It will be a simple burial, but he will retain his dignity."

Ghayur nodded. "By your leave, I would bury my minstrel here as well. We have not the supplies to preserve his body for the journey home."

"Agreed. What of Nasir and Haytham?"

"They are guilty of treason. I will take them back to Harad, and they will face judgement there. Will that suffice, or does Gondor wish more vengeance for the insults she has endured?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I have seen the results of Harad's justice," he said. "I cannot imagine that there will be enough left of Nasir and Haytham for Gondor to punish when Harad has finished with them. I wish to spend the rest of the night with my wife and my daughter, and we will speak further on this matter in the morning."

"That will suffice." Ghayur unclipped a ring of small keys from Haytham's belt, then motioned to the guards. They hauled Nasir and Haytham away. Ghayur rose to stand before Arwen. "My sincerest apologies for the hurts you have suffered, o Glory of the Evening," he said. Then he knelt at Arwen's feet and with his own hands unlocked the shackles around her ankles.

Aragorn nodded silent thanks to Ghayur. He lifted Arwen in his arms and carried her out of the tent. Peredur met them along with the master of the trade depot. "It is over," Aragorn said.

Peredur breathed a sigh of relief. "I have spoken with the master of the depot. There is a chamber prepared for you within. The Princess awaits you there." He escorted Aragorn and Arwen inside to a simple, clean guest chamber. A maid, possibly one of the kitchen staff, was just lighting the wall sconces. Ninniach lay fast asleep in a laundry basket lined with folded sheets and towels. The maid curtseyed deeply when the King and Queen arrived.

"Welcome, Lord. Welcome, Lady. I hope my Lord and my Lady will find everything to their liking. If aught is lacking, my Lord need but summon me. I have taken the liberty of removing the Princess's clothing to be washed, and I have pinned a clean dish towel on her, for we have no baby napkins here."

"That is wonderful," Arwen said. "I am sure she is happier for it. Thank you."

"Some of the girls are heating water now, if my Lord or my Lady would care to bathe," the maid went on. "And one who looked to be roughly my Lady's size, beg pardon, has donated a nightdress." She indicated a plain linen nightgown laid out on the bed.

"Thank you, mistress," Aragorn said. "I will not forget your kindness to us this night."

The maid curtseyed deeply and left the room. Aragorn set Arwen down on a low couch near the laundry basket. Arwen peered into the basket and gave a shaky smile. "Ninniach is asleep, as though nothing had happened," she said. "I have been holding her for several days now, and my arms feel empty."

"You are both safe now," Aragorn assured her. "When she wakes, I will bring her to you, and we will all be together."

More kitchen maids arrived bearing a tub, a pot of soft soap, and kettles of hot water. They filled the tub, curtseyed, and left the King and Queen alone once more. Arwen removed her filthy gown, and Aragorn helped her into the tub. Arwen took great handfuls of soap and began to scrub herself vigorously. Aragorn washed her back and her hair, and they did not stop until Arwen felt herself cleansed of Thano's touch and the horror of her captivity.

When Arwen finally declared herself clean, she dried herself and pulled on the nightgown the maid had left for her. Aragorn tore a dry linen washcloth into strips and bandaged her raw, bleeding ankles, then carried her to the bed. He extinguished the wall sconces and crawled in beside her, taking her in his arms. Arwen curled up against him and wept for a long time before sleep claimed her. Aragorn remained awake a while longer, wondering what to do about Ghayur.

He did nothing about Ghayur for the next morning and the early part of the afternoon, choosing instead to remain with Arwen and Ninniach. To Ghayur's credit, he left Aragorn alone for the entire morning, merely sending a page near noon to inquire politely as to how Arwen and Ninniach fared. When Aragorn looked out the window, he saw that the Haradric trade delegation was already beginning to break down their camp and pack their bags. Due to these small courtesies, Aragorn found himself in a moderately pleasant frame of mind when he finally met with Ghayur in the middle of the afternoon. They dispensed with the formal pleasantries quickly.

"I am sure you realize that I cannot continue with trade negotiations after the incidents of last night," Aragorn said.

Ghayur nodded. "The wise man does not engage in foolish mockery for form's sake. May I ask your thoughts concerning our current agreement?"

"I do not wish to alter it now. I certainly cannot in good conscience expand it, but neither do I wish to sever communication with Harad completely."

"You are generous and large of heart, King Elessar."

"I am not," Aragorn said. "If anything, I am far more suspicious of you and your country than I was before I traveled to Poros. I have learned that this trade depot is as good a source of news concerning the affairs of Harad as any. Therefore, I intend to keep it open. What goods we have traded before will continue to flow, as will news of the affairs of your court."

Ghayur smiled broadly. "Such a stream may flow both ways. I, too, shall learn of the intrigues in the Citadel."

"Now that you have mentioned it, I feel it only fair to warn you that I will increase my efforts to locate your spies," Aragorn countered. "I believe it was they who provided Nasir and Haytham with the information they needed to attack Minas Tirith, and I intend to dam that leak at its source."

"You will do as you will, King Elessar. As will I. So we return to the watchful days of old, gazing at each other from afar, as two lions over the body of an antelope. That is a shame. In other times, we might have been powerful allies."

Aragorn nodded. "That would be a mighty alliance indeed. However, in these times, I do not trust you, and I trust the members of your court even less. I will not allow Gondor to remain vulnerable so long as there is potential for a second Nasir to arise from the court of the Calif."

"Alas," Ghayur said, "but that is how it must be, it appears. For my part, I have enjoyed our conference, truncated though it was. You have a keen mind, and it is an honor to confront it. I am also honored to have encountered once again the radiant Jewel of the Evening and to have laid eyes upon Gondor's Rainbow. My offer of betrothal remains open."

Aragorn snorted. "We shall see about that. Should you find a fairer prospect for your son than my daughter, I would in no way consider it an insult."

"You are as polite as ever, though you cannot hide your dislike of me." Ghayur rose from his chair and bowed deeply. "Farewell, o Elfstone. I return now to my own land, to ponder in my heart that which I have seen and heard on my travels. I wish you safe passage to your own illustrious home." He turned on his heel and left Aragorn alone in the empty negotiating chamber.

The journey back to Minas Tirith was blessedly uneventful. The master of the trade depot donated a light cart so that Arwen and Ninniach could ride overland to the Anduin in relative comfort. The depot's healing staff provided a pot of salve to soothe the raw wounds on Arwen's ankles, and the kitchen staff parted with a stack of towels in lieu of baby napkins.

The royal ship waited for them at Pelargir, and by the time they arrived, Arwen's ankles had healed enough that she was able to walk aboard unaided, while Aragorn carried Ninniach. During the voyage, the soldiers, diplomats, and sailors fussed over Ninniach and made much of her. Ninniach accepted their attention with regal good grace, provided that either her mother or her father was nearby at all times. She had lost weight during her captivity, but now she nursed eagerly, and began to grow plump again. Sometimes, if the sailors were eating something that could be chopped fine enough, they would feed it to the baby and laugh uproariously at the faces she made with each new food.

Faramir, Gimli, and Éomer were at the dock to meet the ship as it arrived at Minas Tirith. Aragorn embraced all of them and thanked them for their readiness to ride to war, should it prove necessary. "We have been most fortunate," he said. "In the end, there was no need to call upon swords and spears. The forces working against us collapsed under their own weight."

"Rohan is ever ready to ride to Gondor's aid," Éomer said. "But I, too, am glad that things did not come to such a pass."

"As for the Dwarves," Gimli said, "we have found employment in the repair of those portions of the Citadel that were damaged by fire."

"I thank you for that aid," Aragorn said with a smile.

Gimli shrugged. "It is the least we can do. I was not fast enough to prevent the assault on the Citadel that led to the fire, but my folk can repair the damage."

"I do not blame you, Gimli," Aragorn said. "Many things that we thought to be true have proven false. That includes my conception of the Citadel as an impregnable keep, a last solid defense against assault. It may withstand the onslaught of an army, but we have seen that it is vulnerable to treachery."

"That reminds me," Faramir put in. "There is one last consequence of that assault that remains to be dealt with. When Beregond and Éothain returned from the strike against Nurn, they brought with them a lady called Wen. She appears to have been the wife or concubine of the Lord of that folk, and seems to be their leader now. I have given her a small guest chamber until such time as you are able to meet with her and determine the fate of that land."

"I will see her tomorrow," Aragorn said. He looked around the dock and frowned. "You said that Beregond and Éothain returned from Nurn. What has become of Legolas? Why is he not here as well?"

"I asked Beregond that very question," Faramir replied. "He said that the Elves turned aside in Ithilien to return to their own land. Legolas is as well as can be expected, though he had no desire to come to Minas Tirith."

"I cannot say that I blame him," Arwen said softly.

"Indeed," Gimli said. "These past weeks have been hard on him. I have heard that the Elves recovered the child who was taken, but Doronrîn will not return to them."

"I understand," Aragorn said. "I will not force the issue, though I would offer Legolas my thanks for his aid. After I have dealt with this lady Wen, I shall ride out to Ithilien and attempt to deliver such a message myself. But for now, I wish simply to return to my home and spend the rest of the day in the company of my family and friends."

The next day, Aragorn busied himself reviewing all that had occurred in Minas Tirith while he had been absent. He toured the burnt portions of the Citadel and praised the swift work of the Dwarves who were rebuilding it. His proxy lords reported the provisional decisions they had made and passed on questions they had received which only the King could answer. Slowly, Aragorn sifted through his paperwork, pausing at noon to take a meal with Arwen and Ninniach.

Instead of gruel, Ninniach ate a pulp of mashed fruit. She was slowly learning how to swallow solid food, so her meal was somewhat tidier than when she had first become acquainted with barley gruel. Aragorn concentrated on feeding his daughter and tried not to think about the fact that the walls of the royal suite had been freshly plastered to cover over the marks of the assault that had taken place there. Despite the best efforts of the cleaning staff, there was still a faint stain on the floor where Doronrîn had been killed.

Ninniach finished eating, and Aragorn removed her meal tabard while Arwen washed her face and hands. "The woman Wen will be brought before me soon," Aragorn said. "Do you wish to be present when I meet with her?"

Arwen nodded. "I will hear her speak. I wish to know about her land, that has caused ours so much grief." She went to the door and summoned one of her ladies-in-waiting to watch over Ninniach while she attended court. She and Aragorn changed into their most formal court robes, of black velvet with the insignia of the White Tree embroidered prominently upon it. They were robes intended to be worn when receiving an embassy from a far country or when passing judgement upon the highest of criminals. Briefly, Arwen wondered which capacity this meeting would draw forth.

Wen was waiting in the throne room when the King and Queen arrived, wearing her thin gray work dress and a scowl on her face. She refused to curtsey before the royal couple, even when prodded by a guard. "I am the Lady Wen, and my people are free," she informed him. "We bow to no one."

"Indeed you are free," the King said mildly. "I decreed it myself. I am sorry to see that your freedom has led us to such a pass."

"Pretty words," Wen spat. "I have had enough of men and their pretty words." She turned to glare at the Queen. "Thano and the visitors all promised to make me as fine as you, Elf Queen of Gondor. Now they are gone. You have your husband and your throne, and I have a land that withers to dust. Where is my man? Why has he left me?"

The Queen gazed steadily at Wen. In a soft voice, she said, "He is dead, Lady. I witnessed his death with my own eyes."

"Your husband killed him."

"He killed himself." The Queen's face showed distress at the memory and compassion for the woman left behind. "I do not think he was an evil man, and I grieved for his death. It was not necessary."

"Of course it was not necessary," Wen said, beginning to choke. "I cannot see that it is necessary for anyone to die. I did not want death. All I asked of Thano was that he keep our people alive and free. And now he is dead, and I have surrendered." A tear rolled down her face, followed by another, and then she let out a sob.

The Queen hurried down the steps of the dais, her arms reaching out to embrace Wen. At the last moment, she saw Wen's glare and thought better of that. Instead, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a fine linen handkerchief, which she handed to Wen. Wen blinked at the lovely thing in her hand, then looked up at the Queen, standing an arm's length away from her.

"Thank you," she said. She mopped her face, then folded the handkerchief. Awkwardly, she thrust out her hand to offer it back to the Queen.

"Keep it," the Queen said. "I think you have more need of it than I."

At this small courtesy, Wen broke down completely and wept. When she had finished, she wiped her face again and gave the Queen a worried glance. The Queen offered a smile of encouragement, and Wen responded with a tiny smile of her own. She straightened her spine and faced the King.

"I am ready to hear your judgement upon my people," she said.

The King sat back on his throne and studied her for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

"I have given the matter of your people's situation much thought," he began. "It is true that your nation has attacked mine. Your soldiers abducted the Princess of Ithilien and women and children of that land. They participated in an assault upon the Citadel in Minas Tirith that resulted in the capture of the Queen and Princess of Gondor and the death of Lady Doronrîn, a guest in our land and much beloved among her own people. I cannot ignore these acts of aggression."

Wen's grip tightened on the handkerchief, but her gaze did not waver as she listened to the King recite the crimes in which Thano had taken part. The King returned her gaze, pleased at her honesty.

"However," he went on, "neither can I ignore those of my own actions that led your folk to act as they did."

Wen's head jerked back in astonishment at that statement. "You set us free," she said. "Are you saying that you regret that action?" Her expression grew slightly harder and more suspicious.

"I do not regret freeing the slaves of Mordor," the King replied. "I do regret that I then abandoned them to their own devices without considering whether or not they knew how to be free."

"What do you mean, King of Gondor?"

The King sighed. "I left you a worn-out piece of land that you did not have the skills to farm appropriately. I left you alone to govern yourselves, you who had bowed beneath the yoke of slavery for generations. You had no means to educate yourselves, and no model for your leadership save that of your former dark masters. I should hardly have expected any less than anger and resentment from the People of Nurn. In my defense, I offer only the fact that I was new to my position at the time and in the flush of victory, I did not consider the full consequences of what I saw as an act of mercy. I offer my sincerest apologies to your people, Lady Wen."

Wen's eyes narrowed as she considered this. She turned to the Queen, who nodded her agreement with the King's words. Reassured, Wen turned back to the King. "I accept your apology," she said stiffly. "But that does not alter the fact that I am the Lady of a defeated people. Will you leave me hanging much longer? Tell me what doom you will inflict upon us."

"You are as shrewd a ruler as any I have yet encountered," the King said, sitting back upon the throne. "Would that you had led your folk from the beginning, for we might then have been true allies. But what is done may not be undone. Here is the doom of the King of Gondor.

"Lady Wen, I cannot permit the unchecked rise of a hostile power on Gondor's borders. I will strengthen the garrison in the ancient watch city of Osgiliath and set a guard upon the border between Gondor and Nurn. You will not rise again before I am aware of it. In addition, since our army has defeated yours in battle, I will send soldiers to your land."

Wen closed her eyes briefly to hide her distress. "You mean to occupy Nurn. We will be slaves again."

"Not slaves," the King said. "It is true that soldiers of Gondor will occupy your land for a while. During that occupation, they will teach you what you do not know. They will teach you to farm and to care for the sick among you, and they will educate you in the history and thought of the free Men of the West. In this way, you will truly become equal to the people of Gondor. And perhaps one day, we will meet again in friendship."

It was several minutes before Wen found her voice. "That is a greater mercy than I had expected," she admitted. "I will submit to your doom, King of Gondor. One day, I will be like the Elf Queen, but it will be on my own terms."

"I believe you," the King said dryly. "Perhaps you should make better acquaintance with the Princess of Ithilien. You might find a kindred spirit there."

The Queen smiled warmly at Wen. "For my part, I look forward with joy to the day when I may truly greet you as a friend, Lady Wen," she said. Then, leaning a little closer so that her next words would be private, she added, "I will tell you something else about Thano. He intervened to save my infant daughter when Haytham would have thrown her into the Great River. Whatever his motives may have been, he did well, and my child lives today because of him. I will not forget that."

Finally, Wen's shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. "Thank you for that, Queen of Gondor," she said. "My doom will be easier to bear now that I know that Thano did not take complete leave of his senses in his last days."

Lady Wen inclined her head as graciously as if she had been born to the title and allowed herself to be led from the throne room.

A week after he had passed judgement upon the People of Nurn, Aragorn accompanied Faramir, Éowyn, Elboron, and Olwyn to Ithilien. When they reached the border of that land, Éowyn bade them farewell and turned her wagon southwards to take the children home. Aragorn and Faramir turned their horses north, for they had one last task to complete. They rode slowly into the territory of the Elves, waiting for the border guards to acknowledge their presence.

They did not have to wait long. They had not ridden more than half a league when three Elves emerged from the forest and barred the path. "King Elessar, Lord Faramir," their leader said, nodding a polite greeting.

Aragorn nodded back. "We seek audience with Lord Legolas," he said. "May we continue?"

"No."

Aragorn and Faramir looked at each other, surprised. Never before had they been denied access to the Elvish settlement.

"Please remain here," the guard said. "You may have use of the talan in the tree fifteen paces to your right. You will find food and blankets there. I will fetch someone to speak with you." With that, the guards melted away into the forest again.

"Legolas has been affected more deeply than I had feared," Faramir said. "He has never made me cool my heels at his border before."

"We will hear what he has to say when we see him," Aragorn said. "I maintain my faith in his loyalty, and I trust that he will accept the message we bear him. In the meantime, let us wait. The Elves have not yet failed to offer us at least a little hospitality, and that is a good sign, I think." He dismounted and picketed his horse, then began to climb the tree to the talan.

Aragorn and Faramir waited overnight. No one disturbed them, though they suspected that at least one guard was watching them just out of sight. As the sun rose in the morning, the branches of the tree rustled. Aragorn and Faramir sat up just in time to see a small party of Elves moving through the branches toward their talan. The guards they had met the previous evening escorted Neldorín and a lady they did not recognize, though there was something familiar about her face.

"Greetings," Neldorín said. "I understand that you have requested audience with Lord Legolas."

"We have," Aragorn replied. "I had intended to offer my deepest thanks for his assistance in our recent conflicts and to share sorrow at the death of Lady Doronrîn."

Neldorín nodded. "Lord Legolas is not here at the moment. He has left me to rule in his place. I thank you for your kind words."

"Where has Legolas gone?" Faramir asked.

"He has ridden north to Eryn Lasgalen, to deliver the news of Doronrîn's death to the King in person," Neldorín said.

"That will be no easy task," Faramir said. "I gather that the lady was a friend to King Thranduil."

"She was a friend to all of us," Neldorín said. "It is good that Legolas has gone to bear this message himself. He and his father will care for each other in their grief."

"And they will tell my brother the news," the strange woman added. "He should not hear it from anyone else."

"Your brother, mistress?" Aragorn asked.

"Forgive me," Neldorín said. "May I present Mistress Saelind, daughter of Doronrîn and Menellir."

"You honor us with your presence, Lady," Aragorn said. "I would offer you what comfort I may in your grief."

"As would I," Faramir said. "Your mother was a lady of skill and courage, and both our peoples are poorer for her loss."

"I thank you for your words," Saelind said quietly. "I have been thinking about the time my mother spent in this forest. I believe she was content here. This land is one of peace and plenty, and she welcomed many children into the world." She placed her hand on her belly. "But my mother will not be present to greet her grandson, and I mourn for that."

"You know it will be a boy?" Faramir asked.

Saelind nodded. "I have already chosen his name," she said. "I will call him Meneldoron in memory of my parents."

"That is a good name," Aragorn said. "Perhaps you will all meet again one day." He turned to Neldorín. "How does your son fare? He was the child abducted by the People of Nurn, was he not?"

Neldorín smiled. "Faron is well. He grows strong and healthy once again, though he does not wish to stray too far from his mother."

Faramir chuckled. "My children behave exactly the same way. They will overcome their anxieties in time, I think."

"I am certain of that," Neldorín replied. "But for now, I am glad to have my son safe and close to his mother. He will be ready to resume his adventures soon, and I hope that I will be ready to let him go then."

"I am glad to hear that he is well," Aragorn said. "But there is more that I would know from you, Neldorín. What of the rest of your folk? It seems that we are not permitted to visit with them today."

"That is true. We do not wish to have dealings with Men for a while," Neldorín told him. "We have had nothing but grief from this encounter, and we wish to be left alone for the present. But do not fear. The Elves of Ithilien will not end their friendship with Gondor. Before he left, Lord Legolas ordered that our borders be closed only until his return."

Aragorn let out a sigh of relief. "I am glad to hear that. I half feared that I had lost a dear friend. If it is not too much to ask, do you know when Legolas will return to Ithilien?"

Neldorín shrugged. "I do not know for certain. The summer will draw to a close when he arrives in Eryn Lasgalen, and I do not think that he will travel over the winter. We do not expect him back in this land before spring."

"Then I will await the coming of spring," Aragorn said. "I think we have all been wounded, but our wounds are not so deep that they cannot be healed."

"The snows of winter will provide a shroud for grief," Neldorín said. "We will resume our friendship with the greening of the year." He smiled and reached out to touch Aragorn's shoulder briefly. Then he motioned to Saelind and the guards. The Elves vanished into the forest. Aragorn and Faramir climbed down to the ground in silence and roused their horses. They said their farewells, then rode away to the families that awaited them.

END

Many thanks to those who have read and enjoyed this story. I enjoyed seeing your reactions to it immensely. This is the first story I've written that features an out-and-out villain, and I admit that I had a great deal of fun getting inside Nasir's head and plotting treason against both Gondor and Harad. I was also quite touched by the sympathy that so many people had for Thano, pathetic and morally stunted as he turned out to be.

While I was planning this story, I remembered a criticism that a friend of mine had made upon reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time a few years ago. He pointed out that, after Amon Hen, we never see the good guys losing an important battle again. He felt that this diminished some of the urgency of the story. I think that there is a certain amount of truth to that criticism, and so I set out to write a story where the good guys would lose some battles along the way.

One person asked if there would be a sequel to this story. I don't really know yet. It's entirely possible -- there are consequences to this one that would be fun to explore -- but it won't happen for a very long time, if it does happen.

That's all I have to say about that. Again, thank you all so much for reading and enjoying this story. I'll see you again later.