Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

The elf ran with all the speed his legs could carry. His light feet, accustomed to moving noiselessly, could not help but make a splosh splosh sound as he ran over the boggy ground. Yet despite his noise, he barely made a sound when compared to the splashes and thuds of the heavy feet that pursued him. And even before that, the swift crash through the brush of the wolfhounds came as they barked and growled out their charge. They were closing in on him, and the elf sobbed while making a valiant effort to kick up his energy and flee.

He wished he were among the trees. He would have stood a chance for escape had he been. For the beasts that chased him did not have his fleet talents there. Their prowess was not among limb and branch. But the elf was not in the forest. Their mission had been in the northwestern reaches of their land, in the regions that touched the Nindalf. No trees grew there, though they could be seen on the horizon ahead. His only chance, he knew, was to make it to those plains. His path would lead him there, if only he could hang on long enough. So far, he was ahead, but the dogs showed no signs of tiring and would soon be on him.

He was running for his life, having witnessed already the deaths of his companions. Yet he knew not why this was happening. Their mission was to be peaceful. No more enemies were there to be found in these parts. At least, there were not supposed to be. But most apparently, that was not true.

Believing all was well, they had left with barely any weapons — only a bow for shooting game if their food ran out and a short knife to be used for skinning. And those were now left behind at their camp, laying beside his dead comrades, their throats slit and blood pooling about them. Not that the weapons would have done much good even if they had been warned of the need. Neither he nor his friends were warriors. They were not graced with skills to kill, only those of rudimentary survival in the wilds. He should not need further than this. These grounds were safe. He should not be running in fear for his life!

Glancing back, his heart beat fiercely. He trudged and tripped through the muck, knowing there were no hiding places for him here. And even if there were, there was no time for him to hide his tracks. They would find him and they would kill him, just as they had done with the others, though he was unsure why.

In the dark he saw the glade ahead, the outline of its form making a deeper shade against the pitch of midnight. He did his best to hurry his steps as salvation was there. Trees! If he could only make it to the trees. Aside from their knives, he did not think the Men carried other weapons. If he could make it to the trees, away from the dogs, he might escape.

The forest was just ahead, and he forced all his energy into this last attempt to flee. He could hear his labored breath grow louder with his fatigue and his heart beat ever faster in his search for relief. Only a few hundred yards more did it stand. But in his blind pursuit to run, his senses were unfocused to all things but those behind him. He did not see the creature come at him from the sky until she was upon him.

Razor-sharp talons dug into his shoulders and he cried out at the unexpected pain. Wings and beak flapped about his face and his arms flailed out to push the creature away. But she pursued, fighting him with predatory instinct. A night flyer, she had learned long ago how to overcome her prey and with animal knowledge and no sense of wrong in her action, she plunged sharp claws into the elf's face, knowing the vulnerability of that region. The elf screamed out as vicious nails penetrated his eye socket, blinding him with blood and pain. He fell hard, rolling in the sodden earth, twisting to free himself from the bird. He struck the creature hard and was released from its grasp, but too late. His fate was sealed. The hounds gained on him, and he knew his life was forfeit. And yet, he still fought, regaining his feet, sobbing his regret as he righted himself, plodding on, forcing his body further.

It was a surprise to him when the first fell beast dropped him with its leap. He had expected the dogs to nip at his legs, to trip him up. He never expected they would have energy enough to make such a bold move. He was exhausted, his energy spent, and he had hoped, at least, that the wolfhounds would be too. He did not know their drive would be encouraged by his fear and the smell of his blood.

The first dog's attack took his hands as he rolled to his back and pushed away at the animal. The jagged fangs were vying for his throat and he pushed his arms up in defense. A second beast leaped at his belly, launching its teeth at the soft tissue of his groin. Curling up in response, he fought back, kicking and thrashing, but a third, fourth and fifth creature leaped into the fray and he had no way left to fight. And lastly, the sixth wolfhound found its mark, diving into his neck and ripping the artery within it. Blood gushed out as the fatal wound was inflicted, and all the dogs plunged into his flesh, refreshed by their lust. Landing knife-like canines into muscle tissue, the taste of blood sent the beasts into a ravenous fury, each mauling harder at the taste of raw meat. The snarls of their attack mixed with his screams, and the noise was a symphony of gruesome horror.

The footfalls of men could be heard breaking through the marshy soil, beckoned by the cries of death and destruction. Calling out to the hounds to cease their attack, the men hurried to the place of attack. But it had been too long since the dogs had been fed meat. They growled out their answer. Their lust for blood was undiminished by their lack of full bellies. They would have their meal. The men's calls would be damned!

A kick sent a yelp from the snarling lips of one creature. A thrown off dog, and then another in turn, was followed by the hollow thud and cry as a fourth dog's ribs crushed against a harsh rock. The sound was enough to make the other canine beasts take notice, and they at last saw the ferocious anger of their masters' glare. Snarling and simultaneously whimpering, they drew back, relinquishing their prey to the men who kept them.

A bloody mask was all that was left of the elf's face. One half of his face was a mass of gore. The single remaining eye showed fading light. Sucking sounds rasped from his lips as his last gasps entered and exited his lungs. Entrails lay exposed beside his body, curled and ripped on the ground and they led back to his torn belly as the opened cavity filled with garnet blood. He was dying. A crimson pool sullied the mud beneath his head and a thickening trail of it dripped from the corner of his mouth.

The Men looked down on the dying creature and scowled. The dogs backed away, seeing their masters' anger, knowing they had gone too far in their hunt. A screech from above indicated the arrival of their companion hunter. An arm was flung out, and the wings of a large grey owl swooped down upon it, landing noiselessly on the human perch.

A voice was heard by the elf as all his senses dimmed. "She will be angry with this," the voice said. "We should have waited before killing the other two." The words were hollow to the elf. His spirit was ascending and the sounds became more and more distant and vague as he slowly died.

"We could not have overpowered them," came another voice. "We know little of their race. She never warned us. You can see they were strong. This one nearly outran us. Had we not killed them, this easily could have become a disaster. We did what was right."

"And now we have three dead Elves to show for it! Not even one live one to present for her use! What good is that to her? I dare say she will not have kind words for us!" shouted the first.

"No! She will read us and know. Better to face her wrath. And perhaps she can find some use here in this," said the first, pulling up the head of the dying elf by a scruff of hair.

"Just the one. That is all of what she asked. But you are right in one way, my brother," said the first slowly.

"We need to hide the evidence. There were three here. There may well be others. And we will need another if she is to go on. But all in its time. We do not need to find retribution for this deed. Not now. We should hasten to keep our presence here short. My fear is for later. Bad enough it is that we should have to explain this to her tonight. Mother will not be pleased with us. . .

A raucous laugh tumbled out of the mouth of the red-bearded dwarf. Gimli was in an especially merry mood on this day, as was right. He should be! It was a day to be remembered in Minas Tirith, and Gimli and several other dwarves from the Glittering Caves were the heroes of the city.

The streets were alive with revelry and festival. Parades had lined the main roads in the early hours and the palace guard and an entourage of royal officials had made the procession to the foot of the city. At the main gates had stood the Dedication, and Gimli had given the Honors of Presentation to the fair Queen Arwen. The point of focus for all to behold was the last, and the greatest, of all the gifts the Dwarves had bestowed upon Minas Tirith. A new gate was unveiled, and nothing like it had ever graced the City of Kings prior.

Shining in mithril and other precious metals, it was a treasure that raised the level of beauty of an already lovely city. Flower petals had rained down on the heads of all who beheld it, and a roar of applause echoed through the cities streets. Gimli's name could be heard on the lips of all the attendants and rumors and gossip about the king's long friendship with the diminutive leader abounded. Nearly everyone wanted to see him, to shake his hand, to be where he was, to call him 'friend'. He was favored by the crown, and he was their cause of celebration. Gimli was a very popular dwarf in Minas Tirith.

Parties crisscrossed alleyways and lanes throughout the various levels of the great white city. Street vendors hawked confections for nearly every taste, and minstrels and puppeteers entertained all-comers for the offering of a few copper coins. Women wore their prettiest frocks and tied their hair back with ribbons and flowers and the men went so far as to bathe and to trim their scruffy faces. Children played freely without fear of retribution and throughout the city, laughter and merriment were heard from all houses. Except for the countless days of celebration at the marriage of Elessar and Arwen, a better time in the towering city could not be recalled by any. The King had proclaimed the event at the gates a holiday to all, and the citizens reveled in their joy.

Patting his belly from the fullness and contentment it had partaken at the King's table, Gimli clapped his other hand on the back of his companion. A look of such glee filled his eyes, and anyone who looked upon him could tell the dwarf had never been happier.

"I know just the place to go! I have been saving this one up for the next time you would join me here, and I can think of no finer occasion than this to enjoy it!" the dwarf said as he led his guest through the city streets and down a narrower roadway. As they passed, observers would stop and curtsy or bow as the dwarf made his way. And in turn Gimli would nod and smile at each one, letting their honors add to his mood.

Legolas laughed. "I do not think I have seen you so pleased with yourself, Gimli! You act like a dwarf wallowing in mithril. You are enjoying this with immense pleasure."

Gimli chuckled loudly. "Of course I am! Look at how well they treat me," he said as a small girl ran up to him and presented him with a flower and a sweet smile. Gimli smiled at her in return and said, "Who would not enjoy such attention?"

The elf smirked. Not I, he thought. He did not care much for the city, and it was only his friends' presence that drew him there. When he had first come to Minas Tirith, he had been seen as a curiosity among men. That had been more than twelve years ago, and despite Arwen's role as their Queen, he still felt at times that he was an object upon which to be gawked. It was not true, he knew, and he reprimanded himself for feeling such, chalking up this emotion to his cloistered life in the forests. He was not overly fond of cities, and he did what he could to be in and out of them as swiftly as he could. Throngs of men grated on his serenity, and he often found himself seeking refuge in the quieter places there were to be found there. The unwarranted attention of big city centers did not appeal to him. And so in his past visits, he had felt it was enough that he do his job as best he could, and then leave. He did not need praise to boost his ego. The silly attentions played by men on acts of gratitude did little for Legolas. Even among his own people, Legolas shied away from grand gestures of this type. All he ever asked for, or expected, when a gift was offered, was a heartfelt thanks, or a like kindness done in return. Anything more was overdone in his mind, and he would rather avoid being cause for such unneeded attention. In answer to the dwarf, he said, "I am just glad no one tried to hold a celebration for my sake when my kindred and I brought trees to this city in those first years after the war. The humiliation would have driven me away for good."

"She was probably just being polite. But, stop that brooding sulk. I am teasing you, friend! Your gesture added beauty to the city, and I know it has not gone unnoticed. Fortunately, Elessar knows you well. He would not suffer your stoic nature to this unabashed merriment. It is not fitting for you. And I am glad he has done this, for you have not been chased away and this day would not be nearly as merry if you were not here to celebrate it with me! There are many differences between you and I, elf. I am only too happy to be the recipient of this. My dwarves and I have labored many years to accomplish this task and it is a nice reward to be honored for it in the end," he said as he waved to passers who stopped to point in his direction.

"It is a beautiful gate, Gimli," Legolas agreed. "Three years in the making and another eight in the mining of the ores…It is a very generous gift!"

Stopping before the door of the establishment of their intent, Gimli pulled the elf aside, and looking suspiciously about said, "Perhaps not everything harvested in those years went to the gate. We did keep some of the treasure as reward for our toils."

Growing defensive, Gimli placed his hands on his hips and blustered, "We did not keep that much! No one will accuse me of not being generous!"

Legolas laughed even harder. "Hardly, Gimli! If anything, I would say you are the least greedy dwarf I have ever come to know!"

Gimli pursed his lips with a look of annoyance and said, "I am the only dwarf you have ever come to know!"

The inn was alive with activity and Legolas felt himself cringe at the close confines of the place. There were too many people here, he thought, and he felt instantly grimy in this dark noisy room. He supposed he should not have expected more. He could tell the dark confines of the space held appeal to the dwarf. For Legolas, it was abhorrent. Bodies brushed against bodies in the hectic atmosphere. But even in the chaos, Gimli's presence was noticed. The barkeep roared a hail of welcome to the dwarf as he pushed two patrons out of their seats at a table on the far side of the room. Running a dirty cloth over the bench, he motioned for Gimli and the elf to take a place in the now empty chairs. Gimli laughed aloud, looking quite at home in the loud, smoke-filled room, while Legolas followed the dwarf with trepidation, wondering what he had got himself into.

"So delighted you could make it, ands on this night in particular! Thought certain his majesty would have you wrapped up in some big brew up there at the palace," the jovial barkeep twanged with obvious familiarity.

"Aye, he did. But we managed to escape all the same," the dwarf said with a wink and a smile. "Besides, I promised to show my friend here some of the finer establishments within Minas Tirith."

"And since they were all closed, you brought him here instead!" the barkeep said, laughing and slapping the elf on the back. Legolas jumped back at the unexpected contact.

"Merris Thalbuck is my name. Glad to make your acquaintance," he said wiping his hands on the dirty cloth before proffering one to the elf in greeting, "though most of my patrons just call me Mal."

With a slight grimace, Legolas put his own hand into Mal's to return the greeting. Mal's strong grip shook the elf's hand fiercely, then he quickly stretched an arm about the elf's shoulder and tugged Legolas into his barrel chest. "Friends of Gimli's is friends of mine. Welcome to The Sleeping Dragon" he said. Legolas rolled his eyes to that, understanding now what had initially attracted the dwarf to this place as he fought back the embrace of the innkeeper. Not noticing Legolas' discomfort, the barkeep went on, "Can't say I caught your name. What do they call you?"

The noise in the room was deafening and easily muffled Legolas' gentle voice, "Say again," said Mal, pointing to his ear as if to indicate he had not heard.

"Legolas!" the elf said in a much louder voice, directing it now to Mal's exposed ear.

"Ah, Legless. Yes! Unusual name, that. No matter. Take a seat, gents," he said pushing the dwarf and elf both into their chairs.

"Legolas!" the elf offered once again, but the noise in the room made it impossible for the barkeep to tell what he was saying. Mal woodenly nodded but did not correct himself, and with resignation Legolas shrugged. Gimli snorted.

"So, what libations can I bring you gents?" Mal said looking from one to the next, now taking a professional stance.

Mal frowned and Gimli quickly leaned into the elf to remand the drink order. "Legolas, could you not order something better then that? We are celebrating this night, let us not forget. A headier beverage would be more fitting, if you will."

Mal offered in turn, "Sir, you should know this house has the best of all spirits in the lands. People've been known to comes from all parts to partake in the drink we have here. Ask of anything and it will be done."

Legolas drew back with a look of disgust, "I cannot and will not drink ale, Gimli. While you enjoy it just the smell of it sickens me." Turning his eyes back to Mal, he said, "Some mead then," hoping that would appease the situation.

Gimli eyed Mal and gave a small shake of his head. The barkeep read the gesture and said, "'haps I'll come back when you've discussed the matter amongst yourselves." Sighing and shaking his head, Mal disappeared into the crowd instantly.

"Why must you be so stubborn? Could you not just lighten your standards for one evening? I mean to enjoy myself, but you are not aiding me!" the dwarf said with flaring eyes.

"What would you have me be? I do not like it here – it is too confining – and I do not care for the distilled spirits of your like. So, if I must participate in this, allow me to do so with some comfort," Legolas said haughtily.

Gimli huffed his disdain, then drawing his breath he said, "Sometimes you act so priggish!"

Legolas stiffened. Priggish! He did not like that word, but could think not how to respond to it. Smoldering, yet resigned to make the best of a bad situation, Legolas said darkly, "What might you suggest, dwarf."

The bright look on Gimli's face came suddenly, and had Legolas reflected on it long, he might have thought he had been set up for some ill will. But Gimli's smile seemed genuine, and the elf did not want to believe the dwarf would have malevolent intent. Gimli smiled brightly and said, "I think I know what to do." And before Legolas could ask further questions, the dwarf had removed himself from the table and was giving orders to Mal at the serving area.

A roar of boon laughter settled over Gimli and the patrons at the bar, and Legolas could see the dwarf's merry disposition restored. His mood lifting in return, Legolas tried to eye what was occurring at the counter. He cringed when he saw a particularly large tankard pushed forward toward the dwarf. But Gimli did not part, and Legolas grew more curious as he saw Mal pouring and whirling mysterious beakers behind the work surface. With a flourish, Mal poured the concoction into a small pewter mug which he gently lifted and placed before the dwarf.

Smiling as he returned, Gimli artfully presented the cup to his companion as he pushed himself down into his chair. The dwarf looked most pleased.

Legolas eyed the drink suspiciously. He could only wonder what kind of toxic creation the dwarf had contrived for him…and what dirty utensils Mal had wielded in its make. He sniffed. To his surprise, he beheld an aroma of fruit and honey. Blinking at this discovery, he placed his fingers on the cup. Startled to find it warm to the touch, he looked up inquisitively at Gimli. The dwarf smiled broadly, eager to see if his guess had been correct. "Go on, go on," he urged the elf, gesturing for him to taste the drink.

Legolas lifted the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip. To his relief and pleasure, he was greeted by a flavor of sweetness that delighted him, and the warmth of the drink drew heat nicely at the back of his throat as it slid its way down. Smiling his approval, he took a larger sip, warming himself with the liquid as it worked its way to his stomach. Looking again at the dwarf, he said, "What is in this drink? It is quite good."

Pleased and feeling boastful for accomplishing the unthinkable, the dwarf said, "Only natural ingredients I assure you, friend. But be careful. It is rather potent."

"Not to worry, Gimli," Legolas said as he took another taste, much longer this time. "I am an elf and elves have greater tolerance to mortal libation." Then he took a long swallow and drained the cup on the spot. Raising the empty receptacle to the barkeep, he caught Mal's eye and indicated his desire for another. Mal nodded and smiled.

Another figure sidled up to the table surprising the pair of mismatched comrades with his sudden appearance. Looking up, Legolas was pleased to see Faramir joining them. Clapping a hand on each of their backs, the Prince of Ithilien greeted them both with a beaming grin as he then snared a chair from a neighboring table and proceeded to join them.

The sandy-haired steward shrugged and smiled, "I saw you two leave the palace festivities, and I suspected Gimli might want to drag you to some of his favorite haunts. It did not take long to find you here. I thought I might join you."

"Welcome, Sire! Welcome!" came the hearty call of Mal as he placed Legolas' drink on the table and bowed deeply in his recognition of Faramir.

Faramir laughed at the large figure scraping before him. He said, "Arise fair innkeeper! There are too many bellies to be filled tonight for you to give special treatment and gesture to my likes. Bring me a pint of ale and be done with this!"

Mal rose with a smile, and backed away into the crowd, whispering and adding to the rumor of the room as he disappeared into the throng.

"Is that–?" Faramir looked and pointed at Legolas' drink, lifting and smelling the cup with Legolas' nod to do so. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked the dwarf. Gimli nodded. The Steward let out a low whistle and said, "Smells wonderful– but too powerful for my blood. I think I will stay with my ale," he said, cocking a brow at Legolas, as if the elf had been promoted to a place of greater respect.

The elf ignored the implications about his beverage and turned his regard on Faramir. He had not had much opportunity to speak with the man earlier in the day, and he was looking forward to the time ahead to reacquaint their close friendship. It had been many months since their last encounter and much had changed in the realm of the Elves of Ithilien. He was eager to share his news with the Prince. But Legolas also knew they would have much time in the days ahead to speak on these matters, and the noise from the crowd about them did not give much heed to words of serious nature. He resigned himself to the fact that the atmosphere was what needed to be relished in this smoke-encrusted tavern, and drew back in his resolve to allow humor to enter his mood. Heartily he said, "How fare Eowyn and the children?" as he took a long drink from his cup.

Faramir smiled and said, "All are well," but there was a stiffness to the answer that told Legolas a lengthier answer might lie beneath the pleasantry. Yet Faramir did not linger and went on to say, "The boys are amazing to watch. Bright they are, and I hope you will be able to see them in this passing. You will not believe how quickly they have grown!"

Legolas smiled, "Like the majus vine they are, spreading beyond the circle of their roots in what seems to be only days. I can never get over how quickly mortal children grow."

Faramir nodded in agreement, "I think even mortals cannot get past how quickly mortal children grow! But they do not seem to appreciate the break we are about to undertake from them. They wish to come along."

Gimli laughed, huddling in to participate in the conversation. "Do they appreciate," the dwarf asked, "that adults sometimes need time for play themselves?"

"I think they do not realize adults play, Gimli. Sadly, they think us all nothing but seriousness and deep mood. But they will be fine in this place. Eowyn has them convinced that their visit in Minas Tirith will be a great holiday all their own. They are already quite settled into the palace, and have given their nurse the slip on more than one occasion this day. The king's manor is quite beside itself with the sound of frolicking children in its corridors. I think Aragorn is quite pleased by the intrusion," Faramir said with a paternal gleam.

"Ready is hardly the word. Frantic for it, I think. After all, this trip was the idea of she and Arwen," Faramir said.

"Nay," said Faramir. "At least not Eowyn. She said she will be more than happy to lounge undisturbed and to take in the sites of our realm," he said indicating he and Legolas' homeland.

"Gimli!" a shrill female voice broke through the chaotic frenzy of noise about them. A buxom woman sidled up to the dwarf and crushed her body into the open arms of the stout creature as she delivered Faramir his drink. Oblivious to Faramir's royal presence, she turned her attention on the dwarf. "You came to see me, you handsome imp! I knew you could not stay away!"

Legolas blushed on Gimli's behalf, and Faramir snorted back a guffaw. But Gimli did not seem to notice and directed his attention to the handsome female tucked into his arms. Speaking loudly so his companions could hear, and winking in their direction, he dramatically said, "Ah, but my sweet, how could I ever stay parted from you long."

Swatting him away, she said to the group in general, "Oh, you are a talker! Never does he do anything but whisper sweet-nothings at me. Still," she said, angling back into the dwarf, "a girl likes to hear such pretty utterances."

"Your beauty deserves more than any words I could deliver. Give me a kiss, and I will be more than contented for my longing," the dwarf said in half-jest.

The barmaid giggled and backed away as she looked about their table. "You are sly! But you won't catch me smooching it up with all to see. So how about another round instead?" she said as Legolas drained his cup for the second time.

Gimli's tankard was still half full, and Faramir had just taken his first gulp, but the elf nodded his approval and the barmaid slipped away to fill the order. With a cautionary voice, Gimli said, "You had better slow down, my friend. That drink can have a large impact if taken too fast."

Legolas growled under his breath before answering, "I can manage myself, Gimli and I know my limits. Try not to be so…priggish," he said with a small laugh that he was uncertain came from his mouth.

The dwarf just smirked at his companion and reclined back in his chair to enjoy the rest of this evening out.

After several more rounds of drink, Legolas was also reclining back in his chair. The warmth in his belly had moved up through his spine and permeated his limbs with a dreamy sluggishness that he found quite comfortable. The noise about him seemed less jarring, and the smokey haze of the room troubled him no more. The mirth of his friends had pervaded his mood, and he found himself smiling happily at the Prince and the dwarf, feeling a deep brotherly affection for them both in an intensity he could not remember ever having before. He was truly enjoying himself, and his laughter punctuated the conversation at their table. Glancing about at the other inhabitants of the room, he saw a motley assortment of characters. A random group they were, in a variety of ages and sizes that brought wonder to the elf's altered senses. And to a one they all seemed to be enjoying themselves with the same revelry of the elf, and he felt surprisingly satisfied and at ease in their presence.

A group of rowdy men at the next table caught his attention, and an assault of prodding and goading was going on between them as they regarded one of their own with a dare. The one in question stood up with as much dignity as he could muster in his intoxicated state, and announced to the group in general, and to the room at large, "Very well, I shall do it!" A round of cheers went up at his table, and without further explanation, the man stood on his chair. Clearing his throat, the attention of many throughout the room focused on him. With a loud voice, he said, "Gentlemen…and ladies," he said bowing to the few women in the room, "my friends have challenged me, it seems. They wish for me to sing you a song. And as I do not back down from a dare," a murmur of chuckles rose up from the group at his table, "if you will allow it, I would offer you this tune." A smattering of claps rose up from around the room and the young man began to sing.

All heads in the tavern turned to face the ruddy young man, who sang without flinching, or even looking so much as nervous at the attention now drawn to him. He sang to the crowd, urged on by their attention, and he seemed to be enjoying this moment of scrutiny. His voice was fair, but the crowd seemed to enjoy the words to his song better than his talent. For the tune that he sang was quite lurid in content, a bawdy song that seemed at home in this place, and the crowd cackled with approval at the more raucous parts within it. Legolas found himself blushing as he listened, charmed and yet stunned that a song of this caliber could have such a merry, yet stirring effect on him. When done, the man swept a bow to the crowd and smiled to the accepted pats upon his back by the group of his table.

Across the room, a voice called out, "I'll do that one better!" and a man arose from his seat and began singing another very callous song. Looking at the expressions at his own table, Legolas could see the beaming grins of Faramir and Gimli in appreciation of the lyrics, and he could not help but wonder at the comradery that was spreading through the room as many of the men took up the song, joining in with the tune. He saw Gimli lift his mug overhead and swing it about in time with the music, yet the dwarf managed to keep the contents within the cup intact. Legolas picked up his own tin and began to do the same, but the warm liquid in his sloshed to and fro most violently, so the elf was forced to drink more before he could imitate the dwarf's actions more succinctly.

Then as that song ended, Gimli arose and stood on his own chair. Legolas was shocked, but apparently no others were and he heard the barkeep call out, "Gimli's going to sing!" The crowd repeated the call. "Gimli! Gimli!" came the repeated urging throughout the room. Grinning madly at the attention, the dwarf allowed the call to continue for some time before holding his hands up to quell the noise. Gimli began with a start from the audience, belting out a dwarven melody that made Legolas blanch at the lewdness of the words. Snickering at the song, the elf exchanged glances with Faramir who, too, was chuckling loudly at their dwarven friend.

For his part, Gimli was very much enjoying his role as the center of attention, and he urged the crowd on in taking up the chorus, slowing his words so they could catch them in all. Before the song was complete, Gimli had the room alive with the repetition of his tune, and as he finished, he bowed deeply to all. Then turning to his companions, he pointed to Legolas and said, "Now you grace us with one, Legolas!" But Legolas shrank back from the dwarf's invitation.

Seeing the gesture, Mal called out to the crowd, "Let's hear one from Legless!" and the crowd echoed their support. "Legless! Legless! Legless!" came the call from around the room.

Feeling his face growing a deep shade of red, Legolas shook them off, but the sound grew louder the more he protested. "LEGLESS!" they urged on with hands reaching out and patting him on the back. At his side, Faramir mouthed the word, "Legless?" to Gimli, to which the dwarf laughed in answer.

Utterly embarrassed, Legolas sheepishly stood up to face the calls. His legs buckled slightly under his weight, and he held onto the table to regain his stance and wondered at his weakness as he had not unduly exerted himself that day.

A roar of applause cheered him on as Mal yelled out, "Sing something Elvish, Legless! Give us a lusty tune!" and the crowd roared agreement and took up the call again.

Mumbling out "My name is Legolas," the crowd ignored him and continued their noisy urging. Slowly a smile crept over his face in response to the pleas, and the feeling of goodwill returned to the elf. It was a natural thing for him to sing, and Legolas could easily break into song of his own make on most any day, without even stopping to think. So when the call for a song was foisted upon him, it was not the idea of singing that embarassed him most, but the desire for song before a great crowd of men, a thing he usually chose to avoid, that made him hesitate. But now that he felt more comfortable standing before them, and indeed found that they truly wanted to hear his words, he realized he had no idea of what to sing. Such music was not within his normal realm. He had never tried to construct a song such as those he had just heard, and his brain did not seem capable of putting one together at the moment. And worse, he could not think of a single Elven song that would fit the occasion either!

Grasping at nothing, his mind was muddled by his panic and he found it difficult to get his thoughts focused. Mortified by what betook him, his eyes grew large as he glanced back at his friends. But the dwarf and the Prince offered nothing but smiles of encouragement, and the elf realized he was in this struggle alone. Closing his eyes to all about him, he drew a deep breath and forced his mind to go blank. His brain felt sluggish and he had trouble concentrating, but thinking hard and long, at last a gasp escaped him. A laugh fell from his mouth. Shaking his head, he knew just the song. Holding up his hands to cease the noise, the crowd grew quiet and he opened his mouth to sing.

A tune of quick tempo lilted with his voice, and he found himself pleased with his own cleverness. Truly it was an old elven song, but it was unrecognizable as such in the way he portrayed it. It was really a song of love and loss, about an Elven maiden who pined for her dead lover. In her misery and despair, the song said, she took his horse and departed, losing herself in her sorrow, relinquishing her body and spirit to the wayward direction of the beast. Among his own people it was sung in lament and with deep sorrow, a selection of sounds that conveyed a mood of chastity and deep emotion. But here in the tavern, with alterations to the tempo and pitch, the song took on a sprightly rhythm and sly asides, and a completely different meaning was had. The lascivious minds of the men around him filled in the ambiguities of the song and rounds of applause came up at points Legolas would never before have considered vulgar. The men seemed to be lauding the horse, and hoots of laughter echoed through the tavern when the chorus was sung. "Ride on, ride on…" he sang, and they cheered. Encouraged by the lewdness of the people about him, he added expression to his words and his face grew more animated. Feeling very much unlike himself, he was half-embarrassed at these exploits, for they reminded him in some ways of something his father might do. He was infinitely glad there were no other elves present to witness this of him. And yet even still, this strange character (that was not like the Legolas he knew) sang the last notes with unbridled enthusiasm. The room erupted in applause, and in mixed conflict with himself, the elf once again felt his face grow red. Making a show of it, he picked up his drink and downed the last gulp. Then slapping the mug to the table, he dramatically sat down.

Surrounded by laughter, Legolas found himself with two choices: cringe in embarrassment; or join in with the fun. His head was spinning a bit, and it seemed much easier to give in. Sensing a good joke, he choked on the hilarity of the moment and as his two comrades lifted him back to his feet, and into a real seat, he chortled, "Now I am Legless!" Doubling over at his own good humor, the elf had to grab hold of the edge of the table as he started to topple over. Blinking to regain himself, the world suddenly seemed skewed to his perceptions. A cold sweat broke across his forehead and the laughter that had just been pouring out of him slipped quickly away. "Oh…" he said.

Gimli and Faramir exchanged a quick glance and then immediately rose. "Right then," said the dwarf as he and Faramir pulled Legolas up out of the chair. Gimli put an arm about the elf's waist while Faramir threw an elven arm over his shoulder.

Suddenly finding himself propped up between his two friends, Legolas said, "But wait. I tant to sway. I mean…" He found himself caught in another fit of laughter, not even realizing the difficulty he was having in maneuvering his own feet as the dwarf and Prince half-pushed, half-dragged him through the crowd. At last they reached the door, and a blast of cool air hit the elf's face at their exit.

The breeze elicited a soothing response, and Legolas suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to sleep. The world seemed topsy-turvy, and he pushed himself out of his friends' grasps only to find he needed the wall to hold himself up. The cold sweat on his brow now sent a chill down his spine and a throbbing pain was beginning to ring in his head. Nausea swept across him like a sudden wave, and he doubled over in an effort to fight it off and remain upright and intact. But it was not a thing to be mastered, and against his will, his stomach proceeded to expel its contents.

"This is attractive," muttered the dwarf, who swayed a bit on his own. He stared at the elf now collapsed on all fours in the street.

Legolas looked up at his friend, wondering how Gimli could be so apathetic to the elf's plight. Expressing his thoughts on his own condition, Legolas said, "I think I have been poisoned."

Gimli and Faramir both laughed and then the dwarf responded as he offered a hand to rise, "Poisoned, my friend? Who would want you poisoned?"

"…no idea," said the elf, leaning against the wall as he attempted to stand unaided, then he laughed and said, "Mayhaps someone did not like my song."

Gimli sighed and shook his head with a bemused smile, "No, elf, 'tis not poison. Though in the morning I suspect you will wish it had been. You are drunk. That is all. Just drunk."

Legolas wavered as he looked at the dwarf who whirled about before his eyes, and his face scrunched into an angered expression as he slurred, "Drunk! I am not! I have had drink before, in my very many years, and never been affected as thissuch." Then he started laughing at his new made-up word. "Thissuch," he repeated.

"Oh yes you are drunk!" came the laugh of Faramir with a hand to the elf's shoulder. Legolas blinked in surprise. He had forgotten that Faramir was there. "This will be a night I shall not soon forget, my elf-friend. For indeed you are drunk and I think it is time we got you home and to your bed."

"…not drunk, Faramir," the elf sputtered and began walking down the street, using the wall to support his fumbling steps. Then he stopped and looked about him. He could not remember where he was supposed to be going. Or for that matter where he was. He turned back to look at his companions and recognized that they had not followed his path and stood still at the tavern's door, wicked smiles glancing off their faces.

"'Twas poison," he slurred pointedly to the dwarf as he passed, then he continued his march up the street, still uncertain where he was going, but determined not to let the dwarf see him fail. Sadly though, his body had had enough, and his legs began to wobble with each step that he took. Weariness pressed down on his mind and his eyes grew heavy with his task. Pausing to rest, he found his legs slowly give way and his body slid down a stuccoed wall. The elf found himself sitting on the ground. With complete indifference to his predicament, he let his head drift down and rest on his chest.

"Oh no. You shall not lie here, Legolas," the elf heard the Prince say and he felt strong arms lift him back to a standing position.

Managing to get out the word, "…tired…" Legolas felt his body go limp and in the back of his mind he waited for the inevitable crash to the ground. Except it did not happen. Caught in a whirl of motion, he felt his body maneuvered and jostled and finally thrown over a broad shoulder. His arms swept over his head, pushed by gravity in a disorienting manner. With neither will nor strength to open his eyes, he let his mind drift in an upside-down world as he heard snatches of conversation and felt his body sway to the footfalls of his unknown rescuer.

And lastly, a voice unmistakably Gimli's, said, "If I know anything of the elf, I would say this: he would rather die than admit he was sick. I can guarantee, he will travel," which was followed by a round of laughter.

And after an interminably long passage of time, interspersed with confusing dreams, the elf felt himself dropped into a bed. Or at least he thought it was a bed, for it was very soft and inviting. He felt hands pull off his boots, and another propped him up as his belt and tunic were removed. Then a blanket was laid over him, and he felt himself drift off to sleep.

But instantly he was awake, and he jumped out of bed. With wild eyes he caught sight of the dwarf closing the door. Legolas called out, "Gimli, find your weapon! We are under attack!" as he nervously glanced about trying to remember where his quiver and bow were at within the room.

With renewed urgency, Legolas said, "We are under attack. Can you not feel it? The whole building moves." He found himself wavering under his sudden loss of balance.

Walking over to the elf, Gimli pushed Legolas backwards and into the bed. Landing with a thud in the soft comfort, the elf heard Gimli's voice say, "You are drunk. Get some sleep." Legolas wanted to protest, but he knew the dwarf was no longer there. He was gone and Legolas allowed his mind to drift back into dreams. But not before hearing the sound of a harsh sputtering snort leave his mouth. What was that? he thought dully. Elves do not snore. But the answer to his own question did not come, for he had fallen asleep. And indeed, he was snoring.

WARNING: Blood and icky stuff appear in this chapter. If gore grosses you out, you may want to pass on this story.

Eowyn never slept well. Even now, when the darkest days of war were long behind her and her life should have been considered serene and blissful, Eowyn had trouble finding comfort in dreams. No, that was not really true. She enjoyed dreaming, when it came to her. It just seldom did. At least, not without the long struggle of laying restlessly within the confines of her bed. And only when she could get her mind to cease its constant droning at her – things to do, things not accomplished yet, things done but still worthy of consideration. All ruminated within her brain.

Not that she really minded her insomnia much. It often came in handy, especially when her task-level was at its greatest. She often used the time to read important documents, or to make notes to her secretary, or to various ministers. There was never a shortage of duties to be completed. And invariably, the act of taking on these tasks wearied her enough that her mind was quelled and she was able at last to drift off to slumber. But never before the wee hours of the night. And never for very long. For after a few hours of rest, she would awaken with the staff and begin a new day. Perhaps she would not be fully refreshed, but she was always rested enough that she could function with efficiency, and that would have to do, for she was unable to force more upon herself.

She easily could have blamed her insomnia on the children. Though they required many more hours of rest, and indeed did sleep it, they were not always consecutive hours. Her children were fitful sleepers (an indication to her that they had inherited her trait). As such, they often awakened in the night. The fact that their nurse was a sound sleeper often made them turn to their mother to quiet their fears, or dreams, or general restlessness. It was troublesome, these interruptions, for Eowyn was possessive about the time she was given alone. Those hours were her opportunity for quiet contemplation and reflection. She often set her goals and priorities then. Yet, there seemed to be little choice. Despite the fact that the nurse was not easily roused, she was well-suited to her job, and the children seemed to adore her, and so Eowyn saw little reason to release the quiet woman from her employ simply because she had good sleeping habits. And though it might have helped had he contributed, Faramir was not an option for aid with the nightly wakings either. Eowyn endured, and in the end, she did not terribly mind, really. She was their mother, after all. In her own way, it brought joy to her heart that her children still sought her out for their comfort.

Eowyn knew she truly could not blame her sleeplessness on her offspring. Truth told, in all her near twelve years of marriage, she could count, with the combination of both hands, the number of times she had slept restfully for an entire given night. Sleeping indeed was a rarity for Eowyn.

So, it was no surprise that she found herself restlessly drifting through the halls of the King's Palace at Minas Tirith in the early hours, seeking ways to occupy her mind until dawn, when the rest of the world would catch up to her. Of course, it would have been different had she been in her own home. There, she would have simply stolen away to her study to bide her time. But here, in someone else's home, she had to regard her fellow residents and not wander too aimlessly, for fear of rousing someone. She did not want to be blamed for causing others to prematurely rise, especially when her want was nothing. And it was pointless to wake others who obviously needed so much more by ways of sleep. She could not imagine how they could do so, but she respected them all the same.

Even Faramir astounded her at times. His sleep was never hindered. Never. Lay his head to the pillow, and he was quickly, if not instantly, absorbed into dreams. It used to irritate her, early in their marriage, that he could sleep just at the thought of it, and she had many times found him capable of drowsing in nearly any location or position. How could he do that, she had wondered, when I struggle so just to give in to peace? And yet, she had learned to accept it as one of their many differences. It certainly was one of the minor things that came between them.

Here in Minas Tirith, she had fewer choices to chase away the churning of her mind. She and Faramir had been relegated to a single sleeping chamber, which was not a bother, as it is what they shared in their own home. But as she would have fled their room and gone elsewhere in their own manor, there was no place offered to her here. At first, she considered just staying in their room, lighting a lamp at the desk, and pretending that Faramir was not present. However, she had eliminated that idea when her late-arriving spouse strolled in with the noticeable smell of alcohol upon him as he made his apologies. He had obviously been partaking in some revelry with comrades, which was not so much offensive to her as it could have been. She had suspected as much earlier when he had departed after the banquet. His occasional outings with comrades was another point of difference that she had long overcome in their marriage. It did not do to grow angry at male acts of companionship. Still, at times this infrequent behavior nagged at her, though she was hard-pressed to say why. Tonight, she chose to ignore his play, but there was a price. As a result of his consumption, Faramir's sleep was punctuated by very loud snores. The racket interrupted her meditations and made it impossible to think. Annoyed, she left their room.

She started to search for the library. She had admired the large collection of books there and knew something might be found to busy her distracted mind. But a problem existed: she could not remember where that room might be. The palace was immense, and somewhat maze-like in its design. Was it down these steps and to the right? Or past that flight and down the next? She remembered the terrace that stood off the library doors. Perhaps, if she could find that? But then again, this was not a time to be strolling the grounds. And once there, how would she return? She abandoned this idea as well.

Yet in the darkened halls and back stairs that dominated the palace, there was one place she was certain she could find. And that is where she drifted in this restless hour.

She slowly crept into the room. Glancing about the darkened space, she could see drapery billowing to the breeze of an opened window in a far corner and the brightness of the rising moon casting light into the windows and giving features to the figures and furnishings within the quiet chamber. Four beds took up various places in the room, the furthest away from the others belonging to that of the nurse. Eowyn could hear the subtle snores from that end of the room and knew her appearance would not disturb the matronly governess. The other three beds in the chamber exuded the quiet breaths and sounds of Eowyn's slumbering children.

Stepping into the space, she paused to look about. She was in the nursery. Or actually, in the room that would some day be a nursery, when the time came for Arwen and Aragorn to conceive a child of their own. And today it was a nursery, for her brood of young ones had taken over the space in exceedingly fast time. She chuckled to herself as she thought of the anxious expressions on some of the more uptight staff members of the household. She knew they had not even had a sampling yet of the rambunctious nature of her three boys, and already they appeared terrified. She knew before this respite was complete, there would be many among them who would well be pleased to see her children go. She laughed. Perhaps this would give them practice for what their own futures may hold, for Eowyn doubted a child with elven blood would simply be still and malleable. Furthermore, she had heard rumor that children of that race held onto their impetuous youth much longer than those children of men. Eowyn smiled wickedly at that. Would that not be a sight, to see a child of fifteen still locked in the body and conscious behavior of a five year old? What a handful that would be for the more uptight of staff persons, she thought. Yet she could not know for sure what the children of Aragorn and Arwen might be like, for they would also be half-human and Arwen had relinquished her immortality for the sake of love. Only the future could tell what those offspring would be like.

Despite the flightiness of her sons, Eowyn sensed the former Ranger's joy at being surrounded by children, and she feared the milling gossip she had heard about the King's desire for a family was true. He had easily jumped into the fray of their gaming that day and became their adored 'uncle' in quick measure. He laughed eagerly at the pleasure of their role-playing games, joining in on their battles as they fought evil armies and he offered strategic attack plans. Faramir was just as much responsible for his pleasure, taking on the role of dark lord, and kidnapping the maiden Arwen to be used as a hostage. Eowyn had to admit, it had been a joyous thing to watch them all play together. But while Arwen was kind, and gentle, and contributed in her own way, she also looked a bit ill at ease when she locked her eyes on Aragorn's face. Eowyn could see that there was something between them, yet she was not sure what it was, for when removed from Eowyn's children, the King and his Queen fell back into the romantic glimmer of a couple in love. Arwen most readily adored Elessar, this could not be denied. Eowyn had her suspicions, but she would not voice them. Arwen's secret would remain hidden unless she chose to reveal it.

Slowly she walked through the room, stopping to gaze upon each bed and to consider the figure sleeping there. She loved to watch them like this, and often on nights in her own home she would come to stand vigil over their beds.

At the first lay Denomir, their eldest at ten years of age. Long brown tendrils curled about his face, and Eowyn, as she looked on him, was torn by her love for this child. Reaching down, she brushed a lock away from his face so she could see him more clearly. Born into the mind of a very wise soul, her eldest never ceased to astound her with his prudent wisdom and mature insight. He was the handsomest of the three, looking most like his father. But with that the similarity ended. And while Faramir adored the child, there had always been a small, almost indiscernible rift between them. It had been there always as near as she could tell, and it was growing. Eowyn knew that she would need to guard this relationship carefully as their years progressed, for although not as physically gifted as his father, Denomir had her sharp wits and was able to compensate his lack of outward skills with mental finesse. It was a trait that often Eowyn had to keep in check herself, and she knew she would have to school her eldest in coping with it if she held any hope that her household would remain placid.

She looked across the room to where Léogel slept. He was eight years old and quite proud of that fact. While being a quiet child, he was easily the bravest, and also the most physically capable among them. Faramir told her he was reminded of his brother when he gazed on this one, and though she had never known Boromir, what she had heard of the warrior she could see in her son. His hair was the lightest of the three, and had an almost reddish cast that could only have come from his Rohan ancestors. He was physically strong and could already best his elder sibling at sport. He never complained and only voiced his concerns when dire occasion required it. This child was her angel, and he openly adored her. He was the one who would look back to see where she was in their party. And he was the one who would leave small gifts of fallen birds' nests or intricate pebbles at her dressing table. He was the one to always make sure he kissed her goodnight, and often she heard him peak into her room when he thought she was asleep, just checking to see if she was still there, she supposed. This child would be the most distressed if something were to come of her, and her chest burned a lump of pain at that possibility, and his fate. She could only surmise that his fears stemmed from her near death experience with the birth of his younger brother.

Turning her attention to Theomund, she smiled at the puckish face of her four-year-old son. Curly brown hair haloed his head. She laughed as she reflected that the quiet repose of this small child was the extreme opposite of what he lived in his daylight hours. The house came alive with this one, and he was a force all his own. Loud and personable, this little boy was friends with most everyone, most assuredly his siblings, and Eowyn mused that even the most stern among the King's household would be doing the bidding of this small soldier before their time was done. He was a persuasive moppet, and he refused to step down from his wonts, which of course, caused all strife in the end. He would not be tamed, and Eowyn reckoned that for as much turmoil as he offered, she would not want Theomund any other way. He made her laugh, and he knew it. He used it as his weapon, and half of the time it worked for him. But she also saw through him, and for that she knew there would be future misgivings. Fortunately for the boy, his father was oblivious, and any whim could easily be had under his father's watch. This child, this beautiful, playful, loving child, had been the center of more discussions and arguments between Faramir and Eowyn than the other two combined, and she worried that he would be the undoing of them, for neither could concede the others point so far as to direct the child in consistent direction. She paused at his bed, glancing a kiss to his brow and pulling the stray blankets back up to his chin. A tough future lie ahead with this one.

Rising, she made her way to the open window. The light breeze flitted the gauzy drapes in their breaths, raising and lowering the fabric as it sailed on the air. A rocking chair was bathed in moonlight that filled a square before the window, and Eowyn sat in it as she gazed out on the gardens of the King's palace. The warm air brushed against her skin, soothing a stray hair from her face, and she allowed her mind to drift. She was very much in need of time to think and she was looking forward to their break, even if it was not fully all she desired. She would make it work, for what she really needed was a departure from everything that life had become. She wanted to free herself from all other thoughts so she could focus on just one, and that she would have easily surrendered if she could.

Her mind had been troubled of late, and though she knew not how to resolve her problems, she could at the very least, prepare herself for the possible outcomes. This trip they would take could give her that time, and she sorely yearned for it.

Alone with her thoughts, surrounded by her children, she could not help but let her mind go to her darkest of fears. She was often reminded of it in moments like these. She closed her eyes, and thought back on the birth of her youngest child.

It had been a perilous event, one they never could have predicted. She had borne the first two children with seeming grace, easily birthed without too tiresome of labors. Both children had come into the world healthy and whole, and Eowyn had recovered her vitality and figure in record time with each. But the birth of Theomund had not been so blessed. Troubled by bleeding early into her pregnancy, she had been confined to bed during most of the nine months. Uncomfortable and bloated, she had longed during those hard months for the child's entry into the world, not knowing that it could get far worse before her time was done. Awakened in a pool of warm water, her pains came on suddenly and with fierceness. Faramir had been beside himself, fretting until the midwife arrived, and even then there was no sanity to be found. The baby was breeched and had to be turned for the survival of either she or the child. Racked in pain beyond any known relief, she labored for hours until her body had opened enough for a hand to be inserted. And then Eowyn's suffering truly began. With as much delicacy as could be had, the midwife palpitated and prodded and pushed to maneuver the baby to a position that would bring him out, finally forced to scoop in and twist the unborn form to a place that could deliver him. And all the while, Eowyn's screams of agony echoed through the house. Hoarsely crying out to the gods to stop this torment, her fevered pain was beyond comprehension, and she saw death's lights flash before her eyes more than once on that day. No man could ever have endured such torture, she was sure, and it was sheer desire to live that kept her alive.

And Faramir, she remembered, had been right there with her. It was not required of him. Men were often dismissed from the scene when the delicate act of childbirth occurred. Yet Faramir would not hear of leaving, stroking her face and hands with cool cloths during the whole of her gruesome labor, consoling and encouraging her as the hours progressed. And even after his son was born, he refused to stray from her side, whispering softly to her until she slept. Only then did he grant a look at his newborn son. He smiled as she awakened, cradling their baby boy in his arms.

But the worst was not over. Infection set into Eowyn's body, and she limply fell into empty dreams as she fought for her life. The weeks that followed were vague memories to her, as healers invaded her home, and round-the-clock vigil was posted at her bed. And though she remained comatose through nearly it all, she knew Faramir stayed with her, holding her hand, stroking her face, telling her of their children's progress and antics. She remembered that, and perhaps it is what brought her back. She could not know, but he must have had fear to deign so much attention on her. It was not his norm to hover so. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought how he must have feared for her. And her children. Poor Denomir and Léogel! Old enough to be aware of her fate, they were still too young to lose a mother. It must have been terrifying for them. She felt a tear trickle from her eye as she considered their horror.

Forcing herself to push it away, she told herself, But I did not die. I breathe still. I am here for them. And yet, the fear that such a thing could happen again sent cold chills down her spine. It must never come again. So over the years, she had guarded herself carefully to assure that another pregnancy would not occur. And that had done damage to her marriage, for often she had pushed Faramir away when his needs were great. But she was certain that if there were a next time, another pregnancy, she would not live. The fear of it was enough to remove any desires for more children, and enough for her to risk the whole of her marriage.

A sense came upon her that she was being watched. She felt eyes upon her, and nearly jumped out of her chair when she opened her own to see her youngest standing at her side. "Theomund," she whispered. It was a trait of this young one, such stealth he possessed. It was not the first time she had been startled by his sudden appearance. Gasping at her fright, she brushed the tears away from her face and she reached around to scoop him up into her lap. "I did not hear you, my love. What troubles have you?"

The child's sleepy face was betrayed by wide, tearful eyes. Careful of his voice (for he had often been told that he spoke too loud), his lips quivered as he whispered, "I had a bad dream."

Cooing to this answer, she pulled him closer to her breast. "There, there, my sweet. It is all gone. I am here now."

A sniffle escaped him as he nuzzled in closer, finding comfort in her arms. "It was very scary, Mama. There was a witch, and she was trying to take you and Father away." He whimpered, and Eowyn knew it must have been a horrible nightmare. Theomund rarely cried over dreams.

"Hush…hush…no more of that," she softly said, rocking him gently in her embrace. Slowly, she felt him relax in her grasp, drifting back into dreams, quelled by the love she could never deny him. As she thought on his fears, and hers, silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

From within the confines of a wagon, deep in a forest of pine, an old woman cried out as she yanked herself free of her nightmare. The words of an incantation rang in her ears as she bolted upright from her troubled sleep. She was awake! A sheen of sweat gleaned her face as her heart slowed to a normal pace and her breathing grew less labored. She sighed her relief at being release from the horrors that had gripped her soul.

Her mind reflected on the images that had played in her vision and she realized the most recent part of the dream had visited her again. The dream had been evolving over the last few months, and the newer scenes made her focus on their details. She pondered their messages as she replayed them again in her mind.

Getting up from her pallet, she lit the lamp at the table and pulled out the stones that were part of her tools to foretell the future. She needed confirmation to know if this most recent premonition was real. There were parts in the dream that frightened her beyond any of the prior dreams, and she needed to know more about finding the sources revealed to her there. She had already put into task the effort to retrieve an elf. That had been shown to her weeks before in the dream, and although the risks for such a thing were great, the reward in the end would be far greater. With fortitude she told herself that her sons could not fail her in this. But that was not what troubled her. It was the other that she questioned. She suspected she knew, but she wanted to know with more certainty before she acted to attain the second and third items she would need for this magic.

Casting the stones, she studied the positions in which they tumbled and she scowled at the answer. It was ambiguous. A means of two roads, the stones said. Hesitantly, she considered this. She wished for a better answer, but she knew she was unlikely to receive it. Pausing to consider her next query, she gathered the stones once again. Freeing her mind of all other thought but the question, she threw down the stones for a second time. What of the Protected Place told to her in the dream? Was it near? Her eyes grew wide as she read the smooth pebbles before her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was close. It would be found. Now growing excited and more resolute in her convictions, her hands shook as she picked up the stones one last time. Posing the question in her quailing mind, she dropped the stones into the circle of cloth one last time. And what of HIS body? Who would be the host for him? she asked. With an expression that masked all her fear, she read the answer: The one who bares his resemblance. Tears streamed from her eyes as anguish pressed on her. She knew what this meant. All these things she had seen in the dreams and she knew they were true. She no longer had doubts.

Panic gripped her. Time was running out! The full moon would be upon them in less than a week and it would be many years before the time would be right again. She did not have the luxury to wait. Her body was failing her and she knew she was slowly dying. They would need to hurry! Her future was grim! She had to succeed, and in her twisted mind, she told herself she did this for her family. They would be torn apart without her. Never mind that some would die before they were through. She could not help that. Those who would live would need her help. She must protect them. She must protect herself. There was much to be gathered and that Protected Place in the dreams must be found. They were close. She could feel it. She knew.

She heard a shuffle of feet and soft voices outside her wagon, and then a soft thud as an object was dropped. Stepping away from the lamp, she drew to the curtains and stepped from the vardo. Before her stood two men, and at their feet was the body of an elf.

Scorn marked her features as she looked upon the corpse. Glancing up at her sons, she grimaced and shreiked, "It is dead! What have you done?"

"It could not be helped," said the younger of the two. "We did not know the one would fight us so. We failed..." He looked down as he said it, and for an instant her heart was touched with pity for her child.

But then she remembered her dreams and the stones, and anger erupted in her at the setback this caused. Letting her vexation spill from her lips, she uttered caustic words. Had the two men heard them as she truly spoke them, they may have recoiled and fled. But her magic worked upon them and she knew they would hear only soothing and gentle tones, though the message beneath could not be hidden. They would know of her anger. "Failure? Yes it is, but it is not I who loses in this, but all our tribe! Perhaps you should think on this, yes? I am only puri dai, while you are our leaders. You know there is danger for our family! How do you think we can save them? Perhaps you will think it is time to rejoin our clan?" she asked in the way of her role. It was not a direct response. One was not expected of her. But it was the way of their people to seek out her wisdom. As puri dai she had told them she did not approve, though she had only hinted at this with her words. If they read her correctly, they would see that she had told them that they could no longer tarry and she could forgive their error only if they found a way to make this right again. It was a complex means of communicating, one an outsider might not understand, but beneath all the layering of this speech, the fact was that their society was matriarchal, even if they did not openly show it. And as a sorceress of darkness, they followed her will as she easily manipulated them in this simple guise.

The two brothers looked at each other as they pondered their reply. At length, the elder said, "We will find another elf for your magic, Mother – do not have fears! We shall gather what is needed to keep our tribe together. It is time we met again with the rest of our family. We will set off to regain them. They should only be a day or two ahead of our route."

Smiling at him for being able to read her intent, she said with a sneer licking her words, "I think that is wise. You are good to think we should gather. We will be stronger as one. With all helping, we should be able to accomplish our goals." His eyes told her he had heard this as a beneficent statement and he smiled at her for her forgiveness.

Pulling out her choori, she thrust the sharp weapon into the elf's chest, cutting through cartilage and bone with a strength that belied her frailty. She reached into the cavity and thrashed twice more with the knife. Her fingers emerged pulling out a still heart. "Only this," she said as her fingers gently cradled the bloody organ. Moving to her vardo, she began to climb inside.

Pausing to think, she reconsidered and smiled. "Yes. Yes there is one other thing. Cut off its hair. I can make a talisman to make the next one resistant to flight. Otherwise, do what you will of it. This body is worthless to me," she said as she stepped inside.

She could hear their commotion as they finished the job she had ordered. But she did not want to think about them for now. She had an elven heart before her, and that possessed her attention. It was not as potent as it would be if taken from a living creature, and she did not have nearly all the ingredients she needed to make this magic great, but it would do for now. With this heart, she could stave off some of the effects age brought her tiring body. Small though it would be, it was a start. She placed the heart on the plank at her bench, making sure she turned to face the four compass points before doing so. She lit a fresh candle and placed it before her, then turned to dim the previously lit lamp. From a drawer above the bench, she pulled out a handful of salt and with it created a circle around the elf flesh. Grasping the choori again, she forced her mind to go blank. And then when she was calm enough to proceed, she started to say the dark words that channeled the spell. She called to the elements to conjure her sorcery, and uttered them in time to a rhythm only she could hear. Locked now in concentration, she lifted the knife, unaware of her actions as she fell into trance. Raising and lowering the knife in violent strokes, she slashed the flesh into pieces as dark words spilled from her lips. The voice that escaped her throat was deep and otherworldly. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and her whispered words grew louder. The sound resonated within her tented wagon as the spell took hold. An ethereal light illuminated the interior of the vardo as she reached the frenzied pinnacle of her words. The beating sound echoed within her mind, and she drove the knife into the board as her chest heaved with panted breath. Then swiftly, it stopped. Pulling herself away from the trance, with glazed eyes she looked down and saw the destruction she had made. Her hand reached out and crushed the cleaved flesh into her fingers. She lifted pieces of the elf's heart into the air, as if in offering, and then she slowly brought them down again to the circle. With shaking fingers stained in red, she lifted a ragged piece of the bloody flesh, and brought it to her opened mouth, smearing the tissue into her lips as it passed. She ate of the flesh and the magic in her black spell was complete.

Wake up, you fool! he told himself. Wake up! People are expecting your company! You cannot lie here all day! He forced his eyes awake and was greeted by a very blurry world and piercing pain that penetrated the space behind his eye sockets. He groaned aloud as he rolled to his side, torn between rising and staying and at last pushed his feet to the floor and raised his body from the comfort of the bed. He felt dizzy for a moment until his eyes became focused. The pain in his head now disbursed to cover the entirety of his cranium. He shook it to dislodge the cobwebs that resided there and began to do a mental inventory of what had transpired the night before. Oh…oh no! Dear Valar, what have I done, he said to himself as he rose on shaky legs. But having stood, he felt his weariness lifting and found it within himself to actually laugh lightly at last night's ordeal.

He made his way to the wash basin and poured some cold water into the bowl, dousing his face in the cool of it. Looking up into the mirror, bloodshot eyes peered back at him. This agony is the price you must pay, he thought to himself as he tried to wash away the pained feelings in his head. Then quickly brushing back his hair and changing into fresh clothing, he packed away the rest of his meager belongings and placed the small bags on the bed. Pulling on his boots and fastening his belt, he departed the room and made his way down the stairs to where his friends would be gathered. He entered the dining room with little fanfare and made his way to the credenza where food was to be found. Few eyes looked his way, and he escaped any scrutiny for his tardiness. Fortunately, he was not as late as he had thought.

Actually, considering how he had felt the night before, Gimli knew he was really in not that bad of shape. The lightening headache rang through his skull, but in general, he did not really feel anything worse, and he knew that within a few hours, he would most likely be fine. Truth be told, he probably had been saved from a far more serious hangover by the need of Legolas for attendance last night. Gimli knew he owed the elf a small debt of gratitude. And a good deal of ribbing.

Glancing toward the table, he saw that Faramir was enjoying a hardy breakfast as a large forkful of potatoes and eggs slid into his mouth. The Prince seemed quite hale and Gimli recalled how Faramir had carefully nursed his drinks through the night. The Steward felt no pain for his pleasures.

The same probably could not be said for Legolas, who was absent from the table. Gimli did a double-take at that. He had half-expected to see the elf there. He knew that elves did not suffer as mortals, so it never occurred to him that Legolas would ever feel as Gimli did at that moment. However, with the evidence presented of the missing elf, Gimli began to imagine that perhaps Legolas was feeling something for last night. After all, Gimli realized, he could not remember having ever seen Legolas in a state as extreme as that one before. A pang of guilt dashed the dwarf momentarily for the unseen pain inflicted upon his friend. It truly had not been his intent to get Legolas quite so drunk. Still, Gimli smiled to himself, for it had been rather amusing to see the lofty self-control of the elf slip away, if only a little. Gimli had experienced that drink himself once, and he knew well its effects. If it was anything near what he had known, the dwarf didn't envy the elf for how he would feel today. And really, the dwarf thought, Legolas should be commended for maintaining as well as he had. Except toward the end. Gimli inwardly laughed, for despite the small sense of guilt that plagued him, he knew that last night had been a historical moment in their friendship, and guilt or not, he could not pass on the opportunity to harass his friend at least a little for his behavior. But only when Legolas was recovered sufficiently enough to fight back. Later that day perhaps. After all, that was the only fitting thing to do.

He lifted the lid to a chafing dish and peered into it. Sausages. His mouth began to water. In the next there were eggs. After that, fried potatoes. And beyond that were platters of various pastries and breads. Gimli quickly filled a plate, lamenting that the Hobbits were not there to see this wonderful spread of food. They would call it "Fit for a King," which of course, it was. His stomach rumbled in anticipation as he served himself some fruit. And then he spotted the thing he most desired: coffee! Ah yes, a tonic for his weary brain it was, and the aroma was a heavenly scent to him. Indeed, this was the kind of meal one needed before starting out on a leisurely adventure.

He sat himself at the table, bowing his head to Arwen as he did so. She was making quiet conversation with Faramir. At her side, Aragorn chewed on a roll as his eyes wore down a parchment he was reading. He barely had noticed when Gimli had entered the room, and only now glanced up at the dwarf on the opposite side of the table. He smiled in greeting, then glanced down again at his papers.

Gimli looked up as Eowyn advanced into the room. She was stunning in a simple riding frock and she carried a pair of smooth leather gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid and was wound back again to the base of her neck. She looked fresh and alert and ready to ride. "Good morning!" she said with a smile.

Eowyn raised a brow at his gentlemanly courtesy, nodding her head in answer. Gimli saw her eyes glance about to the other two males in the room. Neither had taken notice of her entrance and she shook her head in mild amusement. Smiling still, she said to no one in particular, "I trust you slept well?" She made her way to the sideboard and poured herself some tea. With a biscuit balanced on the edge of her saucer, she seated herself at her husband's side.

Sitting again, Gimli softly chuckled to himself as he muttered an aside, "And some rest ever still on."

Faramir looked up and saw the glint in Gimli's eye as he caught the words and their meaning. He laughed appreciably, nodding his head in agreement. Looking from dwarf to man, Eowyn caught the exchange between them and said in a mischievous tone, "You laugh, gentlemen, as if you have a secret. Has there been some evil brewing between you?"

As if reading their thoughts, Arwen spoke up, "Has anyone seen Legolas yet this morning? He is usually early to rise. It is not like him to sleep late."

With the question, Faramir and Gimli both broke into louder snorted laughter. The Prince's eyes revealed everything of the amusement his memory replayed, and the looks from Arwen and Eowyn were infected with some of his mirth. Even Aragorn looked up to take notice. With a bemused expression playing up on his face, he quizzically asked, "Faramir? Gimli? What brings these chortles? You two act like pranksters?" Then, looking about at the present company and registering the words that had been said, Aragorn's face grew more serious as the absence of Legolas was noticed. His look became suspicious with narrowed eyes. "Legolas is not present. Do you know something of that?" he asked. Then seeing the restrained laughter between the dwarf and man, his tone changed to mild amusement as he said, "What have you pulled on Legolas?"

Gimli was all innocence as he replied, "Pulled on Legolas? Nothing, I assure you. We only laugh because we shared happy moments with him last eve and we know he may not, er, be feeling, hm, at his best today." A newly constrained laugh was broaching his lips at this last statement.

Arwen's brow creased in a mixture of concern and amusement as she took in that answer. "And what would that mean?"

Suddenly, Gimli noticed how penetrating those eyes could be as they fixed on him, and he realized that not only hers, but all the eyes in the room were now looking at him. Unlike the glee that he had felt at the attentions he received the prior day, today he felt the mood as both curious and accusing, and at the moment he felt he might do better to find an excuse to leave. Heat began to rise in his chest, and he found himself squirming under Arwen's intense gaze.

Thankfully, Faramir came to his rescue. "The elf participated in drink last night," he said casually. A glib smile graced his features as he informed them, "Too much, I fear. He was really quite happy when we left him." The Prince looked quite pleased with himself at that moment.

"No, no, he is safe!" Faramir said as the smile slowly began to fade from his face. "We carried him home," he answered with innocent honesty.

"Carried him?" asked Arwen as her voice grew louder. She cornered the Prince with accusing eyes as she continued. His face began blush a deep crimson. "He was incapable of making it home on his own?" Then turning on Gimli, she said with unquestionable certainty, "What did you do to him?"

"Me?" answered the dwarf indignantly. This was not the conversation he expected over breakfast and he was beginning to lose his appetite as he found himself being looked at as if he were a menace to elves everywhere. He braced himself valiantly against the assault of the females' stares as he sputtered out, "Why am I to be held responsible for what Legolas chose to drink? It – it – it was his to decide…And, besides, he was warned. He drank it all the same! I did not hold the cup to his lips."

Up until that moment, Aragorn had yet to join the fray. But he did so with a vengeance and, unfortunately for the dwarf, he came in on the side of the offense. Joining Arwen and Eowyn in the interrogation, he directed a pointed question to the dwarf. "And what did he drink that would get him into a state as you describe? Surely not wine. That is his preferred beverage and I know well he can drink that with far more stamina than either you or I. He proved that to me on one occasion that I well recall."

Faramir snorted, perceiving a very good tale in that. "There is a story here, I can tell. What occasion do you speak of?" he asked with eager interest, a smile playing off his lips.

Aragorn broke into a grin at the memory. "Up in Haloel, long years ago. We aided some farmers in a small labor dispute there. It came out to our favor, and in celebration we spent a long night toasting our victory. I can say that while I was at my worst, Legolas never seemed to suffer. At least, I don't think that he suffered… if he did, I did not pay much notice as I was far too hung over to care!* He has a very high tolerance, that I know. I cannot even imagine what you could give him that would…unless…You didn't do that, did you? Gimli! You did not let him drink…?" Aragorn said as he added up his own conclusions. Faramir appeared to read the King's mind and meekly nodded confirmation to Aragorn's suspicions. "How could you let him do that?"

"What are you saying?" asked Arwen, confused by the path her husband's mind had taken.

Turning to his wife, he said, "Do you recall that beverage that they were serving at the Embassy Ball last winter?"

With what appeared to be complete understanding, and perhaps memories of her own to build upon, Arwen's expression grew as dark as her husband's. "Oh! Oh, Gimli! How could you?" she said as she threw her napkin at the dwarf.

Shrugging in his innocence, Gimli looked helpless to the attack. Looking across at Faramir, the dwarf saw the Steward enduring an equally evil glare from his wife. Sheepishly, the Prince was backing away.

Aragorn slyly smiled and shook his head at the dwarf and Gimli suspected it was only because he was not the target for the women's scorn himself. In his heart, the dwarf did not doubt that the King, had he been there, too would have found amusement in the elf's plight.

But Gimli knew they were right. It had been wrong to goad Legolas into his actions. Yet in his own defense, Gimli thought, The elf surely had experience enough to know his own limits. Didn't he? Grimly, he answered himself. Perhaps not, for Gimli had to concede that Legolas had not known of the drink before yesterday and the elf obviously had not had experience with libations of this type to gauge his own response. He knew Legolas preferred wine and drinks of the lighter sort. And while there was nothing in the drink that could cause lasting harm to the elf, Gimli should have confessed his knowledge of the drink's contents so Legolas could at least have made an informed decision. But he had not and Gimli knew that had been wrong. With a rushing wave of protective zeal, the dwarf berated himself for not discerning the elf's innocence in this matter. Legolas had trusted him. And while the elf may well have been the elder between them, his life was far more sheltered when it came to understanding the pleasures of men. It was an area Legolas did not know well and Gimli was reminded that often he had need to act as Legolas' protector, asked for or not. With guilt pressing in on him, he knew he had failed his friend last night. He had been the one to lead Legolas into the tavern, and he had been the one to push the elf to participate in a beverage not of his own choice. Regretfully now, he knew instead of mercilessly teasing his comrade for his very amusing and humiliating behavior, the dwarf would need to apologize for his own worthless actions. That was the only fitting thing to do. And he would do it, when the elf was fully recovered. In a day or two. Or three.

Glancing up at the ladies, Gimli smiled his sweetest smile and tried to wile some of his own charm to break the mood. Unfortunately, from the returned glares, they were having none of it. Gimli scowled. It seemed once again that Legolas' power over women prevailed. Gimli shook his head, for the elf's encounters with females over the years had long perplexed him and the galling truth was the elf seemed oblivious to the knowledge that he did this. Yet Gimli knew it to be a fact. He had seen it more than once, this ability of the elf to bring females of all species to want to hover and protect him. The dwarf did not understand it. And Legolas certainly did not encourage it. While polite through and through, the former Prince of Mirkwood treated all females relatively the same, like a sister or a friend. Little did the elf know the throngs of women who would gladly throw themselves at his feet, if he only deigned to favor them with his notice. And here it was once again, in the protective gestures of Arwen and Eowyn. Their husbands hardly noticed, and Gimli supposed that the men were not of jealous natures. And then, too, he surmised, they probably already knew nothing more would come of it beyond a brotherly affection. Sighing to himself, Gimli thought, For someone who is not even present, the elf has most notably made himself known.

Aragorn looked again at his papers, then tapping at the notes he said to Faramir, "Have you seen the reports from the Poros Contingent? They claim there are large numbers of Haradhrim moving into their boundaries." Gimli sighed in relief as the attention in the room moved away from his actions.

Placing her hand on the table before her, Eowyn sat up straighter. Glancing from Aragorn to Faramir she said with an imploring voice, "Oh please, kindly sirs, we had agreed no conversations of state matter on this holiday."

Placing his hand over hers, Faramir said, "But the holiday has yet to begin." Seeing this did not placate her, he squeezed her hand as he gave her a charming smile. "Besides," he said, "this will be the last of it you shall hear, I promise."

"Promises," she muttered knowingly as she rolled her eyes in answer. But grimly she smiled, "Very well, talk. Say what you will on the Haradhrim and be done with it. We well know their dispute is born on jealousies for what the others might have. The men of Poros are in want of the mineral rights established by the Harad long years ago, and the Haradhrim want to share power in governing the region. It could not be simpler since they choose to use their numbers to influence the bodies that rule."

"And yet the Poros Contingent is petitioning us to send military to the area to reinforce their stance," Aragorn pointed out to Faramir and Eowyn both. He did not seem to be surprised by Eowyn's knowledge of the subject. "They say nothing of mineral rights here."

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but the words that answered were not his. "That is because they know if you force the Haradhrim from the region, they stand a chance of sweeping in and reclaiming the rights of those who would be usurped," Eowyn informed the King. "Gondor also holds a percentage of the mineral rights in the area. You could relinquish a portion and offer it to bid within the Poros Contingent. Tariffs need not increase substantially if the difference can be made up in new trade. Of course, you would need conditions…"

"…conditions that Poros open a number of seats to the Haradhrim delegation. Yes, this I can see," said Aragorn nodding, then directed his gaze at Faramir as he said, "So we ignore the petition for military support?"

"Not necessarily," chimed Eowyn. Gimli could see Faramir frown slightly in her direction as she stepped into the answer he was about to give. Eowyn suddenly realized she was dominating the questioned answers and blushed as she said, "Pardon, Your Majesty. I seem to be stepping out of my place. Forgive me."

Faramir looked sidelong at her, as if he was unsure it was safe yet to speak, but seeing her eyes downcast, he said to his King, "Perhaps you should send in military to assure the free election of the Haradhrim. I do not think the Poros Contingent will give those seats up freely unless they know you mean to back up the Haradhrim. Otherwise they might try to slant the council with officials that were bought in their favor."

Eowyn's eyes shot up, and it became apparent she was not done. "I have one other thought on the subject, if you would want to hear it, Your Majesty," she said with all formality. Faramir leaned back in his seat as if he had no choice to but to surrender all authority on the subject to her. An amused smile crossed his face on his wife's behalf.

But Aragorn seemed undaunted by Eowyn's direct knowledge of topics that he would normally share only with Faramir and he answered her with a sarcastic smile. "It seems I cannot refrain you from speaking on this particular state matter, especially on a holiday. Please, favor me with your thoughts."

She smiled at his mockery, but went on all the same. "The need goes much more beyond rights and government seats. There is prejudice in Poros. One group vying against the other over issues of race. The real demon to be fought is that. I would offer to you that means of breaking those barriers be found. The schools are a fine example. The Haradhrim children have not been allowed to study along with the children of Poros. Segregation is rampant and the children of Harad are the ones to suffer. They are kept back only because of their race. There too with the merchants. Goods from each people are readily needed, and yet they do not openly trade, and a Black Market is dominant among the citizenry. I think these are the things that should be focused on to remedy the strife in the region."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he thought on this, his mood growing more serious. Nodding his head in approval, he said, "I agree. But further study should be made before real action can be taken." Turning his gaze again on Faramir, he said, "When this holiday is past, I would like for you to visit Poros and bring me back some recommendations for what we can do there. I do not think we would want to alter the structure significantly, but I do think we can work towards a less prejudicial future in the region."

Eowyn sat up rigidly. "No," she said again, an alarmed expression making her face grave. "Please, Your Majesty, do not send him away. He…I – I do not wish–" Her expression was troubled, as she broke off her thought, realizing that she had again overstepped her bounds.

"Eowyn…" Faramir quietly scolded, glancing with embarrassment toward the King.

"I could go," said a voice that had not been heard yet in this part of the conversation. All eyes turned to Arwen as she repeated, "I think I should be the one to go."

"I could be your emissary, Estel. It would be prudent, do you not think? I could accompany the additional military, and stay through the duration of the elections while I gather my recommendations. My presence there, as a lady, would be seen as an honorary one, a gesture of peace, not a forced issue such as may be seen with that of a man in Faramir's position. If fashioned cleverly enough, with delicacy and charm, of which I so aptly am graced," she said with a mocking full smile, "I think they would be far more receptive to my querries. And I think, being a woman, I could have access to areas, such as the schools and merchant areas, that they would be more reluctant to show a man. I think it would be wise if you chose me," she said firmly.

But Aragorn's expression conveyed that he was not nearly as convinced. He shook his head as he said, "But you already have more than enough to keep you busy here. Do not forget that the Nimrais Governors will be visiting us over the coming months. There is much to be done in preparation for their various arrivals."

To Gimli's careful observation, Arwen's face froze momentarily as she registered this slight to her offer. The dwarf felt certain that he saw, in that brief moment, a glimmer of reproach before her expression softened and her lilting voice said, "I have much assistance on that task, Estel, and it is well under control. I could very easily delegate the Nimrain preparations to my staff. It would not be difficult and that would leave me plenty of time to be available for the Poros situation."

The tension in the room was nearly palpable, and Gimli could see there was something unspoken at play between the King and Queen of Gondor. Aragorn continued to hesitate, and sensing that this could not end well, Gimli piped in, "Mayhap Eowyn is right. This discussion does not involve me, and I tire of hearing it. Further, it seems it is a matter that will wait until our return. Could you not table it until a later day?"

With a small sigh of relief, Aragorn nodded to the dwarf as if in thanks. "You are right, my friend. Forgive us for not considering your interest in these issues. Let us change this discussion to one that concerns us all. Shall we talk on our plans?"

Eowyn's mood seemed to brighten at this suggestion, though Arwen seemed still locked in the prior conversation. Rising from the table, and drawing attention to himself, Gimli crossed the room to return to the sideboard. In an attempt to ease the mood in the room, he said, "So we head out this morning and make for the realm of the elves in Ithilien. We should arrive there long ere nightfall, is that not correct?"

"That was my understanding," said Legolas as he swept into the room. Bowing slightly to all, seemingly unscathed, he said, "That is, if we are not further delayed. My apologies for my tardiness. I will take little time yet, and we may be on our way." Turning his back on them, Legolas seemed focused on the food at the buffet. Arwen smiled in relief to see their friend well, and Aragorn nodded as if he had never had doubt.

But Gimli gawked at the elf's appearance. Although his color seemed vaguely off, a bit paler than usual, Legolas appeared none the worse for his merrymaking. As certain as the dwarf had earlier been about the elf not suffering, after the grilling he had received and his own deep regrets, he had grown convinced that just the opposite would be true. And now he was quite startled to see that his original presumption had indeed been true. Guilt had been seriously playing on Gimli's mind, and a chuckle of relief could not help but release itself from his aching conscience. The dwarf recovered from his shock quickly and with a glad hand, clapped his friend's back. With a small amount of glee for his own reprieve, he smiled to himself as he realized that perhaps he need not apologize after all. So like the elf to bounce back like that. No effect did it have, he thought happily. That was, until he saw the Legolas' hand shake as the elf reached for a roll. Fortunately, none of the others could see it from the angle in which he stood. But Gimli was standing at his side and couldn't miss it. The dwarf then realized it was a sham. Legolas indeed was unwell. But Gimli's mood took a turn and instead of new pity and guilt rushing in as it should have, a dark mirth for his friend's misery plucked the dwarf. The urge to poke at the elf's pretense of a healthy façade grew strong in him and he knew that had Legolas been true to his feelings, and shown that he really was unwell, the dwarf may have acted much differently. However, given these new circumstances, and though he knew it was wrong, that he should refrain from doing what he was about to do, Gimli found he could not help himself. He smiled at his new challenge. Since Legolas chose to act outwardly intact, it was only fair game for Gimli to try and inwardly break that guise. To his mind, that was the only fitting thing to do. Especially since the elf was pretending to be fully recovered. With a mocking voice, he said, "So Legless, will there be drinking and merriment tonight?"

Turning his face to the dwarf, the elf looked momentarily startled, and Gimli realized in that instant that his friend had not held him in contempt for the previous nights activities. That is, until now. Gimli shuddered slightly as he saw the elf's eyes narrow, as if in warning, and he wondered what he had gotten himself into. It was a small move, and barely discernible to anyone but the dwarf. But the challenge had been seen, and Gimli had no choice but to follow through. Seeing now the slight puffiness beneath Legolas' eyes, and his less than wholesome pallor, a twinge of guilt played on Gimli again. But it was swiftly dashed away as Legolas smiled far too innocently at his friend. Speaking in general to reach the ears of the group, but keeping his eyes directed specifically at Gimli, he answered, "Nothing quite up to the standards set by last night, my friend. But if I have my way, I will see that you are delivered with twice the mirth that I experienced, and only then will I be satisfied that you have seen the hospitality of the Elves in Doro Lanthiron**." Gimli glanced about the room, wondering if anyone else had read that statement as a personal threat to the dwarf. Apparently not.

Seeing that indeed the elf was up to the challenge, the dwarf went on. There was no turning back now. "And song? You sang a marvelous song the other day." Faramir began to smirk, though he lowered his head so as not to be seen. "Can we hope that you will oblige us with a repeat performance of it this evening?" the dwarf asked.

"I have many interesting tunes within my memories, friend Gimli." The elf said the words rather fiercely. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to sing a few stanzas of the one you are thinking and I could complete it for you. Properly," Legolas said in challenge, fire sparking in his blue eyes.

Gimli was torn. He knew the elf would merely turn the joke back on the dwarf if he dared try and sing the song as Legolas had, for Gimli knew the song had a more innocent nature when sung as it truly was meant to be heard. He could foresee clearly the further scorn of ladies toward him when they heard Legolas' elven version in contrast to the tavern rendition. And yet the dwarf wasn't ready to concede just yet. "I could not do it justice and I am sure you know exactly which tune I mean. It was unique as it was sung in a fashion that was far more suggestive than that of most elven songs. I recall it being refreshingly different from one you might typically sing, Legless, er, I mean, Legolas."

Legolas was unflinching in his response, and though the eyes of their friends were upon them, he seemed perfectly at ease as he ignored the dwarf's jibes. However, behind his eyes, the dwarf could see a penetrating glare in full regalia. Still, Legolas maintained his self-possession. He said, "But I recall a very boisterous dwarven tune that you sang only recently. Mayhap you will share it with us as a prelude to my own rendering? I am sure the ladies would enjoy it immensely." Smiling as if that were the end, the elf turned again to face the serving table.

The dwarf growled deep and low as he cursed the elf. Legolas knew him too well. Gimli would never expose the ears of the ladies to such coarse words. Grumbling to himself, he tried to think of a way still to throw the elf off his base. He would not allow a decidedly hung over elf to best him. Only one thing came to mind at the moment, and he knew it was childish, and a wager at that, but from the color of Legolas' skin, he thought it could conceivably work. He recalled how his own stomach reacted on occasions like these, and also how, in this state, the workings of the brain had the ability to exaggerate food texture and quality. Looking about at the assortment of choices on the table, he picked his weapon.

"Sausage, Legolas?" he asked, holding a link up directly before the elf. Seeing he momentarily had Legolas' attention, he bit into it. What followed was pure artistry in acting skills. Making a gruesomely exaggerated face, as if he had taken in something horribly repulsive, the dwarf spit the food back out into a napkin. Then pretending to act discreet, he glanced back into the napkin, to investigate the offending substance further. Quietly, Gimli muttered to himself, as if he intended no one else to hear his words, although in truth he fully intended that the elf should hear every word. He said, "Uch, what is that? Ew! Vulgar… gristle!"

The elf turned a shade of green as his shoulder hunched forward choking back a gag reflex. The mark was made and Gimli smiled maliciously. Again, no one else saw it, and Gimli was satisfied that while diminishing Legolas' poise, he had kept the elf's ruse in check.

Smiling as he moved on, Gimli said to the group in common, "And tomorrow we head north to Henneth Annûn, where thissuch," he said pointing his gaze at the elf as he recalled the ill-conceived word, "we lose your pleasant company." He bowed his head to the ladies.

"Only during the hours of the day that you choose to leave us," said Arwen ignoring the strange new word. She reached over and touched Aragorn's hand. "Long enough for you to feel your desires to conquer the wild sated. What is it you will be hunting?"

"What?" said Eowen. "No orc? Or what was that other," she said as she gazed at Faramir with playful eyes, "Mûmak?"

Faramir laughed. "No, my dear. Neither of those creatures has been seen in Northern Ithilien for a number of years. The elves have been successful in ridding it of orcs, and I am afraid my forces chased off the last seen oliphaunt ere the war even ended. We will have to be satisfied shooting for buck."

"Pity," said Arwen playfully. "I should have liked a stuffed oliphaunt head mounted on our wall."

"But you would not care for a stuffed orc head as well?" asked Faramir, continuing the jest as a twinkle glimmered in his eye.

"I believe it was the talk of the orc heads that did it," Aragorn said, nodding toward Faramir in his role in taking down Legolas' guise. "Although the sausage was a nice touch," he said grinning mischievously at Gimli, then asked, "Thissuch?"

Gimli chuckled to himself. Trust Faramir to add the finishing touches to what he himself had started. But then he noticed Eowyn's color change as she too pushed herself away from the table. "Excuse me," she said, repeating Legolas' words as she quickly left the room, and Gimli surmised that the lady had fled to administer aid to the elf. Shaking his head, he wondered again how the elf so easily managed to sway the hearts of females. If he had a mind to do it, oh, the number of women that elf could get, thought Gimli.

A/N: ELVEN SEXUALITY is about to be discussed here (I put this in all caps to make it visible to any freaked out mothers who may think I'm sneaking in to corrupt their children. I am not.). It's very light stuff really note my rating is R (not NC-17), and that is due mostly to the overall violence in this story, and not for sex. I really have no intentions of offending anyone, and this chapter was written mostly for fun! Try to look at it that way and keep an open mind as you move forward. And for all you horror-mongers out there she's back

The road from Minas Tirith to Doro Lanthiron was not a long one. And unless one chose to walk rather than travel on the back of a horse, the distance could be traversed in less than a day. The highway between those lands was hardened and well kept, and there was little trouble to be found there to detract a rider from his trail.

Six riders there were on the trail that day with an entourage of twenty posting guard over the safety of the King, and the Prince, and their company. A standard-bearer to the front bore the flag of Gondor, and five others followed to encircle the King and his Queen. Three horses with four riders came in succession after the King and Queen, the first two manned by Faramir and his Princess bride, while the last bore the Lord of Ithilien Elves and the Lord of the Glittering Caves, who shared a mount. Fourteen more guards trailed behind them as they made their way through Osgiliath and across the Anduin, on into Ithillien. Any who looked on would have remarked at the regal bearing of the party.

However, there were two among the riders who were feeling far less than regal. If anything, they were feeling somewhat nauseated. But adding to this, a moody darkness pervaded them. Short though the ride might have been between the lands of men and elves, it was an extremely long one for the two riders on the single horse. Neither elf nor dwarf had expended much energy to converse with one another, and the outside observer might assume that was due to the peaked semblance the two bore. But the two knew it was much more than that. While Gimli had earlier on made an attempt to converse with his companion, he was met by a stone cold silence, and the dwarf could not help but be a little afraid of the wrath he had unleashed. And yet, the question of whether Gimli should dare ride with the elf never entered either of their minds. Legolas had made room for the dwarf on the back of his steed, and Gimli had joined him without thinking twice on the matter. For they both understood that while trouble may have festered under the surface of their friendship, it was only a temporary lapse, and their normal comradeship would return between them soon enough. Once the elf had his revenge.

At the front of the mount, the elf seethed. Legolas replayed again and again the morning's humiliation and each time he thought on it, his mood grew ever fouler. It did not help that he was aided in his ire by a pressing pain in his head that muddled his thoughts, he was still able to put together the pieces of everything that had happened to him as their ride progressed. The ridicule and harassment he had received at the hands of the dwarf were clear evidence alone that the incident of last night had not just been an accidental encounter. It had been intended. Legolas could not help but fume at that. He was angry, and not only at Gimli. With hindsight, the elf saw how the dwarf had plied him into such a grim ruse. No, the real anger he felt was directed at himself for falling easily as prey to it all.

Priggish! Legolas thought. It came down to that one word, he knew, and it grated on him how a remark such as that had the power to generate those wretched events. Legolas' mind rumbled as he tried to remember it all. There were blanks in his memory and he did not like having them. Yet worse was the knowledge that he need not have suffered this loss if he had only listened to himself. I never should have let the dwarf goad me into that drink. I had made my selection. I should have stayed with it. I was a fool to let something so small affect me that way. These thoughts plagued his mind, and try as he might, the elf could not get it out of his head. He was deeply offended that Gimli had called him such a thing, for in Legolas' mind, his character was far from priggish. If anything, Legolas thought, he was fair and open-minded, hardly the prudent and uptight character Gimli portrayed him to be. If anyone should be termed a prig, Legolas scowled, it should be the dwarf!

As he allowed the slow cantor of his horses trot to rock him in his misery, Legolas scoured his mind to find examples to justify this thought of his friend. He thought back to the beginnings of their friendship, in the first days in Lórien. Galadriel's words to the dwarf had much swayed Legolas' opinion, which up until that time had not been estimated very high by the elf. But there was something in the way the dwarf seemed to appreciate the beauty of the Lady that stirred a commonality between them. It was then that Legolas wondered what other things he might find that could be used to build a bond, and so he invited Gimli to join him in his visit to that land. Many days they lingered there, and as they roamed the Golden Wood, Legolas came to appreciate the dwarf's taste in fair things. With his defenses down, he could see that they had far more in common than he had presumed. That was where it had started, and before they left Lothlórien, the two were as close in friendship as two beings could be. But it was also the place where Legolas learned how extremely different elves and dwarves could be.

His mind went back to a day in those beginnings of friendship. They had been walking down a path in the more remote parts of the wood, an area that none other of the fellowship had explored. Neither had said much to the other in the hours they had gone on, but enough had transpired over the course of that day that they felt at ease with one another and did not feel necessarily compelled to speak right then. Legolas' gaze, as usual, had been in the trees, but Gimli, being a dwarf, had had his eyes rooted to the surroundings at ground level. Gimli saw it much sooner than Legolas did, though the elf had heard the whispers and utterances far back on the trail. It was the look of unabashed shock on the dwarf's face that caught Legolas' attention, and the elf turned to see what sent such surprise to his diminutive companion.

There on the grass in a small meadow enclosed within the forest were two maidens reposing themselves in the sun. Their bodies were bare, and the clothing they had shed were strewn about them. The grass about them was trampled in many places, and it appeared as if they had been playing in the lush green carpet. One of them giggled as the other caressed her thigh, and then as if lovers, they kissed, long and soft. One hand reached up as it gently cupped a breast of her lover, and the other reciprocated by stroking the base of a smoothly craned neck. It was lovely to behold the two beauties, enraptured and unbound in earthy passions, and Legolas paused for a moment to appreciate the beauty of their loving meditations. Only briefly did he linger, for to stay longer would have been impolite, and he turned his gaze away just as quickly as he had brought it up. Moving on, he expected the dwarf to follow his steps. But within a few paces of whence he had started, he realized the dwarf was not at his side. Looking back, he saw Gimli's expression had not changed. The dwarf's feet remained rooted in the spot he had stood.

Moving back to his companion, Legolas stepped into Gimli's line of vision, effectively breaking the spell that had been cast on the dwarf. Gimli's face went crimson as he sputtered and pointed to where the two maidens lay. Legolas looked over his shoulder to the elves in the grass, waving apologetically for the intrusion. He was met with scornful stares that were sent in the direction of the dwarf. Swiftly grabbing Gimli's elbow, Legolas dragged him away, moving the stolid figure from that place as quickly as the short legs would go.

Once free of the meadow, Legolas had released the dwarf's arm, and fuming at the impropriety he had seen displayed, the elf lambasted Gimli for his poor behavior, "By Ilúvatar's Rule, what were you thinking back there? I have never seen coarser behavior! That was rude! Did your mother never tell you it is improper to stare?"

Equally as riled, the dwarf did not flinch as he said, "BY AÜLE'S RULE! Unhand me! I am acting as any sane being would act, for my mother never told me how I should react if I were to see naked women frolicking on the green! You dare grow angry with me? You should be angry with them. Look at them! Repulsive! Repulsive that was!"

Legolas was truly aghast, blinking in surprise at the dwarf's terse words. He found himself backing away from the irate expression on the dwarf's face as he was at a loss as to what could cause it. His brow furrowed in confusion as he sputtered in reply, "That was a thing of beauty! How can you say this?" He was completely perplexed that Gimli could find anything obscene in the female elves' interaction.

He could not know and did not know, that perceptions of sexuality by other races could be seen as anything beyond what he had come to understand. For that, Legolas saw the scene between the two maidens as nothing unusual. Trying very hard to understand the dwarf, Legolas pushed his mind to see their encounter from another perspective. Something had stirred up this deep emotional response in the dwarf. But he could not fathom the mystery of it. In Legolas' mind, the maidens' sexual act was as a genuine in its natural beauty as a voice lifted in song. Their feelings were only an extension of who they were and he felt this in itself was a gift.

Thoroughly flummoxed by the dwarf's reaction, but determined to make good, he took several breaths to calm himself before moving on to uncover what it was that upset his stout comrade. Changing his tone and his tactic, Legolas asked with sincere curiosity, as if he had misinterpreted the dwarf's reason to anger, "Would it have been different had they been two males?"

Gimli's face went a shade more crimson as he bellowed his response. "That would be worse!" the dwarf answered. "Do not even speak of THAT!" Legolas involuntarily backed even further away, subconsciously fearing a rupture of some vessel might occur.

But the sight before him was comical and the corners of Legolas' mouth lifted at the sight of Gimli's reddened face and bulging eyes. It was rather humorous to look at and Legolas had to snicker in amusement. The elf was beginning to comprehend the dwarf's discomfort even though he didn't fully appreciate its cause. "Ah, I see," said Legolas, laughing softly. "So only if it were a male-female dalliance would you have reacted with propriety."

"Male-female, yes. But the propriety should come from them. They should keep their personal matters to themselves, and their clothing on their bodies! To be seen out in public like that, naked for all the world to see," the dwarf tsked, looking back in the direction of the two forms.

Legolas couldn't help laughing. Still, he tried to qualify the dwarf's response. "Please tell me why you say this, Gimli, for truly I do not understand. Mayhap it is part of being a dwarf? Is it their nakedness that embarrasses you? Or their sexuality? To an elf, there is nothing more enchanting, more lovely, than the sharing of oneself through body and soul. Do you not think that mating is a part of nature? Look around you, it is everywhere. The flowers, the insects, the animals, the birds all let their bodies merge, without shame."

"Yes, I will grant you, it is in nature. But there it is primal, a yearning something done between male and female for purposes of baring offspring. As elves do not die or show much need for children, I thought they might be more highly evolved in their behavior than what I have seen. I should have known better, I suppose I have never held elves highly and it is only because of the Lady's words that I gave you more credit than I should have. I imagined that your people had far more sense than that of of of bugs," Gimli growled, stuttering over the last of his words.

"You think elves live in chastity? You think we have not needs? Yearnings?" Legolas asked with disbelief, sighing at Gimli's mockery. It was really a mystery to the elf that there would be so much animosity towards so simple a thing. And over the pairing, female-female, male-male, female-male, it was all the same to Legolas. Sharing a moment of love and gratification with another, that was what mattered. That was the gift. Gimli's attitude on this was completely alien to the elf. He could find nothing to justify the dwarf's repulsion. And yet still, he attempted to grasp the significance of the dwarf's argument. In innocence he asked, "Do not dwarves have sexual urges?"

But Legolas persisted, not to be cruel or insensitive, but because he had no experience with feelings of this sort. The scene they had come across was so typical in the life of an elf on a peaceful days passing, that had the dwarf not stopped, he probably never would have even noticed. But by Gimli's answer he could see he was close to nearing the dwarf's breaking point, and so he tempered his comments as more jibe than rebuke in the hopes that Gimli would lighten his stance. "And yet you yourself are modestly more evolved than a bug. I know that you can appreciate female beauty. You hold awe for the Lady Galadriel, do you not? Passionate feeling is not much further removed, and the admiration and appreciation of a beautiful face could be said to be the preface of intentions much greater," Legolas said pointedly.

With narrowed eyes, Gimli threatened through gritted teeth, "Be careful, elf! You are walking A VERY TREACHEROUS PATH!"

Holding up his hands, Legolas reconsidered as he laughed, "Peace, Gimli. I see you are troubled by this. Perhaps the Lady is too lofty an example for you. I will not persist. But try to respect that elves do not hold as staunch an opinion as you would have us. And try not to gawk should we encounter another tryst."

Gimli sputtered as his eyes widened, "Another? Have elves no bed chambers in which to do this most intimate activity?"

Legolas laughed, easing the mood with his merriment. "Certainly. Bedchambers, stables, kitchens, libraries, floors, walls, chairs, railings, stairs, trees, grass, pools shall I go on? All are abundant here," he said with a raised brow and a smirk, trying with some success to raise a smile on the dwarf's face.

"Please do not continue," said the dwarf as he eyed the landscape, as if warily expecting another intimate scene to pop out on him at any moment. Finally recognizing how silly he must have looked, he chuckled softly as he turned his attention back on the elf. It was his turn to ponder the elf's ease at this happenstance. His mood visibly lightened as he looked up at Legolas and asked, "Tell me, elf, if this is such a natural thing to your people, why have none other in the Fellowship made comment of it? Think of me prudish if you will, but I know this behavior is not common outside of your borders? The others would not accept it any better than I. Why did we not see it when we were in Rivendell?"

"It was there in Imladris, though perhaps you and the others were not attentive enough to notice it. For to an elf, even something so small as a touch can convey sexual feelings. We can find pleasure just in that. And in this way, elves tend to be discreet, despite what you may think. And even in more forthright displays, they intimacy is kept candid. Let us not forget who intruded upon whom with the maidens, Gimli. Perhaps you will understand if I tell you that elves do not consider sexuality a vulgarity. Therefore we do not treat it that way. We do not feel compelled to hide it. But neither do we feel compelled to foist our passions on others to witness. As you would assume, that would be callous and unnecessary and, as you point out, bad mannered. We see acts of love and sensuality as intimacies that are strictly personal. Our eyes may glance upon the physical actions of it, but the feelings within are respected as something to be kept strictly between the two." Then glancing at the dwarf to see if he could get another humorous reaction, he added, "Or the three." He was not disappointed. Legolas laughed quite merrily at the shocked face Gimli had given him.

"All the same," said the dwarf shaking his head in response to the elf's joke, "I will be very conscious of whom I may touch or remark upon while I am here. I would not want anyone to get the wrong impression." Legolas laughed again and they had continued on their way.

Legolas' horse trotted on, and the dwarf dozed at his back. It had been more than twelve years since that event, and yet to Legolas it was merely a short span of time. And yet sometimes, he mused to himself, I feel as if I have changed more than my friend, for Legolas was open to the opportunities of learning from his experiences. That in itself made him unique as an elf, for so many of his kind stayed complacent in their mindsets. To Legolas, that thinking was the doom of the elves. He was sure of it. To never appreciate the world beyond that of elven creation is to put a limit on oneself, he thought. His own father was guilty of that flaw. And so, in some ways was Gimli (in the dwarven extreme, of course), for Legolas knew, without asking, that the dwarf's opinion on the intimacy of the elves had not changed. But with Gimli, at least, Legolas had hope. Among dwarves there was no other he had encountered who had been so open-minded and eager to try and improve upon himself than his friend. Maybe someday the dwarf would truly understand every facet of the elf he called his friend. And this was a remarkable compliment in Legolas' mind, despite his anger at Gimli's pranks.

With his mind drifting onward through these wayward thoughts, the ones at the forefront returned now to his father. More and more so he had strayed in that direction over the past few months. Not because he wanted to, but because he had need to. Despite all appearances, things were not well for the elves of Ithilien, and much to Legolas' chagrin, an infusion of capital is what the elves of Doro Lanthiron needed most. There had been great growth of the elf population in the region, far greater than any he or his counselors had considered, for their projections on trade had been based on a number much smaller than what Ithilien now housed. Their exports were far less than what they imported, and their fiscal straits were growing troublesome to Legolas' mind. It was this that had brought his mind more often of late to think of his father. He had considered petitioning Thranduil for support, as one elven realm to another. And truthfully, the majority of Ithilien's new citizenry came from that land. A request for share of Greenwood's wealth at the cost of taking some of her populace would not be unwarranted. And were Greenwood ruled by any other leader than Thranduil, Legolas would not have hesitated to do so. But somehow, the idea of asking his father for anything made Legolas shudder.

It was not that Thranduil was unkind to the elf. If anything, the opposite was true. The good King doted on his son, when Legolas would allow it. No, the source of Legolas' ambivalence towards his father was simply their difference in approaches. It would be safe to say that the two were complete opposites of each other. Consciously or not, the younger elf went out of his way to do exactly the contrary of what his father would do. It was a benchmark for Legolas to say to himself, And Thranduil would handle this how? Yet, truly the part that rankled Legolas the most was the way his father found to take credit for all the younger one's accomplishments. Fierce pride in his son made him boastful, Legolas could see, but the elder King, in his conceit, was able to rob his son of the merits he had attained on his own. He didn't actually claim he had done the actions himself, but somehow he would manage to convey that he was the true cause for his son's good sense. Legolas remembered the first time he had returned home after battle as a warrior for the King. He was young and inexperienced, and though well trained, he was not savvy enough to know strategies well. It was sheer luck and cleverness that had Legolas' first campaign succeed, and yet on his return, Thranduil's response had been not what the younger had expected. Instead of lauding the Prince for his quick wits and fortitude in the engagement, the good King had said, "Tis only to be expected. For is he not my son?" Legolas' ego quickly deflated. And so had been the course of their long history as father and son. Thranduil seemed to swallow any acts of bravery or wisdom on Legolas' part and add it to his own showcase of ego. And so, to the casual observer, was it any wonder that Legolas fled Mirkwood upon the end to the war to take up residence in the land that had housed the foulness of Mordor? Such was the strength of Legolas' chagrin. To Legolas, it was not that the King would deny him. Most anything of Thranduil's could be had by the King's heir. He had only to ask. But the price for the King's generosity was that the son would have to acknowledge his father's role in the endeavor. Legolas did not think he had not grown quite that desperate. Not yet.

He mused to himself, Perhaps if I married he would loosen his purse and go so far as to share some of the wealth that he hoards. Without my having to ask, that is. It was only a passing thought and nothing that the Lord of Doro Lanthiron would consider even seriously. Legolas knew, above all other things, that Thranduil wished to see his son wed. It was something the younger elf could not understand, for he did not love anyone enough to bind himself to their troth, especially for the rest of eternity. But in his misguided logic, the old King somehow felt a bride was needed to fulfill Legolas' role as a leader of elves. The younger could only shake his head, though he wished he could point out that both Thranduil and Elrond had both ruled sufficiently without a wife at their sides, and for many a long year at that. Sighing he knew it was another point that would be lost on his father. And so the King of Greenwood continued to send lovely she-elves of high lineage to visit with the former Prince of Eryn Lasgallen. Legolas was appalled by the behavior, and shocked all the worse that most of the females were aware of what was happening. Legolas found it all quite repulsive but Thranduil just shrugged. Love was not a factor in the King's thinking and he was fond of saying that Legolas would learn his affection. Still, the elf resisted this too of his father. He knew when he wed, it would be love that would move him, and there would be nothing of politics to interfere with his reasoning. He saw no reason to hasten his search for a mate. Valar willing, he would live a very long life. He could wait a while more to find his true love.

And with these nagging thoughts of his father rolling through his mind, accompanied by the gnawing anger he still felt toward Gimli, Legolas suddenly realized what truly bothered him most.

Manipulation. He had been manipulated. By a word, no less, and that was unacceptable in Legolas' mind. And most particularly, he had been maneuvered by that word, for now that he thought on it, had he not heard his father wield it often in his own realm? Legolas came to see that this is what had been the impetus of the other night's ordeal. His father, or more correctly the silent desire to please and conform to the ways of his father. Unknowingly, he had been pushed him to behave as he had. The word stirred old memories, for his father was a master at getting his way. Using words deceptively was not an unusual tactic for the Eldar King. In his younger days, Legolas had fallen gullible prey to such maneuvers often, molding himself into the form that Thranduil saw fit as his son. But over many centuries of time, hard-pressed battles of will had given Legolas his freedom and upon his departure from Greenwood, and even far before that time, Legolas had shed his father's direct influence to his actions. Or so he had thought. Realizing he was still susceptible, Legolas felt shame. And what do I have to show for it, thought the elf. I was cowed and acted just like the elf my father is. Repulsion to that realization made Legolas shudder. But I can learn, he thought. I can make sure I do not repeat this mistake again.

"Priggish," he muttered to himself, surprised he had said the word aloud at all. Gimli was wrong in this characterization. If he only knew! Legolas' mind screamed in abject anger. It was evidence to him that there was still a long way to go before Gimli would truly understand everything there was to know about the elf. He conceded that while his actions last night were not typical for him, neither was the gift of Gimli's word. Priggish. Legolas felt certain that had Gimli seen him only a few months earlier, at the Spring festivals in his realm, the dwarf would have abolished the word from his vocabulary entirely. Now that was an event that would have sent Gimli running for sure! Legolas thought with amusement. It was the time of the year in which the elves decanted the earliest of their vintages, and in turn they celebrated the return of the warmer seasons. He thought now that that word certainly did not fit with the role Legolas had played as host to the festivities and as the Lord of Doro Lanthiron. Chucking to himself he mused on the most recent event. Oh yes, much wine had been consumed by the elves on that day and that night and the mirth and the physical interludes that had followed afterward might have curled the hair on the dwarf's mighty beard. Recalling his own very intimate exchange on that occasion, Legolas smiled at the thought of the dancer who had caught his attention. A sensual pleasure his body had been to the elf and a happy sigh escaped him, almost eliminating the queasy feeling that had haunted him all that day.

And then suddenly, all these thoughts whirled to a head and an idea came to him. Perhaps this was how he would find his retribution toward the dwarf. He could invite Gimli to attend the festival next year! Yes! An uptight dwarf amidst a phalanx of passion-driven elves? Now that would be a sight to behold. Just thinking of it made Legolas laugh aloud, and he had to clap his hand to his mouth to refrain the noise from being heard. His spirits immediately began to soar. Of course, he would need to get the dwarf drunk beforehand or he would never even be able to get him near any of it. But that would be easy enough to do. Perhaps something like what he had experienced with Aragorn in Haloel might do it.* And perhaps he could even get Gimli to appreciate elven wines after all. Too bad he would have to wait so long to get his revenge, but it would be worth it to see the dwarf in the midst an orgy. Besides, for Legolas time held little meaning. He could easily wait, even if it meant having to endure Gimli's taunts in the meantime. And now Legolas knew he could get past his anger and return to the normal course of his friendship with the dwarf. Why, just the change in his mood might be enough to set Gimli on edge. The anticipation would be sheer torture alone, and Legolas laughed again at the cleverness of his plan.**

After all, given the circumstances of Gimli's role in inducing Legolas' drunkenness, and the subsequent humiliation that had followed, revenge was the only fitting thing to do. And when it came, Legolas was going to enjoy it. He smiled wickedly.

Riding ahead of the elf, Aragorn also smiled, though not wickedly, and not for the same reasons. The King could not help but notice the authority of their entourage as they rode onward. He was glad there came fewer and fewer to observe them, for their appearance was meant only as a deception, and soon it would be coming to an end. Once reaching the home of the elves in that region, he knew the lands grew more sparse to the populace of men, and the dire safety of he and his friends became less a factor to their journey. No one aside from his court knew his intentions on this trip, and he was glad, for he longed to be free to roam the wilds, unhindered.

Finding safety in Legolas' home among the woodland elves, the guard would be dismissed to go on their way leaving the King and his friends to the open lands that they sought for respite. With assurances that they would be isolated in a protected place, Elessar had conceded to his court's plan, arguing only in regards to the perceived need of the King for supervision. He gave in at last, but not without a fight.

Six of his men would linger a league or two from their camp, checking in on the King and his party at the end of the first week, serving as an escort to the company again when Elessar deemed he was ready to depart.

Aragorn had wanted no men, but his generals wanted all of them, and in the end they had agreed to a total of six soldiers in waiting. Small and unobtrusive was that number, and their removal from his party would make it seem that he and his friends were alone and had privacy. As for his safety or the safety of his wife and friends, he had no fear. The cleanness of the land from fell creatures was a gift from the elves. They had done fine work in making the land whole again and no orc, or warg, or even a wayward wizard could be found there further. And because of this, and this alone, the King was granted a reprieve with only the six men nearby. At least, he thought, we will have a place to keep the horses, as that was the only benefit he saw to keeping the men about. He felt their presence was ludicrous. It had long been decided that warrior elves would accompany their return when the visit was complete, and until then, he and his companions were more than capable of taking care of themselves. The King had not grown rusty in his time at the throne.

To his minister's chagrin, Elessar refused to dictate an itinerary for his journey, saying only that the timetable for their return would be within a month. He did it more to annoy them than for any other reason, but for the trouble they caused him, he felt they more than deserved his vacillation. At least he had been good enough to leave those in charge the discretion to give minor rulings on his behalf. More than that was not deemed necessary as Gondor lived in peacetime. And if needed, the six guards could retrieve their King and return him to Minas Tirith within a day. But Aragorn expected nothing like that to occur, and he was looking forward to his long-earned solitude.

Aragorn shook his head. Such dealings he had endured for so little a thing. A small break from his role, that is all he had asked. As the King he had much in the way of privilege and comforts, but the price for those things was a complete lack of privacy that he could have never anticipated before he came to power. To be rid of an entourage and alone at last, that was a freedom he had fought hard to keep and, oh, how he longed for it now! He thought back on the days when he had nothing to claim but his sword and his horse, and he had meandered middle-earth with open abandon. Wistfully he sighed as he thought on times past.

Not that he wanted to go back. Not completely at least. Those days had been hard and had been plagued by dangers unknown, and the haunting yearning to be at Arwen's side had wakened him on many a cold night. Life was far better now. He would never deny it. But still there was a part of him that longed to regain some of the wildness lost from that former life. And he missed the bond that had been there with Arwen in those days of separateness. Back then all they had longed for was to be at each other's side.

It bothered him that he always was accompanied by a throng of guards on every outing, despite his own skills with a sword. And despite his demands to be left to his peace, he was overruled by his ministers or generals in this matter. He may have been the King, but not every action in his realm was ratified by his word. Some things went by the order of others, and in matters of his personal safety, Elessar had no choice but to follow orders. Although he obliged, he at times felt as their prisoner rather than their leader.

Arwen could see his frustration at being penned. Her feelings were similar, he supposed, though she was not as repressed as he was, and she could tolerate it better than he. Having grown up in unsafe lands, she had long grown used to the idea of escorts to travel from realm to realm. But once in the safety of those far away places, her companions had always relinquished their claim on her and she was allowed freedom of her own again. As the Queen of Gondor, however, even within the safe confines of her city, complete freedom was not hers to have. It was only when she was quietly sequestered within the palace that she ever truly was given privacy. The adjustment to being Queen was not an easy thing. It was, he suspected, a small part of the cause for their current difficulties. He understood what she wished for something more as well. How could she help it. He hoped that this trip would ease some of that troubling her and would aid him in pursuing the direction he sought for their lives together. Somehow, things had to change between them, for Aragorn knew he could not remain quiet on this topic much more.

It was Arwen's idea, really, this trip of theirs, and she and Eowyn had plotted it out carefully over time. That pleased him. With stealth minds they had planned out the ruse of the guard, a pretense that would have them leave the city as they must. And it was their idea to go to Ithilien, on the pretense of visiting the elves for an undisclosed time. And it was their idea for the party to sneak north, and to camp at the old stronghold of Henneth Annûn, for there they could relax and live among the beauty of the wood, and still feel as if safety were being considered in their plans. And it was Aragorn's idea to go hunting, for he wished to walk freely in the woods once more.

With freedom so near at hand, Aragorn felt himself beginning to relax. Every eventuality had been considered as they had planned for this journey. It was strange to put so much effort into the leisure of freedom, but in the end it would be worth it. He was sure nothing could go wrong.

She hummed a strange tune to herself as the wagon rolled forward over the smooth forest floor. Her body and head rocked with the motion, but she was not distracted by it. All around her, her furnishings and goods jangled to the swaying of the vardo, though all were secure in their place. The sound of those objects making cling clang noises within there own caches added to the sound of her humming. It was almost a hypnotic din. Her music, if music it could be called, carried no rhythm or melody. It was a low droning noise, deep and resonating from her throat. Its quality was mysterious and haunting.

Her gaze was directed to her knotty fingers which pulled and spun flaxen threads into a fine silk cord that she rolled around her fingers as she completed the fine roping. The song seemed to urge on her hands, and with dexterity, she twisted and pulled the long fibers, braiding them nimbly into each other.

In the palm of her hand she held an object. It was the thing that the cord latched onto. A simple piece of wood it was, unshaped and crude, significant only in that it was made from a piece of lightning-struck beech wood. She had been savoring this found treasure, for it had special strengths. Strong and rare and touched by the dark forces of nature, it was the perfect element to use in her sorcery. On the surface of the wood fragment, she had burned in a picture of the sun, the symbol for power, and within that she had drawn the outline of a running figure. These markings honed in on the power within the wood and aided her in completing the charm.

She continued to hum as her fingers finished the braid. Then picking up a bead she had earlier carved, she added it into the ornament to seal off the ends. She smiled and brought her tune to an end. Admiring her work, she wrapped the cord back into her hands while she grabbed the pile of extra hair she had used to construct the string, and tucked it into a drawer at her table. Then lifting her hand in the air, she allowed the talisman to swing down and sway to the motion of the wagon. She laughed as she watched it weave through the air.

The owl opened its eyes and craned its head at the old woman's musing cackle. She drew her attention to where it sat on its perch and she decided it was time for the creature to do its job on her behalf. A wicked grimace decorated her face as she laughed at it and said, "No elf shall escape us now, Rartichirilo. No fight will there be in it and this will keep it in place." She held up the ornament for the speckled bird to see. "It is time. I need your sharp eyes again." The bird blinked at her words. "I have longings that need to be fulfilled. Find it for me! Find me an elf!"

She held out her arm to the bird of prey, and the owl stepped upon it. Balancing herself as she stood and walked to the back of the wagon, she drew back the curtain with her unused arm. Looking one last time at the creature before allowing her release, she said, "Drive ahead of our course and tell us where we may go. Return to me when you have found one. You must hurry, my friend! We are only days away from our end." And with that she propelled the owl into the cooling air. The wolfhounds that trailed the wagon barked as the bird of prey flew over their heads, calling out their encouragement to their sister-hunter. The night creature swooped once over the wagon and then brought her tail feathers downward as her strong wings pumped the air and she soared onward into the setting face of the sun.

* And yet another teaser for Jocelyn's story. Oh, I can hardly wait until that chapter is complete! Hurry, Jocelyn! Write faster!

**For those of you who have read my other fics, do you recall at the end of chapter one in "Torn Between Two Worlds" when Legolas wakes from his long sleep and urges Gimli to leave? The dwarf responds by saying, "I could leave, but I would rather stay for a while longer. Spring will soon approach. And you know I have a fondness for the new vintages." I didn't really know what that statement could imply when I wrote it, but it sure fits nicely into this tale now. Do you think perhaps Legolas' trick backfired? Perhaps the elf doesn't know his friend as well as he thought he had and that Gimli truly is able to change his views on sex? Well, if nothing else, this sentence proves at least that Gimli did learn to appreciate good elven wines.

In all of middle-earth, no secret was as well-kept as the one that revealed the hidden passageways into Henneth Annûn. Few men knew of this secret refuge, and fewer still had ever been in it. And no man who looked upon it from the outside would have known it existed had he not some prior knowledge to the fact. It was a fortress guarded in stealth and it melded seamlessly with its environment.

To come upon the retreat, one would think they had entered a small oasis of lushness and beauty. To the uninformed observer, it would have taken shrewd wisdom to have discerned something so secretive in a place so mystically lovely. And that mind would become suspect to its intent had it not seen the beauty first before growing wary of deeper mistrust. In a relaxed frame, the scene partaken was of natural charm, surely one of Yavanna's greatest gifts. Only the darkest of souls, darker than the orcs or fell creatures of Mordor, could have suspected something more was here than the fairest of lands.

In seeing it, the eye was immediately riveted to the centerpiece of the scene: a cascade of water that fell from stories above a rocky platform into a river of water and stone. Deep green shrubbery canopied the cliffs of its descent, and the sound of the water falling to the staggered bed below was thunderous and bold. The craggy rocks at her base were jagged incisors of stone, pushed up from the earth, and about them were smaller remnants of the same stone, shattered over time into razor sharp fragments of their former selves. The water flattened as the depth became great beneath the rocks, and a wide expanse of water filled that basin before the river narrowed and carried on its course. A pool of conjoined cerulean and indigo formed there, and when the sun shone down on that spot, the water took on the color of liquid sapphires studded with diamonds. The flow of the water slowed at this point to only a slight current and fish of all types gathered here to feed and to mate. Hanging branches of nearby trees bowed gracefully to the pristine waters beneath them, as smooth and slick stones outlined the shore that led to the rock wall that stood witness to it all. The terrain was laced with ferns and mosses and vines cascading downward to meet the water's edge. Boxwood and ilex in deep penetrating greens dotted the hillsides leading away from it as the river left the lagooned area. It tapered into a deep and narrow channel that continued its course down the long, sloping lands, until eventually, it meandered its way into the Anduin. And from that peak near the falls, looking into the setting sun, one could plainly see the great expanse of that river from the vistas offered.

They paused on their horses before dismounting, gazing upon the serenity of the place that would be their temporary home. They breathed in the freshness of the cool, breezy air, and a cleansing aroma of water and earth wafted in the breeze. A sense of tranquility settled upon them. The sound of the falls echoed off of the rocks and added a sort of music to the scene, giving a backdrop to the carefree chirping of the birds playing in the treetops. Eowyn smiled, while Arwen closed her eyes and let her senses absorb the atmosphere. Faramir sighed happily, and Legolas looked most pleased, while Gimli gazed back at the view of the Anduin. The six accompanying soldiers looked on, awed and proud that in a way this was a part of their Gondor home. Aragorn's chuckle broke the reverie as he looked upon all of their faces. His laughter told them that he was the happiest among them to be there.

It was Faramir who spoke first. He turned to Legolas and said, "I don't think I remember seeing so many waterfalls in the course of this trail. Has my memory gone wrong?"

The elf smiled at this. "Nay," he said, "Your memory serves you well. It is the land that has changed. She seems to be filled with a joy unnamed. Many underground rivers have sprung to the surface, and new fountains abound of late. The elves believe that it is brought on by the new growth in the region and that the water has found a new course for her routes. I only know that I am glad and proud of the work we have done here. We have been able to coax out more hidden beauty. That was an unimaginable feat to the tarnish that was here a dozen years past."

"It is a magnificent accomplishment," Eowyn echoed, and even Gimli grunted his approval.

The elf kept his eyes fixed on the landscape as a shy smile accepted the compliment. They had reached the hidden entrance of their resting place and he was glad to be here. And while they could appreciate the beauty of this place for more, no others who would have wandered the region could know that a fortress lie buried within the heart of that waterfall. It had been built by men over a century past as a refuge from the attacks of the orcs and Southron men in that land, and it was well concealed. This was a safe place for the company.

The entries to Henneth Annûn were hidden. So well hidden, in fact, that in all the long years of Sauron's reign over the lands on which it stood, Henneth Annûn had never been discovered by the fell creatures that wandered there. The doors were camouflaged in the rocky places on the hills about it, concealed well by boulders and stone protrusions and penetrating shrubberies. They had long been kept secret by the Rangers and militia that guarded this territory, and now they fell under the protection of the elves. The tedious passageways to the main hall were vastly dark in places, varying greatly in texture and pitch. The corridors widened and narrowed so precariously that in times of need for stealth, the way could be guarded against intruders by guards who could lay in wait.

Once in the main hall, the scene quickly changed from that of the winding, dark corridors. The sound of rushing waters was consistent and bold, though not so loud that one could not speak, and after a while it grew to be a continuous background sound, easily absorbed for its naturalness as a din perceivable only if thought upon. A slow, consistent breeze stirred within the room, brought on by the play of the water. Water was everywhere forming a curtain wall before a great opening in the stone face. And at this point, one would realize they were looking through the falls that regaled the view of the Anduin River far beyond. At sunset, the room was alive in colors that bounced off the walls, ricocheting fire within the chamber. If one were a careful observer, peering at the falls from the outside at that moment of sunset, when the light played most magnificently on the chamber, then one might see there was a cavern within that great fountain as all shadows within it were revealed.

Beyond the doorways, there was one other means of exit from the cavern within the waterfall. The popular routes were invariably the two paths that brought any visitor in, but the alternative method for departure was through the curtain of water. No one ever went this way though, for to do so would surely mean death. The craggy stones at a distance below would gladly meet anyone who dared leave by this route.

Legolas dismounted and began unloading their supplies. The others followed suit. He was rejoicing their arrival at this stronghold. This place would be their home and it felt safe to him. He had feared it would not. But he sensed no evil in these woods, only the innocence of nature, and he felt the wall of anxiety that had building within him all this last portion of the trip begin to ease.

It had started that morning, just as they had begun to leave Doro Lanthiron. A messenger from one of the northern restoration teams arrived just as they were making ready the horses for departure. Legolas recognized the guardsman. The soldier's face carried an expression that betrayed deep concern and as he saw his Lord standing by, he dismounted quickly and immediately made his way to bow before Legolas. The elven lord could not help but feel anxiety.

"Your pardon, my Lord," the tall guardsman said, rising to face the ruler of the elven land. "I do not mean to interrupt your departure, but I have news of distress to report. I did not think it could wait."

The fair-haired elf regarded the rest of the party before going on. Aragorn and Faramir exchanged small smiles between themselves at the wariness of the elf. Out of respect for Legolas' authority, they remained back, but listened attentively to what he had to say. Glancing back to Legolas, Hallathôn said with visible fear, "Three elves are missing from the team we were leading, my Lord."

Legolas' stiffened and he felt more than saw several of his friends within earshot tense up at these words. This was not the type of news he would have wanted to hear at the moment, and he understood the other elf's anxious manner. "How long have they been gone?" he asked. Concern made his brow crease. At his side he saw Aragorn and Faramir step forward and he glimpsed similar expressions of worry on their faces.

"Only a day," came the reply, and Legolas breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was not that long to be gone and he forced his hands to relax their almost automatic tendency to clench into fists. Hallathôn went on, "They were to have reported to our base camp yesterday afternoon. They were at the northernmost point where the forests meet the wash in Nindalf. There is still much harm to the plants and the soils there. We have been working to repair the damage."

"No, my Lord. The lands are still too boggy in that area. Horses would be swamped down if they rode into the region. The three traveled on foot," Hallathôn answered.

Legolas looked at his friends as he considered this. He pondered the time and location for the missing elves, and he began to deduce that nature might be more to blame in the disappearance of his fellows than things unnatural. He reminded himself to first always look for answers that were the most obvious as he continued, "There has been more rain in that territory this season than in past years, has there not? And in the past week especially so?" When he received an affirmative nod to both questions, he went on, "Then is it possible the answer is that? Perhaps they were only slowed in their return by the foulness of weather. That region is a flood plain for the Anduin. If there is reason for concern, it should be only to help free them from any dangers the elements may impose on them. As they were without horses, it will be harder to track them, but you must try. I will assume you are already in search of them, but gather a second team and bring them into the area immediately. Find them, Hallathôn. I do not wish to report losses to their families."

The elf bowed to Legolas and backed away, leaving the Lord of the elves to his friends. Legolas looked to them and took in and expelled a deep breath. He initially had concluded foul play was at work and he chided himself for those grim thoughts. He knew well that these lands were cleared of the evil of Sauron's rule, even if his natural instinct had been to suspect darkness at play. It was a natural defense, his wont from long years of battle, and it seemed it was his friends' as well. They had mirrored his expressions, but had noticably relaxed when Legolas continued the line of questioning and other theories began to take shape. Still, he felt the need to take a wary stance. Despite the reassurance his solution offered, a tug of anxiety nagged at his mind and Legolas warred with himself as he looked directly at Aragorn and frowned. A fear of something unknown brushed lightly through his soul. He said to the King, "It might be wise to postpone this trip for a few days, until these elves are found."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. Grim distress was clearly evident within the depth of his dismay. He clearly wanted to continue their journey. He said, "I do not understand, Legolas. I agree with your assessment. Weather seems most probable a cause. Do you think there is reason to suspect more?"

Legolas could only shake his head. His fear was undefined, a glancing apprehension at best. He began to doubt his own intuition. Still, he spoke. "I believe that you are under my care while in this region. Be their disappearance weather-related or not, it would serve best to be cautious when it comes to your welfare, your Highness," Legolas answered with formality.

Faramir looked disappointed and thus chimed in with his opinion, "But these lands are safe, Legolas. I foresee no harm in going on as we planned."

Legolas looked apologetic for his concern. "I am only trying to guard your safety. And I am thinking of my duty to those missing and their families. I believe these lands are clean as well, but there are three elves missing, and that must weigh in our decision. I will do as you order, my Lords, but allow me to be prudent in my part of it," he said in answer. He knew how much his friends, especially Aragorn, wanted and needed this break. They were not alone in this. He too felt the need to be free of his burdens for a time. Legolas did not wish to see the journey postponed any more than they did, but he took his position seriously, and he had agreed to safeguard this trip.

Legolas and Faramir directed their gaze to Aragorn. The handsome King frowned as he raised his hand to his chin in thought. At last he answered, "I comprehend your part in this, Legolas, and I respect the protection you are trying to offer us. But I think it may be overly cautious and not worth a delay. We travel in your realm. Your men may find you if your services are needed. But I believe there is little to fear. They have not been gone that long and the area the elves were reported lost is nigh twenty leagues from where we are destined. Henneth Annûn is a stronghold. I believe we will be safe to journey on. And most probably we will learn along the way that the culprit for the elves' delay was weather indeed." Aragorn looked to Faramir, who exchanged a pleased smile with this answer, but Legolas cast his eyes down. Aragorn placed a hand to the elf's forearm in a kindly gesture and said, "Come, my friend. I put my faith in your people. I know well that there is nothing of darkness to fear. Let us break from this place, and continue on our way."

Legolas nodded his assent, but in the back of his mind, the worry continued to sing to his soul. Somehow, he felt, this trip would not go as they wished it. That worry stayed with him still, but it had grown considerably smaller upon there arrival at Henneth Annûn.

And yet, as the adventurers dismounted and began to unload and make their way forth into the hidden entrances of this fortress, they did not perceive that they were being watched. Two forward looking eyes took them in with its sharp vision. The bright yellow orbs saw two elves in their party, and it knew this is what she had asked for. The bird of prey spread her great wings to a width greater than a man's arm, and vaulted herself upward to find her way back to her mistress.

She was fully aware of where she was. She was sitting on the bench at the front of the vardo, driving onward to meet the rest of her tribe. They had been on the road one full day, and they had this one yet to complete before they would rejoin their family in the appointed place. She had dozed off with the rocking motion the wagon offered on the long day of travel over this empty road, and though her eyes were closed, she was hyperaware of everything about her. She could feel the strong arms of her youngest son graze against her as he flicked the reins to the team, clicking his tongue in urging their forward progress. She could hear the rattling of pots and pans and goods within the confines of the wagon as the muffled snores of her middle son echoed with the incessant rattle. She could feel the soft brush of wind caress her face as flickers of sun radiated between the tree branches over her head warming her skin when they reached it. She could smell the heady scent of earth and moss and flora mixing as they reached her nostrils creating an intoxicating perfume. The snorts of the horses and the soft thuds of their feet echoed in the hollow path the road made as it crossed through the corridor of trees. And even the minutest sounds of buzzing flies near the flicking tails of the quarterhorses, the rasping pants of the dogs that followed the wagon, and the chomping on the metal bits within the horses' mouths was received and digested by her sensitive ears. And yet she was asleep, held there by a power that seemed to overwhelm and control her and she felt the world spinning miserably away as the dream took possession of her again.

It was strange, the sensation of the dream, for though she could clearly remember it, each time her reactions were the same, as if she had learned nothing from her prior visits there. In some ways, it always seemed fresh and anew to her, and in other ways she knew every word that would be said, every image she would see. The dream had been replayed in her mind so many times in the last several months and though it was the same, it always seemed to be changing.

She could hear his words so clearly, speaking as if he were there at her side, the brush of his breath tickling her skin. She trembled as she thought to herself, Bäla. She felt him taking her ragged hand in his own. It was as if that had the power to wake her, for she found that suddenly she could lift her head and gaze upon him. But he was not there and she was no longer in the wagon. Instead, she was somehow standing at the base of a pool with a great fountain of water cascading down into it. The lagoon was deep azure, and its beauty was stunning. It took her breath away. As she had looked at the vision, all terror faded from her mind. She found she could walk freely about this cool place, and she strolled to the edge of the water, touching her finger to it. She laughed at the cool, cleansing quality of it, so real it was. A strong urge made her want to step into the water, as if there was something within it that could wash away all her ugliness and sin. She was tempted, but a hand touched her shoulder, and as she spun around, she realized she was no longer beside the pool. Her place had been transformed and she saw she was actually within the waterfall as it crashed down into the pool. She looked with awe, for she had never seen the world from this perspective. Before her stood a curtain of water, and the setting sun beyond created a rainbow of fire, flickering its light wildly about her. A light breeze brushed against her face. "Fire. Water. Wind," she uttered, reciting three of the elements in the most powerful of incantations. "Earth," she continued as she layed her hand to the smooth, stone walls. The four elements were here and this hold could be made a Protected Place. Magic of great power could be conceived with that. An electric thrill ran down her spine, for places like this were quite rare.

"Three more suns will rise and set hence it will be as this, and on that night, the moon will be at its fullest. The magic will be at its greatest between the sun's and the moon's departure in the sky on that night. Our dreams may then be fulfilled."

She spun around to see him and gasped at his appearance before her. It was Bäla Bäla as he had been in his younger years, when she had first met him, when she had fallen in love. She felt unheralded joy at seeing him again. She was so lost in the waking world without him. He smiled his beautiful smile at her, and she felt instantly serene and happy in his presence. Young and handsome he was, with sandy hair and sparkling grey eyes. A rugged, strong jaw set off his light beard, and he was tall and broad, and she wanted to melt into his arms. "Bäla," she softly whispered to the man she loved.

"Bring me back," he whispered. "Bring me back, my love, and we will rule together." Then he took her in his arms and she felt safe. His words went on, growing stronger as her arms wrapped about him. He stroked her hair. "We shall be young once again and we shall live forever!"

"Yes," she said without thinking. Just the feel of his arms about her was enough to make her do anything he asked. She wanted him. She needed him.

"Then shall we begin with the lesson?" he said as he drew back a step. She nodded her head eagerly, happy to do whatever it was that would please him. She knew what was to come in her pre-warned mind, just as she could feel the rocking of the wagon on which she really sat, but she could not break away from the dream and so she went on, wanting only to gain his pleasure. He held something in his hands and her dreaming mind was peaked in curiosity as her foreknowledge told her exactly what was there.

He revealed what he held. Two lumps of raw flesh lay in his hands, one large and one quite small. They moved and she recognized that they were hearts, still pulsing, still beating, though severed from their natural bodies. "These things you will need to stave off the demons: the heart of an immortal being; and the heart of one as yet unborn. They will free you from death's hold." Blood poured from the pools forming in his hands as he shifted the organs into hers. Suddenly grown frightened, she raised her face to him, looking into his eyes. Evil resided there, piercing and impenetrable, and yet she still followed his words, mesmerized by his power. It was magic darker than any she had delved in thus far, and her fingers trembled at it. Yet she instinctively knew how to complete the taking of this power. He heart pulsed a rhythm that throbbed at her temples. She felt leaden and weak and it took a moment to regain her strength as the energy of his spell slid into her hands. In her mind, she was almost removed, drifting away from the scene as it transpired about her. She watched with apathy as his hands cupped around hers and urged her next motions. He pulled away, and she lifted the flesh to the light and pushed the two beating hearts into one form, uttering a grim blackness of words as she did so. Fire welled on her fingertips as the two organs merged into one.

The cavern grew brighter. A flash of light caught the corner of her eye as she saw the knife he wielded. He came to her side and she nodded for him to proceed. Raising his hand, he thrust the blade deeply into her chest. She gasped though she knew there was nothing she would do to stop it, and was surprised to find she felt no pain. His deft skills were startling as she looked to see that his incision became a rapidly opening hole where her heart lie. Except that it was void. She grimaced at the vacant emptiness of the cavity and the power that seemed to reside in that darkness. It seemed hungry, yearning, like an open mouth and she placed the gift of the melded hearts into its greedy blackness. It swallowed the beating mass whole and then quickly disappeared again back into her form. And all the while, the glowing light within the cavern sparked ever brighter, like a fire stoked to a bright intensity, ever-changing and fierce. It highlighted his rapt features as she continued the incantations.

She stumbled as a resonating tremble coursed through her body. She felt her soul expand and contract as the new organ began to take hold of her body. A breath of wind wrapped itself around her, working its way up her form starting at her feet and roughly pulled at her as it wound its way around, growing stronger as it went. The walls of the cavern rumbled in threat as if they were about to crash in on her while the sounds of the water grew thunderously loud. Fire glanced in her eyes from the setting sun and she felt momentarily blinded as all these things descended on her simultaneously. And then suddenly they ceased and the world came back as it was meant to be. Except for her. She was different. She was better. She was more alive than she could ever remember feeling before. She looked up at him and she could see his reaction to it all. Her loveliness was reflected in the mirrors of his eyes and she could see an instance of lust gripping him. She laughed at the pleasure of that old feeling. She was young and fresh and beautiful again. She no longer stood hunched and crippled and sickly. Vitality ran rapid through her veins and the joy in that gave her strength. She loved this feeling. She had nearly forgotten what it was like, but in regaining it, she knew she would willingly do whatever was needed to bring this to her. The reward of a youthful body was worth any risks. She desperately wanted this.

"But how can I have this? You tease me with this desire," she sobbed, "I do not have this Place. I do not have the elf. And the unborn I could take it from the girl, but it would destroy Mattias!"

He looked at her with cold eyes, penetrating her mind with the depth of his blackest thoughts, and she cringed, knowing well what he wanted from her. "Shall we continue the lesson?" he asked, and she knew that whether she wished it or not, she could not look away. Time sped rapidly forward as the mood in the cavern changed with the substitution of moonlight playing on the curtain of water. He lay himself down on the floor before her, the beginnings of evil recitations slipping from his lips as he positioned himself before the torrent of water. She knelt down and touched him, stroking her hands over his body, his hair, his face, her voice rising up to meet his. The room grew dimmer in the cool light as they went on, just the opposite of the incantation that brought her back her youth. His words went on, the pitch growing stronger as the sound of his voice began to rend harm to her ears. She winced as the noise that was her voice as well grew painful to hear. She was echoing his words, though they came not from her own conscious thoughts. They slipped from her mouth without her intent to say them. Louder and louder they grew. She tried to raise her hands to her ears to shut them out but she was captive to his body, unable to do anything but touch him and issue the spell forward. Her voice went on with it. She could not control it. It hurt her ears, and her throat grew parched from the heat that her voice threw out. Her head ached at the noise echoing over and over again within the chamber and she squinted her eyes shut. She felt as if she would collapse from the sound alone, splitting her skull with the heaviness of the repercussions. Between words, she sobbed in agony. Tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyes as pain rang through her head. And then it grew deadly quiet.

She opened her eyes. There was barely any light to see, and she knelt in closer to see him. He did not move, and she brushed her hands up to his face as she crept nearer. Her ears rang in their recovery from the sound, and her voice sounded tinny and small as she called his name. "Bäla?" and then a shock rocked her mind as the playing light in the falls registered the outline of his face. She cried for what she came to see. Mattias! Her son. Her eldest, dearest child. She was astounded. It had been Bäla before, and now here layed her son? But how? He was unmoving and she realized he was dead! Her heart quailed. Truly did she love him, and now he was gone. No! She threw herself on the still body, shrieking out her lament, willing him back to life. No! No! No!

She stayed like that for long minutes, burying her face into the cold flesh of his neck and chest as she lay against them. It cannot be, she thought. Not my son!

And then his corpse drew breath. She jumped aright as his eyes opened. She gasped! Alive? Oh, yes! Alive! Mattias! But her joy was only momentary. It was not right! It was not Mattias who gazed up at her. It was Bäla. He was there, his soul, gazing at her from within her son's body. "No!" she screamed out in anger understanding now what had happened, returning again to her loss. She looked at him in disbelief. "How could you do this? He is your son as well as mine! How can you take him so blithely?"

He stared at her, ignoring the tears welling in her eyes as a cold smile crested his lips. "There is no time to argue this, Bregus. The moon comes too fastthis will be done!" he said, gripping her face in his hand. "Unless there is another body to host my soul, this will have to do."

"You have work, Bregus!" he pointed to the cascading water with his free hand. "Find it! It is needed for us both!"

Then his mood drastically changed as he recognized her dread, and his grip softened. He lightly stroked her cheek. "We will be lovers again. Do you not want this? Do you not want me again in your life?" He nuzzled into the nape of her neck, hot breath whispering onto the flesh there, his lips brushing the rim of her ear. Involuntarily, she moaned, and in shock, she knew she had given her answer.

As instantly as the intimacy had appeared, it was gone, and she saw again her son's face gleaming with light of his evil shining in his eyes. He was a wretched thing to behold, and she sobbed. He held her jaw fiercely with his strong hand and she felt his fingers dig into her cheeks as he whispered harshly, "Do not fail me! Your doom lies with mine!" Pushing her away, his eyes were afire and they burned to her soul and his voice reached into her chest and tugged at her newly immortal soul. "You must succeed, or we shall both suffer forever!"

He truly frightened her. She backed away, shaking her head to him. "No! There is not time enough. I do not have the things we need. I would need to get all of them to help me. The girl I would need her help too, and she will not! Not knowing her own life is to be sacrificed!"

Her knees buckled at the wave of the words. This was new news! She gasped at the suddenness of this information as he went on.

She found she could not breathe. This was not a regular part of the dream. What had happened to cause this change? She found her equilibrium faulty at the revelation of this news. Could this be true? She remembered the stones and what they had said to her question of the Protected Place. It is close. It will be found. She felt her confidence renewing. "When?" she gushed.

His face grew impassive. "They are coming now. They bring even more to you if you will see it," he said.

"You are clever, Bregus. You will find a way to get everything you need. I know you will."

"Yes, yes, of course," she whispered back. She did not like being pushed into solutions on her own. He desired that she find a way to get this done yet she was torn. She wanted him, wanted this body, but did she want it enough to sacrifice her son? She was unsure. And the girl still posed a problem. It gave her strength to argue, "She will fight any spell I cast her way. She is opposed to us!"

"She does not know of us! She knows you! Fix this! Threaten her! Overpower her! It matters not! Find a way! There is no more time!"

She shrank back. She knew he did not like to be opposed, and she regretted that she had spoken out. An evil grin gleaned his face as he said, "Do I need to remind you what will occur if you fail? Another lesson perhaps?"

"No! No!" she cried out, knowing even in her innocence within the dream that something horrific would come. She glanced desperately about her, but she could already feel the burning tentacles of the demons licking her skin.

His smile grew wider as her fear increased. He whispered as his face came within inches of hers, "Do not disappoint me, my love. See now our fate if you fail me." His eyes shown with malice as he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. And then he kissed her as the demons began to devour her body. Her skin began to char where they touched her and the pain was overwhelming.

And then she was awake and her youngest son was at her side on the bench of the wagon.

She looked around her, taking in all of her surroundings, her heart racing in her panic. She did not answer. She had barely heard him.

"No, do not stop! Keep moving forward!" she shrieked out. And then as he flicked the reins across the backs of the horses, she leaned back and sighed. Her eyes were panicky and lost, but a small smile of relief crept on her face. She resigned herself. She knew she would do this thing as she recalled the new contents revealed to her. She said, "It was only the dream again, Curtik. Do not fear. It is a good thing. I saw our salvation, my son. We never needed to leave the others. In this I was wrong. We must reach our camp tonight. We are about to be saved."

Then she whispered to herself the words she had heard in the dream, "They are coming." The Hunting Trip

He stood before the wall of falling water that was Henneth Annûn and sighed at the utter beauty of it. Faramir had always loved this place, even when the darkness of Mordor had pressed in upon it. His father had shown it to him as a boy, and as a result, it still held much of the magical mystery that children's imaginations conjure in their early years. In those days, he had imagined fighting off evil sorcerers and dragons from the coveted holds, as he and Boromir would clamber in its tunnels endlessly for hours, encouraging the soldiers at his father's call to participate in their play. In later years, when he had grown and become a soldier himself, he had used it as a stealthy place to plan strategies and replenish the energies and spirits of his men. And as he grew to far more serious of roles, he came to appreciate the outward beauty of this hold for the aesthetic of it in hiding its trove. For him, in the end, it held rank as one of the fairest abodes in all middle-earth, and he was thusly proud that Gondor had prevailed and he had been able to share it with Eowyn. He had brought her here shortly after they married, and she readily fell in love with the same fervor and awe as he.

Faramir looked to the sky. He considered climbing up the passageway to the higher of the two entries in order to appreciate the waxing moon better, but he decided this place would suffice for the ethereal solitude it offered and the enchantment of its scenery. He was very content with the sight before his eyes and in his mind he compared it with the sights of Doro Lanthiron. Of course, it could never meet those standards, but it was still majestic to his mind.

As he recalled their arrival into the elven realm, he realized that all in the party who had not made recent visit gushed their amazement at seeing the beauty of that place. There was an aura that let them know that they were among the elves. A luster came over everything in that valley, and yet the source for the light was hidden, as if concocted from a heavenly means. The architecture of the elves' homes alone was enough to inspire awe as they were nearly invisible to the eye at ground level. Stairs had lead into the higher perches melding into clusters of trees, meandering through paths going from branch to branch, as if determined by nature's own judgement. Platforms emerged at higher points, melting into the structures of the trees, and talans were borne into the branches, seemingly floating on air, intertwined with the limbs of the trees and tucked into the walls of the valley itself. The rails of the spaces were braided vines of wisteria and grape and graceful tumbles of flowering clusters perfumed the air. Screens of woven lattice closed out the elements to each of the skyward rooms, but the serenity and peace of the outdoors was still felt, even when all sides were enclosed. This is where they had slept, each separately in their own flet within the peace of the treetops. It was a memory Faramir would long hold onto, for he had never before beheld anything as lovely as what the elves brought to his boyhood lands.

And yet despite the mystical qualities and overwhelming beauty of the elves' home, his preference was for this place and he noted with pride that those same hushed gasps had occurred when they had arrived here as well. It did not hold the aura of Doro Lanthiron, and in ways, it was a pale comparison being a somewhat manmade structure, but for Faramir, it was a comfortable space, almost like man's attempt to imitate what the elves had done, and it brought him peace to think his people could carve out something of nature too. And besides, with the work of the elves, this place now also seemed enhanced.

He walked forward a few steps down toward the water's edge where there sat a large rock. It was actually a boulder near the rapid eddy of water that emptied into the pool, but it was large enough and dry enough that he had used it on many an occasion as a place for deep contemplation. He took a few long strides over smaller stones to reach it, then climbed up to its peak and sat down on his perch.

He looked at the waterfall before him as his mind wandered. He thought about the companions he had left behind only moments ago in the cave somewhere within that cascade of water. Their place was secure, for he saw from his seat no hints of their position within. Assured, he smiled to himself. A better gathering of friends he could not ask for, and already he was enjoying his time amongst them immensely. Their spirits made him laugh, and he found he easily dropped any pretense when he was about them. His comfort in their company was so great, in fact, that often he had to remind himself that they were answerable to each other in their deeds and their duties. He smiled when he thought how different their personalities were when they talked of their business and their peoples.

He thought about Aragorn, and the friendship he had built there. It had been easy to take a part in the new kingdom under this man. He was an obvious leader, even if he objected at times to being thrust into the role. And although it was Aragorn's birthright, he had taken it almost apologetically, as if he had usurped Faramir's place as the leader of Gondor. Yet Faramir had never felt forced out. He had never expected to be anything higher in rank than the Steward of Gondor, so he did not feel slighted at losing his reign. If anything his merit had increased under Aragorn and his only regret was that his father and brother had had to die for his promotion in rank. But he did not blame Aragorn for that, only the evil taint of Mordor's gloom that shadowed their home that long while. Even still, Faramir did everything he could to prove himself worthy for the King's trust. And if that meant traveling to foreign lands, or directing relief from quells in warring city-states, or inspecting and recommending remedies after natural disaster, then by all means, he would be there. He would do nearly anything to maintain the trust the King had placed upon him. His father and brother would expect no less of him. And the friendship Aragorn had given him was a worthy reward. And as such, he fulfilled his duties as well as the King expected, if not even better. And yet, for all his love of the man, there was a small rivalry between the two of them. Truly was it insignificant, for never would Faramir allow it to hinder his role to his friend, the King. Still, like a younger sibling, sometimes the Prince had the urge to outshine his friend. That had been especially true when the two had talked of the magnificent buck they had seen on the ride up. Both were vying for its antlered crown as their prize, and Faramir longed for this trophy to hang from his walls.

But that was not why Faramir had taken his place on this rock. He was there because he was concerned, and for good reason. Something was not right with Eowyn. He knew this, though her appearance seemed normal. But he had been watching her since their breakfast yesterday morning. Her behavior at that meal had struck him as unusual. That she had been so forthright with the King was not unique. There had been many a dinner in the halls of his own home that had gone like the conversation at breakfast. So many, in fact, that there had been several nights when he had sat quietly listening as Aragorn and Eowyn debated state issues, unaware that Faramir had scarce said a word. But the Prince did not mind. Eowyn was sharp and her keen mind easily grasped nuances of politics, some that even he did not perceive. He knew that at yesterday's breakfast, she had been showing off her knowledge. That was plain to see, and amusing to him as well. But what troubled Faramir was her sudden panic at the thought of his departure. That bit of news had astounded her, and her fears in turn astonished him. It was not like her to argue against a part of his job post. She would never knowingly stand in the way of his progress. Yet she had begged that he not be sent away. Why? He understood her well, and he knew something was amiss. And so, he had been watching her carefully since.

It would have been easy had he been able to confront her directly with his queries. But Eowyn would not have taken that well and would have probably brushed him aside in a scolding tone. It riled her to have her motivations questioned, and she often took it with offense. And Eowyn, when her temper was riled, was as calming as a kettledrum. She invariably took a reactionary stance if charges were laid before her and the duel of words that could follow was not always pleasant. In the aftermath of her ire, she always showed regret, but her temper at first was nearly always blind to the damage it caused. For his part, Faramir made a concerted effort to avoid direct confrontations with his wife. Not because he feared her wrath (he was about the only one who could well hold his ground against her), but because he understood her. He knew why she reacted the way she did. She was a perfectionist. She strove each day to better herself over what she had been on the prior. He had found long ago that it was really very unnecessary to point out a flaw or a concern of her own make. She was her own worst critic, and silently berated herself for any mistakes she made long before anyone could dare comment on them. Needless to say, Eowyn rarely made the same mistake twice. He already knew she had most likely endured a mental flogging for the embarrassment she had caused them before the King. He knew he need not broach it. But that did nothing to ease his concerns or make her more readily available to question.

She had been reticent on their journey, and perhaps even before that, he now recalled. He had caught her at unawares several times since, a troubled expression gracing her brow, and he knew Arwen had seen it too. The elven Queen, in her observation, had glanced to Faramir to acknowledge that he was aware. No words had they spoken, but he knew that if he could not reveal the wrongs soon, he and Arwen would be conversing for the sake of his wife.

Eowyn's behavior, in some ways, reminded him of how she acted when she was angry with him. But what he could have done to anger her was beyond his comprehension. Still her actions were fitting. After twelve years of marriage, he had come to see that Eowyn really had two ways of getting to her points when vexed. One was as he had previously noted: with the driven force of confronting anger. And the other was with a far more dangerous weapon: subtlety. When her anger took this route, he could almost always count on her to be indirect, smoldering, uncertain and dreadful for that, for it could take months to wheedle from her the wrongs of her perceptions. Often she would hint or strike quiet moods, but rarely did she outright express her thoughts.

If she was flawed, it was in this way, and he mused that though a perfectionist in trait, she had never been able to remedy this in herself. He wondered if she even recognized her quick temper and brooding moodiness as a mar in her personality. Most likely not, he decided. It was infuriating really. He did not understand, but somehow this was her way of dealing with her feelings. It seemed silly to him, really, for after months of repressed fury, she would cry out all her misgivings, and in return he would grope with trying to understand her scorn, and then they would reveal to each other their true intentions in the faulted actions. And then, after both had said their part, they would forgive. He knew it was a strange way to argue, to share their emotions, to bare their scorns, but this is what worked for them. For her. It might have been better, he thought, if there was a way to temper Eowyn's approach, to make it more direct, for in his mind all she need do was tell him, with kindly words, what moved her at the start. He would have complied. It was easy to give in when it was something minor, which it usually was. But this was the pattern of their marriage.

There were days when he wished that they could quietly pass their concerns back and forth, without the heat of argument, more as it seemed done between Aragorn and Arwen. A tamer relationship at times would be refreshing, Faramir thought. But then again, he perceived trouble there as well, and he knew one should not judge from the surface what one does not fully see. The relationship between Aragorn and Arwen was not what he had married.

He had known what she was like, fiery and passionate, when he had asked her to be his wife. Standing at the wall at the warden's house those many years ago, he had seen Eowyn's spirit, and he knew exactly what life with her would be like. Challenging and perfecting, and never, ever dull.

But then, had they a different course for her anger, a different means of expressing her disapproval, they would have to forsake the forgiving afterward that was part of their ritual. And for Faramir, that in itself was a sweetness that made all that they endured worthwhile! He thought back on their last serious row, almost two months past. It had been an issue that he could barely remember. But the unbridled passion that came with her wrath on that night had been indefatigable. He smiled. Their rare lovemaking session afterwards had gone on all night. To Faramir's sly mind, the feasting she had taken of his body was evidence of more than just anger repressed, for it had been long since their expressions of love had been done with such sensual abandon. She had desired his touch as much as he desired hers. In the morning, she had apologized, as if she were ashamed of her actions. He laughed. How could she feel bad over something that felt so intimately right? But he said nothing of this and only kissed her as he had not kissed her in many long years. She melted into it, as she had the night before, and for a few weeks after, all had been blissfully well between them.

Yet still, if her current mood was caused from anger, he could not understand why she had spoken out. She never before had objected to his leaving on matter of duty. He could not establish a reason for her scorn.

He gave up. He did not understand her motivations. He would have to wait and see how it resolved itself. Doubtless Eowyn would eventually tell him.

He rose from the rock. It was time to return to their party. Turning, he gasped at the unexpected sight of Eowyn as she emerged seemingly from nowhere, appearing through the doorway he himself had come through only minutes before. Hearing his stifled cry, she smiled gently at him, knowing automatically that he would be there on the rock. "Forgive me," she smiled, and he caught his breath at how lovely she appeared under the starlight canopy. "I did not mean to startle. I only sought to reflect on the beauty of this place. I thought I might share the moonlight with you."

"There is plenty to behold," he said gesturing to the pale white orb climbing above them over the falls. "What tales can you bring me of our friends in my absence?" he asked, reaching out a hand to help her as she came to sit with him on the stone.

She laughed aloud, "They still talk of weapons. Gimli" she began with a laugh. "I swear, Faramir, as a shield-maiden in my younger days, I was familiarized with nearly every make of weapon and its use, and I fair say I know well how to wield most. But in all my learning I have yet to come across a weapon such as that that Gimli carries today."

She looked quizzically at him for this answer as she asked, "And what will he do with it?"

Eowyn smiled softly, chuckling in memory of the dwarf's defense of the weapon, but it was brief and she looked away as if distracted. Faramir allowed the moment to progress on its own, and he watched as her mood quickly grew somber. Looking at the water as it poured down from the mossy cliffs, she sighed, "I am glad we have this moment to speak. I have to apologize to you."

Faramir was startled. It was rare indeed for Eowyn to apologize, and he wondered if she were about to venture into the topic that had been only now playing on his mind. He considered what he might say in answer to this, and he decided that nothing might be best. Yet to acknowledge that he was attentive to her words, he took her hand.

She went on and she looked terribly troubled at the words that began to tumble from her lips. "Yesterday morning I overstepped my bounds. I should not have spoken in your place. It was not asked of me, and it it was wrong. I know not why I said it, accept that" She stopped and collected herself. "I apologize to you, my husband," she said, looking him in the eyes. Hers were pools of liquid and within their depth he knew the greatness of her sorrow. So unusual for her. "I know not what else to say."

"Eowyn," he whispered, utterly moved by her sadness. This was not typical, and again in his heart, he knew something was seriously wrong. He took her other hand in his as he said softly, "My love, it is plain to me that something aches in your heart. Please tell me what troubles you?"

She looked down, hiding her face from him, but he caught a glimpse of a grimace slide over her mouth before her expression was hidden in shadow. The sound of a small sob revealed to him her tears. He pulled her close to him, and tucked her head into the crook of his neck as he gently stroked her hair. Stirring in his arms, he loosened his hold and allowed her to bring her face up to meet his. And then she softly spoke. "I am with child."

"Oh, Eowyn" he said, unsure of what else he could say. From her reaction he could tell she was not pleased, but he was uncertain if this was wholly a bad event, and waited for more of a clue from her to know what he ought to say.

A long moment passed without words, and as if judging him by this, her temper flared. "No," she spoke sharply, pushing him away. Her back stiffened in her anger. "You do not see it!" Shaking her head at his failure, she stood in retreat, stepping back across to the shore. She turned and said, "I cannot bare this child! Do you not understand what we have done? I will die!"

"Eowyn," he began again, knowing more rightly what was expected from him, "what happened with Theomund that may well never repeat. The healers told us you could bare children again. They said your body was not seriously damaged. There is no reason to believe"

"There is no reason for you to believe. It did not happen to you! How can you wait to see if I feel joy over this horror? I nearly died that day, and the weeks that followed were a nightmare. Surely you have not forgotten?"

He stepped up to her, and resisting her steely stare, he put his arms about her and pulled her into him. She did not fight him. The sorrowful look in her eyes drew a lump in his chest, and he found his throat constricting as he whispered in her ear, "I have forgotten none of it. How could I? I nearly lost you." He pulled her head into his chest as he continued. "But Eowyn, what choice is there? You are with child" He heard her sobbing into his breast and he stopped. He knew this was pointless. Pausing a moment, he thought on what might be said to make her feel more empowered. At last he said with a sterner voice and firm optimism, "We will seek out the best of healers. It is within my powers to do so. We will make sure you are carefully tended. You will remain well. We will see to it that the nightmare is not repeated."

She said nothing for a long while and then she spoke. It was barely a whisper. "There is another way," he heard her say. Looking down on her, she lifted her head. Her lashes were clustered into wet points and her cheeks were stained with tears. Her mouth was creased into the thin line of a frown as she repeated her words, "There is another way, though I fear you will loathe me for even uttering the possibility."

"What way? You are with child. There is no undoing such a thing," he said in puzzlement.

"But there is, my love," she replied forlornly. She looked down in shame as she said, "There is always a way to undo these things, if a woman is willing to let it be done to her. There are places one might go, healers who will administer it. I could have the child removed from my womb."

Astonished at what he was hearing from her, he replied in horror, "Eowyn, no! You cannot!" He knew of such places, such healers. He could not think of it. He could not see Eowyn ever deeming to have her body violated in that way.

Her face screwed up into an anguished expression. Her answer was a whispered cry. "Faramir, I will die if I carry it. I feel certain of this." Then she paused and she looked at him, but no more tears came from her, and she seemed more resigned to her fears for confessing them. She sighed, "You would hate me if I end it, I can see."

"No! No, I could never hate you! But but, how? How can you even think this way" tears glistened in his eyes as his breaking voice trailed off.

She touched his face in a comforting gesture as she explained, "Nor would I have ever have considered it before. I love you, Faramir. I love our children. I would never wish to see harm on any of you. But I feel this shadow will cast a pall upon our family." She turned his face to hers as she cried out, "I am afraid! I am not ready to die! I have so much I wish to see and dobut this baby threatens all of our futures, and I am torn by it. I would want this child, Faramir. I do not want to destroy it and I agonize over losing a life before it is even born. But I would do it to protect our family. I should not see us harmed by it."

He grabbed her shoulders into a fierce embrace as his words spilled out. "But this way Eowyn, I would fear for you! What you suggest it could kill you! Is there no other way that you will consider? Please, my darling, I would rather we take our chances with the healers than this route that you offer!"

"I do not know yet my answer. A part of me agrees. And a part of me quakes in fear. This baby is a terrible grievance on my soul. But at least do me this: concede to me that it I am the one who bares the brunt of this decision. I beg you, Faramir, do not scorn me," she said with pleading eyes. "To make the choice, it is not an easy thing, but please allow me to do it. I will not choose without consulting you in my decision." She stopped as she gazed at his reaction before she spoke with calm resolve. She bowed her head to him as she said, "But if it will cost me your love, I will do as you wish. We will face the consequences laid before us, no matter what they be."

He looked at her long. He knew this could not be easy for her. He saw all too well how she loved her children. And his feelings for her were the same, despite his shock at her proposal. "I love you, Eowyn. I only wish to see your happiness." He could see her pain. He stopped and he thought carefully before he said, "I I will trust you to choose."

Embracing him firmly in affirmation of his trust, she said, "I will ponder long on this, my love. I will not decide anything until I have considered all the possibilities, I promise."

Resting his chin on the crown of her head, he let his lips brush a kiss along her hair as a salted tear alit to it. He rested his cheek there as if to comfort, effectively concealing the trail of the droplet's path.

Kattica stretched her aching back as she stood. The extra weight that she carried seemed to plague her most as the day came to an end and the toils of her labors set into her bones. She rubbed her swollen belly absently as she resumed her wide-legged stance and began to move about the camp, collecting the empty tins, utensils and enamelware to begin the clean up that followed their meal. They were a large group, over twenty among them of mature age, and another eight young ones in the gathering. There were many plates to collect and clean. The other women followed her lead.

A small flutter stirred in her womb and she stopped for a moment to appreciate the feeling. Sighing with joy, a smile pressed her lips as she moved her hand to the place where the motion was felt. A larger hand joined hers, and she looked up to the sweet expression of Mattias, her husband. Her voice was assured and happy as she said to him, "Our daughter has hiccups."

He patiently waited, a look of mixed awe and anticipation gracing his face. He laughed as he felt a repeat of the fluttered movement from within her belly and he kept his hand in place there for a long moment before he pulled it away. "It will not be much longer now, will it?" he asked.

Then lifting her hand briefly, he squeezed it gently as if exchanging his appreciation to her before he departed to make company with the men. She could see in his eyes that he was very happy. And so was she, for at last their greatest desire was before them. A baby. They had tried so many times before, always with heartbreaking anguish. But this time, they were blessed, and Kattica's womb had accepted the egg that implanted itself there. It was a joyous day when they had felt the first stirrings of life within her, and Kattica relished each repeat of that discovery as if it were the first.

Such happiness! Kattica had never thought this much bliss could be found. Certainly her life had not been meant for the extravagance of joy. And yet here she was the orphaned child of a remote and impoverished clan, scarred and crippled in early life, raised by a grandmother who died before she had come of age and she was happy. And she knew she owed it all to finding her one true love. Had Mattias not revealed himself to her at the clan gathering five years past, she may still be crisscrossing the plains in a broken down vardo and a sickly horse with the other pitiable cousins that made up her family. It had not been a happy life there hunger and thievery, constant moving, long days of grueling indentured work to pay off their debts. But worst of it were the nights and the dread of a wayward uncle who might climb into her pallet and force his wicked body on hers. Happily, Kattica had given that all up when she had given herself to Mattias.

Of course, there was a price for such tradeoffs. Bregus had not been kind in her assessment of her new daughter-in-law and the puri dai had openly accused Kattica of bewitching her son. With shock, Kattica swore it untrue. She was believed, but it had not been a good start at her immersion into the clan. Yet despite her innocence, Bregus held the girl in abeyance and scorn. It would not be an easy relationship. Kattica had been raised by the shuv'ni for her own tribe, so it was expected that she would continue her apprenticeship under Bregus. But the black witch gave Kattica little in the way of instruction, and it was innate talent and prior learning that gave the young woman any skills she acquired. For her part, Kattica did not really mind that Bregus ignored her. Kattica had been taught by her grandmother that black magic was evil and corrupting. She was happy she was not forced to perform it for the sake of the tribe.

Bregus had been equally as cruel when it came to Kattica's appearance, though to some, the girl might actually be pretty. With dirty blond hair, and piercing brown eyes, she was fetching to behold at the campfire, and that is where Mattias first set eyes upon her. But her smile was flawed. The scar that disfigured her face became visible when a glimmer of a smile was there, snaking its way across her mouth. It was a wicked slash that ran from her nostril to the base of her chin, and it left her with a grin that looked lopsided and strange. Because of it, Kattica rarely smiled. Except for now. Now more than ever.

But there was a flaw far greater that Bregus used to torment the girl: her gait. Kattica was crippled. It was a small deformity really, one leg slightly longer than the other. It had been the result of the same incident that had given Kattica the scar. Simultaneously, it had cost her the life of her parents, and the very near use of both her legs. More painfully, however, it had been the cause of the young apprentice's numerous miscarriages. Bregus quietly enjoyed seeing Kattica's pain at the mention of this flaw, and she berated the girl for being the instrument for her own bad fortune.

Kattica shook her head, chasing away the bad thoughts. They served her no good. No one else seemed to notice the ill-feelings of the elder shuv'ni, and the girl did not want to disturb her good mood with thoughts on something so bad.

Stacking the dirty plates in the wash basin, she ambled to the fire to check on the water slowly simmering there. No steam rose yet, and she felt impatience at the wait. Uttering a small spell under her breath, the fire grew larger, licking the sides of the pot. She sat down on a log as she waited for the water to heat. There was plenty of it to be had in this place. And because she need not fear lack of it, she considered, perhaps, she might warm some for herself and use it to bathe. She had not had that luxury in their travels prior to arriving in this place. Not for a very long time, but she had been taking advantage of the abundance since their arrival.

This place is lovely, she thought as she smelled the scent of pine needles laying like a carpet over the forest floor. Kattica could have easily seen herself and Mattias and their unborn child settling into this region for a long stay. It was the nature of her people to be wanderers, but that did not mean they could not linger when they found a place that suited their needs. They lived off what the earth made bountiful to them, and this place was certainly plentiful in her wealth. But Kattica knew Bregus was in search of something unknown to them all. She had set out with Gordash and Curtik a week ago, separating from the clan in search of a thing that Kattica could not guess at. In her absence, as instructed, their caravan had settled here, and the young woman could not remember more peaceful days within the clan.

She heard the sound of dogs barking and stiffened. It is them. They are back. An uneasy feeling washed over her. Bregus is back.

Kattica felt a dread weight pull down on her shoulders. All the happiness she had been feeling was suddenly gone. They would not find contentment in this place because Bregus would not allow it. Whatever it was that she was searching for overrode everything else that the family could desire. They would again be off in pursuit of some nameless thing that she shared only with the men. No doubt they were sure to be headed to a place less hospitable, where the land was not so forthcoming. There was no consideration for where best they might settle, only a mysterious obsession that haunted the old woman and led them on this chase.

Her people came with a reputation. They were not often welcomed in new lands. There were many tribes that got by stealing or cheating from the locals, doing what they could to eke out a means for survival. Her former tribe had been like that. The girl did not like being reviled. And she knew if they continued on the haphazard path Bregus was leading them on, that was sure to come for this clan as well.

It seemed strange to Kattica that no one ever questioned the word of the puri dai or dared try to fight her. While Bregus was the tribe matriarch, the men still held claim as the leaders. And Mattias most of all, as he was the eldest of the brothers. Their word was the last to be said on any issue regarding the well-being for their people, and yet Bregus seemed to rule their every move. Kattica was uncertain how she did it, but she felt sorcery of some dark sort was at play. Any magic that manipulated souls was black, and Bregus was a master of her dark power. But why she would need to cast magic over her own family, Kattica was unsure. One thing was certain, Bregus' words had little sway over her. Perhaps it was her own white magic that protected her, or the simple amulet that she carried in her pouch. Or perhaps it was because Bregus found little of challenge in the girl. This last was probably most true. While Kattica saw through the mask of the puri dai, she would never speak out or act against her. Spell or no spell, it was not proper to question the elder, and unless she wanted to be cast out for insolence, Kattica knew what her place was. And in her own mind and judgement, Bregus' deeds, while manipulative and dark, appeared done with no intent to do harm to others, at least as far as she could see. Kattica knew she could tolerate that. So long as she and her family were safe, so long as others were not harmed, she could live with the black magic. For really, she had little choice.

Involuntarily she flinched at the sound of the dogs. They barked and yelped in greeting as they entered the camp. The wagon pulled up near the bender tent she shared with Mattias. They would be hungry, she knew, and she stirred herself away from the steaming pot to gather plates and dish out the remains of the evening meal. She watched from the corner of her eye as Mattias approached the vardo.

In his delight, he pulled his two brothers down and into his arms, showing off his strength as he hauled them both off the ground in the embrace. "Tell me you were successful! Tell me our worries are over!" he said with a fierce grin on his lips. They smiled at his good-natured welcome, but his exuberance was not returned. Without words he read their failure. "I am sorry," he muttered, placing a hand on each shoulder in condolence. Then he changed the subject. "How is she?"

"See for yourself," Curtik nodded toward the back of the wagon as a foot stepped over the intricately carved and painted threshold and onto the platform. Mattias stepped quickly to aid his mother, then drew back as if he realized he need not.

"Welcome, Mother! I am pleased to see your return," he said as he gazed at her more upright posture. Kattica looked past him as she saw his questioning eyes. There was a difference in Bregus' appearance, though what exactly it was she could not lay claim to know. The old woman seemed less stooped, and her movements seemed lighter, quicker. But there was something more and the girl wondered what had caused the transformation. "You look well, Mother. I trust your journey met with some success at least?"

Bregus reached out to touch him. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, balancing her last steps before she landed safely on solid earth. Kattica scowled as she saw this. The manipulative skills of the old woman did not allude her. She used sympathy from her sons and the rest of the extended family to gain her wants. Her expression was sad, and the effect to Mattias was immediate in his eagerness to bring her a smile. Kattica heard the shuv'ni speak, and the words came out coarse and menacing to the girl's ears. But she knew Bregus must have renewed her spell over the tribe, for the young woman also heard the voice sound pitiable in sweet sadness, "No, my son, it did not, and my fears for us grow greater by the day. If my tasks are not completed in the next few days, our family will suffer for it. In their wisdom, Gordash and Curtik have returned us to enlist the help of all the family. I hope it will suffice."

Mattias answered sympathetically, "Of course we will do everything in our power to bring you what you need. How may we serve you?" More of the men in the camp came to gather around and the blur of words that came next alluded her comprehension. Talk amongst them ensued and their voices became whispered and stern.

Kattica busied herself, silently bringing the three travelers their food and drink, keeping her eyes cast down as if oblivious to what they said. The discussions grew louder, with talk about salvation. She did not understand their mumblings, only that they seemed unfocused as yet, like they were passing a rumor. It was not her place to see or speak before them. She had no rights in tribal decisions. Yet she could not break away from their grouping. There was something new about Bregus that mystified her, and she desired to know what it was. She was caught off guard by the unflinching gaze Bregus bestowed on her eldest son. Kattica was astonished at the depth of emotion shown in that look, almost as if the elder were memorizing his face and gestures. And then she broke her glance and stared directly at Kattica. The girl looked away, but too late. She had already caught the tribal witch's eye.

"You! Girl! Go into my wagon and bring my drum. I need it now," she said to Kattica in her part-scornful, part-loving voice. Kattica shook her head, trying to break the double emotions conveyed in the words. Bregus was conjuring black magic, and the girl could feel the fringes of it touching her. But she obeyed as was expected and she hauled herself into the carriage.

Heavy aromas of incense and herb hung about the vardo. The confines of the space were dark, and her eyes were unadjusted to the light, but she felt her way across to where she knew the drum would be, hanging from a peg where it always was. Lifting it down, she could see the beauty of the instrument, decorated finely with intricate paint work and streaming beads. Turning about to leave, she spun into the table, brushing her hand lightly over the surface to balance herself. A scattering of dried flowers and herbs covered its top, a gauze sheet underneath it, as if used in the gathering of the plants from Bregus' stores. She looked carefully at the flowers as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. There were poppy heads, yarrow, fennel, dried clover blossoms along with valerian root and skullcap. A length of passion flower vine was coiled in the dusty fray of leaves, and dogwood branches laden with berries added color to the mix. There were a few other herbs that stood out and Kattica was troubled that she could not discern them. She sniffed at their sharp and pungent aromas to find a clue to their identities, but she did not know them. Many of these plants had the power to bring on sleep, and to do other things as well, but she wondered at what they would do if used in combination, and by what means they were meant to be diffused. She dared not ponder these thoughts any longer, for she knew Bregus would not like her to linger in the vardo. Kattica picked up the drum and carried it to the curtained door.

The girl was nearly knocked off her feet as a flutter of wings beat against her as she drew the curtain open in order to step out. The great owl bowled past her and into the vardo, sweeping directly up to its perch without pause. Its sudden appearance was startling.

Shaking off the fear she had felt at what had seemed like an attack, she looked down to see Bregus standing at the rear steps, waiting. Kattica was pleased she had not lingered longer, for she would not have enjoyed the elders berating. Instead, Bregus brusquely took the instrument from the girl's hand and readily strode away with lively steps to the edge of the camp. No one seemed to notice or watch as the old woman walked away, but Kattica gazed intently, uncertain as to what the elder was doing. Closing her eyes and spinning herself to face each of the navigational directions before facing north, the old woman squatted to the ground. She began to chant softly to herself as a soft tapping beat was picked up on the drum. Three beats, then two and then another two beats were the repetition that began to drone through the camp. After a minute or two of the continuous rhythm, the elder stood up and slowly stepped, shuffling her feet as she went, marking the circular perimeter of the camp in a counterclockwise direction, always beating the drum as she went. She stopped at four other points, each time again facing north, east, south, and west and chanting and squatting before moving on. She is making a pentacle, Kattica told herself. Why?

But no one paid the old woman any heed, and the girl wondered if the others of the camp were already under some kind of enchantment. She glanced about, but all things seemed as they should, and she wondered if she should resume normality herself. There did not appear to be any foul play at work.

When the shuv'ni was done with her ritual, she stood again at the northern point and called out words into the heavens. Kattica did not recognize them, and she worried for what was being asked, but then the elder stepped into the circle of the camp and she knew the spell was already at work. Slowly, the old woman walked to each adult member of the tribe and touched them, sometimes pausing to say more unknown words, and sometimes only moving on after the contact. Each person in turn seemed oblivious to her wanderings and words, and went on as if this were a normal thing, pausing a moment with each touch, as if lost in thought, and then resuming their prior activity, even engaging her at times in their conversations. But Bregus did not pause. She was determined to make contact with everyone, and thus made her way through the camp like this. And when she had seen every adult or nearly grown child, she stopped.

She had touched everyone, everyone but Kattica, and now she was smiling at the girl from across the camp, muttering more words to herself. Kattica felt as if she were a trapped animal as she glanced about, hoping to see that someone might notice. Unfortunately, she, too, seemed to be an ignored entity within the camp. She decided to use this to her advantage and used the opportunity to speak to the witch. Quietly at first, as if she were testing the ground, she found her voice.

"What is this you are doing, Bregus?" Kattica softly uttered. The elder drew nearer and the girl knew she had heard.

"So you can see my actions? The others cannot. No matter, though. I am only seeking out help," the old woman said as she continued to move forward. Her voice was still a strange cacophony of lightness and darkness, but the girl ignored the sound of it.

Kattica realized Bregus had her hand out, as if she were intent to touch the girl, and she stepped back a few steps. The shuv'ni smiled to the girl's movement as Kattica again spoke. Her voice remained neutral as she asked. "What help do you seek from me?" Bregus was mere meters away.

"Only the aid of an apprentice, as it should be. You will deny me?" the woman asked in her multiple voices, her smile remaining fixed as she continued her slow steps toward the girl.

Kattica did not fear Bregus. She knew, despite the quickened steps, that she could outrun the old woman and break the hold the elder placed toward her by simply stepping out of the circle of the camp. But she was curious as to what the elder wanted of her, so she continued questioning as she evaded the other's touch. "I have been your apprentice since I came to this clan. You have never wanted my help before. Why do you need me now?"

"The time is drawing near. I need everyone's help to do what I must do and their innocence. Too much information will not benefit you. You must trust that I only want your aid."

Kattica laughed. Her voice grew more assertive as the elder's movements came quicker. "You have enslaved your family. Why would I simply trust you when you cast such dark magic. You want more than innocence and aid, Bregus. It is time to share with me what it is that you seek out. For what does the time draw nigh?"

The shuv'ni's eyes momentarily lingered to the girl's belly. They betrayed her thoughts. The glance was brief, but steeped in greed. Kattica's eyes flashed in horror. Nostrils flared as she gasped out her surprise. Protectively, Kattica's hand went to her protruding abdomen to protect the unborn child resting there. She backed away further. The old woman wanted her baby!

Instinctively, Kattica began uttering a protective incantation her grandmother had taught her. She reached into her putsi to tug at the amulet that rested there. But as she did, a hand reached around and pulled it away, effectively flinging the small pendant into the brush outside the encampment. Her eyes could not follow where it had gone. She was flung around by the one who had disrupted her spell and her eyes raced up to see the face of her betrayer. It was Mattias! He grabbed her wrist in a painful hold, and she cried at the pain, but his eyes showed no evidence of his sight of her. He was blank. And then the girl realized for the first time just how terrible her plight had become. She cursed herself for not fleeing sooner as she struggled and prayed for a way to awaken her husband. Bregus had cast a spell of dark horror, and the girl feared for how evil it would become. Yelling out to Mattias, she tried to pull away. But his grip was too strong. She looked over her shoulder to cry out for help, though she knew it was useless. No one saw or heard her. She saw the outstretched hand of the puri dai drawing near. Too near. Bregus was going to touch her, and then something horrible would happen. Something. What? She needed to flee. Now! Now!

"NO!" she screamed as she again tried to run. Flailing in terror, she shrieked out, pulling and prying at her husband's grip. Frantic now, she was fighting him with every ounce of her strength. She kicked and scratched and tore, crying raggedly through it all, "Mattias, please!" But his grip was too strong. "NO! NO!" she wailed into his unseeing face.

And then she felt the witch's cold fingers touch her shoulder, and everything changed.

The buck raised its head to the sound of a snapping twig. All but its ears froze as they twitched and flicked, pivoting in their radius to find the source of the noise. It froze in its stance like this, almost becoming invisible in its pausing gesture. And then dismissing the sound as no evidence of further movement could be found, the graceful creature bowed its head again to mix its form into the long grass of the meadow about it. White moths flitted about the grasses adding to the masquerade of the deer's hidden place as it grazed.

The hunter waited patiently, kneeling in the brush at the edge of the forest, his bow made ready with a notched arrow resting against the riser. His partner at his side looked equally as poised. They quietly sat in anticipation as the great buck drew slowly closer. Unsuspecting, the handsome animal did not see their forms, camouflaged within the darker shadows of the wood.

The forest about them was lush and unspoiled. A smattering of oxalis and ferns littered the forest floor near them, standing out in harsh contrast to the rusty red carpet of pine needles. Mosses and trilium crept along the bases of the thick pines, their colors almost iridescent in the cool shade of the trees. Round burls sprouted from the trunks of the larger conifers with shoots of small saplings rising from the mounds. Mighty roots crisscrossed the ground in complex patterns as downed branches created blockades along the varied terrain of the deer trails. Streams of light filtered through the branches on the immensely high ceiling, and a mist of light fog descended away into the limbs like the steam off a teacup. The echo of bird calls and insect stirrings rattled within the cavernous walls of the forest space, and every noise seemed amplified by the density of the overhead bramble.

The buck's head once again shot up, glancing in the direction of the two hunters. Its ears twitched again wildly as its body stood taut while its nose sniffed the air. And then purposefully, the animal turned away from the clearing, leading its body in the direction opposite of the men. The antlers crowning its magnificent head meshed quickly into the surroundings, and in an instant, the creature was gone from all sight.

The two men stood up as their quarry fled, grimacing at the loss of a prize so handsome. Four points on each rack this one stood. It was not the buck they had sought out, but it was still a nice consolation prize if their efforts didn't pay off on this trip. But now, to their chagrin, even the consolation prize had disappeared.

In the pathways behind them they heard voices and quick heavy steps approaching. To their human senses the noise only now reached their ears, though the buck had heard their sound much sooner, and was hearkened away by it.

Aragorn turned to face the disturbance that was elf and dwarf. At his side, Faramir frowned as he shook his head in disbelief. Aragorn concurred with a grunting sigh. This was the third time that the unlikely pair had chased away their catch, and although they looked innocent, the former Ranger was beginning to think that their actions were intentional. All of his arguments of the night before about their hunting together in group were gone and he wished for all his soul at that moment that they had agreed to split apart. The thought presented itself to desert these two and leave them to their wiles in the wood, but Aragorn was certain that they were out to spoil the kill and Legolas was an excellent tracker. Even separated, no doubt did he have that the elf and dwarf would find a way to disrupt their hunt. The King was beginning to regret bringing these two along at all.

But angry though he was, he could not repress a smile that was creeping along his face at the sound of their argument. They were up to their usual antics. This time the discussion settled on the halberd that Gimli carried.

"It is a useless weapon for hunting," he heard Legolas answer a previously unheard response.

"It is a strange pairing indeed when the weapon is nearly twice the stature of its wielder. You look rather odd with it, Gimli, as if either your axe has grown or your body has shrunk. That is truly a sad statement, as you can hardly afford to get shorter," Legolas chuckled.

Legolas continued to vex the dwarf as his laughter grew, "Very well, tell me then. How is it that you would use this weapon? No, wait! Do not say. Allow me to guess," he said holding up his hand in thought. "Ah, I know! I know!" Then in his amusement he laughed and began a pantomime out his thoughts. In mock seriousness, he said, lowering his voice dramatically as if telling a wondrous tale, "The Great Hunter, Gimli, Master of the Glittering Caves, steps out of his earthen hollow as the light of day emerges across the horizon. Refreshed and ready to show the world the prowess of his hunting technique, he steps forward into the forest. Stealthfully, he works his way through the wood, working to creep up on the animal that dwells there. As he makes his way about, he takes extreme caution to conceal the ever-present plodding of his heavy feet. He is careful hide the sound of his breathing as he goes along, for the noise of his normal exhales alone sound like the winds off the Redhorn. And then, he sees it! A creature stands before him, locked in his sights and caught at its least awares. And then, Gimli, The Great Hunter, steps forward, brandishing his weapon at his side, showing the animal the mighty force that is dwarven armament and ingenuity. Of course, Gimli is knowledgeable in what it is that he carries and he knows it will be too much for the poor, helpless creature to bear. As predicted, the animal falls before Gimli's feet, overcome by the comic apparition of a dwarf and his overgrown axe. And while the pitiful animal writhes on the ground, struggling in the pain of its laughter, that is when Gimli, The Great Hunter, Master of the Glittering Caves, ever-so-mercifully slays it," the elf said, snorting to refrain his own laughter. "Is that not it?"

Gimli did not appear to see the humor. In a haughty voice, he said, "I will have you know that with a weapon of this sort, the best way to hunt is as a teama concept I'm sure the preoccupied nature of elves has prevented you from learning."

"Apparently you have not noticed that the rest of us hunt with other weapons," Legolas said as an aside, smirking as he attempted to refrain his mirth. Then he said, "If you should ask me, I think you fear being seen with an elven weapon."

Gimli stopped on the spot and placed his hands on his hips as he answered, "I fear no such thing!"

"Then why do you carry such a useless instrument?" Legolas asked flicking a hand toward the shafted axe. "Are you afraid I will critique your use of a weapon that is my choice."

The dwarf's cheeks puffed out as he was about to answer when Aragorn piped in. He had been unnoticed by the two up until then, and they had not seen his mirth on their behalf. The former Ranger skillfully schooled his expression and managed to convey a stern, disapproving stare as his voice carried clearly. "MY CHOICE," he said in a loud voice to gain their attention, then he brought it down to a harsh whisper to convey the extreme depth of his chagrin, "is to ask the two of you to cease your discussion, at least while we are out in the wilds. We may as well be wearing bells for all the noise you make. I begin to have doubt that either of you have any skill in the hunt. At least you have yet to prove it by me. You have managed to chase off again the animal Faramir and I were pursuing," he said.

Aragorn watched their expressions at this accusation. Wide-eyed with reproach, like a pair of children caught stealing sweets from a confectioner they appeared, both endeavoring unsuccessfully to look of innocence, but in fact fully guilty of their actions. The corners of their mouths tugged at their effort not to laugh, as their eyes tried to blink back the amusement within them. It was the dwarf who pulled off the more convincing of faces as he said with a breaking voice, "We are very sorry, Aragorn. We will try not to make further disturbing noises." Immediately he and the elf exchanged glances, and a snickering laugh escaped the lips of them both. Gimli clapped a hand to his mouth to repress his chuckles, while Legolas spun around, hunched over as his shoulders rocked to silent laughter. So much for innocence, the Ranger thought.

"Perhaps we should break for a meal," Faramir said in an effort to stay his quickening anger. He had been in a distracted mood all morning and he did not appear to see the humor in the dwarf's rejoinder.

"We are indeed sorry, gentlemen, for disturbing your pleasures," Legolas said with an apologetic expression. "It was not our original intent to interfere, as admittedly we have, but I actually we are having some troubles understanding the concept of why we hunt today. We are doing this for sport? Please explain this to me. I thought hunting was done for supplying meat to the table, but clearly that is not your goal. Or at least I hope it is not. How is killing an innocent animal a sport?" Legolas asked as he opened his pack and broke out their rations.

Aragorn heard Faramir answer in a resigned voice that relayed the depth of his mood. "But we do do it for the sake of eating. At least partially. We would not waste what is found. But, yes, in sport, the antlers are the object of the hunter's praise and worth. The more points the deer has on the rack, the more respected the hunter is who has snagged it."

Legolas and Gimli both snorted lightly and exchanged glances before Gimli put forth the words for this logic in elven and dwarven terms. "To you perhaps the more respected the catch may be, but for us, the tougher the flesh procured. And you would eat this? Hmm. Legolas, I did not realize that men's preference in venison was bitter, pungent, bootleather."

"Nor I. The elves would choose a younger buck yielding a sweeter meat more tender to the tooth. And so it seems that choice would be the preference of dwarves as well. Am I correct? Congratulations then, Gimli! My opinion of your people has just surpassed that of men!"

"Jest away, you two," Aragorn replied, "but I intend to go home with that crown for a trophy. I have never seen anything of its like!"

"A trophy it will be, but it will reside in my house," Faramir said to the King with solemnity, but smiling lightly for the first time that day, "as I intend to be the one to attain it."

"Not if I see it first," answered Aragorn. "That was the largest buck I have ever laid eyes on. Its rack was at least a full arms length and I could have sworn it was at least a six by five."

"Six," corrected Faramir. "Six by six. And this is why you will fail in your attempt to capture that deer. Your eyesight is weakening and you cannot see. Your Numenorean blood may be strong, but it does not prevent you from growing blind with your age."

"Be kind enough then to respect your elders and allow them the folly of their handicaps," Aragorn retorted with a smile.

"You would have me lay down my weapon then? Is that an order, my Liege" Faramir asked with a smile dancing in his eyes, "or is it simply a request for mercy made by an old man?"

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance and simultaneously rolled their eyes in annoyance over the foolish posturing in this conversation. It had started since they had arrived at Henneth Annûn, and the stag in question, sighted along the way, had continued to grow in both stature and magnificence as they went further into the wood. Legolas spoke out, effectively ending the banter between King and Prince, "Gentlemen, while I can understand the desire to revere a creature that has lived long, for obviously the knowledge in that one is of superior value," he said with smug smile that implied he was speaking of something beyond just a deer, "it still does not explain to me why you need to kill the buck. Would it not serve its purpose better to be left to the wilds? A buck that old is best left to sire. I cannot see a reason to kill it unless it is for food, and there is no shortage of that in our stores."

It was Aragorn's turn to attempt a clearer explanation. He said, "Perhaps you can understand this then, my friend. Hunting for sport is a mortal way of immortalizing a moment. A buck of that age and size is rare, and it is a privilege among men to have opportunity to take down a creature so extraordinary."

The elf made a face, "But Aragorn, you adorn your home with remnants of its body! That is not repulsive to you?"

"And you adorn your body with portions of its hide, for your people are well-renowned for their skills in tanning. Your riding gloves and quiver straps are made from this material. Is that not repulsive to you?" the former Ranger parried.

Legolas sighed, and Aragorn knew that, though the elf was willing to concede this point, he still thought it wrong. The king braced himself, for he could see that this debate could go on for many long hours without conclusion. Elves held no shortage for words, and when a topic was passionately embraced by them, they were tenacious in their hold on it. The four of them would need to find a solution to this problem if they were going to do any kind of worthwhile hunting on this trip. For the moment though, Aragorn knew their progress on this day had probably come to a halt.

Suddenly, Legolas stood stiffly, and to Aragorn's mind he looked for the moment very much like the buck they had just chased off. In natural response, despite the number of years that had passed, Aragorn reached his hand for his bow. Again watching Legolas, he saw the elf turn his head to listen, his eyes fixed into the branches though the King knew he was not really looking there for answer. "What is it?" he asked in a whisper.

With little time to press thought, the four of them separated and took cover in different parts about them. Legolas nimbly scrambled up the trunk of a course barked pine to perch himself on one of the branches far up in the rafters. Gimli found refuge at the base of a fallen tree, easily immersing himself in the undercarriage of exposed roots. And Aragorn and Faramir hid themselves stealthily in the brush that neared the widening trail. As before with the buck, Aragorn silently sat in waiting for their visitors to appear, an arrow notched on his string.

Within a few moments voices began to echo in the forest green as plodding feet stepped along. With his senses keened to their noise, the Ranger determined there were four of them. Their heavy footfalls told him they were men, though their steps were more furtively placed than those of an average human, and this told him they knew well their ways in the wild. He could also detect the grunts in their voices that informed him that they carried a heavy load.

Apparently unaware of their presence or any danger, the men talked readily among themselves in a language Aragorn had trouble placing. He heard laughter rise among them before he saw any of their faces, but once seeing who they were, he revised his perception. Not four men were they, but two men and two boys. Or at least two young men would he call them, for the two youngest amongst them were barely more than that. And the burden he thought they hauled was more so as well. Two young, field-dressed bucks they transported spitted over two heavy rods across their shoulders. Although it was not a priority, in the back of Aragorn's mind he rejoiced that they did not haul the buck he and Faramir sought.

He considered letting them pass without answer, but their own actions forced him to come forward. Strong though they looked, the burden of the deer was far too heavy for the boys, and with the weight from the rod pressing on their shoulders, and their poised steps leading them to tread lightly, the youngest amongst them lost his footing and fell. Almost immediately, the buck, balanced between he and his partner slid forward toward the boy, and the bulk of the creature came forward, effectively knocking him further off balance. Awkwardly, his older partner lost his footing as well, and the rod that had been carrying the deer fell away from his shoulder. In the helpless tumble of the spill, the roughened end of the rod lashed across the boys right calf, cutting cleanly through his trouser and gashing open a wound. The boy cried out in pain, and his other companions dropped their burden and rushed to his side. Aragorn was faced with a choice as he glanced to see Faramir and Gimli watching him. They could stand in their braced postures until this group left, or they could reveal themselves. The foreign hunters were immersed in their fallen companion only a few meters before them, and Aragorn wondered at the extent of the young man's injury. If it was bad, it might be a while before they could depart, and in turn they might have need to seek help. In any case, it did not appear that the younger would be able to resume his burden, and that alone posed a worry as to how long they might be standing in wait for this passage. In addition to these concerns, a strong urge within the Ranger was compelling him to draw near and to see how the boy fared. So with a glance to his friends as his decision was made, he stepped forward. The strangers had their backs turned, and they did not see as Aragorn, Faramir and Gimli stepped out from their hiding places, weapons ready. Glancing up into the tree branches Aragorn tried unsuccessfully to detect the form of the elf. Nonetheless, he did not doubt the elf's stance remained at alert.

Lowering his own bow, he spoke in Westron, "That is a very large burden for one so young to bare."

The four strangers turned around in unison. Surprise gripped them as they reached for their weapons, though they quickly ceased when they saw that they were surrounded by Aragorn's companions. A lean, sandy-haired man stepped forward. He appeared to be the eldest, though his age was only close to that of Faramir's. He glanced from side to side, sizing up the King and his men. Then, holding his hands opened out in a gesture of surrender, he said, also speaking in the Westron tongue, "And yet our lives are not easy, and it sometimes becomes necessary for our young to take on the burdens of men."

Aragorn smiled lightly to ease any tension as Faramir and Gimli read him and lowered their weapons. "It must be a difficult life indeed if your children must suffer injury to accommodate those needs."

"I am not a child!" the injured lad said from his position on the ground. The hand of other elder pressed down on his shoulder to quell his glaring anger.

Aragorn chuckled quietly, then returned his gaze to the leader. "And yet he speaks as a man. Strange customs your people have. Among my own we would teach our underlings to remain quiet in times of danger."

The elder grimaced as he glanced back at the youth, and it was clear to see that he felt discomfort for the young man's open response. He looked back at Aragorn with a rueful expression as he said, "So it is with us as well. Please forgive Yulli for his outburst. He speaks out of turn, as is the impetuousness of youth, and he has much more learning to do. His maturity does not sit well on his shoulders as yet."

"And neither does that rod. Perhaps you would allow us to offer you some aid," Aragorn said.

The lighter-haired man turned to face the three others in his company and seemed to gauge the extent of the youngest one's wound. Taking a step back toward the lad, he gazed around to Aragorn and said, "It does not appear to be bad, and certainly he can walk, but your assistance would be appreciated. It is a rather heavy load for someone so young," he knelt down to attend the boy's leg as he teased, "and so injured." Yulli hissed in pain to his touch.

Aragorn took a step forward as he handed his bow to Faramir. "If I may," he said as he took his turn to kneel before the boy, "I have some skills as a healer."

The leader moved aside to give Aragorn a better look. The boy hissed again as the King touched the area near his wound. Examining it carefully he said, "This should heal easily enough on its own. It is not deep and the blood is not profuse. It will not require more than a clean bandage and a few days time. Let it bleed for now as it will help cleanse the wound, and it should stop on its own. Later it can be washed and bandaged properly. How far is it to your camp?"

"Not far," said the leader, pointing, "just over that rise." Then standing up straight and meeting Aragorn's eyes, he said, "I am Matthias." He held out his arm in a warrior's greeting.

Aragorn returned the greeting as he said, "I am called Strider," the name they had agreed to call him if they met up with others on the trail. Then gesturing to the others he said, "And this is Anborn," the alias they had agreed upon for Faramir, "and Gimli, the dwarf," he said gesturing to his other companion. They had decided to omit the names of their forefathers in any introductions to make it appear that they were of common blood. They had also decided there was little danger in the revelation of Gimli's true identity, and though the dwarf had argued that he would have found an alternative name amusing, he had never offered one. "And this" his eyes trailed behind them as the elf landed softly on the ground.

"I am Legolas," said the elf as all eyes turned in his direction. It appeared that Legolas also felt it unnecessary to hide his true name. Again the men looked surprised to be taken so off guard, but this time it appeared they were also stunned by the elf's unique features.

After a moment, the former Ranger realized they were perplexed by the creature before them, and so he said, "Legolas is an elf," as if that explained everything.

And perhaps it did, for Mattias nodded his head in affirmation to the statement. "Pardon our poor behavior, Master Elf. Dwarves we have knowledge of, but we have only ever heard of elves, as if in myth. Never did we think that we would see one before us." Turning his eyes back on Aragorn, he said as if in awe, "It is a strange company you travel in."

"I travel in the company of my friends," Aragorn said with a touch of pride. Then turning his gaze to Mattias' companions he said, "And who do you travel with?"

"My family," he answered equally as proud, "or at least, a few of them that you see before you. My cousin Szandor, and his sons Cheiro and Yulli." Aragorn and the others nodded in acknowledgement. "There are many more of us you will meet at our camp," he said with a chuckle and the others of his family echoed his smile.

"So you travel in a large company?" asked the Ranger as he took back his bow and helped bring Yulli to a stand. The boy winced as he took a hobbled step ahead, away from the fallen deer, but quieted himself as he proceeded forward. Faramir stepped into the boy's place and easily lifted the shaft that supported his end of the buck as Legolas took the rear. Mattias resumed his burden with Szandor at his back, and he lead the group forward.

In answer to the question, Mattias said, "It is large enough that a catch of this kind will feed us only a short while. But this forest seems to be plentiful in her gifts, and we do not have fear of being hungry here."

Faramir smirked, his earlier wariness now hidden and he spoke for the first time to the strangers, "She may be plentiful for you, Sir, but for us, our prey is elusive."

"Then you must be hungry. You shall sup with us as repayment for your kindness."

Aragorn's eyes sparkled in understanding of Faramir statement. He explained, "I think Anborn speaks of something beyond our hunger, though we thank you for your offer. We will take you up on the meal, though we are ample of provisions in our camp and do not suffer. My friend speaks that our shoulders are bare of our own burden because we specifically seek out a rare bounty. Perhaps you have seen it."

"A stag of great height and crown we seek. His antlers are yea wide," Aragorn gestured with outstretched arms, "And he was nearly a six by six in points," the Ranger said repeating the previous exaggeration.

Mattias nodded, "That is truly a large creature and I cannot say I have seen one quite so large, but a five by five did we see yesterday on a hillock just east of here."

"East?" Aragorn echoed taking note of the information. "What time of day was it?"

"Just shortly after sunrise," Mattias said. "If we had been desperate, we would have taken it ourselves, but being that the meat in a beast that old would be coarse and harshly flavored, we spared it in favor of a younger animal."

Aragorn heard the stifled laughs of Legolas and Gimli at his back and decided to ignore it. He said to Mattias, "In our culture," indicating he and Faramir, "it is done for the sport, not so much the meat, but among the elves and dwarves it is perceived the same way as your people seem to see it."

Mattias laughed in amusement. "We have heard of hunting for sport. It is done so in many cultures we have seen and visited. I see nothing wrong in doing this." Aragorn looked back over his shoulder to see the disapproval on the elf and dwarf faces. Mattias went on, "It is interesting for me to learn this of the elves though. My people know so little of them. I have many questions I would ask you," he said, directing this statement to Legolas and Aragorn both. "How did you come to be companions?

"You know so little of them and yet you have wandered into their realm. Or did you not know this?" Faramir asked, effectively cutting off the direct question.

"We are in a land of the elves?" Mattias asked in obvious wide-eyed awe. His companions looked equally as startled.

"You are in Ithilien," answered Legolas, "and our colony is called Doro Lanthiron, and the lands on which you roam and hunt are guarded by my people. How is it that you do not know the place to which you travel?"

Mattias stopped and turned. He looked troubled. "Forgive me Master Legolas. We did not mean to intrude. It is not of our nature to look to borders to halt our progress. We mostly go as we please, but if we offend, we will leave."

"I have seen nothing of offense, but I am curious of the nature of your travels. Are all your ventures aimless? Does it not seem dangerous to go where you do not know what lies ahead?" Legolas queried further.

"Yes, it does, and for the most part we travel across lands of which we have some prior knowledge," Mattias answered calmly as he continued to walk. They could now hear the sounds of the camp as they drew near.

Aragorn asked the question he could see the elf was about to ask, "But you were unaware of these lands. What brings you to Ithilien?"

Mattias answered directly, without hesitation. He looked about as they entered his camp and the activity within it as he spoke, "We have come to save my people."

Aragorn looked about him also as he took in the sights of the camp. "Save your people? From what?" he asked.

"What danger?" Aragorn asked as he quickly looked back to Mattias, puzzlement in his eyes. A tremor of apprehension ran through the Ranger with these words.

"The details of this danger are sketchy to me. She says she is protecting us. We have no reason not to believe her. She has the gift of Sight and she is puri dai."

Aragorn did not know this term, but he assumed it was meant as a position of importance. His curiosity was not sated by this answer though. "But how will these lands save you?"

"So many questions, my friend. Come. Meet her yourself and you may ask," Mattias said with a smile as he led them into the gathering. There were many tasks proceeding about them, and for a few moments they were able to see the goings of normal life for these people before their presence was noted and all activity ceased.

Gimli spoke as he took in the surroundings, recognizing and understanding what they had encountered, "You are gypsies then?"

Mattias smiled at that. "We have been called that, yes, but we prefer to call ourselves Romany. We are nomads. We have no real home, except the one we make with each other."

They now entered the gypsy camp, and while the four companions looked on with astonished eyes, the residents of the camp stared back at them with equal amazement. For his part, Aragorn could not remember a more colorful, highly decorated scene in the wilds than the one he now beheld. There were numerous wagons and tents in the clearing, and several cook fires with women working and children clambering about them. The people seemed to imitate the appearance of the wagons, and by that it could be said that they were elaborately clad. The women were attired in voluminous multi-hued and patterned dresses, with layers of aprons, pouches, and embroidered and fringed shawls tied into their broad-fronted waistbands. The men were more plainly dressed, though still elaborate in comparison to their Gondorian counterparts. They wore heavy-waled trousers with flapped pockets, and shirts of brightly colored hues that bloused over their torsos. Some wore over-tunics and a few had sashes tied about their waists and gold jewelry about their ears. The hair for both the men and women was plaited or held back from their faces with bright scarves.

The encampment was large and immersed within the trees of the forest, dappled with sunlight, but for the most part canopied by the trees and each wagon and tent appeared organized and tidy, with everything seemingly in its own place. Aragorn quickly assessed that there were about thirty in their group counting all the men, women and children. Their faces were a mixture of ages and features, some bearing striking resemblance to one another, and others quite unique for their lighter hair or eyes. They all looked well-kept, healthy and clean, hair brushed and tied back, and it seemed that they paid close attention to their appearance, despite their rugged outdoor lifestyle.

The activities in the camp were largely varied, divided into communal activities. One group of women tended laundry, while another was preparing food for the midday meal. Two men were stretching and tanning hides, while several more were repairing a wagon wheel, and another few were sharpening tools. Small children ran about playing under the discerning eyes of the adults among them, but they seemed to be the youngest, and the elder children seemed to have tasks within the varied activities of the camp or looked to be tending the youngest as well.

As the faces of the Romany turned to stare at them, all activity stopped, and Aragorn realized that he and his company must have made a startling appearance to the tribe. The families within this clan clustered together protectively where they could, apprehensive of the intrusion of strangers within their midst. Whispers between them were murmured as the four made their way through the camp following Mattias and the others. They carried their burden to where the men were working the skins and dropped the days hunt to the ground there. All eyes followed them warily. And to Aragorn's discerning eye, the one who drew the sharpest attention was Legolas. Aragorn had expected this as he looked to his friend to see how he would be holding up under their close scrutiny. The Ranger was amused to see Legolas staring back with equal intensity, his eyes darting quickly about to take in every detail and nuance of the camp. Aragorn watched carefully to see how the elf would react, reading Legolas' body language to gauge their own danger. But the elf's weapon remained at his back, and his hands were unclenched and relaxed. He could see curiosity flitting the elven lords eyes, numerous questions obviously taking hold there, for it seemed these people were as much a mystery to the elf as he was to them.

For Aragorn's part, he too had little knowledge of the Romany. He had encountered gypsies a few times in his travels in his youth, and for what he did know, he had found them to be harmless folk who kept mostly to themselves. They had their own language, their own religion and their own value systems, though he had never been among them long enough to learn much on any of these topics. As a race, they were travelers, he knew, never spending much time in any one place, trading goods and services when they came upon civilized lands, but having more highly attuned skills for living in the wilds. They could speak the Westron tongue, and had been to enough places to learn how to assimilate the customs of the people they encountered, but they seemed more content to travel onward, never taking refuge in any one place for very long. They took from the land what they found, never questioning ownership or legitimate rights, believing everything that could be had was provided to them by their gods. And that in itself had caused strife for them, Aragorn had found. For if anything, Aragorn knew more of these people by their reputation then by his personal contact. He knew that the settled folk who encountered them did not care to lose their hard-earned crops or livestock to the taking of the Romany. Many a village had a not-so-pleasant story to share about gypsies and of their thieving ways. But the Ranger also knew these people were innocent in their knowledge of the goods that they stole. For the most part, their morals were pure, paying back if accused with gold, silver and mithril forged coin, or trading services if they had no precious metals of which to barter.

As they stood for the moment near the skinning frames, he saw the people slowly begin to resume their tasks. The women went back to their activities, though they still observed Aragorn's party through sideways glances and tilted glances directed their way. The men were more forthcoming, drawing near, as if Mattias and Szandor's accompaniment were approval for their approach. And in the background, the children, young and old, watched with unrestrained curiosity, prodding each other and darting forward and back. Then Mattias gently directed Aragorn's attention to the men who drew nearest, and made brief introductions. Cousins, uncles, in-laws, and so on. They all were related in some distinct way.

Slowly, they edged their way around the camp making small talk and exchanging pleasantries with the people as they did, and Aragorn could see the wariness of everyone, his company included, had lifted. But he also soon became aware that the women were not being introduced and he remembered this too about the Romany people. Women were not highly regarded in the tribal rule. Faramir seemed to notice as well, and he voiced the query, "Do your women not have names? I notice you have not made mention of them." Aragorn was glad it had been said. For all that they were strangers to these people and invading their space, he was more than willing to assimilate to their customs. But he also wanted to show that he and his people were fair and equal in their judgements and regarded women equally to men, even if the Romany were a male-dominant society.

Mattias blushed lightly. He also seemed eager to show they were a fair people. He answered, "Forgive me, I had forgotten your people's ways. Our women are not used to being drawn out this way, but I will happily introduce them to you as well." And so he did, encircling the camp again to make the necessary introductions. Aragorn and his friends made special efforts to engage the women in converse, and before long, the women too seemed to ease up on their wariness, laughing and teasing the company as they moved about them. The camp life began to seem normal again.

Mattias turned and smiled as two men slowly approached. Aragorn could immediately tell they were the brothers of Mattias, as they all shared similar eyes and general features, though their coloring was darker. They appeared to be younger than Mattias, though the elder of the two was larger in size, barrel-chested, while the younger was of a more wiry build. They looked at the strangers with eyes that conveyed wonder and, like the others, their attention was drawn in particular to Legolas. Mattias' eyes held amusement as they approached. He said, "These are my brothers, Gordash and Curtik."

Aragorn looked at the two younger men and a brief wariness traveled through him at their gawking stares. They appeared transfixed. He tried to read them, and found there was something more than simple awe in their stares. In many respects, they shared the appearance of most of the people in the camp, looking wildly dismayed to see strangers, particularly an elf, in their midst. Aragorn tried to relate to their feelings, imaging how he might feel if a creature that he had only known in tales, say as a dragon, were to wander into his home. No doubt he too would be as incredulous as they, and so he felt a twang of sympathy and understanding for their poor behavior. But still, there was something in their gaze and sidelong glances to each other that conveyed an expectation of sorts, as if they knew Aragorn's company would be arriving.

Mattias interrupted Aragorn's thoughts, saying, "Mayhap my brothers can tell you more about of the fears Mother has for our people. They have just returned from travels with her and they had journeyed to seek the salvation we need to survive."

Aragorn looked from Mattias to the brothers to see if they had answer to this, for it could well explain what he had already observed. Yet they were oblivious to everything but Legolas, grinning madly in anticipation for what was to come. The youngest said lightly to his brother, as if not even considering that others were about, "She was right, Gordash! She said this would come to pass, and it has! We have found our salvation!"

The previous wave of apprehension moved through Aragorn with invigorated strength. These words sent a chill up his spine and an alarm went off in his mind. He saw Legolas shift uneasily in his stance, and at his side he felt Gimli and Faramir tense as well. There was something not right here.

With his face lit in joy, the youngest looked to Mattias with glistening eyes, as if his older brother might understand the wonder he felt at their good fortune. Breathlessly he said, "Mattias, this cannot wait. We cannot let his appearance escape our attentionhe is what we need to be saved! We must tell Mother! She will want to see him! NOW!"

A/N: I'm going to follow suit as many other authors have done before me. Our cast has expanded and some of you might find this supplement helpful in remembering who is who among our characters.

Bregus the witch, also called Mother, shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai (tribe elder)

Words were uttered. A whispered plea was made. The workings of her magic were intertwined with the thoughts that echoed in her head. She could see them from where she was hidden. She was near enough to hear their conversation. And she could hear the thoughts of those under her spell. She prayed to her gods that what she had planted in their minds, what she uttered for them to say, would hold true. Everything hinged upon the conviction of their words. With bated breath, she watched and listened.

Legolas looked at Aragorn with eyes widening in alarm. Aragorn could tell he was about to say that they should depart immediately, and he readily agreed. But then the elder of Mattias' brothers recovered his discomfiture. Shaking his head and blinking back his penetrating gaze, he snapped at his younger brother, "Fool! Do you not see what an idiot you are being? You make it sound as if he is the instrument of our salvation!" Then seeming to realize the tension in the air, he sighed and did what he could to relieve it. He smiled. Directing his gaze equally upon all four of Aragorn's companions, not just the elf, he said with sincerity, "Forgive my brother and I. Please. We do not mean to cause you any fears, although I can see that is exactly what we have done. It is just that that we have been traveling hard with Mother for many days, returning only last night. There was a goal in this. She told us when we found an elf, our family's salvation would be at hand. I am sorry we have frightened you. We do not mean to be rude. Truly we do not! We are just elated to find you here. Our journey was pointless, it seems. Had we known you were coming we would have never had need to leave our family," he said with a look that was both hopeful and apologetic.

"Our luck is with us as then," Mattias said to him softly. "Our new friends have told us that we find ourselves in a realm of elves. Evidence of them is all about us."

"Truly?" Curtik asked in gushing disbelief, looking about as if looking for more elves to come walking out of the woods. Legolas and Aragorn both smiled wanly, but their apprehension was still clearly there. "A land full of elves? Imagine it! I had begun to have doubts. I thought certain we were chasing only dreams!"

Aragorn was not so convinced at the honesty in this, perceiving that there was more to their statement than what they were saying. He could see Legolas' distrust remained as well. "Tell me then, please," the Ranger began, "I keep hearing tale that your mother was trying to find salvation for your people and that there is danger for you, but what this danger and salvation are I have not heard explained. What did she say would happen when you found an elf?"

Mattias looked down, effectively conveying his uncertainty to the answer as he peered sidelong at his brothers. Gordash and Curtik exchanged glances, as if trying to discern if it was sage to reveal what they knew. At last Curtik shrugged and said, "She had not told us."

Aragorn bristled. He did not care for this answer. His wariness held true. "But surely you have asked" he began to say.

Mattias looked up and turned to face the Ranger. A stern expression creased his brow. A serious and defensive light shone in the Romany's eyes. Aragorn had not seen this part of the man's personality until now. "It is obvious this puzzles you, Strider, so please try to understand and forgive our exploits: Mother is old. She is puri dai our tribal elder and she has garnered our respect. It is not our custom to question her wisdom. If she says she senses danger, we will believe her. Further, she is our shuv'ni the chief healer amongst us. She is gifted with Sight. Few others of us know or understand this gift, but as much as we can, we do cater to her visions, for truly they cause us no harm, and many times in the past they have indeed been correct. Perchance in this case she is right again? Then we will know we have been of aid and indeed we will have saved our own people. Can you not understand this? A reverence such as this cannot be unique to the Romany people alone? Surely you can think of others among your own to whom you would follow without question?" he asked with conviction. Behind him, Gordash and Curtik stood, their faces belying nothing that would contradict this last plea.

Aragorn sighed. He did understand. The customs among these people were obviously different from his own, but not so far as to distrust the wisdom of an elder. He could think of several beings he had encountered over the years whose wisdom he had trusted without question. Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, to name a few. Many others would say he possessed this power as well. Perhaps this was what these people felt. It really was not his to ask or push for more, and with the respect he felt for the examples he conjured, he felt shame for having questioned the brothers' motives so. The earnest expression on Mattias' face conveyed much to him, and he knew pressing the three brothers for better answer would not endear him to them. He looked to Faramir, who silently read him and nodded his agreement. Aragorn would postpone his questioning until he met 'Mother'. Only she could really answer his concerns, he decided. And most likely they would find the case here to be related to superstition, and his worry for naught.

However, with a wince he thought, it would have helped to appease him more if Curtik were not persistently gawking at Legolas. He glanced again at the youngest brother with a hint of a frown. Legolas had already looked away from the men, apparently tired of being the object to such scrutiny.

Gordash saw their looks and grimaced as he glared at his younger brother. Utterly humiliated for the disgrace of his sibling and growing red-faced for it, Gordash cuffed him to the back of the head. "Curtik! Stop staring!" he said with annoyance. And with that, everyone about them, including Legolas, chuckled at the comic gesture. Partially amused at the innocent awe of the youngest man, and partially embarrassed for their own part in the tense situation, the four companions smiled to one another. The group around them began to murmur. Sheepishly Gordash said directly to Legolas, "Forgive him, please, Master Legolas. Sometimes I think we found him under a bush."

Laughing with renewed vigor, Legolas said, "I understand," and gave a look of pardon as he said, "I too have many questions I would ask. Mayhap you will tell me more of yourself, Curtik." He accompanied this statement with the full intensity of a direct elven stare. The youngest brother squeaked in answer, turning a bright shade of red, and nearly tripped over his feet as he backed away. Again, everyone laughed, and the mood of the gathering was greatly lifted.

"Did you see his eyes?" the youngest loudly whispered to his larger brother. "Like they could see right through me!"

Gordash winced and simply shook his head, sighing, as if in dismay of the continual humiliation his brother was bestowing upon him. Mattias looked chagrined at his brother's behavior as well, and Aragorn suspected he might have a few words to say to the younger man after they left. For the moment though, he laughed and the Ranger felt the wariness that had been attacking him diminish. It was replaced by a growing like for the three brothers. He found their candor refreshing. Glancing back at his companions, he could see the mood lightening among Faramir and Gimli as well, but Aragorn felt his brow crease again when he looked at the face of the elf.

Legolas appeared troubled. There was a look of question and concern written on the fleeting glances he flashed though the camp. He made eye contact with Aragorn before turning away to continue the survey he did of the camp.

Gimli noticed his friend's reaction, and began searching with his eyes too for the source of concern. "What is it?" he asked.

Legolas voiced his worry with a frown. "Dogs," he said with an air of certainty. Then he looked to Mattias and Gordash for confirmation. "You have dogs."

"Yes. We use them for large hunts and to help protect our camp," Mattias said, though he seemed to read the elf's confusion. He too began to search, his brow creased with trepidation.

"They are not barking," Gimli stated, perceiving what it was that troubled his friend.

Aragorn saw that Gordash and Mattias were upset by this truth. The dogs were not barking, and he knew that by nature they should have sounded their greeting bark when the hunters had neared the camp, alerting the residents that there were strangers about. But they had not.

The two older brothers began searching, peering about, looking under the wagons for the beasts. Curtik fell back, returning again to his work, though Aragorn and his friends followed behind the other two. It did not take long to find the wolfhounds. The dogs laid beneath the meal wagon. But curiously none of them moved as they approached. At a glance they all appeared to be sleeping, panting deeply in their rest. But then one dog whimpered and crawled forward. It rested its head before the foot of Gordash as it emerged from beneath the wagon and he stooped down to examine it. "This dog is ill," he said as he scrutinized the animal. Glancing at the dogs more carefully, he said, "They all are ill." With a worried look, Legolas bent down to investigate as well. The animal at Gordash's feet opened its eyes briefly, then whimpered again at his touch.

Mattias looked troubled, and then began looking frantically about, as if seeking something or someone. He called to one of the nearby women, "Do you know where Kattica is?"

"Ai! There," she said as she pointed to a pregnant woman emerging from the woods. The eyes of Aragorn and his companion turned to look at the figure. The girl was rather young. Aragorn would guess her to be in her early twenties, with straw-colored hair and fair skin. She walked with a pronounced limp that made the bucket of water she carried slosh with each step, though she appeared not to notice. She looked tired with dark circles beneath the cast brown eyes. She seemed to be locked in deep thought. Her brow was creased. Rapt was her distraction as she noticed not her surroundings nor the people about her. Her attention seemed focused entirely on something within her while her body toiled on in its labor. She looked up only when she came near the cook fire. Then startled and frightened by the strangers before, she dropped the bucket she carried.

Water melted away into the crushed pine needles at her feet as Gimli stepped forward. "Allow me to help you with that, Lady," he said. She looked unbalanced and shaken at the sight of him as he bent down to take the empty vessel.

She stumbled backwards and bumped into Mattias as her eyes grew round to the shock of her encounter.

"I would like to introduce my wife, Kattica," Mattias said, wrapping an arm about her waist to steady her. The girl tried to regain herself, growing red-faced for her awkwardness, but she nodded politely as they were each in turn introduced. Still, she remained frightened by the chance meeting, and Aragorn thought it might be best if she sat for a moment.

"Yes. Yes, I am fine," she softly responded, though her pallor and trembling voice said otherwise.

Mattias watched her carefully as he spoke, concern written on his face. "The dogs are sick," he said grimly. "Do you think you could tend them?"

Regaining herself, she looked directly at him and calmly she said with a somber expression, "I am already seeing to it. I was just attending to Yulli's wound, and I will look to them now. I already know what ails the animals."

She glanced down, as if realizing again she stood among strangers and was ashamed to admit this before them. But then they saw her lips curl upward, giving her face a crooked smile. Shyly she looked up and said, "It was a mistake really. Something silly, my husband."

"Süzika and I were cooking some mushrooms we had found this morning," Kattica began, nodding her head to one of the women near the fire. "We were uncertain if they were poisonous as I do not know the vegetation yet for this region. So we decided to test them on one of the dogs.* Unfortunately" she glanced to the animals laying beneath the wagon, "they were a greedy lot today, and not one, but all of them, ate the vile food. Actually, that is probably to their benefit. I can cure them. Had it been but one beast who had eaten them all, he would probably be dead by now," she said as she squatted with difficulty near Gordash and Legolas. She looked carefully into the eyes and mouth of the animal before her.

Mattias shrugged toward Aragorn and Faramir. "So we have it. Not such a mystery really," he said. Smiling at the serious look of apprehension Aragorn, wore, he continued, "Have no fear for the animals, my friend. My wife is a shuv'ni apprentice. She is quite gifted in healing skills. Although I will confess, I have some concern regarding her cooking. With her aid, we could quickly run out of dogs, and I might find myself directly on the receiving end of some of her experiments," he teased. "Come. Our meal awaits us."

Aragorn nodded as he allowed Faramir and himself to be led away. "There will not be mushrooms, will there?" Faramir asked with a small grin. Gordash laughed as he rose to join them.

Looking back at his friends, Aragorn asked, "Will you join us?" Without looking to the other for answer, simultaneously they shook their heads to the negative. He need not have inquired. He already knew their answers before even asking. It was very apparent to the Ranger that Legolas would remain, choosing to see the animals healed before taking any personal comfort. And Gimli, he was certain, would want to be of aid to the girl, especially given her present condition. The gruff exterior of the dwarf belies a soft spot for helpless maidens, Aragorn mused.

The men gathered at the makeshift table where they were to dine. They hastily took places and gestured Aragorn and Faramir to sit alongside them. As the food was placed before them, Aragorn noticed a seat at the head of the table that remained empty, and he wondered if that was to be 'Mother's' chair. "Mattias," he said with a questioning voice. He nodded toward the chair, assuming his guess correct. "We have not yet met her," he said. "Will she be joining us?"

Mattias looked deeply into Aragorn's eyes and said nothing. His only reply was a smile.

Behind him in the vardo, a curtain fell back into place where a set of eyes had been watching the activity surrounding the strangers' arrival. A similar smile glanced the lips of the elder woman, and she had to restrain the laughter that threatened to tear from her throat. It was all going well and very much according to plan the dogs the girl her sons' answers the elf. Everything. And now there was something more. Something she had not anticipated. Bregus realized as she had gazed out that he had been right. Bäla had hinted as much, and it was all coming true.

She was very pleased with her spell. Her younger sons had spoken well, as if innocent to any knowledge of the evil intent of their last journey together. And in a way, they were innocent, thanks to her magic. Her latest enchantment had all but erased any memories of their encounter with the three elves in the swamp. After so many years, it was easy to manipulate these two. Still, she was very glad she had not shared her intentions with any others in the camp, for covering her tracks, as they were, would have required a far greater spell, and she had felt she had reached her limits already with just this one. She saw it as a gift, the fading of her sons' memories. They would bear no guilt for their actions as they had no memory of them. And the only other ones who had been present to the elves' deaths were the dogs and the owl. The dogs could not talk, so therefore they could not tell, and only she could hear the voice of the owl. Still, the dogs had to be silenced. Doubtless after tasting the blood of the past-fated elf, they would be difficult to control if they had been aware that another entered their camp. It was better this way, and Bregus knew that the girl would see to their remedy. Tomorrow the beasts would be well again, for that is when she would really need their services. That left only the owl.

She turned and smiled at her familiar at the back of the wagon. The owl blinked back as she approached. As if in answer, she said, "Yes. Yes, you are right. You do deserve a reward. You had said that they were near." Reaching her hand deep into the pouch of her apron she drew out a live field mouse. Holding it out to the owl in offering, she laughed as the night creature snatched the small animal from her hand without hesitation. She chuckled as she watched it devour the rodent, shredding the small body within a few seconds.

"Even the girl is no trouble," she said as she watched the bird feed. "My magic has taken her as well. Thank the gods! That child of a woman has no idea the potential she bears in her powers. I dare say she would be a challenge were she to fight me."

She turned back to gathering the dried plants and herbs that were spread across the table. A gauzy swash of cloth lay beneath them. She gathered the corners and knotted the ends into each other as the flowers crushed inward. She felt, heard and smelled evidence that the plants were disintegrating into themselves and the cloth, and she was careful not to inhale too deeply their aroma. The crushed remains made a small parcel. She placed it into her gathering basket that laid near the door. And then she turned back to face the owl.

"And now to the test, my friend. Which way do we choose? Do we keep them today, or let them go? Would they do better together, or split apart? You say you saw them go into a cave near a waterfall, and I would venture that this is the passage we seek to the Protected Place. But I should see it for myself to know certain. And yet I am troubled, my friend. We do not really know their numbers, do we? You have told me there were more men upon horses, and others that entered the cave. This frightens me. What if there are too many for me to control? Too bad owls cannot count or take notice to such details, for I might know my enemy better. Still, it was not what was asked of you, was it?" she said in a softly cooing voice as she allowed the owl to peck at the field mouse's scent left in her hand. "No worries then. They have not come under my influence yet, and once I have broached that, the information I need will come. We have time. We will find a way. We are still two days from the setting sun to the full moon. That is when this comes to an end." Then she laughed. "Is it not amusing, my pet, that before yesterday, we were panicked with what need be done in this time? Bäla must have a part in this. I sense his skills at play. The plans are working brilliantly."

Then she went back to the curtain, and gazed out again at the four strangers in her camp. Her eyes fixed on the one in the party that captivated her attention the most. Yes, she thought, this is going better than hoped.

There was something wrong. Not only did she feel immeasurably unlike her normal self, but there was something not right in the scene of the camp. And yet, she could not discern what it could be. To Kattica's eyes, everything was seemingly placid. The arrival of the foreigners had quickly dissolved from something fearful and strange, to something fascinating and enlightening to her people. The family seemed more than willing to allow these beings into their world, and the four were easily absorbed into the lifestyle of the camp. Mattias and the rest of the men were eating their meal, sharing their hospitality with two of the four strangers the ones called Strider and Anborn and a round of laughter broke out as the dark-haired Strider regaled them with a tale from their hunting exploits. A boom of laughter erupted from the group, and the men appeared mirthful. That appeared right. So why did everything else feel so wrong?

The other two, Legolas and Gimli, were standing by, offering their aid where they could. And Kattica was very glad to have it. She could not remember ever feeling as drained as she did now. Not just tired, but thoroughly spent, as if her entire body and mind were immersed in a wet blanket. She felt limp, though no other symptoms accompanied her ill-feeling, and try as she might, she could not identify it. Not like diagnosing the dogs, she thought. That had been simple. Too simple, though she dared not say this to anyone aloud. Poisons in mushrooms were often trickier to detect, and it seemed odd to her that the dogs had succumbed to their bad turn so quickly. Yet poison the mushrooms must have been, for indeed the dogs were sick, and she had no other explanation. She berated herself for not detecting it sooner. Still, she had felt certain the mushrooms were safe when she and Süzika had picked them and she had almost argued against testing them on the dogs. A part of her still held true to that conviction. It did not seem like the poison of a mushroom that felled them. In fact, it was almost as if something else had tainted the dogs' food. But what? She could not decipher the mystery, especially in the foggy state of mind she now found herself. No matter, she mentally countered. The cure I have is a general remedy. It should heal them regardless of how they came to be ill. Now if she could only find a cure for what ailed her.

"Perhaps you should lay down for a while," a melodious voice said, breaking her thoughts as if seeming to read them.

"My weariness shows," she stated, then shrugged. "Have no fears, Master Elf, it is merely the exhaustion of a woman bearing child. It will pass."

"Will it?" Legolas asked. "I sense your fatigue is more than surface depletion. Even now, you look as if you are struggling against something much deeper."

"I suppose I am. It is the baby, I am sure. It is not unusual for a woman in my condition to act this way, I think."

"My people do not take such luxuries. We all have our jobs to do. And mine, for the moment, is to heal these dogs," she said as she crushed fresh herbs into her mortar from where she sat at a small bench.

She looked at him with eyes widened in wonderment, momentarily forgetting her fatigue. "I have heard that elves are magical in nature. Are you a shuv'ni as well?"

Legolas looked both shocked and amused. He laughed at the thought. "Nay," he said. "I know no magic. If elves possess anything, it is an understanding of nature. We hear the songs of life."

Kattica blinked. She had never heard of such a thing. "Can you heal the dogs with this skill?"

"If I could, I would have done so by now. No, it is more a sense than an action. What I do know, what I can sense, is that they suffer, and I do not think an animal should be made to hurt like this. It is cruel," Legolas said as he looked sympathetically at the animal before him.

"You might not say that if you know of their normal temperament. They frighten me," the girl said with a shudder.

"Yes, I understand how you might feel that. I sense that from them as well. But they only do their job, as you would say. They act on both instinct and on what they have been taught. I cannot begrudge them their nature for that which they had no choice," he said, stroking the large grey hound's coat. Then changing the subject, he said, "I have met a few wizards before, but never a mortal witch. Tell me about what you do as a shuv'ni apprentice."

She gave a weak smile in answer. "You see it before you in all its glory. I tend to the sick as needed, be they people or dogs. And I serve Bregus, our shuv'ni, when she desires it."

Then she looked at Legolas with her dulled eyes and tried to muster her curiosity. This was a rare opportunity, she realized, and the chance to learn of the life of an elf would probably never come to her again. She stirred her mind into motion. "Tell me of the healers among your people. Surely they must employ means of magic in their work."

"Our healers work much as I see you, with herbal infusions and extracts. Their magic is in knowing how to utilize the song in applying these remedies. Do you employ magic in your work?" Legolas redirected.

"When needed, I do. But my magic is not very powerful. Being an apprentice, I have many more years of tutelage before I will become knowledgeable in the full force of what I can do," she answered, then said, "I practice white magic." She did not know if Legolas knew what that meant that she used natures forces to aid willing subjects. She considered telling him that Bregus used just the opposite, black magic, but she felt her lethargy increase in revealing just this much of herself. She hoped he would not ask more of her, for she was uncertain that she had the strength to speak of it.

Through her fatigue, Kattica ceased whirling the ingredients in the mortar. She rested the bowl in her lap as she took a deep breath, then looked up at him. "This is ready. I only need the water," she said, glancing about for Gimli, who had gone to refill the bucket she had dropped.

"He comes now," Legolas said, smiling faintly as he nodded his head in the direction of his friend. Emerging into the camp from the slope of a hill, the dwarf carried the bucket with ease, foisting it to the bench before the girl without shedding a drop.

She took the small bowl that had held the herbs, tapped it out, and then scooped it partially full with the water. She scraped half of the pasty concoction into it, stirring it with her pestle. Handing the bowl to Legolas along with a small, wooden spoon, she said, "I now make you my apprentice. Help me please as it is difficult for me to get down to them in my present condition. Do me the favor of dribbling five spoonfuls of this medicine into each of the dog's throats. But be careful as you do. They may be weak, but I'm sure they will revive quickly. And they bite."

Legolas nodded and returned to the dogs to do as she had told him. Meanwhile, with the remainder of the paste and the water in the bucket, she prepared a larger bowl of the draught. Behind her she heard a low growl, and she turned just in time to see Legolas jump back as a one of the dogs snapped its jaws at him, bearing fangs in the process. At her side, she heard Gimli chuckle. Though still unable to move, the hackles on the crreatures back stood on end. "I told you they were not such friendly creatures," she chided.

"They have just not learned that I am their friend," Legolas said with patience, ignoring the laughing dwarf and slowly drawing near again. He whispered soft foreign words to the animal and Kattica saw the dog's ears fall back as its mood softened. Whimpering slightly, the dog grew tame to his touch. He resumed stroking its coat before trying again with the spoon. Looking up at her, he smiled.

"If you could teach me to do that, I would be forever grateful," she said with awe.

"Not before he teaches me," Gimli interjected. "But I know well that he won't. For he knows that if he could teach me to speak to the animals as he does, I would tell a horse-friend of his a thing or two."

Legolas smiled as he moved on to another dog. "Perhaps that is precisely the reason I do not teach you, my friend. Lest you forget, my horse has a mind of his own. He might have a thing or two to say in return, and you might not be fond of those thoughts. I am afraid his assessment of you is not kind, Gimli."

"Oh? And I suppose he has told you this. Your horse," Gimli snorted in disbelief.

"If you could speak with him yourself, you might be surprised to find him a worthy challenger to your words," Legolas replied with a faint grin.

"You did say you had a thing or two to say to him. I would judge my horse could easily keep pace with you, jibe for jibe, in a verbal joust."

The elf shrugged. "I could translate between you," Legolas offered, looking at Kattica with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"An unfair contest that would be!" Gimli erupted. "Undoubtedly, the horse would win with you putting words into its mouth."

"I am offended. You think I would favor my horse over you? How do you know I would not put words into your mouth to make you sound better?" Legolas began.

Kattica smiled at the conversation as she finished stirring the mixture. She could see this type of pointless discourse was normal behavior for these two, just by observing how easily they fell into it, and it had lifted her spirits to listen. But she interrupted, knowing she had to get the next part of the cure ready for the animals. "Would you please take this over to the dogs for me, Gimli?"

"At your service, Lady" he said with a small bow, casting a glare at Legolas as he did so.

The dog Legolas had been attending slowly rose, and wandered to the bowl, lapping at the mixture. It was soon joined by the other dogs. They appeared to be on the mend. But Kattica's focus was no longer on the animals. She saw an object hang from Gimli's belt, and it took a fierce hold of her attention.

Gimli saw her eyes gaze at the ornament and without hesitation he held it out to her. "I was going to ask if you knew to whom this belonged," he said. It was a charm of some sort, carved from an amber-colored stone. It was smooth from long wear and tied to a string of earth colored ribbons that were frayed at the ends where the strings had unraveled. A bead carved from wood held them tight, and the tiny wood circlet was decorated with a repeating pattern in the shape of two crescent moons facing one another. The stone itself was carved in the shape of two female figures, side by side, one slightly larger. Each one carried again the shape of the two crescent moons facing each other. Kattica stared at this amulet as her jaw dropped open. "So you know this jewelry?" the dwarf asked, regarding her expression. "I found it out near the trail. It would be a thing of importance, I gather."

"It is," she said in a whisper. "I had nearly forgotten it." She delicately picked the object from Gimli's hand. "How could I have forgotten it?"

"Is it something you would use as a shuv'ni?" Legolas asked, glancing up at the object she now held.

"Iyes, I I cannot think of why I know it, but I think it is mine," she said, blinking hard at the object held open in her palm, trying to force her mind to recall everything about it. Someone important had given it to her. Long ago. Who? "II know of this. What is this?"

Gimli and Legolas exchanged concerned expressions. Gimli spoke for them, "Kattica, it has been asked before, but I must persist: are you well? Your thoughts seem somewhat clouded and you react as someone who has received a severe blow."

Kattica closed her eyes. A blow? Had someone struck her? No, somehow that did not seem right. But at the moment, nothing was making much sense to her. Her memory of this amulet was so clearly there before her, and at the same time vague, as if shrouded in a haze of fog. Fighting. She was fighting to be free of it, and yet she could not even get her mind around the thing that she fought. There was something at work here, yet she had no memory of it. She clenched her hand around the amulet, her hands tensing into fists in frustration as she tried to recall what it was that eluded her. How could this happen? What has happened? Suddenly, her eyes flew open as memories began to flood back in. The blanket over her mind was removed. Bregus! It was witchcraft!

Kattica opened her eyes and suddenly stood, reaching to her belly protectively and looking wildly about, trying to take in the disturbance in the camp and what it was that she had seen but not seen. She gazed everywhere, as Legolas and Gimli watched her with growing trepidation. She saw their concern. They do not know, she realized, then berated herself for not seeing the obvious. Of course they do not! They are innocent of this. They are her targets!

Again, she looked at the scene about her. She glanced at her husband as a shudder ran up her spine. The memory of his hands crushing down on her wrists returned to her, and her brow creased into a frown as she tried to push the thought of it away. He did not have control, she reasoned. That was Bregus' work. She choked back her anger and fear, forcing herself to forgive him as she continued to look for the missing pieces of the mystery in her mind. Apprehension was strong in her as she viewed the table and the strangers before her husband. And then she saw it. There was something familiar in the fairer of the two men. Anborn, he was called, and she drew her attention to him to try and place it. Sitting across from her husband she noticed the similarity in their size and build. The fair-haired man was slightly older than Mattias, but his features were the same color and shape as the man she had married, and she realized with comparable garb, they could be mistaken as family, brothers even. Funny, she thought. She began to look away, her body still weak from the loss of her perceptions, but not before she caught sight of something else, and she looked back to see she was correct. Bregus was not at the table with the men. As puri dai, it was her place to sit with the men at meal. She looked up at the vardo, and realized the elder was still within the confines there. Kattica saw her, peeking through a sliver in the curtain toward the newcomers within the camp. And she realized that Bregus too was staring at the fair-haired man. Intently!

She gasped. She was about to speak, to warn the elf and dwarf that there was danger here, that the witch was about to do something to their friend, but before she could, Bregus stepped out of the wagon. The elder shot the girl a glare, and the fright of that gaze was enough to make Kattica drop the amulet she had been holding. Without even seeing the action, the elder waved her hand through the air in a downward movement, saying aloud, "Kele bar!" and the activity in the camp came to a freezing halt. Even Kattica was struck, rendered mute by the witch's spell as the blanket of haze returned to her mind. She could not move, could not speak. All she could do was observe Bregus' next move.

*I know they are vicious dogs, and we saw what they did to the elf in the Prologue, but I really don't believe in inflicting pain of this sort on animals, no matter how cruel they may seem. This little experience is derived from a story my grandmother would tell me of Old Suzy, who lived up the road from her house. Old Suzy used to pick wild mushrooms, though she was never really sure if they were edible or not. She used to cook them with a silver spoon, which was an old wives' tale that told if the food was good to eat or bad. If the spoon turned black, Suzy would get worried, and so she'd feed the mushrooms to the goat. If the goat didn't keel over, she'd feed them to her husband. If her husband lived, Suzy decided they were safe to eat and so would have dinner. I like my grandmother's story better than mine, but it didn't quite fit with what I was doing, and so I adapted. I certainly don't recommend doing this to animals and I'm sure the ASPCA might have a thing or two to say. For that matter, I don't recommend picking and eating wild mushrooms either, and I am always amazed to see people still die from this practice (there is usually at least one report on the news every summer). Especially when there are so many safe alternatives available at the grocers.

Bregus the witch, also called Mother, the shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai (tribe elder)

The shuv'ni's heart was dark. It had grown cold with her evil over long years, starting even before the births of any of her sons, though it took her many more years to reach the level of sinfulness one could truly call depraved. As no human is immersed into immorality from their start, it would be fair in judging her to consider that Bregus had been made this way. By her own greed as well as by the will of her husband.

She had not been born to cruel intentions. Indeed, she had once had a decent soul. Her family were good people, always gentle in their ways, traveling quietly without disturbing the lands or the people who lived in those places, making the most out of what they could manage, and generally being happy in their ways. But there was something in her that wanted more. Being the last of five children and the only female among them had made her restless. Her brothers all had strong personalities, and her mother doted on them. Bregus was ignored for the most part, left to her own devices. She was a girl-child, and so she had little to garner the notice or respect that came easily to the males in her family. Such was the way of the clan. Unless she lived long enough to become puri dai, she could expect little more for her life then this. She would grow up, learning the skills of the women-folk, groomed to be selected one day at the gatherings, and traded off by her father for a horse, or some goats, or a good hunting dog. She could expect to be sized up for her breeding potential, and she knew she was seen as little more than one would see an object. Her potential for more was never considered, and all she could hope was to grow old enough to be seen someday as having some wisdom. But for her, a future as puri dai was far, far away, and impatiently she wanted what her male siblings had then: authority and power. And that desire is initially what corrupted her. She was smart and she saw that there were ways that she could attain her desires, and with shrewdness, she went about getting them. She made it known that she wanted to study under the shuvanis, for male or female, these sorcerers had power and respect within the tribe. She usurped the place of the shuv'ni apprentice in her clan. No one suspected the fatal fall by that girl was of Bregus' doing. And so she manipulated her way to their attention, and took over the role as the witch's apprentice. Gladly she immersed herself in it. She went to the healer tents when the gatherings came and learned their craft through white magic, following their teachings under the stars and the moon. She learned of the herblore that would give her powers to heal. She was taught to read cards and stones. She learned to make charms and to speak incantations. She grew to understand the Spirit Worlds, and she learned of animal guides. She could interpret dreams and sought out ways to foretell future events. But she was young, and though knowledgeable and bright, and a bit talented as well, she remained an apprentice. It would remain this way until her years had proven her skill. But this angered her. She was impatient. She did not want to wait so long.

It was at one of the gatherings that he had seen her. He read her and saw what she wanted. Already a great shuv'ni for his tribe, Bäla spun his spell and chose her. She easily fell. Had she tried, she could have warded off his magic. But in her eagerness that was youth, and her rebellion to be free of her elders and their constant blockades to her desires, she allowed herself to become a victim of his lust. Bäla was much older than she was and she saw in him a mentor, a lover, and an escape from the drudgery of her life in her camp. She became a part of his clan, joyous in her freedom from the complacent nothingness her life had been. He was her savior and she allowed him to take her. He was practiced in the black arts, and she let his evil corrupt and mold her into an image he made, pliant to his will and his charms. Inside, a part of her mourned the loss of her gentler self as the study of her white magic was pushed away. But then she remembered what she would be without him, and she brushed aside her inner feelings, berating herself for experiencing anything but pride at what she was becoming under his tutelage. She remained tainted by his seduction. Her animal spirit latched onto his and she became enthralled to his powers and studied within the confines of his allure until her powers became the equal of his. And when he was done, her spirit was intertwined with his and she became a part of him. They grew to be a perfect match for each other.

Together they ruled their clan, slowly growing darker with the harm they created. They manipulated their children and fellow tribesmen, making them believe their hearts were good, elevating themselves to places of higher authority within the tribal gatherings through their maneuvering. They held their family captive, just as he held her, and none among them had any choice but to obey, not even realizing other opportunity existed. The elders about them who could rule over them died, falling to diseases that somehow the two shuvanis could not contain. Anyone who stood in their way seemed fated. And so they were promoted by their people, and she enjoyed it. She loved seeing them bow to her whims. Her dreams were fulfilled.

And in fairness, the magic of Bäla and Bregus did not take harsh form while they ruled. Not unless need required it. Their wants were simple: to be free to roam as they chose, to live as their custom dictated, to raise their children and live off of the land as needed. If a villager from a neighboring town objected to the loss of his livestock to their camp, they did not let that worry them. The husband and wife shuvanis conjured their magic, and the problem was appeased. The mysterious illness that befell the villager was none of their concern. Under the shroud of this protection, they went on their way, and no harm ever came to their union.

And so it seemed that in her own menacing way, she felt warmth for her family. She knew that was what a mother was supposed to feel toward her children and her tribe. She called it love. She protected them from harm, and she thought that this was her duty. She grew to know of no other way, and with him they enjoyed many years of seeming peace as they became puri dai, the tribe elders and the leaders of their people.

But then he died. It was a mortal death, nothing unique. Age brought it on, but she was not prepared for his end. She had grown accustomed to his presence and his power. In his absence, she found that her clever mind was not as sharp as she had once thought and that many of the decisions she had thought were theirs together were really his. He had manipulated even her, she realized. But despite these revelations, she mourned deeply the loss of him as she found that for the first time, she was alone. Bereft, she began to wonder what had become of the sweet child she had been.

As she mourned, her thoughts for her personal gains grew dimmer over the long years, and as she came to weep for both him and the loss of her own soul, she began to consider taking her own life so she could join him, or at least go on to find again her old spirit. That was when the dreams began to come. He returned to her there and she found happiness returned. Joy befell her as she was with him again. She grew well in his companionship, even if he no longer really breathed or touched her with real hands and she realized that even in death, his power was still strong. He still held her. She was glad, satisfied for the moment. He was there in her dreams, her husband, her lover, and that was all that she cared about. After so long a time, he possessed her heart still and she yielded to the guidance he gave her. And so it seemed her yearning for him had not dissipated with time. If anything it grew stronger. She forgot about the child she had been and her mind began to wonder what it would be like to have him back again, if only it could be done. She began to crave him. Such a thought was enticing. She knew she could not go on further without him in some way. Only the dreams sustained her.

But the soothe of her dreams was short-lived, merely a few years, and as she noticed her body failing with age, the dreams started to foretell the darkness that would consume her at her own death. The comfort she found in his embrace in this twilight world became menacing and horrible. He showed her the pain and torment he endured when he was not in her arms. Nightmares of his torture plagued her, and they became more consistent, returning with greater frequency though they were unpredictable in their attack.

"Help me!" he would scream to her, though she was helpless to run away or offer aid. Hideous demons tore away at his body and engulfed him in charred blackness. She could hear herself call out to him. And in the dreams she would reach out, crying, as real tears rolled down her sleeping face. She could almost feel the warmth of his body within her arms, almost feel the touch of his hair against her cheeks, almost smell his musky scent in her nostrils. But then looking down on her comfort, she would see he was gone, replaced by the blackness and emptiness of devilish spiders propelling themselves upward to attack her. Recoiling, she would flail her arms in answer, pushing back the terror that tried to steal her away into its wretched void.

Her life was waning and she feared these dreams. They told her of her doom, her penance for a life of black magic and harm, and it was a terrifying vision. Within the confines of the vardo, her cries could be heard. In her waking hours, she could control so many things, but at night when the dreams came, she was helpless to escape. They took possession of her mind as if cast there by a spell deeper than any she could conjure. They taunted her with their seeming reality, and they always came when she least expected them. They left her feeling weak and helpless, and infinitely old. The vision in the dreams showed her that all her wicked ways would be repaid, and when she found death, the demons would come. Her foul deeds would be avenged, and that was a terror beyond all else to her.

She grew uncertain of herself. Trouble visited their campsite more often and her family wandered wider territories as their welcome became less warm in the lands they visited. She was forced to make choices to guide her family, and they were not always wise. Sometimes her decisions were far more harsh than need be, and instead of illness befalling a provoked villager, death more often came. Fortunately, her family did not see the harm that she caused. She hid it and had them leave, disguising them in blackness. And the bile of her hatred grew stronger for the protection she offered them.

She told them they were being persecuted. She told them there was danger. She said they needed to flee to find the salvation that would protect them. And they believed her every word. And when the dreams came that showed her how to use the heart of an immortal and the heart of an unborn to rejuvenate her own soul, she began to believe it too, for she knew if she died, the family would splinter apart. In her own way, she saw her salvation as theirs.

And now it was here. Her salvation. Their salvation. The elf was delivered and with him came the delivery of the one who would serve host as the body to her dead husband. It was delightful in its simplicity. He was a perfect fit. Her joy at finding this one named Anborn could not have been greater.

Kattica froze in her stance along with rest of the Romany in the camp. There was movement, she could see, but it was slowed, as if the people about her were moving through molasses. Without the amulet in hand, her mind felt once again dulled, and she felt her thoughts drifting into a muddle of nothingness, caught again in the witch's magic. She realized the spell Bregus had cast on the tribe was one never intended for humans. It was a fleeting incantation, using mental skill over rites of the spiritual circle. Normally used only on creatures of the wild to slow their running pace and make them easier targets, it was a hunter's spell. Its use was questionable, debated at the gatherings, and agreed that it was called upon only in desperate times, of famine or illness. The magnitude of Bregus' skills, to cast a spell over so many simultaneously, surprised her. The only good thing she could recall of the spell was that it had a short-lived hold. In a minute or two the camp would be back to normal, and in the confusion of her thoughts, under the haze of the other spell, she understood none would remember being halted this way. Trying to push the fog again invading her mind, she re-focused her energy on what was occurring and on regaining her power to move more freely. And yet, she was unable to do anything but watch the horror unfold before her. Her heart raced as she struggled against it, trying her best to remain alert, to follow the events, and to find a way to undo the evil that was about to come. For herself, she knew her only hope remained with the amulet that her grandmother had given her, now laying at her feet. She had to get it back. She had to touch it. It would free her from Bregus' powers. But until she could reach it, she was stuck here, only able to observe mutely and try to discern Bregus' intent over these kind-hearted strangers.

In her effort to reach her amulet, Kattica turned her body. She was now facing Strider and Anborn and could see fully their actions. It took but a moment for them to notice the sluggish state of their table companions, and then another moment more to grasp that the same affect was everywhere about them. It was curious to Kattica that they were not affected. But then, she reasoned, they had not been attacked the night before either and that probably had much to do with the potency of the spell.

Strider rose as he saw the old woman step down from the wagon, marching toward the fire. "You there," he called out, "old woman." But Bregus ignored him as she dropped her parcel into the burning embers.

Anborn also stood, but it appeared neither he nor Strider had discerned the old woman's intent. He simply spoke. "Who are you? What goes here?" In her thoughts, however, Kattica was panicked, screaming for them to flee, to run quickly from the camp. But her fumbling mind could not get the words out to warn them. With justification, they were confused by the disruption of activity in the camp, and Kattica could see that her elder used this to her advantage. She knew their failure to move would entrap them. Within seconds, Kattica's fears came true.

Immediately, smoke shot up from the burning parcel. Even in her dull mind, Kattica was surprised at the speed and containment of it. She saw Bregus complete the magic, pointing to each of them in turn, saying, "Li' sa' kaulo eer, sapmullo! B'e-g themengeder!" As if in compliance to the command, the smoke wafted with demonic speed to each of the four simultaneously, a separate wind dividing and guiding it along. She watched in terror as she saw it whirl around Strider and Anborn coiling about like two serpents, and then drawing back as if to strike. In a tremendous rush, the smoke broke apart from its shape and billowed again into a cloud, encasing their faces and torsos. Small swirls within each cloud emulated the shape of the snake a dozen times over, and the creatures about in the smoke prodded at their eyes, mouths, ears and noses, seeking an entrance into their bodies by any of these routes. She could see the creatures aggressive prodding, thrusting at the eyes of the men, piercing into their noses, coiling around their ears, sliding across their lips. She could see the creatures gliding through entrances to their clothing, slithering down their bellies and into private spaces beneath, and she could only imagine the terror of being invaded this way. The men did not stand idly, kicking and flailing about in their fights. They shut their eyes to the attack, hands flinging up to push away the transparent menace that licked at their ears or noses or bodies, and yet they were helpless as their enemy had no true body to be pushed back.

"No!" she heard Anborn gasp out as he struck out at one form curling against his thigh, another at his waist, and then she saw the serpentine smoke enter his body as he called out. He choked mightily, and with each inhale, more and more of the snakes leapt down his throat. He retched and grabbed his neck, and his eyes grew wide in terror, as the attacking creatures continued to plunge into his body, curling in and out of his nostrils as they overtook him. His legs buckled, and she saw him fall to his knees, still suffering the sickening sound of his gasps. He was quickly followed by the mirroring sounds and sight of Strider rolling to the ground, and behind her, where the dwarf and elf stood, she heard Legolas call out his companion's name. And then more of the same choking hacks could be heard. Being so close, it was almost worse, for the sound of the rattling torment in their lungs made Kattica nauseated and repulsed. She saw the men's faces contort in their struggle, coughing violently again and again against the harsh air that they breathed. And as they took in more of it, the haze about them faded and their struggles slowed. Their breathing grew less labored, as their bodies froze in their stance and within a minute they again inhaled normally as if nothing had been trying to cause them their harm. But worst of all the horror Kattica had been forced to witness thus far was what she saw happen to their eyes as they surrendered to the smoke. They dissolved into nothing, and she could see everything that they felt was wiped away. They were completely blank and pliant.

Kattica watched in silence, though tears came to her eyes. Bregus walked with her quickened steps to their sides, practically dancing in her mirth at their frozen stares and laughing gleefully at the sight. She stepped before Anborn and knelt. His appearance so likened Mattias' that Kattica was surprised she had not noticed it earlier. The old woman lingered long before him, gazing intently into his eyes with a hungry smile, caressing his face, and then pulling him closer and pressing her cheek into his. Drawing back, she ran her hand over the contours of his lips, uttering gentle words before pushing herself up and moving on. And then she stooped down to Strider whispering in his ear as she touched the dark man's shoulder. Kattica realized this was a repeat of what she had witnessed the night before, and she came to recognize that the old woman's touch was very important in casting this spell. With horror she watched as the old woman rose to step near her, and she was afraid for a moment Bregus might stop to ponder the ragged condition of the girl's expression. But to her relief, the older witch walked past the girl, ignoring Kattica's slow motion actions to reach the amulet. So intent was the elder on her next move. The girl grimaced as she continued to fight against the spell. Bregus made her way to where the dwarf stood, and Kattica was blind to what was happening at her back. Gimli and Legolas were behind her. Yet her proximity had its advantages and the girl could hear the old woman's instructions. "There is nothing here worthy of fear. Listen to my words and follow them. You will hear only the good in what I have to say." Involuntarily, Kattica shuddered. She remembered that the old woman had said much the same to her the night before, just as she remembered the blankness that overtook the faces of her people.

The length of the hunter's spell was waning, for Kattica felt her limbs slowly coming alive. Her mind continued to fight its freedom from the fog and the witch's control. With as much speed as her slow-moving body could muster, she stretched further to pick up the amulet. She desperately wanted it. She had to try to help these people, for she realized in this slowed state that Bregus was moving about far faster than she could. She pushed herself to stretch her fingers to reach the carved stone. Perhaps there was still a chance she could save the elf? And then, she had it!

Immediately, with the charm in her hand, she felt her torpor lift, and her sense of herself was back. She looked back to see if there stood yet a chance for those behind her. Kattica gasped out a cry. She saw to her relief that an escape was still possible. Bregus was now moving from the dwarf to the elf, and the old woman recognized and saw the same thing the girl did. The cloud of smoke yet hung over Legolas. He still had not been claimed by its poison. The sound of her voice reverberated through the camp like a bell, and somehow it had a power that truly surprised her. The spell abruptly ended. Instantly, not slowly, the people came back to life!

With a snap of her head, the witch sent a wicked glare at the girl, and Kattica blinked both in amazement at the suddenness of the renewed actions, and the fear that she now felt for Bregus' anger. It sent a chill up the girl's spine, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. But the shuv'ni was too distracted for the moment to do anything beyond making her move against the elf. Like the black witch, Kattica focused her attention on Legolas. With a small smile, Kattica saw him attempt his flight. In her mind she cheered him on. She knew that if he could get out of the circle of the pentacle Bregus had made the night before, he would be free from the powers of her darkness, though it was unlikely he would know this. As long as he remained within the camp, within the magic circle, near her touch, he was susceptible.

Kattica saw Bregus scowl as he ran, but simultaneously, the old woman did not appear fazed. She reached into her deep pocket to retrieve an object there. A secret smile gleaned her lips at the discovery of what she sought. And then she continued her pursuit with the speed of youth.

Legolas had seen the smoke approach in the shape of a snake, and he immediately drew back further from his companions. With those few steps, he was granted an extra moment to see how the smoke attacked, if through no other means than by the example set by his friends. "Gimli!" he cried out as he saw the dwarf overtaken, but it was too late, and already he could hear the rasping hacks of his friend's coughs. He watched and absorbed it, seeing the assault, and he searched his mind for a means of fighting it. And then the cloud was upon him, and he had time for nothing else. He had his own battle to fight!

He held his breath to the creature and was surprised to see it break apart into smaller versions of itself. The smoke stung his eyes, and he saw the quick flicks of snakes driving themselves there. Tears streamed down his face as his eyes tried to wash away the haze that attacked him. Momentarily his hands flailed about in an involuntary gesture, and he was forced to shake his head, attempting to free himself of the smoke, not knowing in which direction he could turn to get away. And then he stopped and waited, barring his eyes and ears from further attack, and deciding prudence could potentially deliver him over panic. It was a warrior's tactic, and he hoped it would work. He could not see. He could not smell. He could not touch or taste, but he could hear, and with this one sense available to him, he waited for an indication that it was safe again to breathe. He felt the coils of the snake ringing about him, but in his motionless state, the creatures fell away, their tactic to coerce him into the weakness of crying out failing. But still, he remained unmoving.

He heard his friends' gasps and the sickening sound of their choking noises. Slowly the gags ebbed, replaced by the sounds of normal breathing, and he almost then opened his eyes to see if the smoke had cleared. But then he heard a voice, a laugh, and light steps and it frightened him. It belonged to the old woman and it was brittle and cruel, twanging in its depths with evil intentions. Malicious and cold it was, and he felt himself shudder at the sound of it. He heard the shuffle of footsteps, and he knew she was approaching, speaking to them each in her own vile way. He knew he did not have much time left.

Outside of the voice, all sound had ceased. It was the thing that had alerted him to the trouble in the camp, the cessation of noise. But then he heard a gasped cry from the girl, Kattica, and he snapped to attention at her vocalization. It sent a jolt through his body as he heard the ambient noises return suddenly to the camp, as if that noise had the power to wake them. The clinking of plates and utensils, the stirring of food in the pots, the sound of children laughing again, the trampling hooves beneath the bodies of grazing horses, they all came back as if they had never stopped. Regarding this as a positive thing, he tasted the air.

But still it was wrong! The air remained tainted and thick with the noxious fumes and the creatures resumed their attack on him. He began to grow desperate, fighting against the smoke once again. He knew there was little other choice and so he picked a direction and ran. Fearful that he would trip, his eyes opened to slits to see his way, all the while enduring the snakes' stings at them. He knew that he had been seen, as he heard the voices of others point him out, yet no one came to his aid. Tears streamed from his eyes and his lungs felt ready to burst, but he was marvelously near the edge of the camp. A few more steps, one more leapand then suddenly he collapsed. Unexplainably, his legs gave way and he tumbled and rolled to the ground, scraping his hands and his knees in the fall. In the background noise, among the mumbling voices of the camp, he heard a small tune being sung. It was a wordless thing, almost flat in the intonation of its note patterns, and it followed no set pattern or beat. It was a vile noise and he recoiled at the wickedness within it. His legs seemed to be numbed by it, and fight as he did, they would not respond to his rousing. And all this while the cloud of smoke was upon him, prying at him while he held on to his lingering breath. He felt himself failing in his fight. He rolled to his back as he tried again to escape, using his elbows and hands to drag himself away. He could see the old woman approaching him, and his eyes grew wide in fright. Her song was growing louder, and his arms gave out too, losing all of their strength to her noise. He dropped to the ground, a helpless weight, unable to do anything but succumb to attack.

"Legolas!" he heard Gimli cry, and he looked up briefly to see his friend's arrival at his side, followed immediately by Aragorn and Faramir.

But his air was spent and Legolas could no longer hold on. His head was growing light from his lack of air, and he knew he would pass out at any moment if he did not inhale. Relieved at the sight of his friends, hoping that they could be of aid to him somehow, he drew a breath. It was small in comparison to what his body screamed for, but he thought with that much he might be able to buy himself more time. He was wrong. The serpents took the opportunity offered them and pressed it. His inhale was enough to allow the snakes entrance to his body. Immediately, he choked, gagging and hacking as his lungs rebelled into spasms, helpless to a greater invasion that occurred with the violent gasps. He saw and felt the creatures enter him and he tried to cry out. It felt like poison to him. He could see others gather about him as he fell against the dwarf in his fight, gathered into his friend's arms in the attempt to comfort, yet no one among them offered aid. His friends waved their hands in the air to the smoke, and yet still, the venomous air invaded him. The snakes roiled about in his chest and his eyes filled with tears as he fought for air. His weakened arms pushed against the invisible foe as it entered his body, squirming in the dwarf's arms as he gagged, trying to find his freedom from the smoke's invasion. He fought against taking another breath, but he knew it was a futile effort. He could not stop himself, and vaguely he thought this must be what it felt like to drown. In his plea for his friends' help, he was able to force a few small words from his throat before the need to inhale again overtook him. With a raspy voice, he fought out, "Help me please smoke!" before more air entered him and hurt him.

He coughed deeply, with the full capacity of his chest, and felt sickened. His breaths came in gasping sputters, releasing the noxious toxins into his bloodstream. The grey tentacles penetrated his body. He could feel them sliding down the back of his throat, reaching down into the core of his body. At his side he heard Aragorn speak in a calm voice, grasping his arms to his side to allay the fight, "It is safe, Legolas. The smoke has cleared. Breathe! Breathe!"

He had little choice. His legs did not work, his eyesight was blurred, and his lungs and throat ached at the strain of his fight. He choked still with even greater violence as the sinuous air swirled about in his body. His eyes widened at the attack, and he felt true panic as he found himself unable to escape it. And then he inhaled once again, and his struggle dissipated. It seemed now that the air was filtering clean. His coughs were slowing and he felt his body accepting the gulps of oxygen he took in. His arms fell away from his fight.

But he felt something else. Distant, remote, as if his body and mind were separating from each other, living apart in completely different places. His body calmed from the spasms that he had suffered as it took in the air now offered it. But he also knew his mind was not connected to this action. His tear-filled eyes fixed into a blank stare that he seemed unable to avoid and he saw and heard everything about him in finite detail in the next moments. He saw the girl drop down to his side, troubled feelings registering strongly in her eyes, He saw the old woman step up behind her, looking on with a wry smile, pushing something into a small pouch tied to her side. He saw many of the Romany gather about him, including the three brothers and the genuine looks of curiosity and concern on their faces.

"Legolas?" he heard Gimli's worried call at his side, but he did not answer. He could not answer. He felt frozen and incapable of doing anything that would cause his body movement from this place it was fixed in, though he wanted desperately to speak.

Legolas felt the dwarf stir. "What do you make of this?" he heard Gimli ask, obvious concern in his voice.

"I know not. He is much now like how he acts to the sea-longing. But there was smoke, as if in tentacles, and he was crying out against it only seconds ago. I am at a loss to explain it," the former Ranger said with a frown, checking Legolas' pulse and looking deeply into his eyes.

"And yet you did not see any smoke, did you? You could not, for there was none here." It was the old woman who spoke, and Legolas saw Kattica jump, almost as if she did not realize the elder stood behind her.

"But" Aragorn began, yet his eyes darkened, and he looked for the moment as if conflicted. Then his eyelids fluttered, and he uttered softly in concurrence to the old woman's statement, "Nay, I did not see smoke."

Legolas felt Gimli nodding his agreement, as he heard Faramir, slowly echoing the words, "There was no smoke."

Trapped in his frozen body, Legolas' mind rebelled. His face twisted slightly as he tried to speak up. There was smoke! How can they say there was not? They fought it too! He worked to muster himself back, to fight for what he knew. His brow furrowed as he tried to form words, but then the elder woman bent over, supporting her weight on the shoulder of Kattica as she reached out and touched his neck, as if attempting to register his pulse. An electric shock ran through him and he saw the old woman react to it too. Through his fixed gaze, he thought he saw Kattica jump back. But it was too late to think much more than this. He felt his thoughts recede further, as if in a tunnel, as he heard the old woman speak as she examined him, holding his face between her hands, "Perhaps it is sea-longing. I have heard tale of this affliction. Very tiring it must be. He does look fatigued, does he not? I doubt he will remember much of anything when he awakens, and I would imagine it would be best if he were to sleep until it passes."

He heard the words, and they seemed to take possession of him. Traveling down the long corridor that separated his body from his mind, they followed him as he grew helpless to their effect. Suddenly, every muscle of his body felt crushed with exhaustion, and his troubled thoughts melted into a blur. The words he had been trying to say fell away, and he found himself light-headed and hopelessly weakened. Only the repetition of her words escaped him before he lost all control. "Sleep" Legolas drawled in a whisper, and with that his eyelids fell heavily and his head lolled forward.

"Legolas?" he heard Gimli distantly prod, but the elf had nothing more within him, and the dwarf's call was met with no response. Legolas slipped away, collapsing deeply and effortlessly into the oblivion she laid out for him.

"Li' sa' kaulo eer, sapmullo! B'e-g themengeder!" "By the gods I command you, snake spirit! Seize these foreign souls! Cast of additional characters and aliases

Bregus the witch, also called Mother, the shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai (tribe elder)

He had been struggling, yet now he was still. Flailing and fighting an unseen demon, and then, almost mercifully, lost in elven dreams. Gimli did not understand. Sea-longing, they said. He was having difficulty believing it.

Protectively he held on as the former Ranger and the shuvni exchanged words about his downed friend. Only now did he realize his fingers were still tightly and painfully curled around the shoulder of the elf. He softened his grip and he felt Legolas body shift in his arms, the elf's head falling back. Adjusting himself, he tenderly brought Legolas' head and shoulders down to a reclining position in his lap. Gimli watched his friend's face while anxiety and doubt gripped him. This did not seem right. In all the time he had spent with Legolas, on the many occasions he had actually witnessed the assault of this presumed illness, he could not recall seeing anything like this occurrence. This felt of ill-omen. Unnatural. Surreal. "Ar Strider," he whispered, catching himself as he almost called the man by his rightful name, "Surely this is not the sea-longing we have witnessed. Never has he been agitated and tormented by it so. Nor fallen so quickly or deeply into dream after. I do not concur with your interpretation. I do not believe that is it."

The Ranger frowned at the dwarf and Gimli could see the man too was perplexed by the mystery of the illness. Apologetically, he said, "I know naught else to call it, Gimli. While it seems early yet for this to have happened in an elf so young as Legolas, I do know in advanced stages among Silvan elves, his affliction can have symptoms such as we have seen. Have you knowledge that he has not been affected this way?"

Gimli reddened, and looked down at his friend's face in shame. "He will not we do not I know not of late how he is affected by the sea's call. I am faulted in this as I have not asked, though I am afraid he would be remiss to volunteer this information even if I should. And yet, we do not need to speak on it. When I am with him, and he is plagued, I can see it. Almost intuitively sometimes, but I know it. And this does not feel like sea-longing to me, Strider. He does not suffer like that."

Aragorn gave a knowing glance to the dwarf, agreeing in his own way, then looked upon the elf's face. He frowned. It was plain to see that Legolas was captured in a deep state of unconsciousness, whatever it was that had caused it. His eyes were tightly sealed, and that did not bode well. Yet his breathing was slow and steady and he did not appear to be in any pain. "It matters not what it is for now. We should get him back to our camp. We can treat him there if it is something of greater consequence, and he will feel better to awaken in an environment he knows," Strider said with an authority that came naturally to him. The decision made, he stood and reached out to raise the elf in an effort to carry him.

"What is your hurry?" the old woman said as she stepped to his side. She touched Aragorn, and he stopped where he stood. "He appears to be at peace. It might do him more good to let him sleep. And you have not finished your meal, while I have still yet to dine. Please, I have so much that I would ask you. Come. Sit and talk with me," the elder said with a deep, rich voice that seemed more youthful than her appearance. Aragorn stood in his spot, blinking and looking at her. He seemed to be weighing her words, as if she had a tremendous influence on this decision. She tugged at the Ranger's arm, attempting to lead him away, and to Gimli's surprise, Aragorn was willing.

Faramir blinked, snapping to life, also astounded that the Ranger would not choose this moment to leave. "Strider," he called in a harsh voice, then he reached over to pull the man's other arm. "What are you doing? Have you taken leave of your senses? We should go! Legolas has fallen ill and we do not know the cause. Surely we can not stand about making idle conversation at this time?"

Gimli watched with confusion as Aragorn's face became rent in indecision. His eyes looked lost, blinking, as if struggling with conflicting thoughts. He perceived a silent war going on in the Ranger's head as he saw gray eyes crawl back to the prone elf, and then on to the old woman, and then back again to his friend. He could tell that a part of Aragorn wanted to leave this place, but something was compelling him to stay. Was it the old woman? Even to the dwarf, to whom the woman's comments had not been directed, there was a pull in her voice that reached into his soul. She stepped between Aragorn and Faramir and touched them both. Then with a smile she turned, including the dwarf in her discourse as she reached over and offered a pat to his shoulder. "Please, my friends. I do not mean to be the cause of quarrel between you. Of course you must go if you perceive your friend truly ill. But I can assure you from what I see, he is healthy and only in need of rest. We can make him comfortable here until he awakens, and there will be no need to carry him anywhere. Kattica can attend to him, as she is almost as skilled at healing as I."

He saw Faramir waver and Gimli too felt his resolve shaken. He hesitated, not wanting to be turned away from what he perceived as his friend's dire need. He looked down to his lap, at the sleeping figure of Legolas, and readily it seemed that the danger was not so great as he had originally thought. Perhaps it was only sea-longing, though it was odd even to him that he should brush off his worries so lightly. Still, he knew there was little he could say or do on it until the elf awoke. Then they could talk and discover the cause. And as for the sudden onslaught of sleep that followed, he knew well that his friend was fatigued, not having slept the prior night, or mayhap even before that. Gimli would not reveal it now, here of all places, but the elf did not find the beauty of Henneth-Annûn as beguiling as the rest of them did, particularly the interior spaces of the fortress. He knew the elf thought it most cave-like, and the ilk of those troubled thoughts seemed to prevent him rest. With these affirmations bounding through his mind, he could see that it might indeed be safe to stay in this camp a while longer while they allowed Legolas his rest. He looked up to Kattica. She was watching him with emotion-filled eyes. The strings of her amulet hung down from a hand held in a curiously tight fist. He could not read her expression, but assumed it to mean she would care for his friend. Thus, making his decision, he lay Legolas quietly to the ground and rose to join his other two friends.

The elderly woman touched him again, speaking her assurances. "He will be well cared for, I promise you. Do not worry. Curtik and Gordash will find a more comfortable place to lay him and Kattica will attend to him Come, now, my friend. All is well. There is food here for you. Come." And even if he had never considered leaving prior to that moment, the dwarf now felt assured, certain that nothing would come to harm his friend. They stepped away, leaving Legolas behind as they joined the old woman moving to her place at the table. Gimli briefly glimpsed back as the two brothers left to prepare a place of rest in the camp for his friend. A jarring pang of guilt struck him as he looked back on the scene and he locked his steps, pausing where he stood. The girl was gazing at him, a single tear hanging in her eye. She looked forlorn and lost as she glanced back down at the prone figure, sitting in the dirt and alone in her watch over Legolas. And then the old woman touched Gimli's arm one more time, and he turned away.

The mystery of the sensations that whirled about him left Faramir perplexed. He focused his attention on the old woman, paying strict attention to her appearance to see if it could guide him in understanding what was happening. Like the others in the camp, she was dressed in bright, gaudy patterns, and a glimmer of gold whispered beneath the lacing of her blouse, as if she wore jewels beneath her dress. A shawl about her shoulders was finely embroidered, showing off the dexterity of younger fingers in their skill with the needle. He looked at her hands. Bent and misshapen they were, with arthritic joints and ribbons of veins revealed beneath the papery leather of her skin. A brief compulsion wrought over him to touch the back of her hand and confirm the texture he perceived there, but he fought it. Her body was small, almost frail in its thinness, but he sensed far more strength in her muscles than her body belied. She stood very straight, not stooped like so many at that age, and she held her head proudly and high. Her snowy hair was pulled back into a tightly coifed braid that ringed around her head twice, and her eyes sparkled brightly, with an inner light that he found unique. And yet he could see she was waning, her end drawing near. She was very old, and the lines on her face were confirmation of her ancient prowess, even if she carried herself with vigor. Her nails showed brittle and yellow on shaky hands, and her hair was the texture of cotton, somewhat ragged and dry. Her teeth were barely visible when she spoke, but on closer examination, he detected they were crooked and stained. Yet despite these negative features, her careworn face was swept up with a smile that seemed genuine and friendly, and Faramir found himself enthralled by her. He sat at the table to her left, and across from him was Aragorn, sitting to her right, with Gimli close at his side.

It was her voice that had him captured. Her voice was unlike any he had heard among a woman so very old. Deep, rich, lingering, like the resonating tones of a woodwind, almost seductive and hypnotic was the sound. Faramir closed his eyes. Never could he remember having felt this way before, guided solely by the inducement of voice. He was intrigued, and he felt held in a grip of fascination for every word uttered. He blushed. It was almost sexual, the nature of its effect, and had she not the face and body of an old woman, he might have forgotten himself in her timbre, so eager was he to comply with her wishes in order to hear her speak again. He felt shame for that helplessness. Thankfully though, when he opened his eyes, he felt himself regain his hold on himself, and thankfully too, there were Aragorn and Gimli standing by. Without them near, he was not sure of how he might act.

He was confused by this. It did not make sense to him, nor did he think it ever would. This was not right, he knew, and it repulsed him to think she could have him if she desired, but somehow the hypnotic quality of her voice was an inducement to him. He would look to his friends for the support to fight this mysterious pull. He was glad he had them near.

Bregus was not happy. This was far more difficult than she had anticipated. Her body shook at the effort, and her head quailed in droning dull pain over the presence of so many thoughts in her mind. She had told Bäla this would be a hard task to accomplish. And now it was proving itself true.

First there was the elf. He was as spirited and difficult as she had expected him to be. And knowing this, she should have gone to him first. She cursed herself for her foolishness. The allure of the one who would play host for her dear Bäla had drawn her away to that side of the camp. Anborn. She silently berated herself for allowing her yearning to guide her, instead of her mind. The face of Anborn was far too compelling. She had trusted the spell to do her job for her, but she would not make that mistake again. Thankfully, the damage was not too difficult to undo. She actually had expected this. She thought he might run. She had made the talisman from the hair of the dead elf for just an occasion such as this. It was easy enough to stay this elf with the spell of the charm to arm her. And had that been all that she had had to deal with, Bregus would have been satisfied.

The girl. That vile, awful child! The girl had cried out, and her sound had been enough to waken the camp, to draw them out of a spell of Bregus' make. Powerful magic indeed! Bregus cursed Kattica. Even under my spell she is dangerous. The witch would have to watch that one, and Bregus grew angry. Have I not enough to do on my own? If only I could harness her magic into my own. Then I would be a formidable force. And while she was angry at the other witch for her interference, she was certain it had not been intentional. The girl does not have sense enough to know to what extent she can effect her surroundings. That did not make it forgivable though. Her cry had not worked to Bregus' benefit. She woke them, and far too soon for Bregus' comfort. Some of them had seen the fleeing elf and the smoke that ensnared him. The shuv'ni had had to work fast to wipe away that memory. Her words had had to mingle in their minds to wash the image of the smoke from their thoughts. Her people were easy enough to subjugate this way, although taking on the control for so many minds was a daunting task. A lesser shuv'ni would have faltered. But she had controlled her own people for so many years that plying them to her whims was not so very hard. It was just that she had never taken it on simultaneously before, and it was causing her strain. And then there were the strangers with which to deal. Fortunately the three mortals were newly under the influence of the serpentine spell and their minds were easily moldable this way. How long the effects of this mental coaxing would last she could not say, but it was a strong spell, and she had hopes that it would coalesce into a permanent state for these three quickly.

Hopefully, they would remain suggestive. If only it was not going to be easy. Already there was trouble.

At least she did not have to worry about the elf for now. He had fallen readily enough into sleep, weakened and vulnerable, she supposed, by the suddenness of the snake's attack on his mind. She was very grateful for that. Once trapped in the limbo of dreams, she could keep him there. For a while, at least. It was never easy to hold one against their will, and she knew eventually the elf would awaken on his own. That is, if she found no other way to keep him. But for now, he at least was a compliant captive, and that made her breathe a little easier. And an excuse had been provided unwittingly by the man. She had not considered calling upon the sea-longing as the blame for his actions or sleep, but it was good reasoning, and she had latched onto it hard. She would have to be quick in her thinking if she was to get through this with success. At least there was one less of them to deal with for now.

Truthfully, it was the elf she feared most. Somehow these strange creatures of the forest had a heightened power of perception. That was why she had poisoned the dogs. She could not afford to have them warning the elf of the danger they posed before she was ready. Elves saw and felt danger about them where no mortal man did, and she had not been eager to try and hold this one's mind like the others. She felt certain he would fight her, and then in turn he would try to break her hold on his friends. And as it was, holding them was not an easy task.

The dwarf was a struggle. She could see he was fighting her, guided by some inner sense of duty and loyalty. Dwarves were stubborn, she reasoned. And she told herself that she would need to discard this one as swiftly as possible once she extracted the information she needed from him. For now, he could be controlled, but it was a slippery hold she had. So long as she touched him, he was held, but her power waned quickly when the contact was lost from him. She could not count on his surrender for very long.

In many ways, the men were easier. But then again not, for their minds stayed focused on their own thoughts more effectively than a dwarf and that could be troublesome. Ultimately, she knew the best solution would be to put them all into a sleep, like she had the elf. But that would not work for her plans. There were questions to ask and answers she needed. She needed to know about their camp, about the Protected Place she suspected was within it, and about the number in their party and their strengths. A sleeping mind would not yield this information, and she needed to know now. She felt certain she had little choice but to proceed as she was.

But she felt shaken. To hold so many in her power was an overwhelming feat, and she was not sure she had the endurance to hold out for very long. Were it just the strangers she were bewitching, it would have been an easy enough task. But they along with all the others in the camp created for her a daunting spell. She was unsure she could do this, and that was not a good thing to feel in the throes of a mystical performance. It would be a battle of wills that she fought multiple wills against just the one that was hers.

Her mind was racing, trying to keep up with all the thoughts running through it. She could sense the presence of the multiple holds in her head. Too many, she thought, but now was not the time to rethink that struggle. She had to go on, to think on her feet. It was difficult.

Where is the girl? she wondered as she searched her mind to find the trace of thoughts that she knew flittered about her daughter-in-law's head. She could not find that child. Too many, she reiterated to herself. I cannot sort them all at once. Never had she tried to sway so many thoughts at the same time, but she had to shake her worries away. She had to trust that the girl was there, somewhere. She had no time to go searching. All her attention at the moment needed to be drawn on the strangers that sat before her.

The serpent smoke had worked its way into their bodies. She had seen it. It had done its job. Coercive they were to her suggestions. Now it was up to her to use its twisting coils to pry into their minds and wrench their wills to her sway. She needed to force them to her wishes. But force was never easy. Subtlety was her weapon for she knew compliance only came if the subject was willing. Or at least they thought they were willing. She was nervous. They were strong. Stronger than she had anticipated, and she knew what she did now was the hardest she had ever worked to force her dark magic upon another soul. She needed to win.

"I am sure you have heard me referred to as Mother, but that name will not do with strangers unless, of course, that's what you prefer," she laughed lightly, trying to ease her own mood and fall into a role that they would find charming. "However for formality sake, I am Bregus, and I am very pleased to be meeting you."

They were gathered about her at the table, and food was before them, though they all picked at it. Everyone seemed to feign hunger though no one was really eating.

"No. Do not tell me," she interrupted, holding a hand up to him, "I believe I already know your names. You areStrider. Yes, Strider, that is right. A unique name, but fitting for you, somehow. Hmm," she said with brightening eyes, then turned them to look upon the dwarf, "And Gimli, of course, for who else would you be? I do adore dwarves, you know. Such charms they possess. I know of many a man who could be bettered from your kind. Dwarves always know how to treat a lady. I hope you two gentlemen will follow his example," she said with a wink. The light-haired man beside her quietly laughed as Gimli turned crimson to the flattery. And then she turned her eyes on him, and she could see he was already nearly hers. She could see into him, her eyes penetrating to his soul and she knew he felt awkward and naked for it. He blushed before she even spoke. "You are Anborn, or so they say, though that name does not sit well on you. No matter though, you are here, and you will have to forgive my stares. You are the exact likeness of my dead husband. And never have I had a love quite like him. You will have to stay here it seems, for it would be hard for me to be parted from this face again," she chuckled lightly, reaching out and flirtatiously cradling his chin, barely repressing her desires. He laughed in his embarrassment.

"My wife might not think highly of me were I to run off and join the gypsies," he protested.

"Most likely not," Bregus said flatly, a twinge of jealousy hitting her at the mention of a wife. But it did not matter. She leaned back in her seat and crooked an eyebrow at them, saying, "And the name of your sleeping friend is Legolas. He seems very regal, does he not? But then all elves do, or so it appears. My knowledge of their kind is limited to what I can recall from childhood, but that I do remember. Their pride." Though she tried to hide it, a hint of disdain penetrated her tone. She hoped they would not notice it.

The old woman leaned forward and whispered, as if to tell them all a secret, working hard to beguile them with charm, and easing her way quietly into their souls. "Would you believe me if I told you I found the answer by gazing into a crystal ball?" Then reaching around and tickling Anborn's ribs, she laughed as he squirmed and said, "No. That would be foolish, when all I need do is use my ears. I can hear quite well, you know, despite my advanced age. I'm proud of that too. And my ears picked up your names as they were batted about our camp. Strider, Gimli and Anborn, I welcome you!" she said with a bowed head.

"We come to hunt," The man answered without thinking. Bregus was pleased that he was so easy to give.

Bregus caught the glance of warning Strider flashed at the younger man. Anborn looked down with a small smile as the dark-haired one answered, "You might say the others in our camp have greater targets for their focus. They are brilliant in pursuit of their prey. Quite stealthy." Gimli chuckled at the joke, but Bregus was confused. She silently cursed, So there are others!

"And what would that mean?" the old woman asked with a sweet smile, her eyes fixed on Anborn, discouraging his mind from wandering away from her now.

"It would mean the others stay behind and tend to our sight while we hunt," he answered smoothly. Bregus noted that Anborn looked embarrassed and pulled back from the table, blushing slightly. He was going to tell her, she was certain. But that one, Strider, had stopped him, and now the fair one was squirming away. What was happening here? What were they hiding? Was her hold on these strangers not as tight as she thought?

"Is it a large camp then that it needs such maintenance?" the shuv'ni asked them both, continuing and trying not to look flustered.

"It is large enough to hold a small troop, if need be," Anborn bragged, forgetting himself once again. Ah, he is still mine. But she could see Strider shaking his head to this, and she grew worried.

"Is that how many you travel with?" Bregus asked with a quick smile and her own secret dread, fixing her eyes again on him.

"We travel with others," Gimli answered quickly, interrupting, and Bregus whipped her eyes at him, silently cursing him for his interference. This was difficult. "That's all you need know."

"Why do you ask?" It was Strider who said this in a curt tone, and the stern sound of it indicated that she had gone too far with her questions.

Bregus hesitated and her mind was panicked. Her hold on these men was not as strong as she would have liked. They were breaking away, and she was not done yet. She frowned for a brief second, then regained her confidence. The matriarch's face broke off with her most charming of smiles as she reached out to touch Strider's hands lightly. "Merely curious, my friend, that's all. We have so few visitors. You make it sound as if hunting is a rare thing for you," she said, gazing again at Anborn, though she also glanced at Strider to see if he had been swayed. To her relief, his stance had relaxed and eyes appeared vacant for the moment.

"We do not do it as often as we would like," Strider answered, his voice dimming to a whisper.

"Why is that?" she said lightly so as not to startle his daze, sudden interest in the dark-haired man grabbing her attention.

"We are city-dwellers," Anborn said, his brow knit as if he were trying to recall some far off thought. She looked into him. She could almost read him. He was rebelling. He was sensing her presence and he was trying to protect his friend. How strange to be so drawn to his friend's need. She reached out and touched him again, and she saw the glimmer of strain fade away from him too.

"And what do you do in the city? You are not very good hunters it seems." Such pretense, she thought. She hated it. If only she could pry out the information she needed without going through these ridiculous roundabout methods. But if she took any other tact, they truly would rebel. She needed them to give her this information in a way that they found more natural. Non-aggressive. Freely given. So that their minds would not perceive their bend to her will. Too quick, and the spell would break. Manipulations would have to guide them to the answers she desired. But they were breaking away even with the care she was taking. This was not what she had anticipated.

Anborn looked lost in his thoughts, and she thought that perhaps she had sent his mind too far. But then he shook his head and slowly turned to look at her with blankly non-expressive eyes and said, "We are not successful at the hunt only because the dwarf and elf would not stop interfering."

That was not the answer Bregus expected. It was comical and it threw her for the pure innocence of his reply. For once her laugh was truly heartfelt. She saw him smile, like a child who has pleased an adult, in response to her mirth. He did not understand and yet he wanted to see her happy. So willing, she thought. She turned to the dwarf. "Ah, so you are opposed to the hunt?" Gimli looked tense under her gaze, passing a glance to both the dark and light-haired men, his brow screwing up in question to their lost expressions. But then he shrugged, as if deeming her query innocent enough to look to the others for askance. He did not take his eyes from the men.

And then an idea occurred to Bregus as a small smile crept upon her face. She continued, "And you, Strider, how do you feel?"

The dark-haired one smiled weakly as his eyes came ack to focus. He nodded toward his human companion. He said, "I side with my friend. I like the sport. Especially if we find the stag we have been seeking on this holiday. We both want to take it as our trophy."

The old woman leaned back and chuckled. She could use this, she decided. She was losing them. She saw that. But it need not be a permanent loss. If she could only plant the idea in their minds. Again she reached over and touched both men, coaxing them once more. "Then why not split up your party? Go your separate ways and see what you may accomplish apart."

"That we could do, but the elf and dwarf prefer not to hunt, and Strider and I contest for the same stag," Anborn said, his eyes slightly glazed again, as if drugged, but laughing in spite of it.

"Ah, I see. Then why not pair up in another way? The elf with one man and the dwarf with another?" Bregus said, a large grin forming on her lips.

"Strider and Legolas would have the advantage if they teamed up. Legolas is an excellent bowman, as is Strider," the light-haired man freely volunteered.

"Have you no prowess in this arena?" Bregus asked him with intense curiosity. Now she was learning somewhat of their skills.

"I am fair, but not a match for those two together. Legolas and I would make a better pairing to Gimli andand Strider," he answered, his voice trailing off, as if suddenly realizing he was telling too much.

The old woman's gaze left him and focused on the dwarf. She must hurry now. Prodding him with her hand, as if in a tease, she said, "And I imagine this contest would suit you as well, Master Dwarf. To best an elf seems a mighty challenge."

"Hm?" the dwarf answered with distraction. Then realizing the question, he answered with pride, "I could beat him." His face grew solemn as he considered his words, then he said, "Perhaps we should look in on him now?"

"He is fine," she said reaching over and squeezing his hand once again, and then she changed the subject dramatically. "Tell me about the others you travel with."

"Tell us about what Curtik was trying to say," Strider said, changing the topic again as his eyes focused on her. He was breaking away. Her loss was coming even faster than she had thought.

"Ah my youngest. Sometimes he still acts as a child, though he is clearly a man. What did he do that was inappropriate? Whatever it is, I apologize in advance," she said reaching out to touch the older man's hand.

He pulled it away, moving it to his lap, and sitting straighter. "He told us you needed an elf." His gaze was penetrating and Bregus momentarily shuddered. He would not surrender easily. His mind fought back. This was a very powerful man.

She grew solemn, the smile receding from her face. She paled and did not answer. She was unsure how to answer him. She did not want to answer him.

She was being pushed. Answering their questions was not in her agenda. But this one was most certainly pulling out of the spell, and she needed to cover herself before she could rouse more suspicion. If she could just touch him again. "Yes. And no," she quietly stammered.

"What do you mean?" he continued, also in a quiet voice, yet the stern tone was one of interrogation, and it did not ease.

The old woman paused long before answering. She pondered this, her eyes glancing from side to side taking in the faces and expressions of the threesome. She did not know what to do beyond delivering the rote words she had told her own people. She saw no way around it. They would fight her if she tried to overpower them otherwise. She smiled with apology as she explained. "It is my visions, you see. They tell me my people will find solace when an elf is found."

And then she quickly grabbed Strider's shoulder and reached over to touch Anborn's hand in a gesture that conveyed conviction with an emotional charge, but really it was a means to touch them again and regain her sway. She squeezed and did not immediately relinquish her hold. "I saw our deaths beyond," she continued, her eyes growing large in the telling, seeing it herself in her mind. "I saw a crowd of villagers, angry and scared. They were out to destroy us. They wanted to see our deaths." Anborn's eyes grew larger, as if he could see it too, and she mentally guided her thoughts to him. This one is mine, she thought. She would not let him slip away if she could help it. She sensed the coils of the snake tighten further in him.

"Only from a future that may or may not come. If we are cast away, I fear we will meet with this fate. But if we can stay, my family has hope. Do you see now why my son was so moved? Finding you here you with an elf tells us we have journeyed well. We can be safe now."

She saw the young man look into Strider's eyes, his sympathy apparent. She thought he might say something on her people's behalf. But before he could, Gimli spoke again. "It is not ours to grant this." With finality, the dwarf rose. There was something in that motion that stirred the other two. She saw a sudden change in the fairer one. He dropped his gaze, as if pondering his thoughts, and she felt him slipping away from her again. She tried to reach out to him, but he pulled back, and she felt saddened. She was losing him. Like Bäla.

"Of course not," she said to the dwarf's comments, but her mind was on the one named Anborn. Her heart was breaking.

The dwarf ended it all for her. "I tire of these questions. They go on too long. I think we should go look in on Legolas. Now. I do not like leaving him alone when we do not know what ails him."

Anborn stiffened, blinking and glancing about as if suddenly realizing that the elf was not with them. Strider shook his head, clearing his thoughts as well, and he stood to follow.

The only one who remained seated was Bregus. She frowned, watching her captives leaving her, feeling tears welling up. Her sense of the snakes' holds was loosening instead of tightening. She glanced about the camp, surveying her people, assessing their power and whether to use them. She could force these men to stay, capturing them as prisoners, but she didn't know enough about them for that to make sense. What if there wore more in their camp? Many more? The Romany would be overpowered. Her people were not fighters. They were not prepared to be her protectors. And she was still vague about the waterfall and the presumed cave within it. Was it truly the Protected Place? Bäla had said it was, but she had not confirmed this herself. And, to her chagrin, they were hiding facts from her. Like Anborn's name. That was not who he was. She could tell when she looked into him and saw the slight stiffening at that word. There was a hesitation from him to answer. Why did he disguise himself? And what affect did these lies have on her? She scowled and felt a stifled cry gathering in her throat. She may never know. He was leaving her! She was not prepared to concede her loss. She shook her head, feeling herself slowly sinking into a bitter mire of her mind's making. "Very well," she said in a withered voice. "Let us look in on your friend."

Kattica sat alone in the bender tent with the sleeping figure of the elf. Hopeless and lost, she wondered at Bregus' plans.

She opened her palm and looked at the amulet that she'd held so fiercely since retrieving it. The lines that defined its edges and shape were etched in her hand through the pressure caused by her fingers. Knowing she was susceptible without it, the girl held it up by the strings. It whirled for a moment before her, coalescing into an unrecognizable blur to her eye before she stopped it by placing it to her chest. She could not afford to be without it again. She draped the strings around her neck and quickly tied it about her. With this quiet power to aid her, she felt safer and stronger. She hid the evidence of it beneath her clothing and allowed herself to think fully on what was occurring.

She was grateful to be quietly cloistered away with the elf. It was easier this way to think on what was happening about her. It allowed her to cry openly though quietly as her memories of everything that had occurred since last night came back to her. There was extreme danger here. She now knew it.

Bregus wanted her baby. That in itself was frightening enough to make her want to run from this camp with everything her spirit could muster. Nightfall would come, and the dogs were still recovering. She knew this was probably the only opportunity she would get to flee flee now before it was too late.

But then there was Mattias. Kattica felt tears well in her eyes when she thought about leaving him behind. He was an innocent in this. She knew that. She knew he was not responsible for what he had done last night or what he was doing now, as an accomplice to his mother. The girl shook her head. It was powerful magic indeed if Bregus could alter the morality of those under her spell, especially someone as highly principled as Kattica's husband. She would have never conceived such a thing possible. Such blackness! Kattica repressed a shudder.

She wondered about Gordash and Curtik. They had gone off with Mother on an earlier adventure. Considering it now, they'd reported nothing happened, though surely something had for Bregus to have come back so changed. More youthful, in a way, the elder now stood. Kattica wondered. Had the shuv'ni cast a similar spell on the younger men to help her in whatever had caused that transformation? The older witch had cast an enchantment on the camp already, years ago, but the girl had assumed it was simply to disguise the dark turn she had taken. Had the power of the long-standing spell made the residents of the camp more susceptible to their moral failing? It was all she could think, for tarnishing the heart, even in black magic, was most difficult to do without aid. Never had she considered how dark Bregus' turn might have been. Now Kattica realized it was much worse than she'd ever suspected. How much had Bregus hidden from them over the years? How much did she hide from them now?

Never before had she known how corrupted Bregus' heart was. But the horrors of last night, and now of this day were telling of just how desperate and depraved the elder had grown. She should have known it. She should have seen. But Kattica knew in her heart that the darkness had been there long before she had entered Mattias' camp.

For a moment she wished she had not known. She wished she could have remained ignorant and placid, like the rest. At least then she would have lived with a peaceful mind. Like a sheep before a slaughter, she told herself. She realized how foolish that would be. Ignorance was not fair compensation. She should know, and she did. At least partially she did. And she would not go willingly into it. And neither would she allow Mattias to go without a fight.

She sobbed lightly in fear for a few moments before gathering her strength. And then she looked hard at the figure that shared the tent with her. The pain that she felt over Mattias' betrayal came back to her as she thought about the look on the dwarf's face when he walked away from his friend. Pitiable. He did not want to leave, she could see, but he was helpless not to follow Bregus, at war with himself but not knowing why. She had felt so alone at that moment, but somehow looking at the sleeping elf, she knew she was not.

She made up her mind in that instant. "Very well then, Master Elf. I will help you. I know what she wants from me, but I cannot discern why she has snared you, and your friends. I will have to pretend to be under her spell if I am to succeed, but I will do it so long as I am able to save my child and myself. And you, I think. Somehow, I think, our fates are linked. And so I will help you."

In sympathetic gesture, she touched Legolas' smooth cheek with the back of her hand. It was cool, but not lifeless. She felt the whisper of his breath grace her wrist in exhale, and she was moved as she saw his brow crease lightly, as if telling of a dream. She pulled away softly. Immediately he stirred, changing positions, and she thought this was a good sign that he might be waking. And then his eyes opened without fluttering, swiftly, revealing the blue depths that had been hiding there. She gasped at the suddenness of it. He looked at her, and she recovered herself, smiling with a kindly expression. But her smile froze as she realized there was no light there. His eyes were open, but he did not see. "Legolas?" she called out, but he did not answer her. She frowned. Was this more of Bregus' work? Kattica touched his wrist. His pulse seemed normal, if not a little slow, and his breathing had not changed. She shook her head in wonder. If she had not known better, she would have guessed he was sleeping. With his eyes open. She waved a hand before his face and tilted her head to scrutinize him more closely. Perhaps he was sleeping?

"Can you hear me?" she asked, but still he did not answer. And then she pressed her thoughts on in a whisper. "If you can hear me, Legolas, then know my pledge. I will help you as best I can. But I have to put my family first. Know that too. I mean to save Mattias, although I don't know how. Perhaps we will think of something together."

Pausing a moment to look behind her, she turned back to him and then reached into her pouch. Pulling out her choori, she lifted his head. Propping him up with her knee and with a deft move, she pulled a thick lock of his hair from the underside of his head, where no one would see it was missing, and cut it free near his scalp. Lowering him back down to the mat on which he slept, she said, "First you must be freed from her enchantment, like me." She coiled the long strand about her fingers and looped it into a loose knot before placing it into her putsi. She finished and turned. An unexpected sight met her glance and she jumped back in fear. A craggy hand held back the tent flap. Kattica's eyes widened immediately as they connected the hand to the eyes of the elder shuv'ni hunched before the entrance. Bregus half-emerged into the tent. She stared at the girl with narrowed eyes.

Legolas heard a female voice speak in deepened tones and a hand brush his eyes. 'I suspect he will awaken soon, though he will remain fatigued for a time after.'

The musical quality of it was magnificent and breathtaking and disturbing all at once lovely, crystal, resonant and yet false, a forgery of its true sound, and he felt himself being pulled to awaken just from the curiosity of finding who would utter such a noise. And yet so weary he was. He could not recall ever feeling so enormously weighted with fatigue. He could have easily have fallen back again into his listlessness, but the voice was intriguing and beguiling to him and there was something within it that reached a part of him. He could not name its power. Both sound and touch mixed into his dreams and he was uncertain if they were real. Yet the voice had spoken, and he felt compelled to obey it, to awaken as she had said. He felt his eyes begin to flutter and his body to awaken despite being blanketed with weakness. Then the voice spoke again, more distant this time. 'See if I was not correct, Master Dwarf. But do not pry at him too much. I fear his memory of what happened will not be there.'

He could sense that she drifted away, and there was a long while before he could find the strength to do more. His mind drifted back, unmotivated into action and left blank for it. He felt as if he laid there like this for an immeasurable time and he was content for the moment to lie still. But then an impatient voice rumbled near him, and once again he felt stirred. It was not the voice from before, but it mustered him all the same. The familiarity of it drove him away from his stupor. "Strider, why does he not awaken?"

Legolas blinked slowly. True to the words, he was waking. But to what? The world around him was muddled and foggy. He tried to make sense of it, but there was nothing to grab onto. Recollection of where he was would not come to him. Neither would the memory of what had happened to him. His head ached, and his throat stung, but that was all that he could realize. He looked to the faces before him and for a brief moment, he saw nothing that he knew. And then suddenly the faces solidified in his memory and with a gasp, he recognized his friends. Quickly, he tried to rise, surprised at finding himself prone and disabled in their presence. Humiliated to be seen in this weakened light, he fought the torpor that held his body in place, and tried to lift himself from the mat on which he laid. He stifled a soft moan as his head spun with the effort.

"What happened?" he asked weakly as he reached a hand to Gimli's shoulder to pull himself steady.

The Ranger placed a hand under his shoulder and elbow to aid him into a seated position as he said, "We are uncertain really and were hoping you could enlighten us. How do you feel?"

"Unwell," the Elf answered shortly and truthfully, shutting his eyes to ward off the strange sensation as a wave of nausea mixed within his unrelenting fatigue. He did not feel fit enough to offer any other answers, though immediately he regretted giving the one he had.

Without pause, he felt light touches to his skull, and as he reopened his glazed eyes, he was met with a fleeting look of concern on Aragorn's face. Vexed at himself for admitting as much, and too at his friend for thinking his healing touch was required, Legolas raised a hand to object to the prodding of the Ranger's fingers, and shook his head to push them away. "I will be fine," he said irritably, despite the dull throb in his head and the lethargy that seemed to overtake his muscles. Aragorn gave a sly smile to the more typical response as he said to the Elf, "We thought it might be sea-longing. Except that you were crying out about smoke." From the single arc of the Ranger's brow, Legolas could see this was offered as a coaxing means to stir the Elf's memory.

Legolas felt the tickle in his throat and the acrid taste in his mouth, like he had been breathing the remnants of a fire, but he could not remember such a thing. He shook his head in frustration, his mind blank, as if still lost in dreams. Slightly panicked to not have a recollection, he reached back to find the nearest memory. It didn't comply with what he had just been told and with dread, the slow realization came to him of exactly where he was. He sighed and said with resignation, "I recall nothing, save helping with the dogs." And then to brush away the embarrassment that was starting to grip him, he furthered his own investigation. "What more did I say?" he asked.

A grunt from the Dwarf brought his attention to the companion at his side, and he turned his gaze to his dear friend. "You were choking more than speaking," Gimli grumbled, irritation in his voice, but his eyes shone in concern. Legolas felt moved, but averted his glance to concentrate more on pushing his memory as the Dwarf went on. "You then became mute, and fell into unconsciousness. We've been waiting for your return for a good while now."

Legolas felt his brow knit. He could recall nothing and he felt shame for his weakness. How could this have happened? He felt his face redden in humility.

Aragorn spoke again, leaning in close to the Elf to assure him, "Let us talk on this later, my friend. I do not think this is the appropriate place to diagnose your illness. If your are fit enough for it, we should get you back to our camp where you can recover in surroundings you know. Can you walk, do you think?"

Legolas gave a halting stare, huffing in indignation while focusing narrowed eyes on the Ranger. The question was an insult to his elven stamina, and he was prompted to prove it wrong. Forgetting his momentary humility and weariness in lieu of the new slight, he proceeded to crawl out of the tent without further urging, missing the smile playing on the Ranger's face as he did. But upon clearing the flap and beginning to rise, he found his balance off. Immediately the world began to reel, tilting first in one direction and then the other. With fortune, Faramir, stood before him, holding the Elf's quiver and bow in one hand, and grabbing Legolas' elbow in the other. Legolas felt himself wobble and used the support to grow steady as he pulled himself up. He felt weak-kneed and his head still ached as he looked around him to regain his bearings. He stood like this for several seconds, not quite willing to relinquish his hold on Faramir for fear he would topple. But by the time Aragorn, and then Gimli, cleared the tent and came to the scene, he felt whole enough to stand on his own.

The camp seemed empty now, or at least less congested than it had been previously, and he realized, gratefully, that the denizens had moved back into their regular activities. The Elf was no longer the focus of their rapt attention. And while this pleased him, it was also disturbing and strange to him that for all the inhabitants, Kattica was the only one present for his awakening.

Suddenly, he remembered the voice from his dream and he wondered at the source of it. The sound of the woman's voice had nagged him to wakefulness, and now he wanted to see if its owner was indeed as complex as that sound had been, or if it had only been a fabrication of elven dreams. He had half-expected the woman to be present, but she was not, and he began to wonder seriously of her existence. Setting his gaze upon Aragorn, Legolas asked, "Who spoke before?"

"Many have spoken, Master Elf. Can you narrow the field of choices with that question?" Faramir asked with amusement, appearing happy to see his companion whole.

"I heard a woman's voice. She was speaking to Gimli. I heard her. There was something unusual about her. Is she here?" Legolas asked in all seriousness, continuing his search with his eyes as well as his ears.

"He means Bregus, I think," Faramir said to Aragorn, and then turning around, the Prince looked back in the direction of one of the wagons. The wave of a curtain at the door concealed the body that had just entered that dark space.

"She walked back to the vardo," Kattica spoke, her eyes opened wide in shock. "She just left," she continued, incredulous. Legolas could see the girl was shaken, as if she were expecting something more to happen. And then catching herself, as if it could all change in an instant, she quickly stepped forward and touched his forearm. He felt his limb tingle under her fingers, while the penetration of her eyes forced him to look into them. A jolt to his mind, like a splash of icy water, startled him. He could see she felt it as well, but she did not break the contact. Her eyes held concern as she whispered in a voice only he could hear, "You should leave while you can, Master Elf. For whatever reason, Bregus has released you. Use it to your advantage and be glad. Perhaps our paths need not cross again. I will hope it is so."

Legolas' brow creased. He did not move. There was something in her contact that made him feel himself again and his weakness rapidly receded. He did not understand the meaning of her words, but the longer he stood there, the clearer it became to him that she was trying to pass her thoughts on into his head. He felt her fears and he blinked quickly as a flash of memory and his own panic relived itself in his mind. Then she broke her contact, and he blinked again, his mind floating free and his ill feeling gone. Shaken, he looked into her eyes, and she nodded sadly to him, and then she turned away. A look of confusion came over his face.

"I am fine," he answered, pushing his apprehensions back. He watched as the girl walked away, and then he quietly said in a steady voice as he stood more erect and sure, surprised to find his revival complete, "I am really quite fine."

The Ranger was not appeased, the healer in him growing concerned again by the sudden change, but Legolas cut him off before more questions could be asked. A sense of dread pervaded the Elf suddenly, and he felt it tied to their presence in this camp. He fretted that he had not sensed it sooner but decided swift departure would be the wiser move. "Let us set off now," he said, postponing the examination he knew he would have to endure when they cleared the camp.

With a nod, Aragorn grunted agreement, staring long at his friend before taking up his weapon. With little more fanfare than a wave at their passing, the residents of the camp uttered their goodbyes. Barely any noticed, and it was much the opposite of what the four had experienced upon their arrival. Only Mattias came forward to offer a heartfelt farewell. And then they exited, unobserved, and they walked into the darkness of the forest to their seeming freedom.

It was only seconds after the strangers had left her view that a strong hand grabbed her arm, and Kattica felt herself being turned to face the new danger. She had known this was coming. Despite Bregus' withdrawal, the girl had little reason to doubt her own troubles were far from over. The momentary elation she had felt at the release of the Elf and his companions was fleeting, and a fell dread ladled itself upon her soul as she realized just what trouble she was about to face. Fear gripped her, and she would have screamed it out, but she knew the strangers were too near, and with her sound, they might return only to be dragged back into this fray once again. No, better that they leave. Whatever the danger here, she would face it on her own. Despite the appearance given her by her pregnant condition, she was not a feeble maiden. She had done much in her life to prove herself, and she would fight back against Bregus, if that is what it took.

She stiffened her stance as the arm pulled her, steeling herself to what she might face. As she pivoted around, the hard stare of Gordash greeted her. His bland eyes told her he still was held in the elder shuv'ni's power, and she knew it was pointless to try and breech it. She chose not to fight him for such a thing would not bode well. The burly man was nearly twice her size, and though she knew him to be a gentle soul, his soul at the moment was not his own. She gave him a questioning smile, feigning innocence.

"You have been weary today, Kattica," the large man stated, emotionless. It was not a question.

"It would not do to get yourself ill. Not when a little one is so near to seeing the light of the world," he said his eyes skimming down her torso, resting to where her baby lay sleeping within her. The look he gave her sent shivers down her spine, and she reminded herself again, this was not something Gordash would say or do. This was Bregus.

"Truly I am fine, Gordash," she said, knowing that this reassurance was not what he sought.

"I think you would do best to rest for the remainder of the day," he said. His grip on her arm grew tighter.

Her natural tendency would have been to argue this. After all, she was a shuv'ni apprentice. No one would ever in their right mind tell her her own business. But her circumstances at the moment were far from normal, and the flat manner of Gordash's statement brooked no comment. She was a prisoner, she saw, and fighting that in any way beyond the subtle method of Bregus' ploy would get her nowhere. So despite the quick beat of her heart, Kattica met Gordash's eyes with only a timid smile. "Yes, of course," she said in a kindly tone, and for a moment she saw his eyes soften.

But then he turned her and pointed her in the direction of her tent, and she knew that is where he meant her to go. Stepping forward, she felt his grip loosen, and she was happy to see he meant not to prod her further. And though she could have attempted to flee the camp right then, she opted not to. In her condition, even if she could somehow make it past the giant who was her brother-in-law, the men in the camp would find her quickly enough, and drag her back here. That would be far worse, for then she would be guarded ever more closely under the watchful eye of Bregus. No, better to be compliant. With her gentle acceptance there was hope that in the passage of time, Bregus might relinquish her scrutiny, and the sentinel posting that Kattica knew was coming would not be so intensely guarded.

Besides, she did not wish to leave Mattias. Not without trying, at least, to free him from this spell. She loved him so. As much as she loved her baby, if not more. And though fearful, she was almost willing to risk everything to take him away with her. In his rightful mind, she knew him well, and she knew if he understood what was happening, he would fight this. She must reach into him and make him see.

Standing before the tent entrance, fear once again took her, and a new panic set in. What if he was beyond reaching? What if the Mattias she knew were no longer there? She could not fathom such a thing, and yet she felt fearful that it could be true. To think that he could be ripped away from her so viciously, it brought tears to her eyes. Her resolve hardened, though her panic too increased. She must see him as soon as she could. She must determine if there was anything left to fight for within him while she still had the chance.

Blinking back the tears, she turned around and looked unflinchingly into Gordash's face. Reaching out, she touched him, squeezing her hand into his, smiling wanly in askance. Somewhat surprised, the large man took a small step back, but regained himself quickly. Without thinking of his ill ease, she let her mood guide her as she said, "Gordash, would you find Mattias for me? If I am to be confined to my tent, I wish him not to worry, and I would like to tell him myself that I will be well."

The large man looked down at the hand that held his, and an expression she could not read briefly brushed across his face. For a moment, it seemed, he looked himself, and Kattica thought only of the puzzlement she saw there. In a whisper she plied, "Gordash?" and with lost eyes he looked up at her. She recognized him then, and he too seemed to recognize her, and quickly she mustered her heart to find courage to say more.

A scream of rage interrupted their interlude. It erupted from Bregus' wagon and caused the girl to flinch. Gordash startled too, but then he pulled away. From the corner of her eye, Kattica could see others in the camp stiffening at the scream, but then resuming in an instant to the activity that guided them, as if nothing had occurred. Quickly Kattica looked back at her brother-in-law. To her chagrin, she saw that the person she knew was no longer there. Bregus' abettor had returned.

Realizing she would not reach him now, she resumed her original plea. "Gordash, find Mattias. Please," she said with more authority. And then she backed into the tent and let the flap fall behind her before he could say anything to dissuade her.

Now in the confined space that was her prison, she wondered what it was she should do to occupy herself in the time she was to remain here. Doubtless, she was to be kept until Bregus was ready to see her. How long that would be she did not know. She dreaded that encounter, though a part of her looked forward to it too, for if nothing else, she felt sure that then she would learn of the shuv'ni's plans. Not knowing had been a torture for the girl.

She hoped it would not be long before Mattias came. She felt new hope surge her, and she knew the reason for it was from her encounter with his brother. Somehow, she had touched into Gordash's soul, just as she had the Elf's, if only briefly. She had reached him. How, she was unsure, but she suspected it had something to do with the power she found in herself when she wore the amulet. Through her clothing, she fingered the stone resting at her chest. She felt the figures of the two females standing side-by-side there, and she remembered her grandmothers words to her when she had given it, though the years had been long since it had passed. "Keep this close to you, child. It will protect you from harm and bring you strength, determination and good judgement."

Kattica had always assumed it was a standard charm, one like so many worn by the folk in the camp. Amulets and talisman were commonplace among her people, and her job as a shuv'ni apprentice often required her to make these devices of protection to ward off most any affliction imaginable. To wear a charm could mean anything for her people, from calling upon the gods to help find love, to chasing away headaches and bad dreams, to easing teething pain in infants. It never dawned on the girl that this could be anything more those everyday tools.

She pulled out the stone, careful to make sure she was completely alone before doing so. Then looking down on the carving, she fingered the two figures. Two women. "Is this you, Puromämus?" she asked, touching the taller of the female figures. "Is this me?" she said, brushing her fingers over the other. "Did you pass me your strength when you died?"

Even without the answer, she knew she felt better for having it with her. It had rescued her from Bregus' hold, and for that alone she was grateful. Maybe it held the secret that would save Mattias as well. "I will take whatever you can give me, Puromämus. This gift is even greater to me now than I had known, and I will not let it leave me again," she said quietly. Then she kissed the stone, and slipped it back down her front to hide under the folds of her dress.

Kattica looked about, doing an assessment of her situation. She had to escape this. She did a mental inventory of what she had with her and what she would need to make it on her own until she could find help in these lands. In her putsi, she had her choori, some cooking herbs, a few leather ties, a small bag of crushed rock salt, a flint and steel, and the Elf's hair. In the deep pocket of her dress she carried her eating utensils wrapped in a towel, a small cord of rope, and a leather compartmentalized purse with clean rags and the stronger herbs she used for medicinal purposes. This was a good start, she was sure, but she would need a few more items if she were truly to be prepared. She needed a water skin, though there was none here in the tent. A blanket she had and she rolled one into a tight coil that she could tie into the sash at her waist. She would need a pot into which she could boil water if needed, and while a kettle sat on the small stove in the corner of the tent, it was larger and more cumbersome than she would have desired. She was uncertain this would suffice. Perhaps if she could retrieve a water skin, she could steal a pot as well.

Knowing now what she needed, all she could do was wait for the opportunity to present itself to escape with stealth. Night would come, and surely Bregus did not intend to post sentinels when the camp would sleep. No, most likely, Mattias would be her guard. Impatiently she listened to see if she could hear his voice nearing. Nothing. Please, Gordash, she silently prayed, do not disappoint me. Bring me Mattias.

As she quietly sat, she considered what else she could be doing to occupy her time. She supposed she really could rest, as had been suggested. And yet, she wasn't so willing to give in to this option just yet. Waiting could be exhausting, she knew, but in rest she would be far more vulnerable and her trust that Bregus would not use sleep against her was little.

Idly, her mind returned to the events of the day and she remembered the puzzled look on the face of the Elf before he left. She felt certain she had met his mind in her contact, and she was glad, for it had been intentional to do so. She had wanted him to know of his danger, and so she had shown him what she knew with the warning to get away. And so it had worked. She supposed she need not fear for him again. Still

She reached into her pouch and pulled out the coil of golden hair. It felt like silk to her fingertips. She considered it, realizing that she no longer had need for this, yet a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that perhaps she did. There was no evidence that the Elf was a part of Bregus' plan. Still, the girl knew there was little evidence he was not, and Kattica reminded herself she knew nothing of the witch's scheming at this time.

A familiar stirring rolled across her abdomen, and she recalled she did know this one thing: she and her baby were in mortal danger.

Thinking perhaps, if she could manage her escape, there was the ever so slight chance she might see the Elf again. In that case, Kattica thought Legolas would be a powerful ally against Bregus. But only if he were he able to ward the elder witch's magic away. Nodding and sighing, she decided to construct the amulet for the Elf. She debated this issue with herself, for it truly seemed an unnecessary thing, but in the end she concluded that, if for nothing else, she would do it to keep her mind occupied until Mattias arrived.

Tying off an end with a leather strip, she began to smooth out and separate the hair into sections. With dexterity and grace, her fingers began plaiting. Closing her eyes and shutting out all thought, Kattica began repeating the familiar words of the blessing spell, her voice matching the rhythm of her actions. "Mi Duvvel opral, dik tele opré mande. Sharraf si inoxn baxt sadullos.Mi Duvvel opral, dik tele opré mande" she said over and over again.

Bregus threw her gathering basket across the interior of the wagon. It landed dully on her cot, a scattering of dried petals raining down on the sheets. She howled in her anger, and the owl jerked back at her roar.

"Why did it not work?" Bregus screamed. "It should have worked! It was a powerful spell! It should have worked!" she repeated as she shook in her anger. She stared with glaring eyes at a point off in space, reliving the moments that led up to her failure. Then, in her despair, she sank into a chair.

"Oh, Bäla!" she cried, dropping her head into her hands. "Why did it not work?"

She sat glumly like this, for many long minutes, working the magic again in her mind to see where it failed her. Then shaking her head as if realizing her error, she sighed with a pained sob and said, looking up at the owl, "It was too much. I tried to do too much. I could not hold so many. My power was not great enough."

Then with a sad laugh, tears filled her eyes as her gaze fixed into space once again. Her mind went blank as her thoughts strolled through the camp to see that she still held her people secure. There was no trouble in this, and so she gave herself the luxury to crawl into her misery.

She sat there like that for a long while, hands hanging at her side, slumped half upright in her chair, staring listlessly at a point on the wall. Time moved on, but she was unaware of it. And then a voice spoke to her.

Her eyes lifted dully to see him standing before her, his face twisted in a grimace. "You are not giving up?" he said again, louder.

In blinding speed, iron fingers dug into her shoulders as he pulled her out of her chair. She cried at the pain. "You will not give up!" he said with ferocity.

"You will find another way!" he screamed in her face, his fingers squeezing tight on her arms.

"You are hurting me! No! No! You are only a dream!" she sobbed, looking down at his pressing hands on her limbs.

"I am not satisfied to be a dream! Bring me back! You are supposed to bring me back!" he said, the hiss of his breath brushing her face.

"But I cannot. I failed. I could not control them. They broke away from my spell," she softly sobbed.

"Did they? Or did you simply let them go?" he sneered, relinquishing his grip on her, pushing her back into the chair.

"They were too strong. They fought me," she wailed, hiding her face in her hands.

He paused, and for a moment, with her eyes closed to him, she thought he might have gone. But then he spoke again, more tempered now. "Yet you held them for a time. You may hold them still. There are other means to take them, you know. They need not be completely bendable to your whims. What of the idea you planted?" he queried, a quiet menace ringing in his voice.

She opened her eyes, the idea dawning on her again. "Tis true that they seemed not to notice my ploy," she uttered, encouragement weakly coming back into her glistening eyes.

"There is hope then. Let us see if it takes. And you still have the others to fall back on, if need be," he offered gesturing with his hands to indicate the members of the tribe.

"But they may be overpowered if I go to that measure. I could not learn of the stranger's reserves. I know not how many they have," she said, shame once again riding over her at her failure.

"You are too timid when it comes to being the aggressor, Bregus," he chided. "So preoccupied are you with the pitiful details that you notice not the most obvious way to break through and take possession of what you want. She nearly stands before you. Can you not see her?" he asked, a disdainful tone lingering in his words.

"The girl! Yes! What will it take before you use her as you should?" he asked, his voice mocking.

"What am I supposed to do with her? She is compliant. I could not follow her movements so I had her isolated in her tent. She will not get away from my dictates again. She will sacrifice her life and give me the child without trouble. Is that not enough?" Bregus asked in a tired voice.

"She will betray you. She nearly already has. She has broken away from the spell. Ah, but you did not know this, did you?" for clearly the expression on Bregus' face said exactly that she had not seen or noted this. "Did you not see her when you entered the tent? She was hiding something from you." With realization, Bregus came to understand the look of fear she had seen on the girl's face when the elder had appeared in the bender tent as the Elf slept. Anger crept up on her brow. Her eyes narrowed in her hatred, and she was glad she had had the foresight to imprison the girl. Kattica would pay for her treason!

But Bäla taunted. "When it comes to Kattica, you are too blind to see! Your hate makes you ignorant, Bregus! Are you so jealous of the pull she has over Mattias that you think she can usurp his love for you? You are a fool!" Bäla spat out.

Shutting her eyes to the insults, she growled out, "What would you have me do with her, Bäla? Tell me, and stop belittling me with your words."

He dropped the menace his tone had held, and pulled her back to his chest in a gentle embrace as he answered her with a slow whisper in her ear, "She could help you if you would enlist her powers. You would be very strong with her inner spirit to aid you."

"This discussion is pointless. We have spoken before of this. She will not come freely into the black arts," Bregus said with quiet exasperation.

"I offer you solutions, and what do you give me in return? Insolence! Worthless you are!" he shreiked, pushing her around to face him. Untouched, she backed away, and slowly he began to advance on her. Her eyes widened in terror as she slowly receded to the small space of her cot. "Do you not see! I offer you your last chance at salvation, and you give back only excuses and pitying mews. Cur! Go back to your pointless wallowing! See if it will better you after. The black hosts you have seen in your dreams are fierce, yes, but they are NOTHING compared to the wrath I will bear! I will not make it so easy for you, Bregus! In the World of the Dead you will have reason to fear me. Can you fathom this possibility? Do you begin to understand how far my power reaches?"

She nodded, fearful and completely dominated by his will. "Hhow?" she stammered, "How do I get her to help me?"

He smiled, and the menace in his demeanor disappeared. In its place came the gentle side of his personality and she tentatively she allowed him again to take hold of her and embrace her. As he nuzzled into her craned neck, she felt her fear for him recede. Her ease and willingness returned, and as it did, he told her exactly what to do.

"Mi Duvvel opral, dik tele opré mande. Sharraf si inox, baxt sadullos" "My God above, look down upon me. Bless this charm and keep its bearer whole" Gimli looked down at his fallen friend and fear gripped him

The feeling of the cool water on her skin was magnificent. It was refreshing, a relief from the heat of the day, and she ducked her head under to let it ride over her entirely, making her feel cleansed and buoyant and joyous. She relaxed and let her near naked body float on the water's surface as the water lapped at her skin, the exuberant lightness making her feel free and unencumbered. Her white cotton shift whirled about her form beneath her, glancing her skin as it moved, clinging to her body on the water's surface. It tickled and caressed her sensitive skin. Closing her eyes, she let the sun cast its glowing heat on her form, and the sensation of both heat and coolness made her jubilant to the glories of this place. For the moment, at least, Eowyn felt happy.

She caught movement in the corner of her eye and looked up to see her friend make her way to the water's edge. Arwen dipped a hand into the water and smiled. Shaking her head slightly, as if in answer to herself, the Elf-Queen looked up at the falls and squinted.

"Enter, Arwen. It's not going to get warmer by your wishes. The temperature is what it is. Enjoy it!" Eowyn called out in tease.

"Who is the Elf here?" Arwen asked jokingly. "I am the one who is not supposed to be bothered by cold." The dark-haired Queen proceeded to loosen the ties at her bodice, then looked up to explain. "I was merely wondering what state of undress one takes in these circumstances."

Eowyn laughed, and the sound echoed about her. "Well, one might take a near completely naked state of undress like me, if you please. I still have my chemise on, but that is all. I highly recommend it. But it is up to you, Arwen. You should do what feels right for yourself. You have no need to feel embarrassed as it is only I with you."

Arwen smirked at Eowyn as she proceeded to disrobe. She was wearing a simple gown that fit snugly to her body, but flared freely as she moved. It stopped at her ankles, exposing her bare feet. The dress was clearly made for days of travel and ease, though it was breathtaking for the flattery of its cut. Eowyn imagined the undergarments Arwen must endure to attain the illusion of such lithe form beneath the fabric. Her corset must be tied rather tight. There is no other way that Arwen's breasts could appear so full and her ribcage to appear so small, she thought with a small amount of satisfaction. She readied herself to depart the water, in case her friend might need aid in undressing. But as the Elven Queen unloosened the ties and stepped out of the dress, Eowyn was amazed to see the Elf wore no stays or supporting undergarments. Beneath was only her silken chemise and her drawers. Slowly, methodically, Arwen shed her garb completely, pausing to fold each meager items as she bared herself fully, much to Eowyn's surprise, and more so, to her distress. With the final relinquishment of a pin at her crown, the dark, upswept hair came tumbling down in a fluid line, nearly reaching Arwen's hips in one swoop. The Elven female stood on the rocky shore, completely bare and oblivious to the breathtaking spectacle of her physical entity in this setting. And worse yet to Eowyn's mind, Arwen was exquisite in this form. Better than that. Her body was absolute perfection.

Eowyn looked down on her own sad form floating about in the water. Her bobbing breasts, though nicely rounded (the only happy side-effect of pregnancy Eowyn was sure) were still rather small and flacid on her frame. Her hips and thighs were far wider than those of her friends, though her height and weight to the Elf were nearly the same. Happily, her shift hid the telltale pink and white marks that lined Eowyn's belly and thighs and told of three previous pregnancies. She moved her hand to her belly and touched the soft muscle tissue that was normally firm, and frowned at the bloating of her abdomen and the signs she was sure were becoming evident of her pregnant state. She sighed. At this moment, Eowyn could not help but feel a combination of extreme disappointment for her own body and pure jealously of her friend's as her mind tallied all the negatives and positives between the two.

Arwen laughed as she dipped into the chill of the water, unaware of the thoughts that worked through Eowyn's head. She splashed cold droplets in the lighter-haired woman's direction before she immersed herself face first into the depths of the pool. In the moment of silence that followed before the Elf emerged, Eowyn listened to the tumbling splashes of the falls ricocheting off the jagged rocks near the wall, sighing as she banished the dark thoughts from her mind. She gasped slightly when Arwen's face popped to the surface before her, but her smile met her friend's as the two laughed at her startling.

"Ah, it is wonderful," Arwen sighed as she arched back into the water, her breasts rising to the surface of the water. "I should never want to leave this place."

"So long have I felt that myself," Eowyn said, lolling back in the water too, pushing back her envy, choosing instead to enjoy her friend's company as she gazed up at the cliffs above their heads. "I love this place. If I could have, when we first married, I would have had Faramir build our house here in Ithilien. Of course, it is too remote, and would not have been an easy task. And now, with time, I realize I would not want to spoil the serenity. I think it serves nicely instead as a retreat, don't you?"

"A retreat? A retreat is a place to find personal answers, is it not? Then, yes, I do think this place seems a likely abode for that," the Elven Queen said thoughtfully spinning about. Eowyn watched her move about in this simple pleasure, but then she caught a slight wavering to that joy. Arwen's brow creased slightly, as if troubled by a deeper concern, and she stopped to look up again, fixing her gaze on the falls.

"If there are things that are bothering you, yes, it is," Eowyn answered, testing her friend, watching Arwen's distant eyes and saddened face to see if there was something she could offer in consolation to this mood.

And then the grim look washed away from the Elf, and was exchanged for one of curiosity. Inclining her head in the Rohirrim's direction, she asked, "Has it worked for you then?"

With surprise for the question, Eowyn flinched. "Pardon?" she countered, eyes widening, thrown by the unexpected nature of the query.

Eowyn paused, holding her breath as she absorbed this. She had not realized that Arwen read her so well and could perceive that she had been plagued by dark thoughts. It was not her intention to share her troubles, and she was taken aback by this invasion into her thoughts. She did not want to think about this thing that had been hampering her brain. Day and night it had brewed in her, from the time she had discovered her pregnancy. Only now, in the quiet and beauty of this space had she found peace enough to let it go for short moments of time. She felt sudden panic for the revelation that her worries were more visible than she had assumed, and quickly she turned away from her friend. "I know not what you speak of," she said, kicking her legs beneath her with more vehemence and she moved into shallower water. "I am fine. I have no troubles."

She heard the stirring of water as the other's body skimmed across the surface of the cerulean waters. She felt a hand to her shoulder as her friend caught up to her, and was surprised at the warmth of that touch. "I am sorry, mellon-nin," she heard the musical voice softly say. "I had no intention of harm. I am glad all is well with you, Eowyn. I must have misunderstood. You are happy for this pregnancy then?"

Eowyn flinched. No one but Faramir knew of her condition. No one. How could Arwen? Turning around to face her, she was greeted by the innocent smile of the Elf. Eowyn's face grew dark in her panic and anger. "No. You are wrong," she said stubbornly her temper flaring at the presumption of Arwen to intrude on something so personal. "There is no pregnancy here. I am not with child."

Arwen's face grew puzzled. She looked up and down Eowyn's submerged body as her brow did a dance in confusion and her head tilted to the side. Then she drew closer to her friend and placed a firm hand to her belly. Eowyn jumped at the unexpected touch, but did not pull back. "Yes, you are. Yes, I can tell," Arwen stated with quiet certainty. "Why do you deny this when you already know it is true?"

Eowyn's eyes did their own emotional dance as they took in the confusion and open compassion shown by her Elf friend. The light in those eyes bore into the depths of her soul and Eowyn suddenly felt exposed for the truth she had been hiding, denying, to everyone, herself most of all. Extreme guilt and sadness balled up in her chest, and for a moment, she felt a desire to lash out at the Elf for bringing these feeling to the surface. But she stayed her emotions, realizing it was not Arwen she felt anger towards, but herself. Eowyn had allowed this situation to occur, not Arwen, not Faramir, not her children. None but herself.

With a move towards forgiveness, Eowyn could see Arwen was only acting as a friend, confronting her, and consoling her if need be. How she knew, Eowyn could not fashion, and yet she did, and she was offering her the chance to talk about it. Arwen was the sounding board Eowyn so desperately needed, and in that expression Eowyn saw the Elf would not judge her. Looking at her, it was as if Arwen knew exactly the war she had been battling, and the merest glimpse from her friend had melted Eowyn's defenses. Under this scrutiny, her only choice was to admit what she had been denying. She was pregnant and she did not want to be. She was afraid and yet she hated herself for that fear. And she was ready to destroy that child to preserve the surety of the life she already knew.

A pentrating feeling clutched at her chest, her throat, her stomach, and the walls came crashing down. All the denial she had felt lay before her, and Eowyn realized she was naked without those defenses. Without realizing her true feeling, a complete lack of self-control came over her, and the Ithilien princess broke down and a sound passed out of her that she did not know she held. Like a repressed scream, a gut-wrenching sob broke away from her. Her throat tightly constricted, she was choking for air and she could get out no words, but the plea in her eyes said it all. She wailed without thought, the sound pulling out of her without effort, and her constricted feeling was released as she sobbed like a child.

In an instant Eowyn felt herself swept up into an embrace, the Elven Queen holding her close and with a gesture of gentle caring and consideration. Nudging her into the shore, Arwen guided her with an arm about her shoulder to the rock Eowyn had sat upon with Faramir the night before. Tears streamed down Eowyn's face, blurring her vision and Eowyn's head fell easily into the shoulder of Arwen's hold. "There now. There," she heard Arwen's whispered coos. Brushing Eowyn's hair and brow lightly with delicately soothing strokes, a long while and many tears passed before Arwen spoke again. And then she said softly, "No need to say it, my friend. I can guess. This is because of what happened to you with Theomund, is it not? You are afraid that it will happen again. You are afraid of the pain, of the possibility of death."

At that moment any words she might speak would come out in a quavering ramble, and so she looked upon Arwen's face through her bloodshot and swollen eyes and simply nodded. "Oh, Eowyn," Arwen said sympathetically as she pulled her friend near again in a rocking embrace.

After a few minutes more of this, Eowyn pulled away, noticing for the first time that Arwen sat completely naked with the sun shining down on her skin. She smiled at how innocently she had fallen against the female Elf, and at how the scene might have looked to an outsider. She gave her friend a wan smile before continuing her discourse. "I could die," she said simply, knowing it was not enough, but eager to hear what Arwen would say. Then after a long pause when nothing was said, she added, "I haven't decided yet if I will keep it."

Arwen nodded knowingly and let another few minutes pass as they looked up at the cascading falls, saying nothing in silent companionship.

At last Arwen spoke, breaking their reverie, "Have you thought about what she might want for you?"

Eowyn looked at her friend, complete confusion washing over her face. "Who?" It was a puzzling question, and Eowyn had no idea what the Elf was asking.

"I did. Have you considered what she might want?" Arwen repeated, ignoring Eowyn's puzzlement.

"She?" Eowyn said, with a growing understanding, shaking her head yet again and letting her eyes wander away. "How do you know it is a 'she'?" Eowyn asked, darting her eyes to Arwen with deepening fear.

Arwen merely shrugged. "I just do. Just as I know you are with child. Forgive me, Eowyn. I have only lived with mortals a dozen years or so now, and I do not know many who have borne children. Except you perhaps, and we were not close enough in your earlier pregnancies for you to share them with me. Are you telling me that mortal women do not know of their child's sex whilst it is in the womb?"

Eowyn shook her head to confirm this fact while she digested the new knowledge Arwen had gifted her. She. Up until this moment, the thing in her womb had been an 'it'. Never had she considered anything beyond that, and even if she had allowed herself to think that far ahead, she would have probably decided the baby was another boy. But she? Suddenly the world was spinning a in completely different direction as the baby took on a personality all her own. A girl.

Eowyn's brow screwed up as thoughts on a girl-child invaded her mind. She shook her head as she tried to focus herself on the question. Frowning, she said, "Given choice, it...she would want to live. Do you not think it?"

"Are you so sure? If she knew and understood the potential danger to you, to your family, do you think she truly would want to do that to you?" Arwen asked with firm resolve.

Frustrated, Eowyn answered, "How would I know this Arwen? You are asking me to consider that she has an opinion here that she could express an opinion as if with an adult mind," the woman said, despairing in the hopelessness of the question.

"Not an adult mind, a mortal mind. For were it you and you knew someone you loved might die so that you would live, would you not consider forfeiting your own life to save them? A child has these strong feelings too, regardless of age. The love of a child for her mother is one of the greatest loves there is. So great, I think that she too would be willing to sacrifice her life to save her mother's."

"But she does not have a voice here. She is not able to express an opinion," Eowyn argued.

"And that is why I asked you what she might want for you. She cannot speak it, so you as her mother must decide what she would do if the opportunity were available for her to choose," Arwen explained.

Eowyn turned away, her brow still pressed in thought. And suddenly as if a great burst of light had flared about her, she understood. She realized then what Arwen was telling her.

She thought about her children, about Faramir, and about the depth of her love for all of them. About their love for her. If she had to choose between her life or theirs, she knew in a heartbeat she would give up herself to save them from any ill-fate. She knew this without doubt.

And then she thought of her own mother, and her feelings for her. To lose one's mother was a trauma beyond recovery, especially for a child. As a little girl, it had been her greatest fear, more frightening to her than even tales of dragons or orcs or Sauron himself. As a small girl she could imagine it, the loss, the desertion, being without that most important of all people, for as a child, her love for her mother was greater than all other things combined. The feeling of being cradled within her mother's arms still lived in her mind, though she was far too old ever to be held that way again. Yet she remembered the tender emotions of such a intimate expression and she knew her feelings were unconditional. And greater yet, she knew that her feelings were returned tenfold. Without question she knew had she been forced to choose her own life for her mother's, she would have given herself freely, despite her age.

Speaking aloud her thoughts, she said as if in a whisper, "She would sacrifice herself for me, wouldn't she? It's what I would have done for my mother. It's what Theomund and Léogel and Denomir would do were it put to them, I am certain." Tears rolled down her face as she considered this tragic loss of her sons for her own sake. A sob rocked her as she imagined having to go on without them.

Eowyn looked hard into her friends face, the corners of her mouth dragging at the thoughts that rolled in her mind. "I would do the same for them. I would, absolutely."

"Because I love them. Because it is the least I could do for them. Because that is what I must do. Because there is nothing worse I can think of than seeing my children die" Eowyn's words trailed off as she pondered this thought. And then she steadied herself, and formed her resolve. She had already known, she realized. It just needed to be spoken. "She should not have to choose. There is no choice for her to make. The choice is mine." Then looking up at the Elf with steady eyes she said, "I choose not to do this."

And with that she knew she would love her baby girl with a fervor that extinguished any fears for herself. The anguish that sympathetic gesture wrought in her was enough for her to see it all differently. Now she saw it. Now she realized. A feeling she had not allowed came to her, but she admitted it now. Love.

Then looking at Arwen again, she broke, tears pouring down her face as a whirlwind of emotions rode over Eowyn. "Why did I not see it? This decision is not so hard to make. Oh, Arwen, how could I not have known. I've tried so hard to steel myself from it, but it has always been there. I will love this baby. I do love this baby!" She put her hand down to tenderly touch her own abdomen as she said is a raspy voice, "Should she be held in my arms or my womb, I do love her! She is mine! My child. She is not a 'thing' trying to come between me and my family. She is not trying to destroy me. Oh, but I see it now! I am sacrificing nothing to give her life because I see my life as such a small thing to pay for something so magnificent! And should I die, that will be fate's choice, not mine. Not my child's. Oh Arwen, why did I not see it before?"

"Because you were afraid. There is no shame in having fear," the Elf said with a small shrug and a smile.

Humbled, Eowyn scorned herself. "But there is shame in my actions. I was so close to letting fear make the decision for me. It almost conquered me. Faramir tried to tell me, but I would not listen. I had not even considered the alternatives. This pregnancy is risky, yes, but that is not a certainty. I may live. I want to live! But oh, if I had chosen the other, I don't think I could have, not with the guilt to haunt me."

"You would have come to the same conclusion on your own," Arwen said with assurance.

"But would I have realized I loved her?" Tears flowed down her face as she examined those possible outcomes.

"Perhaps not at first, but in time you would have come to feel love. It is not within you to hold your children in contempt, Eowyn. I know you well enough to say this. The feelings would have passed, and you would have found happiness still," Arwen said with a tone that echoed millennium-long wisdom.

A very heavy burden had been lifted from Eowyn's shoulders, and she looked to her friend and smiled in relief. Genuinely and with absolute gratitude, she smiled. Thanks to Arwen, she knew she would keep this baby. This little girl. My little girl, she thought.

Arwen could read Eowyn's thoughts, and blushed lightly. Then she said, "You know I envy you."

Eowyn was completely taken aback by the comment. She wiped away the former tears of misery shed felt and sniffed back her dripping nose and laughed with a snort. "Goodness, Arwen. Don't be a fool. Look at me. I am a mess. Why ever would you say a thing such?"

The troubled expression again returned to Arwen's face, and she looked quietly down at her hands as she spoke. "There are many differences it seems between the physical abilities of female Elves and female Humans. You are at least easily impregnated."

Eowyn laughed lightly. "I do not know many who would consider that a blessing. My troubles began over such a predicament."

"Ah, but you don't understand. How glorious it must be to know you can do this without consideration, without needing to give your mind's consent to have your body respond and bring forth young."

Eowyn looked again at her troubled friend and a thought occurred to her. "Arwen? Can you not have children?"

The Elf gave another weak smile and shook her head. "It is not that, although that would be such a simple thing were it true. There is more to my troubles than what you guess. Like you, I am faced with a choice. But my choice is one of my body's make, as well as my minds."

"It matters not. It is something that Estel and I must face. Just know, my friend, that you should enjoy what you have. You are vital and alive in this state. Do you not know just how beautiful it is to see you like this, Eowyn?"

This time Eowyn laughed aloud, remembering her jealousy and chuckling in mirth at the foolishness of Arwen's words. "Oh, my friend," she said between a series of giggles and wiping away new tears from her eyes, "you have no idea what you are saying. Look at me," she said, standing and gesturing with a snort to her body under the clinging wetness of her chemise. Then pointing to Arwen as the Elf's body glowed in the golden sunlight, she said, "Look at you. Do you think I would not trade my body for yours at this moment?"

Arwen smiled a knowing smile and said, "You know you do not mean that." Then she stood, and held Eowyn's hands out to her sides as the Elf openly gazed upon Eowyn's body.

And there they stood, balanced upon Faramir's rock, two beautiful ladies, one fair and one dark, one clothed and one naked. They looked at each other as they really were, and Eowyn felt no shame. Then Arwen smiled and said, "You are beautiful, Eowyn, just as you are. Everyone should see you like this."

Graciously, Eowyn accepted the compliment and smiled back. "You are right, my friend, I would not trade. I am happy with what I have. I hope you too can find happiness and answers to your worries," she said as she folded Arwen into a hug.

He was standing in the clearing, smirking as he watched the two women on the rock.

Instantly flushed with wretched dread for what he saw, Eowyn felt horribly naked. Actually, for all practical purposes, she was. The wet shift she was wearing clung tightly to her body, exposing every crease and curve to her body. The chill made her nipples stand up and the dress fibers were nearly invisible in their wet state on her body. Eowyn swung to the back of Arwen to hide herself from the view of this man. She felt guilty, as if shed been caught doing something she should not have, though she knew fully well she and Arwen were innocent of any wrongdoing. She felt her face blooming crimson as she watched the exchange between the King and the Queen, and she wondered exactly what they would say to one another. To her surprise though, Arwens response was far from the abashed embarrassment Eowyn felt. Though she knew not what she expected, the Elf's reaction that she next witnessed was far from it. Arwen merely smiled unashamedly. In fact, she arched a brow to her husband enticingly.

Aragorn too, did not look the least bit flustered at what he saw. Flirtatiously he gazed back at his wife, devouring her naked body with his eyes, and Eowyn knew he was barely aware of anyone else's presence. "Finding refreshment in the water I see," he stated obviously.

"It is marvelous, Estel, and the sun is so warm. The contrast is refreshing," the Elf Queen answered, then asked, "Would you care to join us?"

In her mind, Eowyn was screaming out, No, please no! Go away! Dont look at me! I do not wish you to be here! But Aragorn answered, "Yes, I think I will," as he began to remove his boots with a mischievous smile.

Just then, to her relief, or to her consternation (Eowyn was not sure) Faramir stepped into the clearing. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the naked she-Elf before him, and to Eowyn's continued horror, he did not turn away. (At least not immediately, she decided later when she reflected on it.) And when he did, it was only because he saw Eowyn hiding behind Arwen's back. Caught gawking at the exposed beauty before him, his face flushed in a crimson that rivaled Eowyn's before he jumped and turned away. Hand to his eyes, she could hear the embarrassment in his voice as he faced the direction from which he had come, and said, "Sorryso sorry! I will, er, I will leave, you now" as he started to walk away.

Eowyn shreiked with a shrillness that rivaled a wounded Warg, unable to believe he was just going to leave her there as Aragorn continued to shed his clothing so openly. "FARAMIR!"

He turned back to meet her voice, but then realized he shouldn't as he was greeted again by Arwen's nakedness, and she could see him warring with himself as to how to respond to her, knowing that no matter which way he turned, he was in trouble. Turning backwards, then forwards, then backwards again, he made a comic sight, and even Eowyn broke into a small smile. In the end, he held his hands over his eyes as he faced her direction and meekly said, "Yesdear?"

Now barely able to contain her laughter, she said in her kindest voice, "Get a blanket for me, please, Faramir."

Grateful to be given somewhere else to look, Faramir scanned the ground for the stack of blankets the women had brought with them. He grabbed one and held it open to her as he turned his eyes away from the rock that she and Arwen stood upon.

Regaining her dignity, Eowyn turned to Aragorn, who was now loosening the ties on his trousers and said with regal formality, "Aragorn, if you will avert your eyes please."

Still smirking, for she was sure he knew of the embarrassment he seemed to enjoy causing her, the King suddenly slipped into his role as a gentleman. Sweeping into a bow, he said, "At your command, Lady," and then turned his back away from her. As was expected, his shoulders were rocking in mirth, and Eowyn had to concur his amusement. Even she was having a terrible time maintaining her dignity, the corners of her mouth fighting to smile. Still, she quickly removed herself. In three steps, she was wrapped in the blanket Faramir had held, and she grabbed her husband's hand tightly as she quickly led him away. Glancing back she saw Aragorn removing his leggings, and she glimpsed his bare buttocks as he charged into the water, chasing the playfully splashing form of the Elf who was his Queen. She heard Arwen laugh to his antics, and prudence led Eowyn away, saying to Faramir, "Come, my love. I am sure there is something in this cave that must require our attention."

As they entered the halls, they could no longer contain themselves, either of them, and both burst into gasping laughter, falling against one another and holding their sides as they wheezed to their convulsions of good humor. The sound of their sniggers and chuckles echoed throughout the caves and Faramir could not help but gaze on Eowyn with a light that shone brightly in his eyes.

She looked up at him, and saw him as if for the first time. He was so handsome, so kind, so gentle, so loving. She felt her heartbeat throb tightly in her chest as she looked upon his face. The urge to touch him overcame her, and she reached up and stroked his cheek, running her fingers down to his jaw, and brushing them through his light hair and around to his chest. With new appreciation and desire, she leaned back into the wall, pulling him into her and wrapping an arm about his waist. She looked deeply into his eyes, and the laughter in hers melted away into a smile, which melted again into a longing gaze. She softened her mouth into parted lips, and in her mind, she begged him to kiss her. She closed her eyes and reached up to meet him, a hand pulling his chin down, inviting his mouth to meet her lips, to touch her body, to taste her desire. And he was more than happy to comply.

Amused with himself, Gimli looked up to see if he had evoked a response from the Elf yet. If not for the fun of watching Legolas stiffen at each harsh crackling sound, even Gimli might have grown annoyed. He plodded heavily over the dead brush on the field wondering vaguely how long this was going to take. Purposefully he trod, sidestepping the quieter path made clearly by the Elf. Any point in which he saw bramble or coarse brush, that is where he wandered, making sure his foot was planted firmly and with determination, doing his utmost to ensure the loudest possible noise. Aha, here was a very nice bed of dried leaves.

Legolas spun around, narrowing his eyes at his smaller companion, his annoyance at last getting the better of him. The Dwarf grinned, happy to see he had gotten a reaction. Legolas had been marching on in his introspective mood ever since they had departed the gypsy camp, and Gimli had tried everything he could think of to get his friend to open up to him, especially so since they no longer had the Men in their company. He felt sure Legolas might be a little more forthcoming without Aragorn or Faramir nearby, but that had not been the case. He was glad at last to see this little ploy had been effective in getting the Elf's attention.

Gimli's eyes went wide in pretended innocence. "What racket?" he asked as he twisted the heel of one foot ever deeper into the leaves. Crrrruuunnnnccchhh. The leaves pulverized beneath his foot.

Legolas' hands balled up into fists as his expression went dark with controlled anger. "Enough! Whatever it is you want from me, you shall have it, but please, this has gone on for too many miles. Stop disturbing the peace of this forest and provoking my mood!"

"Provoking your mood? Ha! If anything, I have been trying to alter your mood. And yet you do not budge. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to give. Or at least try to lead me to a place where there was no more dry brush present," Gimli said with a glib chuckle as he sat on a large rock that presented itself in their path.

Legolas scowled, "I would have considered leading you off a cliff, but even then I suspect you would have found means to annoy me. I think you were really born an Orc, Gimli. Your ability to torture me rivals any foul device of that race." But he said this with a small smile and Gimli could see the Elf was not really all that angered by the Dwarf's provocations. Legolas squatted before the stone, looking infinitely comfortable in this position. Gimli marveled at the flexibility of the Elf's body, and he could think of few times when his friend had ever actually complained of any aches or pains to his lean form.

"You have my attention, Dwarf. Now what is it you seek from me," Legolas said curtly. Perhaps Gimli had misjudged. It appeared the Elf's mood had not recovered that much after all.

"Spare me the effort of presenting an interrogation, Legolas. I simply wanted a moment to speak with you," Gimli said with a shrug.

"I know you would press me on personal matters that do not concern you. I know you would pry into my mind when I care not to open it for scrutiny. I am fine Gimli. Leave it at that. I suffered no harm."

Gimli knew better. He had witnessed his friend's return to consciousness in a readily weakened state, only to find moments later a completely unexplained recovery. Worse yet, Legolas had refused to talk of it, merely shrugging it off. Gimli had many theories for Legolas' fall, none of them good, but to Gimli's consternation, the Elf offered no solutions. It was time for Gimli to show his annoyance. He would not let his friend brush his fears away. He jumped to his feet. "I think there is much to say and much that you need share! Why do you think Aragorn allowed us now to seek out on our own the waterfall of which you have been boasting? Surely he would have preferred that you seek rest in our camp. He has concerns, and yet he knew I wanted a moments peace with you and he granted it! Do not fight me on this, Elf! I offer aid."

Legolas' mood shifted ever more. "Why should I not fight you when you conspire against me? I do not ask for aid. What is there that I could say that will assure you all is well? " The elf's voice was terse.

A moment passed before Gimli reached up to place a well-meaning hand on the Elf's back, his Dwarven temper schooled to calm. "I mean you no harm, friend. It is only that I have worries. Appease them and I promise you I will bother you no more. Tell me what you are think on this and I will believe that indeed all is well."

Legolas sighed as if worn down by Gimli's persistence. He sat down on the ground and brought his knees to his chest as he said in surrender, "Very well, Gimli. As you will it."

The Dwarf looked at Legolas with sympathetic eyes as he too sighed. It had been a long day. Then he said, "Let us start with what happened back there at the camp. Has any memory of it returned to you? Aragorn suspected he thought perhaps it might be that you suffered sea-longing. That theory causes me fear."

"You have fear because the sea plagues me? It plagues me always, Gimli," Legolas said sadly.

"But was it that that caused your illness, Legolas? Was it the sea that brought your fall? I've never seen you act that way before."

Legolas frowned as he looked at the ground, then grimly he looked up to meet the Dwarf's steady gaze. He answered in a soft voice, "I have no memory of it. I am sorry I can do nothing to allay your fears. In that, Aragorn is correct, it is like the sea-longing. For whence afflicted, I have little memory then of what I say or do under that condition."

"But Aragorn inferred that you were behaving in a way that is like a later stage of the illness. Know you of what he means? Could this be true? Has it progressed so quickly for you?"

"I would not know, Gimli. You would have to ask someone who has seen it of recent in me. But I can say I know this. How I feel after an assault of that affliction and how I felt today were two entirely different things. As poorly as I felt on my awakening, it was not the same as the after-effects of sea-longing."

"I did not say that," Legolas countered. "I only said I did not suffer as I typically do after an attack. That does not rule out sea-longing. Merely the typical symptoms."

"Yes, yes, yes. 'Go not to the elves' I have heard it all before," Gimli grumbled and paced before Legolas, focusing his attention on the positive point made. "It either is or it is not. If the symptoms do not match, it very well may not be the disease. What would cause this then?" Looking down at his friend he said, "You were crying out about smoke."

Sighing with exasperation, Legolas said, "So you said, yet in this I have no memory either. I have been trying to remember" But despite his protest and shaking head, his brow knit in concentration as if he were pondering something. Then he looked up. "And yet it bothers me"

"I did not remember saying the words, but I do remember tasting it. I distinctly recall the taste of smoke in my mouth upon waking," Legolas said with consideration. Almost instantly the Elf's eyes became lost in thought again.

"Yes, the girl. Kattica. It has been puzzling me. She touched me when we left and I felt something. Or rather, I saw something," Legolas said staring vacantly ahead, absently rubbing the place on his arm she had touched. The memory of his encounter clearly played again in his mind as he relived the thoughts.

"It was smoke yet it was an unnatural smoke. It came at me as an apparition of a serpent."

"Aye, Gimli. But I did not take it for truth before, and I do not take it now. It seemed more like the carryover of an Elven dream then something of reality. And beyond the memory of that vision, I do not recall anything of smoke. Do you?" Legolas said, arching an eyebrow at his friend.

Gimli growled low to himself, "No. No I do not, but I am not so willing to give this up. What do you make of the girl's touch?"

Legolas arched a brow at his friend as he answered, "She told me she was a witch apprentice to the old woman. Mayhap she does have some power in 'sight', as I have heard it called."

"Nay, Gimli! I can see what you are thinking but you are wrong. I watched the girl at work. She cast no spells. She is not a true witch in the sense that you are thinking," Legolas defended.

"I mean not the girl but the old woman. She touched you before you fell into unconsciousness. Do you not find that suspicious?" the Dwarf asked with wide eyes.

Legolas laughed. "She is a healer, my friend. Healers touch. I imagine Aragorn would have done so too. And per your tale, you were holding me, so you as well touched me. Did Faramir lay hand to me also? I am starting to feel as if the entirety of the camp prodded me in one way or another," Legolas grinned, mocking his fall in an attempt to lighten the mood of the Dwarf.

But Gimli would not budge from his apprehensions. "I think there is more here than you might see. First the brothers say they seek an Elf, then they correct themselves saying they seek only a place where the Elves live, yet they know not that they travel in such a realm. Do you not think they would have heard tale of Ithilien in their travels? Surely they are not so isolated that they never pass rumor to those they encounter. Rare though Elves be, they are not so rare that traders from the lands surrounding Long Lake to the Fords of Isen, do not know of your presence in Ithilien since the end of the war. It is no secret, your coming here. The colony of Doro Lanthiron is widely known and sought."

Legolas nodded, "I agree. It is strange. I had dispute with this claim myself, but their explanation of following their elder's guidance seems plausible enough, I would guess. As for their lack of knowledge for the territory, I would have to guess they keep most to themselves. They are recluses. That they seemed very startled to encounter me tells me they know little of Elves. I would not expect that if they were truly in pursuit of an Elf. And if they did indeed know to where they had traveled, do you not think they would be laying in ambush to capture me? Look now, we are free. If an Elf were so dire to their plans or needs, why would they have let me go so easily? I was unconscious. I was offering no resistance. Were there truly evil, it is possible they could have overpowered you and done what they wished to me."

"Fair enough," Legolas laughed, "but the point is they did not attack. If witchery were at hand, then it was poorly executed, my friend, for this Elf still walks free."

"I feel not so sure. You were not there," he grumbled, then looked up with a half-smile at the arched brow directed at him by the Elf. "Or at least you were not there in a coherent state. I do not trust the old woman, though I have nothing to prove foul play on her part." Then he sighed a heavy breath of resignation, "Mayhap it was sea-longing."

Legolas watched his disheartened companion, then quietly he said, "I am sorry Gimli, but I told you there was nothing to tell here."

"Not true," Gimli said quickly, turning his gaze again on his friend, "There is still a great deal to be told. Tell me of the sea-longing, Legolas. We have not talked on it for a very long time."

Legolas shook his head sadly. "Ah, Gimli, why would you want to know this? Will it assure you in some way that indeed it was that? Very well then, my friend. Suffice it to say that a day does not go by that I do not suffer for it in some way. Shall I tell you that I hear its call incessantly, even in my dreams? Would it make you feel better to know that there are times when I am certain I will go mad for her droning song? Can you be happy to know that sometimes days go by when I cannot remember what occurred, only to find out later I was locked in the sea's trance? Will you be happy to know that this little conversation makes me sense it even more clearly? Tell me, Gimli, are you now confident it was not this that I suffered in that camp?"

"Nay. I am not. But I am glad you have told me of it. It very well may have been the sea-longing then. As your friend I will be more prepared for it. And for your sake now, I will let it go. Still, I do not like what happened in that camp. We should avoid it henceforth."

Legolas smiled a long-suffering sigh. Sometimes it seemed the Dwarf was never satisfied. "Yes, Gimli. What is it?"

"You were told once, by a wise Elf or two, that rest was important in staving off the effects of this illness.* And you were fairly willing to go along with their opinion at that time. But it has not escaped my Dwarven sight that you have not slept well of late. Not last night, certainly, in the cave, or even the night before in the land of your people. And while you may say you were very much asleep after a ah er a night out in the city, I would not call "thissuch" restful or healthy."

Legolas winced at the memory of his night of drunken pursuit and Gimli's prod at his foolery.

Gimli went on, "And even before that, I know you did not rest upon arrival in Minas Tirith. You have evaded sleep, my friend. Why?"

The Elf shook his head in answer to the question. "You miss nothing, so it seems."

"My eyes are sharper than you may think. What say you, Legolas?" Gimli said with a kindly smile.

Legolas scowled, but in a friendly manner he answered, "I think there are some things you should turn your eyes away from, Orc-child. I may have been troubled of late, but I will assure you it has nothing to do with the sea-longing. More than that I would rather not share, especially considering you are a Dwarf."

Gimli bristled at the comment, "I will assume then that it is my race that keeps you from telling me more."

The Elf shook his head and smiled meekly, as if realizing the brunt force of his words. "If it is any consolation, I have not yet found it in me to share this with Men either," Legolas said in an effort to appease.

"You said yet. As if you were indeed considering sharing it sometime with Men. Aragorn and Faramir, I would assume. You would do this before you would share it with your dearest friend?" Gimli sulked beneath scornful brows.

Legolas winced, shifting in the spot he sat. He pulled his legs in tighter to his chest and answered in apologetic tones as he lowered his gaze, "I do not mean to insult you, Gimli. Truly, it is not an opinion I hold, yet it would not be the right thing to do in my position. While I may trust you, I am not sure my people would appreciate my sharing our problems with you."

"Aha! So it is the Elves of Doro Lanthiron we are discussing! The parameters of my quest narrow," Gimli said with a measure of glee, a raised finger pointing into the air.

Legolas scowled. "Ai, I am a fool! Curse you, Gimli, for prying this much from me! From here on, I will marshal myself to not speak further."

Legolas quickly rose and began to storm off, intent now on only reaching the falls. Gimli chuckled as he followed, taking quick steps to keep up with the Elfs pace.

"Very well, Elf. Do not speak to me then. Let me see if I have enough of the puzzle pieces to put this together on my own," he announced. Gimli chuckled to himself, proud that he was able to decipher as much as he had. Then he began to ponder his thoughts, speaking aloud as he did. "Something your people would not want to share with a Dwarf. Your people, the ones who would have authority to tell you if it was prudent to deal with Men and not Dwarves. Those would be your minister and councilors, so that would make it a government issue." He looked up to see if there were any response from the Elf, but faced only the straight back of his friend. He could see Legolas meant not to tell. Very well. "Hmm, that would make sense as you are the lord of your people. Of course it is a government issue. Very well then, why would you seek out the help of Gondor effectively, as Aragorn and Faramir lord that kingdom, but not seek the help of the Dwarves." Gimli snorted, "Well, that is obvious is it not? Despite all, there is still not much love among your people for Dwarves. And yet, you make it sound as if you could lose your position if you asked, no even mentioned, the need for aid from a Dwarf. That is a pretty severe punishment, is it not?" he asked the silent back. "So the need must be something your people would not wish the Dwarves to know. Something we have in great capacity perhaps?" Gimli saw Legolas stiffen at that and knew he was getting closer. "Yes, yes, that would make sense. So what do Dwarves have in wealth that the Elves of Doro Lanthiron do not. Hmm. That is not easy to answer as our lifestyles are so very different. Perhaps if I focus on the things that would put a government in need. Yes, that might do it. Commerce? No, that is doubtful. The Elves already have a good trade agreement going with Gondor. Rohan as well as parts as far as Belfalas I have heard. Security? Not even plausible in these times. Besides, the elves are too great of fighters. Population? Well, there is not a shortage of Elves that I can see. If anything there are too many. Ha! At times, it seems all the Elves of middle-earth are flocking to Doro Lanthiron. Why I would ventureLegolas?" Suddenly a thought coalesced clearly in Gimli's mind. "That is it, isn't it? Your population. It is growing too much. That is it!" He did not get a response, but he did not need one. His mind was racing ahead. "I see it now. Overpopulationyour economy cannot keep up! And the Elves would not want the Dwarves to know they could not maintain their growth. The Dwarves, who sit on their hoards of wealth, would find a great deal of amusement at that. Oh yes, that would make perfect sense," he said with a grin. He was very pleased with himself for unraveling the mystery. He looked to his friend for the praise he felt he merited. "I got it right, did I not?Legolas? Legolas?"

Legolas stopped in his tracks, and he lowered his head in defeat. His shoulders hunched and his fists balled, and Gimli raced around to see what expression he might find. He was not pleased. Legolas face had grown white and his eyes were closed. His jaw was locked tightly into a fierce grimace.

Gimli was suddenly struck dumb. Realizing now he had gone too far, pried too much, he tried to make up for it with words. "Really, it is nothing of which to be ashamed. No fault of your own. How could you have known Doro Lanthiron would become a haven for the Elves? How could any have known? You intended it to be a simple colony. Small. A resting place before you set off on your journey across the sea. And yet it's location to the sea must have been an enticement also to your people. What with Galadriel's departure, and Elrond's as well, it should be no surprise that the Elves of middle-earth are choosing now to leave. Doro Lanthiron seems a nice enough place to settle, to say their last goodbyes, I imagine. No doubt you had not anticipated such an increase so quickly. If you would ask me, I would guess your colony has grown three times its size in the last half dozen years," the Dwarf rambled, and even Gimli realized how ridiculous he sounded as he prattled on. What did Legolas call that sort of condition? Brethilitis?** He shook his head as his face reddened. It was an unusual thing to happen among the succinct Dwarves.

"Three and a half what?" the Dwarf asked, pulling himself back to what he had said and finding instead confusion over his discomfiture.

"It has grown three and a half times its expected size. If you are going to mock me, Gimli, get your facts correct," Legolas said as his eyes opened to narrowed slits.

"Nay, friend. I do not intend to mock you. Well, perhaps only a little, but no, Legolas. I see this is causing you pain. I will not make you endure more," Gimli said, regretting that he had ever attempted to find this information. Then with quiet sympathy he asked, "How bad is it?"

Legolas looked crushed. He sank to the ground and sat with knees drawn up, his head bowed. "Most of my people do not realize the dire circumstances we have come under, and they shall not if I can help it. It is bad enough, my friend. I have been considering asking Gondor to extend a loan. I am certain Aragorn and Faramir would be willing, in as discreet a manner possible even, yet it still eats at me and I do not think I can do it. Yet, if we cannot find another way, it may come to that."

Gimli could see now exactly how troubling this was to his friend. "It stabs at your pride, does it not," the Dwarf said, a hand to his friend's back.

"Imagine yourself in my place. The Dwarves would be no happier with this than the Elves. We have never had need to rely upon Men before. We have always been self-reliant," Legolas answered looking deeply into his friend's face.

"Imladris and Lothlórien grow more and more dim with each passing day. It is only a matter of time before Elladan, Elrohir, and Celeborn too pass over the sea. Their populace grows sparse, and those places do not linger in the riches they once did. And while it too wanes, Greenwood is the only other thriving realm remaining on middle-earth worthy of asking. It would mean asking my father. You have met my father, Gimli. How do you think he would favor such a request?" Legolas said with a sideward glance and a frown.

"And yet, my personal feelings in this do not matter. For the sake of my people, I am sure that will be the next step I take," Legolas said, his brow creasing in new worries. "The problem is, we have no idea when the flow of Elves into this land will end. As astute as he is at business matters, Thranduil will not be pleased to receive a proposal that is so open-ended. It is my hope that he will show compassion before considering any gains."

Gimli considered this as he answered with the thoughts his heart yielded, "He is a father as well as a leader, Legolas. He will be compassionate."

"Aye, but I do not think he will settle our needs completely. I think he resents the colony, for many reasons. Not least of which is that I help rule it in a realm of Men. I am sure he will be slightly bitter and will be stingy in his aid. It is not to be helped. There shows no sign of an easing and I have little choice. And while our woodcraft and wines are selling well, the exchange we have earned is not enough to maintain this continued growth. We have far exceeded our projections. It is only a matter of time before our capital runs out."

"Most assuredly. With time. In the vineyards, we have plans to put in new vines this fall and spring, which will eventually triple our production. Yet it may be years before the grapes are established enough to produce a worthy product. We have numerous craftsmen and artists of varying trades that have joined us, and we are doing what we can to market their wares. Doro Lanthiron may well become a trade port before we are done, but still this takes time to establish. And unfortunately, we do not have much time." Legolas laughed, caught up in the irony of that thought before going on. "Strange, is it not, that a race never bothered by such a concept as time is now plagued by it? By this winter, we may well see the negative financial results of our expansion, and I think it may hit us hard. We do not have food enough in our stores to feed all our people without using outside sources. Our housing is tight. And we have many building needs we cannot keep up with, despite the increase in labor."

Gimli smirked, but answered seriously. "Knowing my people, it would be more than a small feat to accomplish, Ill grant you that."

Legolas lost his sense of humor in this as his brow creased in anger. "And it would be completely unacceptable to even consider among mine!"

"Perhaps if it were a gift from one friend to another?" the Dwarf offered shyly, abruptly changing the mood.

The Dwarf frowned, "That bad then? Well, what about a trade on goods for services."

"What did you have in mind?" Legolas inquired, slightly interested, an eyebrow cocked.

Legolas laughed as he began to rise. "Enough then, Gimli. Let us not think on it further. It gives me a pain in my head if I consider it too long."

"Apparently I cannot as you have pointed out. I believe it was countless nights of lost sleep that prompted this discussion. I surrender for now, Gimli. That is all. We will not solve this today."

"Very well for now. But it will be resolved somehow before this trip is done, Elf. I will not rest until we have found a way," Gimli said with surety.

Legolas' laugh was like music, and it heartened the Dwarf to hear it. "Has that not been my role, Gimli? Ah, well, at least one of us will be sleeping."

"Aye, you are right. We will not speak of it more. Today. Perhaps we will fall into a solution that will resolve all these worries tomorrow," the irked Dwarf responded.

"Let us hope so, Gimli," Legolas said, the smile still on his face but sadness creeping into his voice. "Now, if there are no other questions, do you think we could continue on our way?" He looked to the sun to see the days passing.

"I will follow your lead, friend." Gimli said, with a merrier tone. He truly was pleased to know now the heart of his friend's worries. Perhaps they could not solve them now, but they would. He was sure of it. And so they set off once again.

"Gimli?" Legolas called as he marched forth through the field. Gimli raised a brow at his friend's half-turned face. "Now that I have told you what it is that troubles me, will you share something of yourself?"

Gimli laughed loudly, stopping dead in his tracks as he did so. Looking up at his weapon, then back at the Elf, he considered, then said, "Shall I give you a demonstration?"

* By this I am referring to a conversation Legolas had with Elladan in Chapter 4, "Confessions Before Battle" of my first fic, "Cry of the Gull." Shameless plug there, I admit.

** Sorry, but I couldn't resist mentioning Brethilitis, and I've been desperately trying to find a place to sneak it in ever since Treehugger said it would be okayfor me to use it. See her story, "In the Hall of the Wood Elf King," and its follow-up fic, "Once Upon a Time in Hollin," to learn more on this very tragic affliction. The Hunting Trip

Bregus the witch, also called Mother, the shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai (tribe elder)

"Such beauty. Such grace. It was like a dance, a thing of intricate timing and determination but also of a deadly reckoning. I would never have conceived it in my waking hours and if I were to tell it to anyone else, they would surely think I was jesting. But I was there and saw it with my own eyes. Who would have guessed a thing like that possible? A delight to behold, hidden in the guise of a Dwarf."

Gimli bristled at the slight giving Legolas a withering look but smiled inwardly all the same as he listened to the Elf regale praises for Gimli's great skills. And before an audience of their comrades no less. He quietly grunted. Legolas exaggerated the truth a bit, and Gimli suspected it was done more so for the sake of his own tale and than for the Dwarf"s ego. Yet spoken praise from Legolas was hard to come by, and this truth was not so far bent as to be total fallacy. So Gimli took what came his way, believing in his heart that he truly deserved it. A self-satisfied grin crept over him and lit his face, and he found the hardest task at hand was keeping himself from joining in on the bragging, trying his best to keep his ego in check. Not an easy task, especially when so much of it was truth. Yet it was a pleasure for Gimli to regain his place as a master of weapons skill after having had endured seemingly endless hours of mockery before these same friends. He thought on the place he held in their esteem. First the city gates, now the hunt. He could get used to being the center of such attentions.

He looked at the remains of the two carcasses laying in discarded shreds on the heavy wooden chopping board near the fire. They had started out as succulent, juicy and plump roasting fowls. Now they were merely the remains of this night's dinner. He tossed the bone he had gnawed clean into the fire as he smiled to himself. A tasty fare they had been. There was something to be said about eating outdoors. It enhanced the flavors somehow.

Gimli gazed around at the pristine environment they sat in, made all the better for his good mood. The words and laughter of his friends' voices were clear and unhampered. The roar of the falls was dulled by their place a small distance away from the cave entrance. Near enough be close to safety, yet far enough to not feel the dampness of water vapors invading their supper. The women had set up the site earlier in the day, a leisurely picnic their plan. So when he and Legolas had brought home a feast of two lovely sage grouse, it made wonderful sense to cook under the stars. The lingering aroma of herbs and wild fowl still hung in the air.

"I am still trying to put it together in my mind. Tell me again you flushed the birds from their covey" Faramir began, his voice breaking Gimli's reverie while an expression of intense curiosity marked the Prince's face.

"Aye," answered Legolas, leaning in for the narrative. The waterfall behind him was a dull whisper as the lilting voice of the elf commanded the group's attention. Above, the stars blinked in twinkling merriment as if they too were enjoying hearing the tale of Gimli's prowess. "I came about them from the opposite direction as he, following Gimli's instructions carefully. If I were in the companionship of Elves, our method would have been far different, but seeing that this was Gimli's demonstration, I opted to adhere to his plan. And, though I am loathe to say it, I learned a thing or two from it. With a stealth I have rarely witnessed in him, he crept forward, positioning himself noiselessly in prime location, availing himself to his target like a practiced master. Gimli knelt, and for a moment I thought I had lost him, so good was his disguise in the marshy grasses. But when I sighted him again I was pleased to see him poised low, but ready for action. He spotted me, and I nodded, awaiting his signal. He took three deep breaths, mentally preparing himself, and then he gave the indication to me to begin. With a rush, I moved forward, doing my part to stir the fowl out of the brush, trouncing the bramble and sage much in the ways of a good hunting dog. The grouse set to flight, but not before Gimli could act to snare them. Like a falcon's flight, diving and swooping, the halberd floated above, whirring as metal sang against the air. And yet so fast it was that it nearly passed before my eyes without my seeing it. But my eyes are sharp and I saw it all. They were only at waist height when he took up his movement, and by the time they had reached chest height, he had severed their heads. Mid-flight! It was amazingly quick over instantly! The creatures did not suffer and I was most moved by the beauty of it. I will concede now to the art of this weapon. It has its place, I have come to know."

"Was it not dangerous, being so near as this weapon was swinging about?" Eowyn asked, as incredulous as Faramir.

"Quite, but I kept my distance, and Gimli seemed to handle the halberd with great skill and control. I did not feel endangered. Truthfully, I have never before seen such agility in a dwarf."

Gimli rumbled with annoyance, "You keep saying that, Elf, as if you've never seen the grace of my likes."

Aragorn laughed in response. "I must confess," he chuckled, "'graceful' and 'dwarf' are two words I would not think connected either, Gimli."

The dwarf decided to ignore the comment. Instead he addressed the question of skill Eowyn posed. With a twinkle in his eyes and something resembling bold daring he said to her, "As you know, Lady, there is no need to feel danger if you are with a warrior trained well in his weapon. I have been handling the halberd since I was waist-high to a Halfling. I am quite familiar with all the ways to use this weapon."

"Now imagine such movements from an Elf," Legolas interjected, turning as well to Eowyn and not noticing Gimli's darkening expression at being upstaged. "You can almost see the magnificence of the artful gesture in that form, can you not?" Gimli felt a growl rise in his throat as he saw Eowyn and several others smile and nod affirmatively while caught in their rapt attention to the Elf's words. "What say you Gimli, being the great master you are? Will you teach me this weapon?" Legolas asked, his blue eyes now turned to the Dwarf in sparkling amusement.

The Dwarf harumphed. Legolas was being manipulative, encouraged by the presence of all. It mattered not. Gimli's mood was too good to let the silly ramblings of an Elf displease him. He pushed out his chest in proud fashion. Gimli could hardly denounce the feelings that were obvious in his countenance. Yet, Legolas had just slighted him in an offhand way, and that deserved a soft cuff. "I keep telling you, Elf, it is not the weapon, but the action. This weapon, whether used in warring or in the hunt, is formidable when taken with proper technique and strategy. Two or three as a team with the same tool make a formidable adversary. Today you saw a demonstration of what can occur when we work as a team. The grouse took the axe end of my pole. Do it again, and tomorrow's deer will take the spear. I will be glad to teach you this, so long as you remember it is not the weapon of just one. You and I worked this instrument together today. Do not forget that."

Legolas smirked, "And now I receive praise from the Dwarf as well. He must be feeling rather sure of himself to be so gracious to give."

"He said 'tomorrow's deer'," Aragorn pointed out, interrupting. Excitedly he directed the words to Faramir. "You will witness for me." Then he turned his gray eyes on the Dwarf, "You said 'tomorrow's deer', Gimli. Does that mean? Those words imply you will hunt tomorrow. Dare I come to believe you mean that truly? Unimpeded?"

Gimli glanced at Legolas, weighing his Elf friend's masked expression before giving his own answer. He turned to the man and said in a beleaguered voice, "Truly Aragorn, I meant the word only in a poetic fashion. But seeing how much you long for this, I will confess I am feeling swayed. Especially since I was able to give demonstration of how my weapon may work on a hunt and others here are beginning to see its merits. It is against my better judgement to do so though. And yet my Elf friend seems in need of the challenge of a Dwarf's skills if he is to improve on his own. I will do it, for his sake and yours." Gimli said, watching as Legolas responded with a scornful grumble.

The Elf sighed. "Yes, Aragorn, I will participate. But only in pursuit of the one deer. No others will I aid in slaying," the Elf demanded.

"A reasonable request I will grant you both. Faramir and I will turn our attentions in the hunt of the prized stag only. Agreed?"

The heads of the three other males nodded in agreement, albeit some less enthusiastically than others.

"So we will hunt again tomorrow," the Ranger said with an eager smile, confirming that this would indeed happen.

Faramir looked up, biting his lip in nervousness as he tested an idea. "Since we were speaking of challenges, may I offer a thought? It came up today in the Romany camp and I must admit I am intrigued by it. Bregus made a suggestion that seemed as if it might aid us in the reluctance that some of us felt over the hunt. A contest. Separate into teams. Legolas and I versus you and Gimli. In considering it, we may find it a formidable matchup, do you not think?" Faramir asked looking to Aragorn for validation.

Aragorn's smile weakened a moment at the mention of the old woman's name. But then he nodded. "I'd agree regarding the challenge of it, though I'm not sure I was as taken with her as you seem to be, my friend."

Arwen, unaware of what the others had experienced, asked in good humor, "Did Faramir attract a lady friend today?"

The Prince's face turned crimson as a murmur of low cajoles and mirthful teases rose up from the group. He protested, "I was not that taken! She just struck me asnice. I thought she was a sweet old thing." He was met by an echoing of the same ridiculing sounds.

"And certainly she felt the same thing for you, my friend if not more," Aragorn taunted.

Eowyn's lips curled into a smile as she joined the ruckus, prodding Faramir's embarrassment on further. "So my love was the object of another lady's affection? Should I be jealous of these attentions he has garnered? Perhaps I should challenge my rival to a duel."

"You could best her," Aragorn said nodding assuredly, playing along with the pretense of indignation.

Arwen laughed, "I have always thought Faramir worthy of the protection of female guard. He is rather handsome. Perhaps it would be best to keep a tight rein on him, Eowyn. You should be careful about not letting him out of your sight again. I would offer you my blade as your second if you choose to contest her."

"Thank you, Lady. I may take you up on that," Eowyn said with all the valiance of a warrior as she bowed her head.

Faramir's face reddened further. He said, "You are merciless, all of you. She was just a kind, elderly woman. Nothing more."

"A kind, elderly woman with designs on you, I think. She practically had you telling her everything about our stay here," countered Aragorn with a smirk.

"And you should speak so freely. You were telling her nearly as much as I," Faramir tossed back.

"I will concede she had charm, but I did not come close to divulging as much about us as you seemed prepared to say, Faramir. Did you forget everything we had discussed before we came up here?" Aragorn said, still joking, but there was subtle shift in his tone, as if he were quietly reprimanding the younger man for his loose tongue.

"I think you both have forgotten that it was I that kept you from saying even more. Be thankful I was there to pull you out of hazzard!" Gimli bellowed, not enjoying the merriment of their play. His words grew terse as he scolded, "Left to you, every detail of our lives would have been laid bare before her. On my mother's beard I swear that I could not understand why you were both acting thus. I did not trust her then, and I do not like her now," Gimli grumbled.

"Ah, Gimli, she was harmless," Aragorn said, now dismissing the event with the old woman with a wave of his hand, attempting to toss aside the building tension perceivable in the Dwarf.

But Gimli would not be deterred. His voice grew louder as he justified his comments with an angry tone. "She pried too much, and she seemed to be pushing us to tell her things I did not care to share! And neither should have you either of you! She did not seem to care that Legolas was rendered ill. I find that bothersome, do you not? And I understood the interpretation of her title to be the equivalent of a sorceress. Although she never said it, I think she had more reason for being happy to see an Elf than she revealed! I believe she did something to Legolas today to keep him there. And that it was not sea-longing, Aragorn! That we escaped without harm seems pure luck to me, but luck I'll gladly take, and I would be only too happy not to meet up with her again!"

He was cut off by the quiet voice of Aragorn. "Peace, Legolas." The smile was gone from the King's face and his brow furrowed in serious thought. In a low voice he said, "I agree with Gimli. At least in respect to not trusting Bregus. I do not believe her true either, although I felt no harm intended by the others. Still, I think it would be wise to stay away from that camp if we can."

"And what of the harm she caused Legolas?" Gimli asked, threat looming in his voice as his hand automatically drifted to his side where his axe normally hung.

Aragorn smiled sympathetically. "There is no evidence that she did anything, Gimli. She may be called a shuv'ni, a witch, by her people, but I don't believe she has any true powers. The Romany are a simple people. They are guided easily by superstition and dream interpretation. Any power that they may have would be found in their use of herbal remedies. I believe I have those same skills, and I would not consider myself a sorcerer by any means. Their customs differ. A witch to them is like a healer to us," Aragorn shrugged.

Gimli could see Legolas nodding his concurrence. "Still I would prefer we stayed far away," the dwarf grumbled.

"Agreed then," the former Ranger said. "But not everything that came there was of malicious intent. I too like the idea of a challenge, especially considering the trouble we dealt with today with you and Legolas. It might add some interest to turn this into a game. What say you on this? Shall we split up our party for this hunt? Gimli, you with me? Legolas, you with Faramir?" he asked looking from Dwarf face to Elf face for agreement.

Legolas smiled broadly, liking with relish the idea of besting the Dwarf. Gimli reminded himself that the Legolas had not been there for this proposal, and so it was fresh to him and not laced with the apprehension wrought by the old woman's presence in the Dwarf's mind. From the Elf's expression, Gimli could tell Legolas approved the idea. The words that followed confirmed it. "A contest" he said, lingering over the word with merry eyes. "I think that might be amusing. I would be more than happy to upset the Dwarf and prove his weapon, graceful though it be, inferior to my bow."

With that boast, Gimli's pride was stung and he found himself ready to take on verbal battle with the Elf. His fears were pushed aside as his personal dignity began to fight back. "And I would be only too willing to put your words to the test. I will venture that Aragorn and I come back with a prizewinning stag," Gimli bragged.

Good-naturedly, Aragorn opened his mouth to speak. "Do not," but he stopped in mid-word as Arwen bent down and kissed him on the cheek. He had not seen her rise. Nor had the others seen Eowyn join her in folding blankets and breaking the camp.

The two women gave each other a meaningful glance before the Elf lady said, "Gentlemen, I suspect you could go at this all night, but that would hinder your skills in the morn. I recommend you get your rest whilst you can. The deer rise early, you know. It will be an active day for all of us, and I am ready to turn in."

"You are right, my love," the King said with a smile as he rose and began to gather their supplies. "And what is in your plans for the morrow?"

Eowyn smiled as Arwen answered. "We are going to venture out to see the new waterfall of which Legolas had made mention. He told us it is just east of here and a breathtaking sight."

"Then keep your eyes open, as that is where you will find Gimli and I to be as well," Aragorn said in warning.

"To the east? That is where you will be? But that's where Mattias said they saw the stag," Faramir protested.

"It seems the East is already spoken for," Gimli interrupted with a mocking voice. "I believe North, South and West are still available though."

Faramir shot a glare at the Dwarf before darkly muttering, "Very well then, we will take West."

"Done," said Aragorn. "And may the better team prevail," he said offering his arm to Faramir in warrior's handshake.

"Have no fear. We shall," said Legolas, nudging the King's arm as he walked past with an armload of supplies, following Arwen toward the cave.

Gimli immediately took up Aragorn's cause, following behind, also laden with goods. "I saw that, Elf! Do not think that you can win this challenge by doing our bowman bodily harm. You will find when we are done that it is my halberd that will have taken the prize."

"My mistake, Dwarf, for I thought sure the skills of your bowman were the only thing that would win this contest for you. But if you think you are superior to him in skill, then perhaps you should take up the challenge. Alone," Legolas countered.

The former Ranger cast a sidelong glance at the pair as they made their way up the path. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head, then offered a good-humored smirk toward Faramir. "We had better rise early, my friend, or we may find we have been left behind. It would not surprise me to find them at the challenge without us."

Faramir returned his smile with a pat to the back and a nod, then chuckled as he heard the dwarf's boastful voice echoing near the cavern space, "Would it frighten you if I did hunt alone? You have already seen a small demonstration of my skills on something as minor as a grouse actually two simultaneously. That is nothing compared to what I will accomplish come new day."

"I see all that bluster about hunting as a team has gone by the wayside. What happened Gimli? Did my talk of improving on your skill spark some ideas in that small mind of yours as to how this could be accomplished in solo endeavor?" The voice of the Elf faded away as they entered the cave.

Faramir rolled his eyes toward his King and sighed. "And to think this morn we had wished for some sort of participation from those two in this event. I fear we may regret this new turn tomorrow."

The owl had been leading her through the darkened wood. And though her eyesight was fairly good for someone so old, the bird never strayed further than ten or so meters from Bregus as they made their way across the miles to the camp that the owl had seen. Bregus was careful in her steps, using her kosh as a walking stick to help pick her way to safe footing in the darkness. The moon was only now rising and in the pitch of night, she did not want to trip and fall, injuring herself when she was so close to achieving her goal. She was slow and careful as she made her way.

When she heard the sound of the falls in the distance, her heart thrilled to a quickening pace. She was near and she had hope. She prayed to her gods to reveal to her the place she had seen in her dreams and minutes later they fulfilled her desire.

It was as spectacular as she had hoped. Playful. Inviting. Magnificent. And mystical.

But she had to be careful. She did not wish to be seen. She heard voices as she approached, she heard them nearing from the other side of the river. She knew she could not draw fully into the clearing. She pulled back, remaining hidden in the shadows.

She came upon them only seconds after the Elf and Dwarf had entered the cave, so they had not perceived her, and she had not seen them. She saw only the dark-haired man, a woman, and the one called Anborn. Who are you really? She wondered as she watched the men talk as they walked a path toward the falls. With a clap to the hand, the two men exchanged a few words, a laugh, and then the dark-haired one walked to the rock face of the wall and seemingly disappeared into it. Bregus gasped, realizing only on hard scrutiny that a crevice in the stone wall served as a door. She marveled at the illusion. This must be the Protected Place! Its interior space is shrouded well from the world, she thought.

The object of her desire and the woman stood alone on the shoreline opposite her with the falls behind them. Above them, the first glimpse of the moon could be seen rising above the raging water, and the light caught brilliantly as it cast down upon their heads like a silver light. The contrast between light and shadow threw their forms into complete silhouette. The moon, being at nearly her ripest state, was blindingly bright, and Bregus suspected that had she stepped forward, she might have remained invisible to Anborn and the woman, so long as she stayed in the shadows.

She watched his every move with rapt attention. She could not help the fixed trance she found herself falling into each time she gazed upon him. So like Bäla, she thought. And while this man had an uncanny resemblance to her dead spouse, in her mind he was becoming one and the same. Soon he will be, she mused.

So it was then, with jealous shock and anger, that she witnessed this one, this Anborn, this man who would soon be her returning Bäla, reach over and pull the woman that accompanied him into his arms and kiss her. Agonizing rage riled up in Bregus as she watched this unfaithful act. It took all of her will to contain herself and not cry out. She could not step out to reveal herself. For her own good, this was done, and in the next moments she was rewarded for her strength to resist. What happened took away her harrowing lament, and brought a wicked smile to her lips. For the man reached his hand down and placed it tenderly on the woman's lower abdomen. On her womb. And the expression he gave as he gazed upon the fair-haired woman was one of pure love and joy. Bregus knew exactly what that gesture and expression meant. There was an unborn child within this woman. Silently, Bregus laughed.

She did not linger long after they departed into the entrance in the rock face. Long enough to see a very brief glimmer of light flicker within the depths of the falls. Brief enough that it seemed of her imagining. But also brief enough to be discerned as a body pressing through a curtain that hid a brighter room within the shadows of those falls.

When she saw the flicker, she knew. She still had no idea how many there were in this camp, though from what she had seen of them, she suspected it was fewer than she had feared. She shook her head as she collected her wits. If the interior spaces were like those revealed in her dream, indeed there could be many more hidden inside. But she found herself bothered not by this. She had new knowledge, and if she used it right, it would not matter if a full troop of soldiers lie in wait in those store. She had the means now of drawing far greater power than any she possessed on her own. A horribly evil smile crossed her face as she turned to go back to her family.

Kattica lifted her head from the fuzzy haze of sleep when she heard footsteps approach. It was dark and night had fallen though the moon rose bright in the sky. The silver light played on the walls and ceiling of the tent as the crickets sang their night song. For a moment all seemed natural to Kattica and she relaxed with the familiar cadence of approaching steps that she knew, allowing herself to drift off into deeper sleep, happily lulled by the normality of it. But then, like a splash of cold water on her face, she remembered everything that had transpired that day. With her fear she became alert. She bolted upright. Her heart beating rapidly as the steps came nearer and her eyes grew wide in anticipation of what she would find when the flap was pulled away and the person approaching entered the tent. It was with complete surprise then when the gentle smile of Mattias' face poked through the entrance and he climbed into their shared tent, just as he did every night. He looked so much like himself, his face and actions the familiar one she had come to love, that she thought for a moment that she had been wrong, that everything she had experienced and witnessed had been some horrible contrivance on the part of her brain, whipped up by bad dreams that had no place in reality. With relief her cry greeted him, and it was with joy that she plundered him in her embrace, grabbing him fiercely in her arms. She had spoken to him only in brief snippets early this day and that had been all of which she had to cling. She realized now just how lost she had been without his familiar presence nearby. She could see that he still was the man that she loved. Bregus had not stolen his soul.

He chuckled at her obvious enthusiasm, and she felt her face redden at her discomfiture. But she did not mind. So happy was she to find him whole and unscathed. She had been wrong. It was all some mistake, a misunderstanding on her part. But then he said something that brought her back from her glee. He said, "Mother says you need to stay confined until the baby comes. I have come to collect my belongings. She says it is time to prepare you, to make this bender sacred. She says you have become mokadi."

Kattica's joy rapidly disappeared as she realized the implications of his words. Mokadi. The word meant taboo. With dread she realized she was to be kept separate from the camp, ridden from the companionship of any, save the shuv'ni, as she entered the final stages of her pregnancy. And she would remain this way until the birth. It was a silly tradition, a way to ward off death from the altar of the new child's birth, and it was one found only in the more remote of tribes. It had never been their way, at least not until now. She wondered aloud at this change. "But I thought I would stay among you until the birth," she protested.

Mattias' expression changed for a moment, saddened it seemed by the thoughts that ran through his head. But then he smiled bravely as he began packing his gear, shrugging off his own thoughts for the better of them all. "The puri dai has spoken," was all he said.

Kattica continued her protest, anger and confusion motivating her. She moved around to place herself before him, trying to draw his eye to hers, "But this is not our way!"

Mattias sighed heavily, not looking up at her. He continued to pack, pushing past her to reach his belongings. "Mother said you might be like this. Forgetful of our traditions. Mokadi has always been our with us," he said, sadness lacing his voice.

All the fears Kattica had pushed aside came back as she realized now that Mattias' mind had been corrupted. She was not wrong, for she had witnessed birth herself within this camp many times. She knew well their beliefs and she adhered to them wholly. But now they had been altered, conforming to something that met Bregus' goals.

She realized she had little time. Mattias was leaving her, in belief that they would be separated until after their daughter's birth. But Kattica knew no such thing would happen and that he was dooming her and her child to death! She had to stop him, to make him realize that this was wrong! She had to make him come back to himself!

Fearfully, she took both his hands in hers and looked at him beseechingly, forcing her face into his line of vision. She said a silent prayer that she would reach him. "Mattias, I must ask something of you and though I cannot fully explain it, I would ask that you believe in me. That you trust in me."

His expression grew dark with confusion and he stopped momentarily to look hard at her. "Kattica, what are you talking about?"

Mattias scoffed, "A silly question, Kattica. Of course I love you." He resumed his packing.

But this is not what she was asking. "No," she said touching him again, her hand making contact with his under gentle fingertips. "I do not ask it like a child in need of reassurance. Look at me, Mattias. Tell me. Do you love me?"

The play of shadow and moonlight caused wicked tricks to happen before her eyes in the unlit tent. At first he did not look at all as Mattias to her, his brow darkened, his expression cold and scornful. The face she saw was calculating and harsh, and she repressed a shudder as she assured herself to not let go. And then, as if a cloud had receded, his face became lit, and she gasped softly as the light transformed his appearance, taking away the harsh shadows and anger that had made him seem so frightening to her an instant ago. Looking down at her hand, he paused, gently considering. Then supplicant, he raised his eyes to her and uttered quietly, firmly, "Yes."

Gazing deeply into his eyes, attempting with all her soul to reach his heart, she asked, "Would you trust me enough to follow my wisdom without question if it meant our lives were in danger?" Her voice grew firm in her surety, though a part of it was a whispered plea.

His brow twitched slightly, but he did not move his eyes from hers. "Yes," he whispered back, almost trance-like in his answer.

Breathing a sigh, she allowed a small smile to reach her lips before breaking it with more serious words. "Then you must believe me Mattias when I say we must leave now. For the sake of our child. For the sake of my life. We must go," she said with a quaver of fear touching her voice.

For a brief few seconds he only stared dumbly at her, as if without understanding for her words, and then slowly, with only the slightest of gestures, he shook his head in protest, building until the motion was vehement in answer. "No," he said plainly, without emotion.

The word in itself was a slap in the face of Kattica's hope, so opposite the heartfelt affirmations he had seconds before expressed. She felt her eyes sting as tears came to them, sick with the rejection he had just laid before her. A barely perceptible choke of a cry spilled out of her throat, and she found herself struck silent by the sheer weight of her emotions.

He ignored the emotional barrage her face displayed, turning away instead, casting her aside as he gathered the last of his possessions. And then he spoke as if in anger, "Mother said you might be like this. That it is common for women in mokadi to be temporarily driven to madness. It is better this way, Kattica. Mother will tend to you and you will be well again as soon as the baby is born. You will see."

Kattica was thrown from her immobility by the words. Madness? No! "She is wrong, Mattias. Please! I am not mad. You must believe me! It is she who is making you say these word, she that is mad. She wants our baby, Mattias! Please! Please! Listen to me!" she cried, grabbing his arm in a frenzy, trying desperately to regain his attention, his trust.

He flung her hands off him, like he was shedding something repulsive, spilling it to the ground, and indeed Kattica felt pushed away, spurned and discarded. Shaking his head, tears pooling in his eyes, he repeated, firmly resolved, "It is for the best. You will be made well." Then without even looking back, he departed the tent, and Kattica was left only with the memory of those words of desertion.

No longer with a care for what anyone would hear or think, Kattica let out a wail of keening rage and pain. She felt broken, trodden, defeated by the misery Bregus had bestowed upon her, and with heart-broken anguish she collapsed in on herself, unable to do anything but sob her lament. Pounding her fist on the hard ground, felt despite the carpet of pillowed blankets that lay on the floor, she moaned inconsolably to herself, flexing and unflexing her hands in her spastic cries.

On and on it went, pouring her heart out into the folds of the fabric, she cried until she felt feeble and spent. And for a few minutes more she allowed herself the luxury of lying still, willing herself to calm and not think of anything, if only for this brief moment. She allowed her grief to wash over her, pushing everything else aside, and blankly she stayed like this until she could recover enough to act.

Eventually, her mind began to function again, racing ahead, beyond the moment, realizing that the moment she had awaited had come and gone. Now it was time to act. Kattica felt her resolve grow stern. With him or without him, nothing had changed. She still had to flee.

Angrily she realized she had wasted her time. She had been waiting for him all these many hours, giving up on the idea that Gordash had presented her concerns to her husband, bringing him forth sooner. Opportunities had been present for escape and she had ignored them. Earlier she had witnessed a change in her guards, Curtik for Szandor. After an hour on his post, Curtik had slunk away into the wood, lulled away, she supposed, by the need to urinate. It was exactly the opening of which she had been waiting. Silly superstition, she had thought, for despite their guard, none had stepped forward to witness if she still remained in the tent. Such was the fear and power of mokadi. At least she had this as a weapon in her arsenal. But she did not use it, opting instead to wait until Mattias would appear before she could attempt escape. And now she realized her patience had been fruitless. What a horrible waste! Bregus' hold was obviously greater than she had believed.

She would not waste another opportunity. Discreetly pulling back the edge of the flap, she peeked outside to see if anyone was present. The camp appeared to be settling in for the night, and Kattica heard the straggling sounds of some of her folk cleaning up the last of the family dinner. This was it, she knew. Receding into the tent, she gathered the items she needed, feeling around in the dark as she tied the bedroll about the upper part of her rounded girth with her sash. She had decided to forego the waterskin and cookware, and instead grabbed the kettle and slung it over her shoulder like a sack. Clumsily, she managed to get her feet beneath her so she could make the mad dash to the trees before anyone could see her. Closing her eyes, she muttered a silent prayer then pulled open the flap.

She was greeted in that instant by the low growl of a canine's threat, fiercely resonating in the gullet of a gray-flecked muzzle. Pitch dark eyes shone their menace to her. With a shock she snapped back as bared white fangs flashed before her face. Kattica's eyes widened as the snarling jowls hovered over her, just inches from her face.

kosh literally translates to 'stick', but for a witch it is more the equivalent of a wand or staff.

mokadi translates to mean taboo, forbidden, unclean. Many of the Romany believe a woman in the late stages of pregnancy or in giving birth will be unclean, unholy if you will, and susceptible to the will of wandering spirits, evil and death. For a woman in this condition, a bender tent is often set up specifically for her use alone so she will not contaminate the vardo. The Romany in these camps see the afflicted person's condition almost as if it were an infection or open wound. In some tribes they even go so far as to separate the woman's food, her cooking utensils, her laundry, etc., so that those items will not taint the rest of the tribes'. During her confinement, no one will touch her or her belongings for fear of opening themselves up to the curse of death, though they are still allowed to speak to her. This period may begin from up to eight weeks before the birth and last up to several months after. The Hunting Trip

Kattica jumped back as hot breath brushed against her cheek, avoiding in her retreat the fierce lunge of the hound by inches. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she was thrown backwards into the tent by the awkwardness of her weight. She lay helpless on the blanketed floor, the tent flap hanging open, exposing to her the crouching pose of the dog shifting himself in anticipation and ready to lunge. He awaited her next move, and reading it, Kattica froze, glancing away in a gesture of supplication to the pack creature. The beast's hackles stood on end as it snarled brutally, poised to pounce. The terrifying look of a heartless killer filled its eyes as a low growl resonated from the depths of the animal's maw. Stifling a cry, Kattica fought her brain, furiously trying to think of a way to escape this horror. But before anything more could happen, Kattica saw from the corner of her eye the dog look up at something out of the frame of the tent entrance, and then lower its eyes. The animal suddenly cowered away with a whimper, gone from the sight of the girl. A shadow cast by the light of the moon fell onto the highlighted walls of the cloth canopy as a figure moved forward. Kattica recognized the shadow's form. Her true enemy had appeared.

Strangely the girl felt removed from herself, numb to the possibilities of what the witch had planned. She had anticipated this moment in the hours she had silently waited, and now that it was upon her, she found her courage bolstered and her anger alive. The air was electric with her anticipation as the space in the tent became inexplicably smaller. Still, Kattica would face the elder without fear. Bregus had been the source of the girl's subtle torment for many years and Katica had meekly submitted to it. Tonight would be different. Bregus had destroyed her hopes. The elder had declared a war, and it heightened Kattica's sense of morality and injustice. The old woman had wronged Kattica one time too many. The girl was now more than prepared to fight. She could match the elder in strength and wit, she was certain. Unfortunately, she underestimated the elder.

With a twisted smile, the shuv'ni hunched forward, descending into the hollow of the tent. She looked long and hard at the girl, summing up the situation before speaking. "Going somewhere?" she asked maliciously in a singsong voice.

Kattica said nothing, deciding a verbal sparring match would do little to aid her situation. She pulled herself up, gathering her goods again, and then waited.

"I think it is time that we talked," the elder said, drawing out her words, knowing well the ire quailing in Kattica's chest and reveling in it. Her smile grew wider as she saw the gleam of hostility lighting the young woman's eyes. "But before we do that, I should look at you. It is dark in here." Instantly, a fire blazed in the small stove in the corner of the tent behind the young woman, lit without means but by the elder's suggested words. Kattica jumped in surprise. The suddenness of this sorcery startled her. The elder did not utter a spell. She merely wished the fire and it appeared. This was a frightening turn. The girl began to have doubts in her abilities.

"Yes, let me see you. We would not want you to have harmed your precious baby now would we?" the old woman said, sneering as she drew her gnarly hand forward towards Kattica's round belly. The girl squirmed away from the touch, fear now sending subtle shivers down her spine.

A low chuckle emanated from within the elder's throat. "You need not do that," she chided. "You have me wrong. I am not here to do you harm. In fact, I am here to help you. I have come with some wonderful news." The witch's smile grew wider as if she was enjoying the girl's fear.

"Whatever it is, speak it and be gone," Kattica spat, mustering her courage. "I have no desire to linger in your companionship!"

Bregus laughed loudly at the words. "Rather feisty tonight, are you not? You do not like being confined, I see. We have something in common then. For I long to be freed of my confinement as well."

With a hiss Kattica snarled back, "Your words have no meaning to me, witch!" The girl's vexation was clearly evident.

Bregus' eyes narrowed and her look was no longer playful. Kattica felt herself reflexively swallow and her nostrils flared as she felt the bitter taste of bile rise in her throat.

"Do not try me child, or you shall find the keener edge of my mood unpleasant," the shuv'ni said through gritted teeth. The elder stared into the girl's soul as she coldly said, "I am merely pointing out our similarities." She eased away slightly and took a deep breath before looking away. Then she said in a softer voice, "I too am locked into something I do not desire. We are trapped, both of us. You, in a position you cannot change, and my body on a course I seemingly cannot change. And yet we both have every intention of freeing ourselves from our miseries. We are not so unalike, you see."

"The only prison I am in is the one you have made for me!" Kattica spewed out with venom, unyielding to the lightened tone of the elder's voice.

"But do you not see? I had little choice but to put you here. The horrors of my own decay force me to take drastic measures. Day by day I watch my body fade and my powers falter with it. I find that an agony to behold! It is not fair to me! It is not fair to my tribe! I am not ready to part with what I have made!" the shuv'ni said in rising pitch. Then she set her cold stare on the girl once again. A glancing smile pressed her lips. "And so for a long while now I have watched you. You are weak, and know not what you possess. You have a talent that is inordinate, yet you know not how to use it. Jealously I have seen that. I have wanted what you have," the old woman whispered roughly, her eyes fixed on the girl's as she moved forward. Her hand drifted out with a single finger trailing the air, working closer toward the girl's abdomen. Attempting to back away again, Kattica reached the wall of the tent. She could go no further as Bregus continued forward until they were knee to knee, the lone finger drifting slowly downward to rest on the girl's stomach, tracing a fine line down to her navel. The flicker of the flames shone brightly in Bregus' eyes which never left the girl's face. Kattica cringed as the cold chill of that finger touched her soul. "I wanted your life!" Bregus whispered in a hiss.

Kattica shuddered in response as the eyes of the shuv'ni grew penetratingly dark.

"I was envious," the elder continued slowly, her voice a coarse whisper. Slowly she placed another hand on the girl's cheek. Kattica startled and whimpered slightly at the touch, no longer able to contain her fear. Bregus' face was only inches from hers and Kattica was capable of reading the hate in the elder's eyes. "You had it all. Youth, power, hope. Hope most of all! I despised you for it!"

Kattica felt tears welling up. She shook her head to free herself as real fear gripped her.

"I hated all that you would be could be if you only knew what you had. And I saw all that I could do were I given your place again. I knew that I would some day have to relinquish my hold, my rule, my power, to you. YOU an ignorant child! You cannot see it! You do not deserve it! It is mine! It has been mine! I do not wish to give you my place! I have worked too hard to achieve it!" the old woman called out with vehemence. And then her voice changed to a pitiful tone. "And yet, I am dying, slowly, quietly, as elders always do."

Bregus then sat more erect, poising herself in a show of resolute decisiveness. "But I will be different. I choose not to go! I will not forfeit everything I have earned to be acquired by you. Just because you are young! I had come to believe you had been mocking me for what I will lose and I have long hated you for it," Bregus said with a sigh, releasing the girl and resting back on her heels. "I was wrong."

Kattica blinked, struck voiceless by the surprise of Bregus' release on her. The elder shuv'ni looked straight into Kattica. "I no longer need what I was going to harvest from you." The elder's eyes glanced down to the girl's belly, then wandered back up to the younger woman's face. "You may keep it," she said with a dismissive wave.

"I had made plans to take it. The baby. Kill you and take the child. Its heart is what I need." Then laughing at the look of disgust playing off the girl's face, Bregus explained. "Yes, I forget you do not understand black magic. Feeding upon the unborn is one ingredient in the spell I would conjure to bring myself new life," Bregus said simply with a small shrug.

In horror, Kattica's eyes grew wide as she attempted to turn herself away. She had to get away from this terrible woman! The elder obviously had desires of her, even if she had offered to let her baby live freely. Kattica's left hand clutched her belly as her right hand slipped to the pouch at her hip, concealed by her position. "You are insane!" she cried out.

Bregus gave a noncommittal sigh as she moved back, bringing up her knees, sitting comfortably in a curled position that would normally seem out of character for a woman of her age. "You need not fear, child. I will not harm you. Or your baby. Not unless I must, and as of tonight, I see no reason for which to do this. Are you not pleased? I am feeling very generous. I have found a substitute for that one," She said as she nodded toward Kattica's stomach.

"Madness! This is madness!" Kattica shouted, her fingers touching the shaft of her choori hidden within her putsi.

"No, my dear. Only desperation," the elder mocked, a frown pressing her brow. "Are you not going to ask me about the substitution or how you can repay me my graciousness?"

"I know not your evil plan, nor do I wish to be a party in it! There is no grace in the taking of a life," Kattica said with disgust.

In less than a second, Kattica felt her head yanked back and a flash of pain at her skull. Her fingers, in the surprise attack, temporarily relinquished their hold on her knife. Bregus' eyes stared hard into hers as a handful of hair was gripped by the elder. "You would be best served to thank me, fledgling, for it would take little to convince me that you do not deserve my good favor," Bregus scowled.

Gritting her teeth and staring sidelong at the shuv'ni, Kattica said, "What is it you want from me, Bregus?"

"Ah, that is better. A little courtesy would be nice, but yes, what I want is simple. I want your aid," Bregus said, relaxing her grip, and Kattica could not help but notice the gleam in the older woman's eye.

"Aid? Of what kind of assistance do you speak?" Kattica asked, her eyes growing large in her fear for the answer. Again, she traveled her hand to her side where her choori lie.

"I need you to help meas an apprentice. As you were meant to help me," Bregus said, licking her lips in anticipation.

The girl's brow furrowed with anger as she sang out her words, her hand once again touching the hilt of the knife. "I will not be a party to the dark arts, Bregus! You cannot force me!"

Bregus merely smiled, as if she anticipated this retort. "That is your choice. Very well then. Prepare yourself. My plans move forward per my original intent. You will dieas will your babyas will Mattias."

"Did I not tell you that Mattias would also be spared if you complied? Forgive me my oversight," the witch said in a spiteful voice. "Yes, I am afraid he too is a part in my plans though he need not be."

"What do you mean? What do you intend to do?" Kattica asked, panic rising in her throat.

"Do? Were you not listening? I intend to rule again with my youth intact and restored," Bregus said with disdain. "And as for Mattias, you can well imagine my loneliness. I do not intend to do be alone any longer. I miss my Bäla. My spell will have a lingering effect. With it, I may bring my husband back. Mattias will serve as the host for his body."

"All that is a part of his soul will die. A small setback in the process. Bäla needs a body. Mattias' will do nicely. It is unavoidable really," Bregus stated blithely.

"What does it matter to you? That I sacrifice my son so my husband can live is only a small price. Is it that he will become my lover that disgusts you? But I too will be young you see, and he so resembles my Bäla. I can put it aside. And you will be gone. What difference can it make to you?" the old woman pointed out. Then slowly, with a conniving smile, she said in a soft voice, "Of course, none of this need happen were you to help me. There is someone else besides your husband that will do for thisthe one in that group of strangers today. They called him Anborn. Think, girl: Mattias could live; you could live; and your baby could live. The three of you could nestle happily together in bliss for the rest of your living days, for only the tribute of your help."

"You would tarnish me by bringing me into this," Kattica lamented scorn piteously casting her eyes aside.

"And what of those who suffer? Those who die? Is it small sacrifice to them?" Kattica cried out, desperate for a way to reason with the elder.

"They are strangers to us. We know nothing of them. They have no bearing on our lives," Bregus said with unflinching resolve, as if this argument had been long ago settled. Kattica shivered with the coldness of those words.

"I cannot do it," she cried, squeezing her eyes tightly and shaking her head. "I cannot kill."

"I need the aid of your power to control them. You are untrained, but I could guide you. I require your assistance. Nothing else. I do not need you to kill," Bregus laughed. "In your current state, I doubt you could kill anything anyhow. More likely you would topple over in any attempt. No, the killing is mine a part of the ritual even. I will enjoy it."

"Enough!" Bregus shreiked, eyes flaring, her patience gone. "It is time for you to decide! Which do you choose? Help me and see your family live. Go against my wishes and die all of you! Decide!"

Kattica's face grew taut in anger, pushed to her limit. With a feral snarl, she snapped, "Or I could kill you!" Her reflexes were sharp for someone so weighted. In a flash she brought her choori forward from her pouch, waving it before Bregus' face as she swiftly advanced.

But again, Bregus was found prepared. She twisted aside, easily moving away from the blade as if anticipating it. She smiled knowingly and said with a mocking voice, "You said you could not kill."

"I would make an exception in this case," Kattica answered with menace in her voice as she lunged again at the elder woman. It would seem a hard thing to avoid in such a confined space, but Kattica had to worry that their close proximity would put the blade too close to the elder and that Bregus would pry it away if given the opportunity. Or worse, do her harm. Again Bregus parried the move.

"And yet you and your baby will die all the same. I have seen to that," Bregus said, a smile dancing in her eyes, "and Mattias will be lost to you in the pursuit."

The shuv'ni drew back, gesturing out to the camp in answer as she kept a wary eye to the knife. "You do not know how to control them. I do. You cannot sway their opinions. I can. All they will see is that you attempted to kill the puri dai. They will think mokadi has come, and they will kill you and the baby in retribution and fear before you can kill more. They will think you have become possessed and will do what they must to protect themselves," the old woman reasoned.

A sob leapt from Kattica's throat before she found the words to respond. "But at least I will have taken you with me!" she screamed in a final lunge.

The elder grabbed the girl's wrist, snarling back, "And you will have lost Mattias' affection in return!"

"No!" Kattica cried again, her eyes widening. Bregus used that instant to make an attempt to regain control. She scrabbled for the weapon, but Kattica pulled away. The elder's hand clamped over the girl's and the contest became one of strength as they wrestled with the knife. Kattica felt her heart beating a in rapid-fire pulse at her temple and chest, the sound urging her to prevail. But Bregus was stronger than she had assumed and there seemed a moment when the girl thought she might lose. Yet she willed her heart not to falter. Kattica knew she was fighting for not only her own soul, but her baby's and her husband's.

But Bregus would not be deterred. Sensing impending loss, the elder released a hand she had twisted around the girl's other wrist in the effort to win dominance and she moved it quickly to the young woman's swollen waistline. With fingers splayed, she covered the firm round stomach with much of her hand and muttered dark words as she squeezed. Kattica winced in pain and fear, immediately fighting back, her fingers grabbing now for Bregus' wrist in the attempt to pull the hand away. But naught could stop the sudden shuddering movement Kattica felt within her body. The baby was writhing about, moving in agitation within her as if attempting to flee, and the girl cried out a harsh gasp as she realized her baby was under serious distress. She struggled harder to pull the hand away, but Bregus' fingers seemed fixed. Crying out in her fears, she dropped the tentative hold she had on the knife as she attempted to use her now empty fingers to join the other hand in pulling the offender away from her womb. She called out a sob as she felt her baby flailing in an inward madness. "Stop!" she wailed. "You are killing her!"

The elder now released the grip she had on the girl's other wrist, and while Kattica's freed hand immediately went to the one at her abdomen, Bregus reached down and snatched away the knife. With the weapon in hand, she pulled away the hand that caused menace at the girl's belly, flashing the knife before Kattica's face to gain her attention and end any further fruitless struggles.

"No more games!" The elder panted, pushing Kattica away. Then schooling her anger in a practiced fashion, she straightened on bent knees, towering over the recoiling girl, and said with a fierce whisper that drew shudders down Kattica's spine, "Time is wasting. If you are to help me, we can wait no more. I need my answer now. What will it be?"

Sobbing, tears rolling down her cheeks, Kattica was helpless. The fluttering kicks of her child slowly stilled and she felt calm come back to her womb though the girl's pulse still raced. She saw no other way and mourned greatly her loss in this battle. Desperation clawed at her as her mind grasped the end of its possibilities. She had exhausted her resources and there was no way out. Grimacing in fear and resignation, she knew she had little choice. With a final gasp, she lowered her head in surrender and shame before raising it to meet the elder's eyes. She could not look there. Glancing away, she made her answer. She nodded her head in agreement, shutting her eyes in revulsion to the thought of what Bregus was asking. A whimper of disdain escaped her as she swallowed her angered cry.

Bregus smiled fully showing her twisted and yellowed teeth in joy. She backed away, reaching out to the entrance of the tent, never moving her eyes from the girl as she gestured with her head for her to follow. A weeping Kattica trailed her. As the elder stepped out of the tent and rose to her full height she was joined by the grey owl, swooping in and circling her head. The large bird alit on Bregus' arm as Kattica stepped to her side. "Let us begin. The moon awaits," she said as she marched forth into the darkness of the woods, grabbing her kosh leaning against a tree stump as they passed.

A momentary thought to run was dashed away from Kattica's mind as the wolf hound that had threatened her suddenly reappeared. It heeled at her side, growling in warning when the girl did not move to follow. Kattica knew the dog's role was to keep her from flight. And had she somehow escaped that, the bird would attack from above. Bregus had thought this out too well. Kattica could not run. There was little choice. And so she followed, submissive, but not wholly willing. Bregus would get her way, and if only begrudgingly, Kattica would help her.

Bregus marched forward, her eyes no longer watching the girl. As they exited the camp and she plodded along through the dark paths of the wood, Kattica felt the bounce of the stone about her neck, thumping lightly with each footstep to pound against her chest, like a small drumbeat or pulse. It gave her some comfort, small though that was. Seeing she was unobserved, Kattica lifted her fingers to the amulet warmed by the skin of her chest and hidden beneath her clothing. Tears streaked her cheeks as she silently prayed to her grandmothers spirit in the World of the Dead. She knew her grandmother was neither great nor powerful as a shuv'ni in her waking life, but she had been told all things were enhanced in the great Other Lands. With quiet hope, she looked there for her keeping since none now could help her in this world. Dear Puromämus, I fear for the outcome of this. Watch over my soul and keep it safe for me. I beseech you to do what you can to help me find a way back to freedom.

Legolas took watch over the sleeping figures about him as his own personal rest evaded him. A mixture of the murmured sounds of his friends was intriguing as it mingled with the echoes of splashing water from the next room, but it saddened as well that he could not join them in the peace of their dreams. He was tense in this place. Long had it been since he had traveled the dark corridors of Moria, and yet elven memory was a powerful thing, and to Legolas, had he allowed his thoughts to wander there, this place could have easily come to resemble it for the feelings of earth pressing in on him. He shook the concept away, choosing instead to focus on the differences. For one thing, he was not trapped. There was plenty of fresh air and light that breathed into these caves. For another, death was not prevalent here. For that matter, never had it been. If anything, Henneth-Annûn had been a sanctuary of sorts from death. And yet he could not find comfort. There were too many thoughts that loomed in upon him here. Quietly he rose, choosing to find the solace his body longed for elsewhere.

Not only did the walls feel like they were squeezing in on him, but so too were the sounds mingling in his mind. The music of the cascade was not enough to appease him. He knew mortal ears could not hear it, but his highly tuned sense of sound picked up the distinct differences in the characters about him in repose. They each had their own space, walls built from curtains to give each person or couple their own modest privacy, but it was not enough to keep Legolas' ears from invading, whether he wanted them to or not, especially in his restless tossing and turning. At least listening to them kept him amused, even if it did not relax him. As he passed them, the sounds became ever more clear, and he smiled in spite of himself for the clear vision each produced. In the next cubicle was Gimli, muttering and sputtering between the booms of raspy snores, easily loud enough to compete with the falls in the outer room. Across the way lay Estel and Arwen, both noiseless sleepers, except for the faint whisper of breath that escaped them, their breath sounds matching one another and conjoining their patterns, just as he knew their bodies lay intertwined with each other. And further on were Faramir and Eowyn. Faramir slept hard, barely stirring and snoring on and off through the night, while Eowyn barely slept at all. Hence their dreams were a constant tumult of activity, mostly from Eowyn's side of the cot. She seemed to spend much time moving about, though Legolas could tell she was sleeping from the steadiness of her breathing. Silently laughing, he thought it made them both unusual and typical as a couple.

Silently he walked to the black curtain that divided their living quarters from the outer hall. For security, at night they kept the curtain drawn, using it to hide the light of their inner cave from reflecting out upon the window of water and this darkness was part of what was bothersome to the Elf. In the daylight hours it was safe to open the flap and allow the air through, but at night, their place could be seen were they to open it any time when an inner light prevailed. But there was no light now, and Legolas had no qualms about stepping out of this space.

He felt a greater sense of peace as he stepped out into the antechamber, though noise was ever greater here. Still, he could feel the air circulate, and his mind and body took a step toward relaxation.

The moon lit up the room, its light pouring through the curtained window of water, and Legolas realized for the first time on this trip how well it aligned with that translucent opening. In a mere few hours he calculated it would be centered in the frame of that arch. Even now, the beauty of that light gloriously bounced about him. He had to smile and he longed to see the moon fully. He decided to ascend upward to serenade the skies directly.

It was subtle, this sound the trees made, subtle and keen only to one who might be listening for it. But it was a warning cry all the same, echoing between them, repeating on for endless miles wherever the wind would take it. The rumor passed on like the rings of a droplet falling on the water. A foreigner travels our forest, the trees called out to anyone astute enough to hear. An owl. A dark bird. Trouble surely follows.

Ithil had risen from his travels beneath the horizon and cast his silvery glow across the landscape. The moon was very bright and immense in its fullness taking its position in the starry heavens, keeping company with Menelvagor, Edegil and Remmirath.* Earendil twinkled low on the horizon, off to the west, having risen and fallen early on this night, but despite his waning position, he sparkled brightly in farewell to the fair orb. In fact, all the stars seemed to marvel at the beauty of the heavenly globe as he took his place of dominance above them.

Stepping out of the tunnel and onto the stone platform that rose over the cascading edge of the falls, Aragorn caught his breath as he gazed up at the moon's glowing countenance, remembering so many nights in the wild when the skies had been his only companion. No longer alone, but feeling slightly lost, it felt good to step out and recount those dark days and the solace found in a night sky. He had been in pursuit of Legolas, waking when he heard the curtain part and he knew then that the Elf stepped away from their sleeping place. He had been worried about the effect that the caves might have of the Lord of the Ithilien Elves. There was little love in Legolas' heart for submerged spaces. Aragorn's only surprise was that it had taken this long for Legolas to attempt to depart the caves. His quest was not long. He could have predicted where he would find his friend. He watched Legolas as he approached. The Elf had not taken his eyes from the stars even though Aragorn was certain he had been heard coming. Yet the stars held great power for the Eldar, and Aragorn waited, wondering if there would be any conversation between them as long as the celestial bodies sparkled above.

"You need not have followed me, Estel," the Elf finally said, breaking the silence that fell between them.

"Was I following you? I merely thought I was taking counsel with the stars," the former Ranger replied.

Legolas took his eyes away from the sky long enough to cast a glance at his friend, then turned them back upward with a smile working around the corners of his lips. He answered, "I thought you were sleeping too soundly for that. Your bride will miss you. And while you may appreciate the beauty of the night, I do not think they hold the same meaning for you as they do for me."

The King sighed, a warm smile lighting up his face. "Mayhap this is true, but I know well the comfort you find in them. I thought I might share it, especially when they are lost to you in the caves below. I came to offer words of calm if it would aid you."

"I offer no such thing," Aragorn said, wincing at the defensive tone of the Elf. There was much they had need to discuss. A touchy nature would not give them a good start.

As if Legolas understood this, he continued, "I know you mean well. And while I have never really recovered the dread I felt in Moria, Henneth-Annûn is not that grim place. I can survive my stay here with the companionship of my friends. Someday I am sure I will recover from that experience, though perhaps not in your lifetime," the Elf said, freeing his eyes at last and gazing fully at the King.

"I suspect Gimli has too much invested on my behalf. He has many theories on what is need for my well-being," Legolas laughed lightly.

"And what theories might you have, Legolas?" the King asked, growing serious. It was a poignant question, one with many different answers, and he hoped Legolas might take it with a sober mood and give truthful answer whichever way he chose to interpret it.

Legolas pondered Aragorn's face long. He paused as if weighing his words, glancing down to compose what he meant to say. At last he looked up, and his gaze was penetrating and firm. "It was not sea-longing, Estel," he said, cutting to the chase and stunning the King with his frankness and certainty. This was indeed a topic that begged their converse, and one that Aragorn presumed they would talk on, but the Elf minced no words in getting to it. He could see Legolas was searching for a response from the King's face.

Aragorn swallowed hard as he considered what to say. Another long pause followed, and then came the short answer from the King. "I know," he whispered.

Legolas sighed, a look of both relief and surprise dancing over his face. "You pretended to believe it true," the Elf commented.

Aragorn nodded, rue pulling at his heart. He too sighed before answering. "At first I did believe it true. But as I observed you later this day, I saw none of the telltale signs an attack of sea-longing would have on you. I knew then something else caused your illness. But I did not want to speculate without consulting you privately first. And such opportunities for privacy have been rare on this trip."

"As did you, my friend. Or at least you did not deny it. I know my reasons for keeping your illness blamed on cuivëar**. What were yours?" the Ranger said.

Aragorn smiled. The verbal volleys and parries of his friend could be amusing and challenging. It had long been a part of their friendship, and he accepted it. He owed Legolas an explanation, that much was certain. "I kept up the pretense only to keep the others from panic. Out of fear for you alone, Gimli is already willing to charge in on the Romany tribe and behead any who would come in his way, without benefit of comprehension of any real crime. Too much of that has already played in their history. Needlessly."

"Do you think there was a crime?" Legolas asked, reaching to rub a spot at the back of his head.

"Do you?" Aragorn asked, returning question for question as the elf had and noticing with curiosity the oddity of the Elf fingering his hair.

Aragorn immediately frowned. Warning impulses echoed through his mind as he recalled early teachings in Elrond's house. Elixirs and potions could be conjured up from hair. It was a powerful conductor for magic, and while Aragorn had not really considered the Romany witches to have skill enough to do much more than contrive some simple herbal therapies, new fear leaped through him with the knowledge that something so intimate had been taken from his friend. "You are sure?" he asked, and when Legolas nodded, his brows pressed in deeper concern. "At first, I did not consider that what occurred today could be anything but natural in occurrence, though now that I consider it was concocted by some means, I willingly admit that I am baffled by whatever motivations they might have had. Yet you were not harmed, or so it seems, and neither were we. I was willing to let it pass and that is why I did not speak of it. Yet now, I sense a looming danger. I do not like this news, Legolas."

"Postpone all. Leave immediately at daybreak. Seek out my soldiers and have them ride the Romany out of these lands," Aragorn answered with an authoritative voice, yet he shook his head as if disagreeing with his own words.

"And would you consider yourself justified in doing so, Estel?" Legolas asked, his face growing taut. Then shaking his head and looking away to the roiling river, he said, "Nay, this is wrong. As wrong as Gimli charging in without knowledge of why he feels just. Fear guides you without clear evidence to justify your motives. It would be another instance where groundless emotions were heaped onto the Romany people. I would prevent it from happening, if I could."

"What makes you so sympathetic to them when it was you they held and you from whom they stole?" Aragorn asked.

"Perhaps it is that I understand their withdrawal from life anywhere but within the wild. While I was treated more as object than person to them today, I can say that it is not a new experience to me. Every time I travel into your city, I must endure the stares of Men. It is not a comfortable position to be in."

"Truly I am sorry, Legolas. I did not realize that problem persisted still." Aragorn said, feeling shame on behalf of his people.

Legolas brushed it away, "Nay, Aragorn, it is second nature to stare at an oddity for all of us. We did same ourselves today."

"When we entered the Romany camp, we too stared hard at them," Legolas said, his eyes penetrating the soul of the King and unleashing a hidden guilt Aragorn had not been aware was there.. "They were as foreign to our perceptions as I was we were to theirs. Do you not think they experience the same from others? I am certain they could feel our eyes on them just much as I could feel theirs on me. Can you not understand why they shun conventional life in city or village for one of a freer expanse roaming the lands? I find what they do far more in keeping with the life I lead than the one you do. That is why I sympathize with their plight, and why I think it would be wrong to act out in fear without justifiable cause. The Elves long endured the apprehensions of Men in this last age just as a wariness for the Secondborn became innate to my kind. I do not choose that, Estel. Doro Lanthiron is not founded on that perception. I will tolerate it no more. Without solid evidence to say more, I find the Romany have done no real wrong that I can perceive. They are a misunderstood people, and I cannot fault them that."

Aragorn mused on how his friend's wisdom had grown as a result of his leadership role in this land. The Elf was more willing to be lenient and see all sides of a conflict than he had been in their earlier days. And he was right. While Aragorn was willing to act blindly Legolas was willing to act with kindness. Yet it was difficult to quell his apprehensions. Aloud he wondered, "Do you sense any danger from them?"

"I do not know I would call it danger. I sense something, but more akin to desire and jealousy, though I cannot pinpoint its source. From the group as a whole, I felt only great curiosity, benevolence, and fear as well. All I think are understandable."

"Aye. And I felt the same," Aragorn agreed. "Yet I do not feel safe going near them again. We are safe here at Henneth-Annûn so long as we remain within as they know not where we camp. We took a risk tonight being out in the open. I think we should postpone the hunt tomorrow."

"For your sake, as well as ours, I would take precautions," the King answered. "We do not know for what reasons the hair was taken."

Legolas frowned. "And what? Do we remain in hiding in our cave because of a nameless fear? Nay, Aragorn. I intend still to hunt in the morrow whether you do or not."

Aragorn sighed. Again the Man had overreacted. "Very well," he at last said, "But when my men report to me in a few days, I intend to send them up to that camp and kindly prod the Romany to move on."

Legolas looked torn over this, but at last acquiesced. "So long as it is without violence and it is done gently, without malice. As you have pointed out, they have done no real harm and they show great respect for this land. I would let them stay if I could."

"As would I if I did not have others to consider. I do this to protect you and your people. I know not of their intent."

"And I concede it to protect you, as I too do not know of their intent," Legolas laughed.

"A mutual agreement then," Aragorn said, clapping a hand to his friend's shoulder. "Come my friend, you look weary despite your rest today. Let us try sleep again."

The Elf caught the King's eye, then swept his eyes away, returning them to the sky. "I will sleep tonight, Estel, but not within the cave."

Legolas nodded to a cluster of pines whose boughs curved over the soaring river before them. "After all we just said, aye, I do find that wise. I may keep watch over our camp and I shall be more comfortable there," he said, taking a step forward.

Aragorn smiled. Then he said something that changed the direction of their conversation entirely and the abruptness of it made Legolas laugh. "Give yourself a chance to overcome your dread of the cave, my friend. You may yet recover if Gimli keeps pressing on you to do so," the handsome King said with a smile.

Legolas smiled wryly as he mused on that thought. Then he turned and cocked his head, and gave a reply with a soft voice that nearly sang on the breeze. "And does pressing for your desire really work with an Elf?" Aragorn looked puzzled as Legolas went on, "Think you on that, Estel. Has it really fulfilled your desires on what you might want of Arwen?"

Aragorn stiffened. It was most definitely not the answer he expected and it brought back hard truths in his relationship with his wife that he had shared with no one. How does he know? But he caught himself in mid-thought as the Elf continued, "Perhaps you wish too much from her. Be patient and you will eventually get what you want when she is able to give it."

The Man blinked and Legolas placidly smiled. The comment was an unfair blow to his ego and Aragorn swiftly grew angry. But then just as rapidly, he changed his stance, realizing his trust had not been betrayed. Aragorn knew well the things an Elf could perceive were vastly different from those of Men. Arwen had revealed nothing of the couple's intimacies to Legolas Aragorn was sure, and with utmost certainty he discerned the Elven Prince was only acting on intuition. After all, despite his chagrin at being seen in the city, Legolas was an Elf who made company among Men. The Elf could not help but hear the murmurs of the people in Elessar's court if Aragorn knew what they wanted why would not Legolas. The Elf was too astute to not detect this most intimate of secrets and Aragorn felt certain he could understand the pressure placed on both the King and the Queen. Legolas was only doing his part to be a friend to them both. Aragorn shook his head. "Legolas" he started to say, but Legolas suddenly raised his head, his attention drawn away.

"What is it?" the Ranger asked, watching the Elf's eyes pierce the darkness of the forest.

The Elf Prince shook his head. "It is nothing. The trees were merely calling out, warning of an owl flying beneath them. They did not recognize the creature as one of their own and thought it to be a menace. But it is nothing. Something common in the wood. The wood still heals. There is worry of anything new." Then turning to face the King, he smiled. He looked tired. He said, "If you have nothing else for me, I will say good night."

Aragorn shook his head, deciding against pressing the Elf further on his knowledge of his and Arwen's personal affairs or anything else that might have presented itself in given time. He smiled and bowed his head, "Good night then, Legolas. Rest well, my friend. And stay away from that camp tomorrow."

"I promise you nothing of our make could pull us there. We will give it plenty of girth, as should you."

"So it shall be," the King nodded and Legolas backed away into the calm of the night air. In an instant, he disappeared into the brush near the trees as Aragorn tried to follow with his eyes. Then he shook his head as he stepped back to the cave entrance muttering, "Elven wisdom!" In the branches above he heard the musical laugh of his friend. It was enough to ply a grin to Aragorn's face as he descended the stairs, making his way back to the arms of his wife.

It was black magic, and yet it felt so very right. Kattica was sure she had never felt anything like this before. It soared through her body, setting every nerve afire, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Forgetting the fact that it was the dead of night and that the setting moon was all they had to guide their way, the girl could not recall being more aware, more awake, more vital, more alive. Each time they stopped, she grew excited, knowing that she would feel that incredible rush coursing through her veins again. She hated herself for liking this sensation so much. Yet it was always the same in the thrill it gave her. Bregus would hand her the kosh, and then step back to walk the path of a circle around where the girl stood. Kattica knew she was the pinnacle of that magic, the core of the circle, and each time she felt herself come alive with its ecstatic power. The sensation was unbelievable, riding over her mind in some orgasmic surge. And each time it rent her in such a way that Bregus would have to shake her awake, reviving her again to reality.

She saw the old witch's lips twist into a wicked smile as the girl's slow corruption was witnessed. Kattica did not care. This night could go on forever as far as she was concerned, so addictive did she find the taste of the darkness.

She knew this was not her, that this was not the person she had always been, had always trusted herself to be. But she also knew she had little choice. If she did not cooperate, her family was lost, and that was a fear greater than any she had of the dark. She allowed it to happen. She became complacent, malleable to the whim of the evil, and she was amazed at how freely it came to her. She enjoyed it. No. Even worse. She yearned for it.

At first, she had not known what to expect, frightened and quivering as Bregus showed her the rhythm to tap with the kosh while the elder completed the circle, calling out to the spirits of the earth. Like a subtle thunder, Kattica could feel the ground tremble beneath her feet, as if it were answering Bregus' call. She swayed as the gentle beat was thrummed out, uncertain where the source of the motion lay, within her or without. And after several minutes of calling those spirits into play, when Bregus was certain her incantation had taken hold, she gave the signal to Kattica to set the magic in place. With a mighty thrust, kattica followed her instructions, lifting and thrusting the base of the stick into the ground. The kosh gave way, instantly piercing the earth as if the girl had skewered the skin of a fruit. It was like there was no ground beneath her, except that she stood firmly in place. But that was not all. It was the feeling that came over her as the earth gave beneath her that was her undoing. The power of that motion was laden with a strength that nearly knocked the girl over. That simple move launched her into her descent, and Kattica knew a part of her was gone. She had been unprepared for the feeling, but even knowing might not have helped her. It washed over her in an electric wave, starting at her toes and rising in rapid fire to her calves, thighs, groin, chest, arms, neck and finally her head, pulling a numb warmth through her. The feeling was marvelously joyous, exciting and intoxicating all at once. The impact sent her spine in arc, her head rearing up to catch the awesome light of the stars. In her mind, it all came together, the beauty of the feeling riding over her conjoined with the darkness of the night sky, and in that, the endless bursts of light that shimmered in the heavens. All of it was a point of union for her, a place where her mind merged with the magical spell, and she could feel it was she that moved the earth beneath her feet. It was she who molded the degree and depth of the trap. A guttural moan rose to her lips as she felt the flush wrap over her skin in the spasm of waves on her soul. And then she dropped her head, spent by the physical side of the spell while her mind reeled in the multiple messages being sent to her as she attempted to embrace it. She did embrace it. Never, never had she known how great her power could be, and knowing now, she longed to find it again and again, to live within it.

Pulled away from the spot, Kattica found herself following Bregus over the fields and through the woods, stopping repeatedly as their route took an arc a few miles wide. They stopped in clearings or wide paths to perform the magic, only tens of feet to hundred of feet away from where they had done it before. It mattered not how frequent, for Kattica watched with rapt attention to the elder, waiting with fervent impatience for the signal that they perform the spell again. Like an emerging addict, she longed for an opportunity to repeat the cycle, hoping for that euphoric sensation that would send her to the heavens all over again. But unlike an addict, the feeling did not wane with each ministration. If anything, it grew stronger, and by evenings end, Kattica was so much enmeshed with the powers, she could barely remembered what she had been like without them. Vaguely she wondered if she could ever go back to what she had been, had she even wanted it.

Jealously she held onto the feeling, watching with an unabated hunger, hoping that Bregus would not want to alter the cycle, making Kattica switch places so the elder could take her turn and have her chance at the dark's delicious enticement. But it didn't happen, and though gleeful for her good fortune, the girl wondered about that. It was later that she discerned that all of this was a part of her own training. Bregus was teaching Kattica the allure of dark magic, snaring her in her own web.

Now Kattica understood the reasoning that had pulled Bregus over. Now she could comprehend how the elder could willfully maneuver others to bend to her whims. There was a beauty in it the girl had not seen before. And along with it came a tantalizing longing that reached her heart. It rocked her, the immensity of it. She did not know how she had survived without it.

As the sky began to lighten in the horizon before them, the owl alit on the branches and made her last call. Bregus turned up, listening to its words as it spoke only to her and muttered, "We must cease. Dawn is coming and we are needed back at our camp."

Kattica felt saddened that there was no more they could do. "Will it be enough?" she asked.

Bregus smiled, pleased with how far her apprentice had come in one night. "It will have to be. There is no more time left here. Let us hope that we have set enough traps to capture and hold those we want. Or in this case, those we do not want."

The girl swayed and the old woman grabbed her under her arm to keep her upright. "Perhaps I allowed you too much playtime. You may feel aftereffects for some time. Have no worry. You will acclimate to it."

Kattica's head spun, as if she were drunk. Her focus was hazy, and she did not notice the elder had swung her arm over her shoulder and was helping her place her steps before her. Through her intoxicated haze Kattica's thoughts went back to their task. There was so much she wanted to know. "How will we know if what we did worked?"

Bregus laughed. "We are hardly done with everything that must be done today. You are weary now, but that will not last. Soon you will be eager to start anew, and then you will see just how far the dark powers can bend the wills of Men."

And though she was weary, Kattica felt a new surge of joy. There was more they would do, more power to experience! She felt a sudden surge of enthusiasm and eagerness to follow Bregus. There was more! She could taste it. She wanted it! Her steps came quicker as new feeling came to her for the old woman. Amazed at herself, she realized she felt a sort of gratitude toward Bregus for showing her this path. A small smile crept up on her face, and she let her fatigue wash over her as her head lolled into the elder's shoulder. Strangely, she felt happy.

Then suddenly she panicked as guilt rode back into her mind. Kattica felt the kicking of the child in her womb and it instantly brought her back to herself. Stirred and alive, she could feel the flailing of the body within hers, pushing her, as if trying to awaken her, as if trying to remind her of where her true self lay. How long the baby had been moving about like this she was uncertain, but dully she realized that it could have been occurring all night. Only now with the breaking of day did she notice. And she did not like to think that her child was reviled by the experience she had just had. With a moment's thought, she realized she felt guilt for it all. But she could not break it. Not knowing what she now knew.

And yet there was the baby to consider, and Kattica's heart lurched. What if this night of enchantment had harmed the baby? She stopped dead in her tracks as she felt terror over what she may have wrought. As if waking in alarm from a nightmare she cried, "NO!"

"What is it?" Bregus asked, only vaguely interested in what frightened the girl.

"Who? Your child?" Bregus asked with scorn, and then she laughed. Scoffing the elder said, "No, she is not harmed. What has happened did not effect anything of her, only you. And for that it was your heart and your mind that have been altered. The child is safe. It did not touch her." Then muttered words spilled from Bregus' mouth and Kattica realized she it was a revitalizing spell the shuv'ni spoke. Almost instantly the girl found her energy returned and she realized she could walk on her own without aid. The old woman released her, and Kattica took her place following.

Kattica audibly sighed her relief, allowing herself now to be led back to their camp without hesitancy. Then feeling more coherent and realizing that she had more questions she would have answered she said, "How do you know they will come this way?"

Bregus did not stop, and Kattica had to twist her head to bring her ears to hear the voice ahead of her. "I do not know for certain. It is a guess. A nag of something in Mattias and Szandor's minds. But I think if we work together, we can drive them in this direction. And then we will trap the others"

"The ones who will help me to live again. I will explain more to you later when I need you," Bregus answered mysteriously as if that effectively supplied the end to the girl's question. "You will help me. That is all you need to know. Now stop asking me questions and let your mind enjoy all that you have accomplished in your apprenticeship this night."

Kattica's brow furrowed. "Am I doing the right thing, do you think?" the girl asked openly, forgetting herself for the moment and to whom she spoke. She fingered the pendant at her neck as she thought about the baby within her.

Kattica frowned as her lucid state began to wane. Of course she had not forgotten. There was no choice. That vexed her. She would have liked for this decision to have been her own. But then again she knew were she not coerced, she would not have taken this path. This very enchanting path. Her hand on the pendant dropped to her side. Dully she asked, a fleeting question that pressed on her thoughts, "What will the others say or think when they see I am no longer mokadi?"

"Say? Think? They say or think nothing without my control. They will say nothing and no longer recall such a thing occurred. My reach goes very far," Bregus said with a sneering voice and a laugh.

But Kattica was only half-listening now, though she grunted in response. The truth was her mind had begun to drift back. She was experiencing it all again, an aftereffect she mused. However her steps were not slogged as the counterspell of Bregus' carried her forward. Vacantly she walked as a smile waxed over her face. Within her she held back feeling excitement for what was to come, for that moment was far off in the future and this memory of her recent past was very vividly laced with an excitement all its own.

**cuivëar is a term I made up and used in my last two stories, "Cry of the Gull" and "Torn Between Two Worlds". It literally means "awakening of the sea" and it was the closest I could come to describing Sea-Longing as an affliction to the Elves. The Hunting Trip

That is good. That means this enchantment has taken. Listen carefully to my words then. I will guide you. Do not dare venture out beyond what I command.

We shall see. I only warn you that any action on your own may undo everything that has been set into motion. And we know the consequences should my plans fail!

Very well. Let us begin. Close your eyes. Let your mind relax. Concentrate on my words. Your mind is floating free. Tell me everything you notice or see.

"I cannot feel my body, but I am aware of everything around me. It is as if all my senses have been heightened somehow. Outside, I hear the crockery and cookware that is being used in preparations of the meal. I know the day for those in the camp is underway. I can hear the children laughing and the men speaking and the women answering. I can smell fatback frying and biscuits baking and the mingling scent of coffee coalescing with the smoked herbal aromas that linger in your wagon. I feel the embroidered sash of which I was playing at my fingertips. The patterns seem suddenly so intensely intricate and fascinating. But I can't open my eyes. It is so strange. I feel like I dream and yet I feel incredibly aware."

Not at all. That is exactly right. Now try to use your eyes. Open them. See all that you sensed before.

"It is magnificent! I can see it all! The children! Ha! They play silly games with words! It is as if I am there with them. And the women"

"I am at their side. I am cooking with them. No! It is more. The smells, the food, I can feel the essence of their aromas as a part of me. And the men their thoughts are wild!

I told you not to venture away from me! There is too much to do to prod around in the minds of those who do not matter! Those ones are mine. Listen to my words and follow my instructions lest I constantly be forced to uphold my threats to you.

"Nono, you are right. It is just so new and exciting. Forgive me. What do you wish for me to do now?"

Reach out. Reach out with your mind beyond this camp, beyond this wagon. See if you can find the strangers. I need them now. I need to know where they walk and if they are near. Can you see them?

That is good. Breech the surface now. Look into their minds. I must know if anything of my last spell still breathes within them. Seek out their minds. Look for their thoughts as I guide you there. Do you see anything of my smoke spirit left within them?

"I do not see it anywhere in the Dwarf, but it is present still in the man. It is weak and dying though."

Dying eh? It is still good news. We can use this. Even weakened we can use it. And now the others. Look now for the other man. And the Elf.

Patience! Give it time! You look in too much a rush. Slow yourself down. Give your thoughts a moment to collect and read them.

Careful then. Pull away before they perceive you. Your thoughts are easily read when the smoke is about. I am not ready for them yet, though soon. Let us go back to the Man and the Dwarf. I would like to see if we can maneuver them.

Give me your hands so I may see as well. There that is better. Now I see them. Follow my lead and do as I do. Together we will take control of the Man's thoughts and lead them onto the path of their undoing.

They had been walking along the prairie lands, nearing the lower foothills. The sun was rising on the other side of the hill, just past the forest's edge on the rise, and cool shadows of blue and deep violet made the tufts of the coarse grasses and wildflowers pocking the lee look rutted and deep. Their footing was slick as droplets of dew covered their boots and trousers, seeping into their clothing and chilling them as they marched along. Aragorn had his head down, his thoughts locked on finding tracks while Gimli remained close to his back, eager to be of aid should they meet with their quarry. The air was mild and the hint of a breeze whispered from the south telling Gimli heat would follow that day. He admired the warm amber glow where the sun touched the tips of the grasses at the top of the hillock. A halo of light edged the landscape above them in golden hues. He looked behind them to see where the sun fell on the horizon, seeing the long stretch of peach-colored tones fall over the plains. And in contrast, he noticed the change in color their footsteps made on the grasses due to the disturbance in the dew going from pastel watercolor to rich dusky shades where their feet had been planted. The trail disappeared over distance, but was most apparent where they stood near. And then he noticed a cross path to theirs, deeper still than the color of their steps and realized it was freshly trodden. Something passed there. A deer? With stealth the creature must have moved for their ears had not detected it. But the deer trail of which they had been in search was now clearly marked.

Tapping Aragorn on the shoulder, he nodded back to the plains below them and pointed out what he saw. It was a silent communication, for Gimli knew the ears of the animals were sharp, and despite the ill-perception he had given Aragorn yesterday of his hunting skills, he was eager to prove he could indeed be a capable hunter.

The King's brows rose in surprise, and a pleased smile graced his face as he discovered the path Gimli had pointed out. Patting the dwarf lightly on the shoulder as if in thanks, he led them back down the hill, walking silently, in case more deer were following. Stepping into the trail, he grunted, pointing out the fresh tracks. Then he stood up and looked about, craning his neck to make out a tactical position. Gimli did the same.

Aragorn nodded them back along their own trail, downwind from their current position until they had traveled a good thousand feet, and then he broke their silence.

"Your eyes are good, Gimli. We may have never discovered their path had you not the sense to look behind for clues. The tracks there appear deep, as if placed by a larger beast. I believe we may have found our buck. And if not, it is surely sizable enough to make up for that loss."

"As I thought," Gimli answered, running his hands along the staff of his halberd. "I have considered a plan to snare it if you would care to hear."

"As have I," the Ranger said with a smile. And then pointing in the direction of the trees, he spoke. Simultaneously, Gimli pointed in the direction of the hill, and also spoke.

And then as if realizing what the other had just said, their words collided again.

But before their words might meet in passing again, Aragorn spoke. "Aye, climb a tree. It is a method that I have used in the past. It gives the advantage of being out of the line of sight to the deer, and also allows a better vantage point for targeting and shooting."

"And I would try to convince you that the method I would use is also tried and tested by the Dwarfs. My plan also would be to keep us out of view of the animal. It need not be a deep hole, only a camouflage, though had we time I would offer that we dig an entire pit as a trap."

A long pause followed as they pondered these ideas, and then as if on cue, the two looked at one another and broke out in a snorted guffaw, clapping one each other on the back in their amusement. Both found the other's idea preposterous and judging the other's personality, saw well the humor in either suggestion, almost unbelieving the other had even been willing to offer it. And now, having aired them, it was obvious neither method of entrapment would work for their prey. Not given the differences between the King and the Dwarf.

Gimli chuckled softly to himself. "Climb a tree indeed," he muttered as simultaneously Aragorn give a likewise smirk of good humor.

"Dig a hole," the Ranger chuckled, shaking his head incredulously. Then the King nodded in the direction of their path and said, "Let us continue as we have then and we shall face it as we had the others yesterday morn. That is, if you think you might have quieter steps than those you placed on our attempts then."

Gimli stiffened at the affront, but then a slow smile turned up his lips as he humorously scowled. "And have I not been good partner to you today? I shall move with utmost concern for noise, I promise you. I have every intention of winning this contest, my friend. Unlike yesterday, I have a vested interest in proving my superiority to the Elf in this arena," Gimli said as he eyed his weapon again, running his hands up and down the shaft of the halberd.

Gimli's eyes followed the Man as they returned to the trail. Automatically the King's steps changed, seeming more measured and balanced, weighing more to the balls of his feet than the flat-footed treads typical of the mortal race. Each footing hold was quietly placed, and Gimli mused how Aragorn looked much like the Elves when he walked this way. I would have been better placed with Faramir, Gimli thought. At least there is a Man who truly acts like a Man. This one has tendencies too much like the Eldar. Not that Gimli minded really. He had long grown used to the discriminate differences between he and Legolas. And all the other Elves he had encountered for that matter. Yet it was a little disconcerting for Gimli to see the Gondor King adopting the ways of a race not his own. Akin to Dwarves accepting homes in the trees, Gimli thought. He smiled at the picture that would make. "Trees," he murmured once more in a barely perceptible voice.

As if he heard, Aragorn turned around and gave a look to Gimli that demanded silence. With rounded eyes, the Dwarf quieted himself further surprised at the sharp ears of the Man and making certain his steps indeed matched Aragorn's for the lack of sound they emitted. While it was not so natural for him in the world above ground, Gimli was also capable of stealth. Now I wonder just how capable he would be of silence were he in the underground world of my realm, Gimli thought for that was a talent all Dwarves had innately. To venture into the home of a barrow-Dwarf uninvited was a dangerous proposition as one could be easily overtaken in the dark by them, their sounds meshing with the echoes of the caves. He may have been trained by Elves in his youth, but Aragorn is still missing the rounding of his education a long spell under the tutelage of the Dwarves could give him, Gimli thought, again watching the King from his position at back. But such apprenticeship was hardly likely to come, and Gimli supposed any indoctrination of the World of Men into that of the Dwarves would have to wait until Aragorn or Eomer produced a ready heir.

Gimli sighed (silently) as he thought about that. He could not admit it he would not admit it but a small part of him was jealous of his friend. The King had something he did not, as did Faramir and Eomer. It wasn't title and it wasn't wealth, for Gimli had both and was content with his status. It was something more elusive for a Dwarf, though Gimli could have happily traded much of what he had to gain what he did not. For the love of a lady was the thing of which the Dwarf longed, and sadly, there were no prospects for such a thing occurring any time soon in the Dwarf's life.

Gimli had studied long the women who had journeyed with them. It was hard not to notice the loveliness of female laughter, the touch of willowy fingers in satiny hair, the brush of thick lashes in a flutter against a cheek, the sweet rosy color of a blush. And he saw how the men responded to such charms, almost breathlessly and eager, even if they were not aware they acted as such. There was still great love in the marriages of his friends, though in truth he saw how very dissimilar to each other they were.

Not that the love he saw within the realm of Men was kindred to that of Dwarves. Hardly true. If anything, the relationship between male and female Dwarves was volatile and testy and hardly ever affectionate like what he saw among his friends. The sweet cuddling moments and loving embraces he saw the Men make toward their spouses, and the equal admiration and good humor shown by the women toward their husbands was as foreign an idea in a Dwarven world as was climbing those cursed trees. Still, there could be passion. And love was felt deeply by Dwarves, though they were not so gentle in how they showed it. Still it was there and not to be denied, and true Dwarven love was a lifetime commitment. It was never questioned. It was what gave Gimli the fortitude to accept the concept female Dwarf for a mate, so unlike those of human wives.

Nay, Gimli's misery came from the fact that a mate did not appear to be forthcoming. True, while many male Dwarves had been more than willing to start a new venture under Gimli's rule in the underground fortress of Aglarond, few females had come forth to the Glittering Caves, and those that did were either already spoken for, or very much quite married. Gimli supposed if he were willing to travel back to his homeland in the Misty Mountains, a match might be had for him. But to do that, he would need to sacrifice years of time that might be spent in his own realm, in his own mines. Dwarven women did not court easily. And even were he willing to sacrifice so much, there was no guarantee a lovematch might be found. It took a lot to woo female Dwarves, and despite Gimli's reputation in the outside world for his role in the Fellowship, that notoriety held little merit among the Dwarven colonies. He was better off outside of his species.

Not that he would ever marry outside of his own kind. Why just the thought of it was unsettling to the Dwarf. At least for himself. He had no compulsions of disgust for Aragorn and Arwen. That union just seemed soright. Perhaps again it was Aragorn's Elf-like mannerisms. Or maybe it was Arwen's more Human-like compassion. But whatever it was, Gimli had never really considered it odd or unusual to see two creatures mated out of their race. But for himself? It was completely out of the question.

Of course there were dalliances. A smile lit his face as he thought of the barmaid at The Sleeping Dragon. Now there is a handsome woman, Gimli thought. And while he might be willing to sneak off to the back room for a quick liaison with that buxom blonde, he would never consider marrying her. For that matter the invitations always were hers, for Gimli thought it poor judgement on his part to tarnish a woman's reputation for his own needs, whether there was a reputation to tarnish or not. But marriage? Unthinkable. Nor would she think of marrying me, he snorted.So much of their relationship hinged on their flirtations alone. To give in would destroy the fun they had with one another. And such was true with others he had met through the years. Nothing serious would come of them because the Dwarf would never allow anything more than some harmless amusement to be had.

And yet, that left Gimli with little. And what he wanted was an heir. A son. Someone to carry on his name and his heritage. Someone to carry on the leadership that Gimli brought forward. Someone who would mourn him when he died. And someone to keep his legacy alive in the chronicles of Dwarven history. That is what Gimli wanted more than anything else he could think of, and quietly he let it fester within him. There was no one for Gimli to love.

But he had his friends. At least that was sure, and even if he had no measure of family to follow him, he knew at least that he would be mourned when he passed, that someone would tell in the annals of time of Gimli's feats and deeds even if that memory did not live among the Dwarves. He had his friends. There was a small amount of comfort and satisfaction in that. Friends.

He looked up at Aragorn as they trudged over the rise, still making their way soundlessly as the former Ranger watched carefully the hoof prints of the animal they tracked as the dew began to dissipate with the heat of the day. This Man is one of my closest friends. That thought, though not a new one, startled Gimli as he realized just what it meant. He had known Aragorn for nearly thirteen years, and while Gimli had known many Dwarves for longer periods than that, he was certain he did not feel as close to them as he did this Man. This Man with so many names, Gimli thought mirthfully. Strider, Aragorn, Estel, Telcontar, Ellesar, the Elfstone, Thorongil, Envinyatar, the Renewer, and so on. Yet to Gimli, this man would never be anyone other than Aragorn. It was who he was, and Gimli was not about to start confusing the Man's personality by adding other names to the mix. It was a confusing enough mix as it was. There were many in Aragorn's court who had tried to rectify this, insisting Gimli call the man Elessar or Telcontar while in formal proceedings with the King, but Gimli listened with a deaf ear, and Aragorn had never bothered to correct the misnaming. Thus, Aragorn it remained. And as for the title of King Gimli took that position with as much awe as he felt toward Legolas' horse. Which is to say he spent little time in admiration for his friend's post. Not that he lacked respect, it was just that title mattered little to the Dwarf, and rarely did he offer a formal "Your majesty" or a "Highness" in his speech to the King. Nor was he one to scrape and bow often in the grand gestures shown to royalty. Had he, Aragorn would have surely guessed something to be amiss. They were friends, that was all, and nothing more than that was needed to acknowledge the position between them. And Gimli was certain the Man appreciated being treated as a person, rather than an object held in awe.

There was much that worried Aragorn. Gimli could see that. All of them could see that. But this trip seemed to brighten his serious mood, and Gimli realized it had been long since he had seen the King smile. Yet on this trip, he almost continuously smiled. It does him good, the Dwarf thought, to be away from the pressures of reality. If only he may keep what he has regained here. May he find a measure of happiness to live on past this journey.

The former Ranger stopped and slowly dipped to kneel, as if in reverence of something great. Gimli, lost in thought, nearly walked into the Man. But he did not, cutting himself short and nearly losing his balance in the process. They had come to the top of the ridge where an outcrop of the forest renewed itself, and the depth of shadow here converged with the shade on the slopeside of the hill. The trees were old, mixing with sprigs of spindly saplings trying to find light in the density of the forest. As such the view was interspersed: thick trunks with thin bramble. Very little grew horizontally in this plain and shrubbery was sparse. The ground was littered with fallen branch and dead leaves. For a long distance, the forest went on this way, unwavering even in offering small dips or hollows to break the flatness of the glade's floor. Gimli brought himself next to the Man, crouching low in imitation of his friend, yet stretching his neck and torso in an attempt to match the view Aragorn had from his height. "What is it?" he mouthed noiselessly.

A huge grin, one like many Gimli had witnessed over the last few days, filled the corners of Aragorn's face. "We have found it," the King answered in a soft whisper.

"The deer?" asked Gimli in an eagerly returned whisper, directing his eyes to where Aragorn stared. He saw nothing, "Where?"

"There," whispered the Ranger nodding in the direction of which he spoke, "About 50 yards ahead. Is he not a beauty?"

Gimli shook his head, still not seeing the creature. "I will take your word for it," he answered, frustrated that he had not sited the great stag. "How should we proceed?"

"Let us divide. We shall attempt to use your weapon if we can get near enough. If it attempts to move aside, blockade it. But if you can, use the halberd as it is meant to be used in your eyes though it would be appreciated by me if you would be kind and avoid the head. Aim for the chest and the heart with your spear end. I will attempt to take it from my side, but should either of us miss, we may have a second chance if we can drive him down from whence we came. I will come about left and drive him forward. You should move around to the right, but prepare to double back. We shall offer him a lane to drive through to this side. I will concentrate for now on only glancing shots to give you ample chance to make the killing blow. Still, we should each be wary of the other lest we fall victim to our own weapons. Try to keep at an angle away from me and I will do likewise. Are you ready?" the King asked, looking down to make eye contact with his companion.

"Aye," said Gimli with a slight smile, more than thrilled that he was being given opportunity to show his merit. He knew Aragorn wanted the final shot, and Gimli would try to offer it. It was generous to offer to aid slow the beast, but to give Gimli the killing blow in warrior fashion was truly kind and showed just how much the King felt toward the Dwarf. The thought was enough. Gimli had every intention of letting the King get his shot, though Gimli would make sure his own efforts were not completely overlooked. And then in appreciation he said, "And should I actually see this deceptive creature, you will know my worth as a hunter."

Something was terribly wrong and though the trees screamed it out to him, Legolas could feel it more innately in his flesh and his bones. There was danger in this forest and he was uncertain where to turn to avoid it. It had started very shortly after they had departed, just as the sun rose. The echoes of the night before caught him first, and for a while he gave it little merit. The songs of the trees were oft confusing and vague, reflecting a timelessness as if everyday were a continuation of the next, with little difference made between them for the setting and rising of the sun. It made it very difficult to use the trees as a gauge of any real measure of harms. The warnings that they cried out might have occurred months ago, or even years back. It was part of what made the job of the Elves of Doro Lanthiron so difficult. Convincing the trees to move past the old pains inflicted on them had been the greatest feat in repairing the wood. What's more, the trees were never very specific about what it was that vexed them. Last night was a perfect example. Their cry had been of a bird of prey in the forest. An owl. They did not indicate what the bird did that might make them wary. Nor did they indicate where the bird might be. For all Legolas knew, the animal might have been clear to Cair Andros and only preying on field mice. The slightest concern often set the trees off. And so he had long learned not to heed their warnings much as too many times they proved to be fruitless.

But in this instance He wished he had listened to them earlier although he didn't need the trees to tell him really.

They had marched on a few miles from their camp when the sense of dread really pierced Legolas fully. He had been far too caught up in the excitement of their journey to give it much thought earlier, and Faramir's eagerness made it all the more difficult for the Elf to pay it much notice. For a while he considered his apprehensions to be a reflection on his deep-seated objections to the hunt, but then as he reasoned with himself that this was more contest than a measure of injustice, he realized there was something far greater bothering him. And that was when he fully noticed what was occurring about him. There was something within him that told him of danger lurking ahead. And yet Legolas could not pinpoint what it was that was making him feel this. Beyond the trees.

No longer were they crying over the minor slight of the bird. Now they called out warnings of deeper threats unknown.

He stopped in his march, turning around in circles, reaching out with all his senses to find the source of his fear. Shaking his head, he grimaced in frustration. Faramir noticed and stopped too, turning to face the Elf. "What is wrong, Legolas?" he asked, worry playing on his face at the indefinable exasperation he witnessed.

Faramir frowned, but only briefly, his eyes sparking as he recognized a glimpse of fear in Legolas' eyes. "Change course? To which way?"

"South," Legolas said, directing them on. With forceful steps, they marched on, knowing that this path would lead them ever nearer the soldier's encampment. Legolas felt ashamed for wishing the security of others nearby, but at the moment he felt terribly vulnerable, and somehow outnumbered. If they continued in this direction, hopefully before long the tension Legolas felt might dissipate.

Unforunately, such was not the case. They went on a several hundred yards, but his fears were not relinquished. If anything, they grew stronger. He did not understand, for he knew that they were making a path that should have been away from the danger. And yet

Legolas felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. Something within him was screaming out a wariness that should have been obvious, and still he was clueless as to what it might be or even why it was there. Crying out in a sudden rush, he stopped again, drawing his bow though there was nothing that indicated he should. His breathing came quickly in short pants as he tried to find the means of a target and full-fledged panic waved over him. Faramir's gentle hand touched his shoulder, but Legolas was so taut he nearly struck out at the Man, his hyper-trained reflexes coming forward.

"This is not right! The direction is still one of danger!" Legolas said, his eyes darting the landscape and his tension obvious. Then shutting his eyes, he raised his shaking hands to his temples in an effort to block the world out. He needed to focus on one element at a time. He felt overwhelmed, and he knew well his body was shrilly beseeching him to get away. But where?

"Let us go back to our camp," Faramir said, turning the Elf around again to redirect their path now eastward. The Prince of Gondor led as the Elf followed. In his tremendous anxiety, Legolas found his eyes constantly on the move; in the trees and off in the distance he peered. His mood did not vary, though neither did it lessen, and Legolas did not know how much more of this he could take before madness would set in. He needed a reprieve, and he measured in his mind how much longer they would need continue on this course before he might feel relief. But relief was not to be had. As they neared the top of a rise, Faramir stopped for a third time, muttering, "No!" Turning to face Legolas, the Elf could see wide-eyed fear on the face of his companion. Taking two more steps forward, he rose high enough to see over the crest. Before them lay the gypsy camp.

"It cannot be," whispered Legolas, incredulous as he looked into the desolate space. No one was present, and the eeriness of that only made his fears all the worse.

"But we headed west, never north. Their camp was north, I was certain," Legolas continued, shaking his head as if not believing what his eyes told him.

"As was I. They must have moved in the night, and somehow we missed it in the first passing," the Prince said, trying to be rational. "At least we have not been seen. Quickly, let us away from here," Faramir said, turning now downhill and nearly jogging away from the Romany encampment. Bow still in hand, Legolas followed likewise.

The terrain here was varied with slopes of all sizes rippling the landscape. They found themselves now running up and down as they attempted to flee. After only a few hundred yards, they climbed up another hillock, only to stop again with a gasp.

Before them, as had been only minutes earlier, stood the dread camp of the gypsies, only this time their approach was from the other side.

"Aye," Legolas confirmed, and then he began to grasp why his senses were keening out so strongly. "I think we are being manipulated against our will. Come, let us escape before we are discovered," Legolas said, tugging the Man's arm.

Being careful to run only in a straight line, Legolas used the trees to guide them, fixing two points between them as the direction to follow and then so on to the next and next and next. After several minutes of this, the Elf felt fairly confident they had broken past it. They were not using their own senses but landmarks to guide them away. Perhaps that was the trick to their escape from this maze they had been led into. And yet a minute later they found themselves again standing before the camp.

"Why?" Faramir asked, completely frustrated and turning himself about like Legolas had earlier.

"I cannot even venture a guess," Legolas said, pulling the Man away again, breaking into a steady gait.

This time it came faster. Down one hill and up the next, and there they were again. Fear pulled at them both as they fled again, only to have the process repeat. At last, Legolas said flatly, "We are trapped."

Faramir cried out his despair, "No! I will not give in." Then stepping into the camp, Faramir cried out, "What is it you want of us?" His voice echoed and was not answered. That was when Legolas noticed how deathly quiet everything became. Even the trees.

"Faramir, we must not tarry here. Even if this should go on all day and night. Let us not linger here," Legolas said, pulling Faramir away.

Turning back to the slope, and about to flee once more, the two were startled to suddenly see many others climbing over the crest of the hill. Many others! Far more than the Romany hosted. They stood shoulder to shoulder skirting the circumference of the entire camp. "There are hundreds," Legolas shuddered. "But"

He did not have ample time to continue that thought for he found himself caught up in his fear again as they drew nearer. It was their eyes that threw Legolas. They were completely devoid of spirit or feeling. They were the eyes of walking dead.

Ah, but he is magnificent, Aragorn thought. Better even than I had recalled. Then counting the points he said to himself, Ha! Six by five, I was correct! Faramir will be disappointed In more ways than one.

It was with these triumphant thoughts running through his mind that Aragorn noiselessly made his way around to the other side of the deer. He kept his distance equal as whence he started, eager to keep out of the sharp line of vision of the animal. Only when he had picked his spot would he make his move forward. He picked up a small branch from the ground and weighed it in his hand. It had size enough that it would give noise if tossed into a thicket. Enough to startle the creature, and mayhap, send it off in the direction of Gimli. Aragorn looked off to seek sight of his companion. Nearly invisible, he finally detected the Dwarf making forward to a clear spot in the distance, crouching and ready for attack. This is it, he said to himself. And then he pulled out his bow and slowly he began to walk forward, silent still. It was testimony to how adeptly he could move in the forest, or else to something else nameless, but the deer did not move. Instead, it raised its head, watching with those deep brown eyes as Aragorn drew nearer, without fright or flightiness. It kept its stance until the Ranger had halved the distance between them. And then something unusual happened.

A rumble of noise shook Aragorn, a combination of both sound and movement. The earth shuddered and Aragorn was rocked on his feet. He glanced away only for a moment, trying to determine how great was the tremor. Earthquake! he thought. It lasted mere seconds at best, and the shake was not much more than a slight stirring of the surface, but the Dúnadan knew the nature of animals and immediately he looked up, prepared for the sprint this buck would charge forth. But to his utter astonishment, the buck was gone. Had the deer bolted, it would have stirred some commotion, some noise, but there had been nothing. In surprise and anger, the Ranger threw down the stick, wishing he had acted quicker to close in. Somehow the deer had escaped him. And he had been so certain of his own skill. Aragorn cursed himself. With chagrin, he frowned then looked over to make a gesture of apology to the Dwarf for his own failure. His heart stopped.

"Gimli?" he called out. Abruptly his call changed from a question to a demand. "Gimli!" he cried, and then he ran. The Hunting Trip

The ground no longer shook but that meant nothing to the looming danger the former Ranger could sense. There was trouble about and it was all that more apparent as he neared the place he had last seen the Dwarf. A void in the earth now stood out where his friend should have been. In the air was the maddening sounds of birds stirred to life by the tremors that had started his fears and the scent of soil opened up from the ground down below.

"Gimli!" Aragorn screamed out bringing himself to a halt near the gaping hole in the ground. Dust and pitch blackness seemed all there was beneath him, and he feared for the worst, that this pit was fathoms deep. But then fragments of the earth around the rim of the gap crumbled and fell. The quick sound of them landing onto dirt and a stony floors told the former Ranger the drop was not so far. Maybe thirty feet. Not as bad as it could have been, but bad enough still.

The hole was not wide, ten feet at most, and the ledge of it was nearly half that depth again before giving way into the darkness. What gave the Ranger pause was the preciseness of the hole. It appeared to be an exact circle, even on all edges as if it had been cut by a knife. Tree roots and vegetation stood out in the dirt as if it were a cross section to be found in a study on plant anatomy. The visage of the sight gave Aragorn a moment to query such a thing. He had seen sinkholes and damage done by earthquakes before, but never had he seen anything quite like this. It was too precise to be made by nature. An involuntary shiver ran up his spine as he speculated its creation.

The King shook it away. He needed to focus on finding Gimli. It was his chief concern. Unfortunately, with the trees about him deep in shadow and the position of the sun not cooperating with the Ranger's need to see, and further a penetrating wall of dust below him, there was nothing that gave Aragorn access to view deeper into the cave.

"Gimli!" he called again, though he decided to cease his cry as more stone and soil descended into the hole. Quickly Aragorn backed away. Taking a new tact, he got down to his hands and knees, then further to his belly, and began to inch his way closer to the gaping pit. Careful to measure his motion should the earth begin to release her hold again, the King slowly made his way to the ledge.

The dusty air hovered still, though the updraft created by new circulation was dispelling it quickly like wafts of smoke and Aragorn soon found he was able to see bit by bit more of what lay below. His patience was rewarded. From the edge of the precipice, he could make out the faint outline of the Dwarf lying prone directly beneath him nearly obliterated by shadow. He was partly obscured by the lip of the tunnel, but the King was able to make out the upper half of Gimli's body. Aragorn studied the Dwarf's form noticing the rise and fall of Gimli's chest as well as the trickle of blood beginning to form a small puddle by his head. Blood was not a good sign, but the rhythm of the Dwarf's breathing was at least assuring. He did not appear to be in distress and Aragorn had to hope the source of blood was superficial. Still, his heart was filled with dread.

"Gimli?" he called out lightly, so as not to send any more earth into the hole from the reverberations of his voice, yet the Dwarf did not stir. A new worry appeared in Aragorn's mind, concern about the part of Gimli's body that he could not see. His friend might have suffered further injury. He frowned as he tried to determine the pallor of the Dwarf below but the light was too dim. Whatever the case, Gimli was hurt and needed aid. The Man knew he needed to do something and to do it soon.

Aragorn looked quickly about, trying to find a means to get access into the hole. Such a task would not be easy given the tools he had readily at hand. The trees were tall and bereft of lower branches due to the thick shade in which they grew. The sticks and branches that littered the ground were either too small or two thin and brittle to be of use. And the smaller saplings were far too short to make the reach even if Aragorn could have somehow uprooted them for his purpose. The hole was too deep. Aragorn's only chance of reaching Gimli was with a rope.

Sighing in frustration, he knew his only alternative was to fetch one from their camp or to find other means along the way, though the journey back to Henneth-Annûn was at least a half hour's run. But looking down on the Dwarf, the need to act tugged at the King's heart. He had little choice.

"Gimli? I know not if you can hear me, but know me to be true. I am going for aid and I will come back as swiftly as I may," Aragorn said softly to the being below. Then he slowly backed away before rising again to his knees and straightening. Turning back toward the hill on which they had come, he began to run at full force toward their camp.

The mass of haunted faces surrounded them, coming at them from all sides. Their motion forward forced Legolas and Faramir further into the center of the camp and neither could detect a hole or a weakness among the front. The Elf felt his mind whirl in confusion as he attempted to understand it. How could so many Romany come to be there? Where there had been a number just the day before rounding out at thirty, including women and children, now there were several hundred, with no women or children to be seen. He turned his head, regarding them, studying their faces as he willed away his fear. He had met all in the camp. Surely there was someone the Elf would recognize among them. Turning about he searched, seeking familiarity among them. And then he saw a pattern, a repeat in the features. Flipping around he saw the same faces greeting him from the other side. And to the left and to the right it was there again. Like a house of mirrors, Legolas realized they had been deceived. No doubt they were surrounded, but were the creatures about them real or apparitions?

"It's an illusion!" Legolas cried out to Faramir, hoping that saying it aloud would cast aside the mirage and will the crowd of Romany away. "There were not this many in their tribe! Somehow, our eyes are deceived!" he said as he notched an arrow and targeted one of the men in the crowd. But the wall remained. Spinning around to cover the Elf's back, Faramir drew his own bow.

"Put your weapons down before we are forced to hurt you," a female voice commanded as simultaneously the men in the crowd in unison drew their bows and aimed at the pair.

"I might offer the same advice," Legolas heard Faramir say sarcastically as the Elf drew his bow even tauter. A smile played on the corners of the Elf's lips. It was a pointless brag, but Legolas appreciated the Prince's fighting spirit. The Elf's eyes searched the crowd to find the source of the voice. It seemed to come from all sides and he was unsure where to look. He could not find her though there was something about that vocal resonance that was familiar to him.

Then there was a new noise. It was still voice, but now one lifted to song, though the melody was flat and unbecoming. It sent dread through the Elf's body. Legolas instantly recognized it and felt a tremble pervade him with its sound. Though he had heard it before, until this minute he had chalked its last voicing up to a figment of dream. But now, upon hearing it, he knew it had indeed been a reality. It was the nearly tuneless droning of a chant, only bereft of recognizable words. It had been sung the day before and Legolas' recollection told him it had been responsible for his fall when the smoke had overcome him. With the singing, he also realized the owner of that voice. This was Bregus. Yet he had opportunity to say nothing on his discovery as he found himself swaying, his knees buckling. Weakness rode through his lower body as the song grew louder and within seconds his legs became numb and lifeless.

Helpless to stop himself, he unexpectedly spiraled to a fall, his bow swinging wildly as he toppled. He uttered a choked gasp as he fell, surprised that his body had betrayed him. He landed heavily, unprepared to stop his fall and as he did so his bow was thrown from him just beyond his grasp.

Beyond him, Legolas could hear a woman's voice cry out as if in shock. It was not the same voice that sang.

Faramir too gasped surprised to see the downed Elf. He had not heard an arrow fly, nor did he see any other weapon drawn. Looking down only momentarily, he tried to discern what had happened and what injury there might be to his friend. "Legolas!" he called out in fear. In the time of that momentary glance, the Romany moved in, closing the gap upon the Man and Elf by strides much greater than any they should have taken, sweeping in with a ghostly speed as if they were gliding. As both the companions looked up, only meters away they came to face dozens of arrows pointed directly at them. They froze in their places. There was no escape and Legolas could feel his heart beating madly within his chest as Faramir slowly lowered his weapon. Their defeat was acknowledged.

"That is a wise move," the woman's voice said and several of the bows were lowered. "Now your knives," she commanded. Both Elf and Man hesitated, but the return of raised bows convinced them to cooperate and they reluctantly relinquished their hunting knives.

Knowing their fate was set, Faramir focused his attention on Legolas and turned to face his fallen companion. He dropped to his knees and placed a hand on the Elf's arm as he looked with concern into Legolas' eyes. "What has happened?" he asked Legolas in a hoarse whisper. "Why did you fall?"

Legolas grimaced. There was no pain in his legs, only a pervading weakness that frustrated and frightened the Elf. He prodded them trying to sense his own touch and to raise them to move. It was barely felt. He answered softly. "My legs. They will not move though I know not why. I cannot stand."

And then a voice called out in accusation, though Legolas could tell it was not directed toward them. "What have you done?" Again, the sound echoed about them, swirling as if caught in an echoing chamber. Then from the corner of his eye, the Elf saw a figure assertively pushing through the Men surrounding them. The swish of a skirt and a brief glimpse of multi-colored underskirts and boots peaked out as she came forward. The woman kneeled before him and Legolas looked up to see Kattica's face. He felt mild relief to see someone he recognized. But then he realized it wasn't truly Kattica, at least not as he recalled her from the day before. He frowned as he tried to conceive what could make her so vastly altered. It was in her eyes. That was where he saw the greatest change. She was older somehow wiser in an almost dangerous way, and Legolas shuddered slightly at the abrupt transformation he could see had taken place. He could not guess what could have effected her this way. But then she looked at him, and an almost sympathetic glimmer came into her eye, and Legolas saw that she was suffering somehow. He felt quick regret for her situation.

She too prodded his legs, touching them and trying to find strength in them to move. She asked, "Can you feel this?" He shook his head in answer and she tried again and again. Her face screwed up in anger as she swiftly assessed what had happened. She looked up toward the circle of men and then she looked beyond it as if she could see through them. She spoke to someone there. "What spell holds him? Is there a purpose in hobbling him, Bregus?"

Unlike before when the voice had been multi-dimensional, now it sounded flat. The Elf could tell where it originated and he turned to face that direction as the other woman answered. "I could not afford to let this one get away like the others had. This one I needed to keep," came the voice.

A weight of renewed apprehension fell across Legolas' shoulders. Dread filled his heart as he heard the words and an unconsidered fear came to him. His memory reached back to his own missing people and he gasped at the thought that this is what she meant.

"He cannot walk, nor will he, so long as I hold him with my spell. I plan to keep this Elf within my reach," the woman's voice said in subtle derision.

Legolas could see Kattica's ire growing as her question was evaded. Raising her hand she stroked the air with a mighty wave, and rose crying, "Enough!"

Instantly the multitudes about them disappeared. A group of only little more than a dozen men and boys remained, their weapons still raised. Then he saw the women and children in the background, carrying on as if nothing strange was occurring in their midsts. Legolas blinked, astounded at how great the illusion had been and felt gratitude that they had not fired arrows into this invisible scene. Then he took a gulp of air recognizing all of those about him. They were the men in the Romany tribe he had met. His eyes traveled around the group, trying to make contact with each of them, all of them, any of them, but their faces showed a void where recognition should have been, much the same as those haunted faces had shown. They seemed not to know either the Man or the Elf. Legolas turned his head and saw Mattias. If any would be more welcoming, it was this one. Attempting to catch the eldest son's eye, Legolas was sadly disappointed. His contact was met with an icy stare.

At least Kattica remained. He turned to look at her, and she caught his confusion. Continuing, she yelled out, "Half-truths, Bregus! Tell me what this charm is and why you would need the Elf? You said nothing about this when we spoke before. What others do you speak of?"

And that was when Legolas finally came to see her. The old woman stepped forward walking with a cane in hand and pushing her way between the Men. The Elf's heartbeat quickened its pace as a knot twisted in his stomach. The nightmare of the day before dissolved into full reality. New horror filled his mind. This was not the first time he had seen this woman. Once again the memory of yesterday's attack flooded him. He remembered her drawing near, the menace in her smile, her touch, her words, that song, and then nothing else as her spell of sleep took hold of him then. This was Bregus and the Elf recognized her at last.

Yet she had made him forget. Gimli had been right. Sorcery was at work here! What else had she done to him? Did the same affliction hold true for Faramir?

Gritting his teeth, he had cutting words he desired to spit out at her now, but the old woman spoke first and he lost the opportunity. "He knows of whom I speak," she said tauntingly, her eyes fixed on the Elf, "Don't you?"

Legolas' expression withdrew, his eyes flashing in pain as he realized in her cold glance exactly what she meant. Her words only confirmed it. He cast his eyes down, feeling ill at the knowledge that came to him. He lowered his head in shock and remorse for what he knew in his soul to be true. And then he spoke. "You killed them," he said in a slow whisper.

The accusation hung in the air. He could feel Faramir's grip on his arm tighten and it only made his anger grow more.

Legolas' desolate despair came forward then in answer to the question Kattica had laid before the old woman. "You killed those three Elves!" he screamed, his eyes stabbing the old woman.

"Yes," the Romany elder answered in a whisper, creating harsh contrast between herself and the Elf.

Legolas' eyes dropped to look at an object she held. A pendant of some sort. It was woven of chestnut colored threads. No, not threads. What is that? With a shock, Legolas recognized the rope for what it was. Hair. Elven hair? A small sob escaped him as he recognized the hue. It belonged to one of the Elves in the missing team. "They were innocents," he choked out, overcome with grief and nausea. "They were not even armed to fight you!"

Bregus looked down at the talisman that had caught Legolas' attention. Then she drew her eyes up as her fingers played over the locks. "They ran. It was a mistake. Mine really for charging my sons with the need to gain them without truly controlling their actions. Had they simply taken those Elves, none of you would need to have been involved in this. But they failed. I failed. Then. But not now. My control of the situation is much tighter now. I only needed one Elf and now I have him. Past mistakes will not be repeated. So long as I hold this," the woman said as she held up the charm hanging from her hand.

But his knowledge of the origins of the talisman did not seem to help him. His legs resolutely remained, unwilling to move at his command. The ornament, he noticed with scrutiny, crudely depicted a running figure. It was inelegant and crude and plain. This, he thought with astonishment, is the instrument of my incapacity. He watched as she tied it to her wrist, the ornament dangling like a charm while she sang again that wordless tune. He felt his legs grow ever heavier as she went on. It seemed hardly possible yet there was no other evidence to indicate what might be holding him down. The bile of his hatred burned in him, but for the moment a simple question escaped him as he longed more to know, "What do you plan to do with us?"

Bregus laughed, a loathing, despicable cackle that told him too well she knew exactly what she wrought and that she had put a great deal of thought into her plans. "Certainly more than I plan for your other friends! They can rot where they land are for all I care."

From the corner of his eye Legolas could see Faramir stiffen with quiet rage as he spoke, "What do you mean? What have you done to them?"

Then Bregus fixed her gaze on Faramir, and looked at him as if she had just noticed him. Her face softened and she lowered herself to his level, her eyes growing misty with an expression that the Elf interpreted to be longing. Her lips parted, and she slowly drew forward as if to kiss the Man. Faramir drew back in repulsion, screaming out, "Vile woman!" as he pushed the shuv'ni away. Instantly every weapon was raised again and poised at the pair.

Bregus fell back but pushed herself up with her hands, a coy smile brilliantly lighting up her face as she said, "Soon enough you will want me, fair one. Once the transformation is complete you will barely remember anything of this life and you will want only me."

Kattica chose that moment to resume her earlier argument. "You have yet to tell me why, Bregus! What purpose do you have in this?"

"Outside of my need for this Man nothing else here concerns you!" the elder said with vexation as she rose to her feet.

"There is reason here you are not sharing, old woman! Why was it so important that you immobilize the Elf? You had this planned. I recognize not that talisman. When did you conjure it? Where did it come from? What Elves do you speak of?" Kattica said standing eye to eye with the old woman.

"And I have told you it is none of your concern, child!" the old shuv'ni snarled and suddenly half the weapons raised were pointing at Kattica.

The girl caught her breath. Recognizing that she had gone too far, her eyes grew wide in fear. Then she turned her eyes down and quickly said in a soft voice, "I forget myself, Mother. Forgive me."

The old woman's face softened from its feral snarl, and her lips broke into a cold smile as she admonished, "You had best learn your place before you step over one time too many."

And then the old woman turned back to the two prisoners as she barked out her orders. "Bring them near my vardo and tie them up so they may not escape." Then she paused and looked hard into Legolas' face. "I do not like the gleam in your eye, Elf! I will quench that if you do not cease it on your own."

Legolas' mind pondered the plight of Gimli and Aragorn and that of his own people. His heart longed to seek revenge on this witch and he could not control his rage. "I will not alter myself for your sake!"

At his side he heard Faramir suck in a hiss. "Calmly, friend. Do not stir her wrath," he whispered.

She smiled, as if amused by both the simplicity of Faramir's comment and the wrath of Legolas' hatred, and as she looked at him, Legolas feared she read him as well as he had read her. "You wish to know how I did this to you. Very well, take mind and you will feel it: my spell from yesterday still has pull within you. The second you stepped into the circle of the camp, my power over you became even stronger. Can you not feel it writhing within you right now?" she asked. And Legolas suddenly could. He trembled as he felt a tentacle of something dark stroke the back of his mind, his eyes showing his fright. At that moment he realized perhaps he had underestimated her. She continued, "You came to us on your own Elf, though you were convinced you walked elsewhere."

Legolas then understood why such panic had gripped him. His senses had been screaming out truths on the direction they took, and yet she had manipulated his mind so he could not heed it.

Bregus bent down to meet his face as she pushed a stray lock of hair away, soothingly stroking his brow like one would an errant child. Her head cocked side to side as she looked long at him. "That gleam is still there. You do hate me, don't you?"

Legolas knew an answer was not needed. His eyes said it all. He swatted her hand away.

"Because I need you. Both of you," she said, glancing again at Faramir before looking back to the Elf. "And I do not need your friends. I have attempted to put them someplace where I need not worry about them coming to find you. And should they escape, it will be too late, for my task will be completed before you or they may be rescued. I could not gain knowledge of others in your camp except what I could observe so I did what I could to distract them. I seriously doubt you will tell me how many others there are, will you?" she said, her eyes slits as she glared at Legolas. Then she peered at Faramir and smiled, "Perhaps you will tell me though. Should others come looking for you, what numbers might there be?"

But Faramir turned away from her, refusing to make contact with her eyes. "You will not say? You will. However many there might be, their numbers will be lessened, for no doubt they will be looking for your friends as well. Ah, but for now I see that that gleam grows greater in your eyes, Elf! You will stop it now! It is piercing and I do not like it!"

"I am glad something as simple as my eyes has an affect on you. Curtik said similar words yesterday. Or were those your words too?" Legolas jeered.

"My power over the tribe has grown considerably since then, but those were indeed his own words. But I agree. He was right. I share this disdain with him," she said.

"It matters not what you feel. I will stand in opposition to you!" Legolas said with venom.

"Your powers will not last. I will fight you!" he said, reaching out and pushing her away.

She caught herself and her face grew dark. "Very well, you were warned. Let us see how long that might last while my serpentine spell still holds you," she said as she reached forward and roughly grabbed his jaw. He returned her stare with an ugly glare of dark menace. Hands reached out and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him back against someone holding him as others joined in and held down his arms. Then a glimmer lit her eyes as she fixed them on Legolas' and she softly called out, "Kattica, come here."

Struggling against his holds, Legolas heard and pondered her command. What role did the girl have in this? "Touch him like this," Bregus commanded the girl as the elder began feather-light strokes against his cheek. Legolas tried to pull away, but the pleading look Kattica gave him left him unnerved. A part of her looked into him and he saw something resembling an apology within her eyes. But swiftly it retreated as she picked up where the old woman left off. Her eyes flared at the touch, as if something exciting had occurred and then a small smile flicked at the girl's lips and her crooked smile twisted into something depraved and ugly. The transformation had transpired in a matter of seconds, and suddenly Legolas no longer recognized her. Again he tried to pull away, tugging at the arms that held him. In response her other hand came to his face and held him more firmly there. He attempted to reach up, trying to pull her hands away, but others pressed him down and he could only squirm beneath them. Beyond his controllers, he could see Faramir staring at the blade of a knife poised at throat-level. Legolas knew that they dare not fight.

And then the old woman stepped into the activity. She placed her walking stick on the ground and reached from behind Kattica, kneeling and placing her fingertips on the girl's temples. With dulcet tones, she instructed, "Reach into his mind." Then she spoke dark words that Legolas did not recognize. They sounded sinister and salacious. Several minutes with her words repeating, chanting mysteriously in complex rhythms. Legolas felt his cheek tingle where the girl was touching him, but otherwise there was nothing mystical about the moment. Opening her eyes and speaking to the Elf, Bregus said, "Now show us what fears might you hold, Elf?"

Stunned by the question, a whirl of images came to his mind, but he pushed them aside, willing his thoughts to go blank. But to his horror, Kattica's face began to mirror Bregus' for the glee he could see shining there. The girl looked pleased, as if she had the answer to a long-standing puzzle. In a voice that might be described as mocking, Kattica said, "I see it now. Oh, so sad. Does the world not seem to grow dim for you, Legolas?"

Legolas tried to ignore it, but he felt the coiling movement grow stronger and slip deeper within him. With surprise he looked into the girl's eyes and saw conflicting emotions, both horror for what she had conjured and pleasure for having done so. But Legolas had no time to consider it further. From the corners of his eyes, he could see it creep in. Darkness, a pitch that seemed endless and hideous, moved forward toward him, swallowing him. Instinctively he tried to scramble away but his body could not cooperate, left only to writhe under the holds. But more so than vision, he could feel it, like the walls of a cave squeezing in upon him. He felt compressed and rigid as the blackness closed around him, shutting him off. His eyes grew wide with fear as he tried to see through the dark to nothingness. It was worse than any caving experience he had had as this felt more like the hopelessness of being buried alive. His breathing grew labored as if his lungs would not work, and a deep panic overtook him in an effort to fight it away. In his ear he could hear Faramir's assurances speaking over his own precarious situation, "There is nothing Legolas. All is as was." But it did nothing to dissuade Legolas' fright and phobia. His heart pounded frantically in his chest as sweat caught at his temples. It seemed Bregus knew exactly how to strike terror in Legolas' heart, and he gulped out a sob as the darkness probed harder. He fell back, pressed deeper and pierced to the very core of his soul.

Aragorn ran around the bend of trees that marked the edge of forest sheltering their cave and was startled to see Arwen and Eowyn making their way over the winding path that led out of the trees. The sun now shone brightly overhead and the sound of the cicadas etched over the wildflower fields that met up with these and crisscrossed the spaces between the forest's edge. The women were caught up in lively discussion, and appeared oblivious to Aragorn's approach. But when they did see him, they started forward. His distress was apparent.

Aragorn nodded dismally as he gasped, "I had to leave him to get help. It is a deep holeVery darkHe would not answer when I called to him."

"Stay here. I will get supplies a rope. Rest for the moment, Aragorn," Eowyn instructed as she raced back.

"Bring a lamp as well," Arwen called to her and Eowyn nodded as she darted along the trail.

During the woman's absence, Aragorn's breathing leveled off and in short time he was able to fill Arwen in on more details of what had occurred. It took only a few minutes for Eowyn's return. She handed the coil of rope to Aragorn and a medicine kit and the lamp to Arwen while she carried extra waterskins. She said, "Let us go then. Lead the way, Aragorn."

Arwen held her back. "I think it may be wiser if you were to stay and direct Faramir and Legolas on should they return."

"But how will I know where to send them? Would it not be better that I come? I might be of aid," the fair lady responded.

"Nay," Aragorn answered, "I fear the woods are no longer safe for any to journey. You ladies should stay here in the safety of our camp. Tell Legolas and Faramir I journey a half hour due East of here, directly at the foot of the forest near the second falls. They will come on their own and Legolas will know to where we go as Gimli told me earlier that they took the same path yesterday."

This time Aragorn held Arwen back. "It is not safe. I feel there is something wrong in this. I fear for you should you go. Please stay here."

"No, it is not that. There is just something not right in what has happened. I cannot explain it. I only know danger is about," Aragorn answered.

"But danger of a source you know not. You need do better than this Estel if you wish to dissuade me. Forget not that I am Elf and I can still hear the partial call of the trees. I would think I could be aid to you in times of danger as my senses are as keen as yours, perhaps better," Arwen said in rising passion.

"It is not wise. You are not trained as a warrior." He reached out to take the lamp and the kit from Arwen but she pulled back. Her face was tainted with anger, and he noticed too that Eowyn's nostril's were flaring with the heat of temper.

"Then perhaps I should travel with you as I am trained as a warrior," Eowyn said with a clipped voice.

Aragorn then realized his folly and immediately regretted it. He did not mean to slight them. He was merely thinking of their safety. He began to speak apologetically, "I only meant"

"Nay, Estel," his wife interrupted, "You will not keep me from this. Not when I can be of aid. Gimli does not need us to debate this. I am going whether you lead the way or not."

Resigned, Aragorn knew he had made matters difficult in his haste and that Arwen was correct in saying they did not need to argue it. He grunted in answer, taking the waterskins from Eowyn as she said, "I will send Faramir and Legolas the minute they return."

The Ranger began to run again more determined to reach Gimli quickly and offer what aid he could. He hoped there was no serious damage to the Dwarf though worry made his pulse race as adrenaline pushed him on. Arwen easily managed the run and kept up with him well.

They had nearly reached the bend in the forest edge that led to the field before the slope at the break near the trees. Aragorn slowed slightly, breathing heavily and let Arwen jog at his side. While he had not been stewing on their disagreement the expression on her face told him that she was still hurt. It cut him to the quick to see her scorn and pain and he chose to try and resolve the issue while he could. He reached out and touched her elbow. "ArwenI am sorry." he said, but she cut him off.

"Aragorn, please!" she said with exasperation, barely slowing her steps to let him keep pace with her. "Cease now. We will discuss this more fully at another time when the setting is right for clear converse."

Irritated that she would not hear his apology, he said, "I am trying to say I was in error."

She scowled, glancing his way as she said. "Aye, you were in error, but for reasoning that would never occur to you."

She shrugged it off. "It means I do not wish to discuss it at the moment. We are near where you said we need be. Now where might we find Gimli?" She asked, ignoring his apparent frustration.

"Up there," he said, pointing to the slope as he made his way diagonally across the field, ignoring the trail in order to make faster time. He would have liked to discuss this more, but she was right and it irritated him. They were getting near the pit and Gimli's safety was paramount.

Aragorn jogged ahead as they made their way closer. He granted her distance. But then he heard a sound of a grunt and he turned to look back. A rut in the field had tripped her and she went down on one knee. Undaunted, she began to rise immediately. Aragorn quickly doubled back, eager to help as he caught up with her steps. He had reached her side and was pulling her up when a horrible rumble began to shake the earth. He found his legs going out from beneath him before he had time to compensate for it feeling himself falter as he hopelessly began to tumble. In slow motion he could see it all happening about him and his regrets were immediate and deep. With his hand on her arm as she was rising and he falling, he threw off her balance. He could see Arwen attempting to correct herself even as the earth continued to shake, but she was not a successful.

He was falling, and in the confusion he had taken her with him. His sight became sudden, all motion occurring in the space of milliseconds, and yet he comprehended it all. Rapidly he descended downward and as he did he saw her follow him in his plummet. Swiftly he dropped. And just as swiftly a shock of pain reached him as he made hard impact, and then everything went black. The Hunting Trip

Legolas' eyes filled with horror and Faramir could not help but gasp. The shock of unveiled terror on the face of a being who never showed fear was frightening. What was occurring he could not know, for no words came from the Elf, only the stricken expression etched into those blue eyes. It was enough to tell the Prince that his friend was in an agony of some sort. Legolas fought, his eyes vacantly seeking an escape while what little control was left of his physical being writhed forcefully against his bonds. The torture was grueling, and Faramir cried out in pity for the helplessness and torment the Elven Lord endured.

Faramir saw the sheen of the knife from the corner of his eye. He grimaced at the blade, snarling a guttural curse at the Romany who held it. He would fight this. Outnumbered or not, he could not bear to see his companion suffer. With the skill of a seasoned warrior he lunged, surprising the man who tried to hold him and sending the blade away with the assault. He wrestled with coordinated moves, spinning and pressing the Romany to the ground. In quick measure he had the hands of his foe cuffed from behind and used the man's bodyweight in aid to confine him. He straddled the fighting form, pinning and holding him. With a raised fist he struck out, hoping to stun his victim enough that he might take on the real assault. Faramir's mind raced ahead, letting shadow memory take over as he visualized the next step. He had need to push back the girl and old woman, breaking the contact that sent Legolas into wretched misery.

A blow to his head from the rear by a closed fist sent Faramir off-balance and toppling over. The sound inside his head was a dull thud. He winced as black spots crept into the corners of his vision. Shaking it away, he rolled on instinct to avoid another strike and to maneuver into a position of readiness. From there he would launch off against his attacker. But before he could truly recover from the strike, he felt a pair of strong arms pin him back. Gasping at the sudden halt in his progress, the Prince tried to fight, growling low and struggling with terrifying ferocity, grappling with the knowledge that he had not ended the terrible thing happening to Legolas. The two women had gone on, despite his battle with his captor, oblivious to anything but the torture before them. His efforts had been futile and he screamed out in rage. Suddenly Faramir found the knife at his throat again and he knew in his captured position he would only be hurt if he fought further.

Still, they would not suppress his voice if he could help it. "Legolas," he called out. "Fight this! Fight! It is in your mind only."

He watched as his friend arched back from the touch of the younger woman, flailing his head from side to side to try to escape her probing fingers. Legolas was doing well to evade her though his fears did not appear to abate, only intensifying each time his skin came in contact with her fingers. Faramir again called out assurances, "There is nothing Legolas. All is as was." The Elf answered with a strangled sob and Faramir felt his heart heave in anguish at the helplessness of that sound.

At his words, Bregus opened her eyes and removed her fingertips from Kattica's skull, breaking contact with the girl. It did not stop the younger woman's actions. Bregus glanced up, her eyes lingering long on the Man of Gondor and then she spoke her command without emotion. "Remove him," she said turning away. Her full focus was on the torment of Legolas. Rounding on the scene with the Elf and the girl, Bregus appeared entranced by the wicked task the girl completed at her bidding. He saw her smile.

Faramir felt the hands behind him tighten their grip, pressing him into a barrel chest and physically hauling him off the ground and then down onto his own feet. He stumbled, unaccustomed to the sensation of being picked up and hauled about like a rag doll. The man with the knife stayed glued to his side, the blade close enough to nick him when Faramir wobbled. Coming up on his other side Faramir caught a glimpse of Mattias. The foursome moved away, Faramir dragging his feet and fighting back on the holds around him.

On the other side of the camp, the three men made forward to a place near a highly decorated wagon. Faramir recognized it as the one he had seen Bregus remove herself to the day before. Partly dropped, partly pushed, Faramir found himself pressed against a tree, large in girth. Strategically thinking, he noted that he was on the back side of the wagon, at the outer edge of the camp and facing out toward the forest. No other wagons neared this, and he considered the possibilities of escape from here. He felt the big hands push him around and began again to lunge, more interested in fleeing and addressing Legolas' soft cries than actually attacking, but found himself face-to-face with the knife once again. It seemed this Romany man would not go away. The sheen that caught the edge of the blade reflected white light that matched the smile on the face. It was not a pleasant expression, telling Faramir exactly how much he might enjoy using it.

Faramir gave up his struggle, apologizing in his mind that he couldn't rescue Legolas at the moment. He was only appeased slightly to note that his friend's sounds seemed to ease. He watched as Mattias grasped his wrist and then recognized that it was Gordash who had been the larger man and now too held his wrist. Roughly they grabbed his hands, quickly binding them about the width of the tree. Faramir tried to make eye contact with the men as they worked. A swift glance met him as Mattias' eyes darted to Faramir's face. It gave the Gondor Prince hope and he considered that perhaps his tongue might prove successful here even if it had not worked in pulling the Elf from his prison. Again, Mattias made a sidelong glance at Faramir. In an attempt to garner a conversation of some sort, Faramir began simply. "Why?" he asked.

As if in shame, Mattias looked away, making himself busy checking his own work. At first Faramir was unsure he might answer, but then after long silence he spoke, "It is not our intent to really hurt you. You leave us with little choice."

Faramir could feel his brow furrow in consternation. "What would that mean?" Faramir asked. "Have we committed a crime?"

"Not yet, but soon. There is menace in your intentions." Mattias answered with a confusing look of certainty that didn't match the timidity of his voice.

"You entered our camp with weapons at ready. We will not allow you to harm us. We have our families to protect," Mattias said, his eyes growing dark with fear and anger though his voice remained soft.

"But we have done nothing against you or your families. Who has told you that we meant harm? Our only goal on this day was to hunt in the wilds. Deer is our prey and our weapons were only to be used for that. We had no plans to even enter this camp!" Faramir countered.

Gordash spoke out, shouting, "You drew bow against us! You came into this camp seeking to drive us away!"

Vexation darkened Faramir's eyes as he focused his gaze on the burly man, biting his words to remain calm. "Have you been sleeping through all that has occurred? We were driven here by a maddening confusion. Do you have no recollection of the army of men that surrounded us? We had no choice but to enter." Then he turned his attention on the calmer man. "Mattias, it is only Legolas and I! How can you say we had means of forcing you away when we are so hopelessly outnumbered by your kind?"

Faramir blinked, stunned. "You do not recall us from yesterday? How can this be? Mattias! Gordash! We were here at your invitation! We encountered you in the wood, when Yulli stumbled. You do not remember that? What is your recollection then if not for us?" Faramir asked, incredulous that so much had been wiped away. What power could cause such a devious act?

"Do not answer him, brother! He tries to fool us with words! He is a dark witch most probably. Why else would he travel with an Elf?" Gordash growled.

Desperation painted Faramir's next words as he directed them to Mattias. "No! There is deception, that is true, but it comes not from us. We are innocents. Think on this, please! I beseech you! What purpose would we have in attacking you?"

Quietly, Mattias answered, anger coloring his words. "There has never seemed to be need of purpose in the past. Only prejudice. We have been turned away too many times. There will be no more of that. Mother has said so. No one will stop us from seeing through our plans."

Those chill words gave Faramir reason for fright, but he swallowed it quickly, hearing Legolas moan once again from the distance. Countering in the daunting attempt to give reason to questioning a leader who was blindly followed, Faramir said, "And what are those plans? Do you even know? Mattias, Think now. Did your mother tell you we were here to do harm? Did she say that to you? I am telling you it is untrue. And while I can offer no proof that we had no intent to do harm to you, I can say you have equal grounds to prove we did. I would plead with you to believe me! You must remember me! Listen to those sounds! They harm my friend for no reason I can discern! Mattias, please! We have done nothing to you! Make them stop!"

Defensively, Gordash spoke up loudly, "Our people have long told tales of the Elves. They say that their eyes can penetrate the depths of one's soul. He is punished because he dares to look so far."

Faramir could only scoff. Incensed and appalled at the immaterial reasoning in this argument, he answered through gritted teeth, "If that is true, and his eyes indeed see through to the core of one's being, what has he seen in your mother's soul? Why have need to punish if her heart is pure? Why hate the way he looks upon her if there is nothing worrisome to see?" Turning again to Mattias for comprehension and compassion, Faramir said, "Please Mattias! Harm is being done for pointless reasoning. Just tell me tell me what you recall of yesterday."

Gordash came forward, his fist making contact with Faramir's jaw as rage blazed across the Romany features. "He speaks against Mother! Turn away from this harbinger of falsity, Mattias!"

Faramir's head swung to the side, the blow stinging and making his ear's ring. But he would not be turned away. Looking back, he made contact with Mattias' eyes, pleading for the man to see the truth. "Tell me, Mattias. You know this is wrong."

"Leave off or feel the wrath of my blade," the other Romany said to Faramir, his eyes darting at Gordash for approval.

But the words Faramir heard were the ones uttered by Mattias. In a whisper, the Romany answered, "I recall nothing."

Faramir choked back a sob of joy at the confession. Small hope lifted his chest with the words. On the other side of the camp, he heard the pleading cries of Legolas, fighting against the darkness and he knew he had need for such hope. Faramir made his own plea. "Please, help me then. A lie infiltrates your mind just as one courses through that of my friend right now. Seek the truth. We are guilty of nothing. I beseech you Mattias. You called us your friends. Prove your word at least is not a lie."

The two other Romany drew near, brandishing weapon and fist. Again Gordash stepped forward. "He speaks of treachery! Listen not to him!" the large man shouted as he landed a punch into Faramir's gut. The Prince doubled over in pain.

"Peace!" Mattias yelled, quickly reaching a hand to each man's shoulder. "Fear not! I will not betray my own people!" Then turning to Faramir, he waited for recovery before saying, "I am sorry, but I must put faith in the traditions of my kind. The puri dai would not lead us astray. She would not lie."

Sadly, Faramir expected as much. What he was asking of the man was a great deal, a sacrifice of magnanimous proportion. Not only was he asking for a betrayal to Romany traditions and standards, he was also asking Mattias to turn away from his own mother. Yet he had had to try. Things had grown quiet where he had last seen Legolas and Faramir dreaded the lack of noise almost as much as he had dreaded the Elf's torment. He spoke up, "Why hold us hostage Mattias? If we are evil, why not just kill us outright?"

In a pitch that intoned a loss of patience and a sort of desperate attempt to accept the situation, the man shouted, "Mine is not to question!"

Then with words that he intended to bite, Faramir shouted back, "Perhaps it is then time you did! Her motives are madness! How can you see it any other way?" Then taking a deep breath, Faramir attempted to calm himself, recovering with simple reasoning. "You claim that the cause for all this is witchery and deceit. On this I would agree. But the only witchcraft I see at play here comes from those among your kind."

Desperately Faramir said, "Try to reason this, Mattias! Use your mind of your own accord. Do not be a puppet to her evil! Try!"

This torture is not really a necessary thing. At least not for the Elf's sake, she thought. Bregus knew she had him already, and any infliction she placed upon him was merely demonstration that she could. It was an exercise really in what she could exert and the power had come easily. However, she did have a purpose for doing this, though it had nothing to do with teaching this creature from mythic tale to hasten in his response toward rebellion. Truthfully she really cared nothing of the Elf or anything he might say or think so long as he didn't tamper with her plans. His heart was all she desired. Still, he suffered and she enjoyed it. A side benefit it was, for her purposes in tormenting were far more devious than just that of inflicting pain. She did it for the sake of the girl.

Kattica had to be controlled. It did not escape the puri dai that the girl was beginning to grow wary of Bregus' motives. It had been such a short while since this had started, and already the girl was beginning to ask questions and that would not do. Bregus did not need critical debate at this time and she had to find something to hold the girl back distract her from the probe her mind placed on the situation. In the beginning it had been easy enough to snare the young thing, especially since she had not yet tasted the dark. As an innocent, Kattica had been easily swayed merely with the threat to her life and to her family's life. How simple that had been. But now that the girl was discovering the essence of her own dark seed, she was beginning to assert herself, and that was a dangerous hindrance to Bregus' plan.

The girl was indeed strong, stronger even than Bregus had suspected. Obviously, there were benefits to this. Tapping into the girl's hidden powers had not only unleashed Kattica's potential, but it had also done much to replenish Bregus' waning skills. Fortunately for Bregus, the girl was unschooled and did not recognize or marvel in her own abilities. It was only with the elder's tutelage that the girl was finding herself. But she was finding herself too fast and it was Bregus' intent to slow her down. She needed to keep the girl in thrall and she knew that the best way to do that would be to sate the girl with menace. The revelation of black magic was an enticement beyond any threat the elder could offer otherwise. The old woman understood just how delicious the influence of power over another being could be and knew the taste of that might be enough to silence the girl for awhile. She hoped it woould be tempting and prod the girl forward to continue in the study of black magic. And for this reason alone, it was important to give the girl a taste only for the evil within herself. Bregus knew that if Kattica chose to let her goodness win out, then the elder would have a formidable enemy. Touching and releasing the fear in the Elf might be enough to shut off the nagging persistence of morality that poked at the girl's present conscience.

Kattica was a quick study. That was not necessarily a good thing. The influence of the dark arts was a knife's edge of precariousness. With it came the tantalization of power and control. But a certain amount of confidence was also par to the dominance of character in this realm. Controlling the girl's assertiveness was going to be Bregus' hardest task. She had need to feed the girl from spoon strengthened by the dark side of her soul. The torment to the Elf made this easy to supply.

Bregus was weary. It had been a very long day already and it was only morning still. Having sacrificed the night for setting the traps to snare the others, the trade off had been sacrifice of respite. It had been worth it. But Bregus knew she would not be able to go on much longer if she didn't get some rest soon. Especially with the plans she had ahead of her. She looked at Kattica to see what thoughts played on the young woman's face. Could she trust the girl?

Bregus had let go of the girl's soul when she had relinquished her touch, giving everything of the power to her pupil. She stepped away and watched her young protege at work. It brought a smile to the elder's lips as she felt the blackness seep further into Kattica's heart. This was assuring, even if the girl did not appear to be tired. Soon enough exhaustion would kick in. Bregus remembered well her own first discovery of dark power. She had barely closed her eyes for days after. But the sapping that a baby put on its mother might counter that, and the girl would eventually be forced to rest. Bregus was hoping that might happen soon. The elder needed to appease her exhaustion, and she didn't quite know if she could leave the girl alone yet.

She had been thinking about her own dilemma and the girl's questions. Of course she had said nothing to Kattica about her need for the Elf. Had the girl known everything within Bregus' plans hinged on acquiring a live being of Eldar descent and from that an Elven heart doubtless the girl would have rebelled. For without the Elf, none of Bregus' plans, none of it, could be accomplished. This Elf's heart was the key to Bregus' return to youth. He was the key to her impending immortality.

Of course the heart on an unborn child was equally as important in this plan. The beauty of it though was Bregus had two hearts of the unborn children to choose from. How wonderful was that? And again, it had been easy to dupe Kattica into believing her child was no longer at risk. The truth was, after seeing the wife of this Anborn, she knew the woman was not far long in her pregnancy. She was barely showing a belly. What that meant to the old shuv'ni was extraction of that heart would be difficult. She would have a terrible time even locating that pinprick of life within the woman's body, let alone ingesting it. As gruesome as Bregus was, even that made her stomach recoil. No, the better choice was to take Kattica's child.

That solution was doubly beneficial. Not only would she acquire the necessary ingredient to her spell in taking the baby's heart, she would also eliminate her rival by killing Kattica in the pursuit. And even if somehow Bregus did choose that other woman's child over Kattica's, it was only a matter of time before Bregus would kill her daughter-in-law. The girl was too much of a threat to the power of the shuv'ni. Especially now that Kattica was coming into her own.

She reminded herself that Kattica was Mattias' wife, and the child she bore was his. He might actually object to Bregus' plan. She laughed in answer to this fear. Were it yesterday when Bregus felt still weak in her magical strength, this might have been a cause for worry. Today however, this was not the case. Mattias was held well in check. She anticipated no problems in dealing with her son. She smiled to herself. She might even have her son give the killing blow to his own wife. Would that not be a treat?

All that need be done now was to continue to give the girl small measure into the darkness of her soul as a means to distract her until the moment came to act on Bregus' behalf. The time for Kattica's death was not yet due, for the elder had need still of the girl. And for the moment that need meant torturing the Elf. So long as he did not die, she didn't care what befell him just as she cared for none of the others except Anborn. She watched the joyous gleam in Kattica's eye. The bait was taken. The girl supped well from the spoon of which Bregus fed her.

The Dwarf was not sure how he should feel about either of those things. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with them. Being a Dwarf and abiding in dwellings below ground, both were part of the day to day minutia that was part of his people's lifestyle. There was comfort there. The air's circulation when it met with the breath of outside world as well as the feel of soil and rock beneath him were tangible delights that every Dwarf knew. Neither disturbed him and he could have easily let the sensations go. Yet it wasn't quite right. Something nagged at his mind that he shouldn't be so comforted by his surroundings. It was bothersome to be disturbed so, and with that inner prodding he stirred. Slowly, ever so slowly, he allowed his mind to explore beyond these things that should feel right but did not, though he might normally take them for granted. He could smell the dirt as well as taste it, which told him it was freshly unearthed. But here was something not right about that. The nag grew a little louder and then he realized the reason why. He was laying in it. Laying in the dirt. That made him ponder. Why was he lounging in an area of newly exposed soil? It made no sense to his befuddled mind. He could have easily dismissed it, pushing it away and allowing his thoughts to drift back to more serene moments, but the nag persisted. He should not be reclined in the dirt. Now that he recognized his prone position, he became aware too that his ear pressed the ground. He could hear a slight tremor resonating from nearby. Again, there was combined familiarity and unease in that fact. The earth was moving. The Dwarf was aware that the earth was nearly constantly in flux. There was no surprise in that. But nearby? His mind began to shift as he realized he had more cause for alarm. Earth tremors were usually an indication of danger and the Dwarf knew it would be wise to clear the area until the fault line and projected damage could be determined. This thought was enough to draw his attention to the present and his senses honed in on his surroundings more clearly. And then a new question plagued his thoughts. If he were truly within the structure of a Dwarven hold, why did he hear the birds chirping overhead? Now there was a dilemma he had trouble ignoring. At last he decided this was not right and he knew then he could no longer afford to linger in a twilight state.

That was when he came to know the real source of his problems. With consciousness came pain, and with pain came a throbbing ache at his skull. And with a throbbing ache at his skull came the realization that indeed his circumstances were beyond ordinary.

Still, sensation came to him slowly, just as the slender details of his surroundings had crept into his thoughts while he lay in a semi-conscious state. The pulsing pain at his left temple pushed itself to the forefront of his thoughts as he came to wake. He groaned. And even that hurt. Gimli was not pleased. That was a coherent thought. Progress, albeit painful, was being made.

He dared not move. The tempo of his heartbeat kept time with the drumming throttle at his skull. It made him aware that some injury had occurred, though Gimli was want to know what might have caused it. With utmost patience and need to take it slowly, the Dwarf began to assess his condition starting from his lowest extremities and working his way up. He attempted to move his legs and feet. At first he panicked for they would not budge, but then he realized they were weighted down with something. Dirt? He tried again to budge them and felt them stir. Suddenly, a pain shot through his ankle while loamy soil trickled into his boot and through a tear in his pant leg. Pain was not a good thing. Could it be broken? That would not be a pleasant event though Gimli chose to be optimistic. All he needed to know at the moment was that his leg and foot were still attached. He would find benefit to whatever came beyond that. They were and he would. Time to move on. He settled in, shifting slightly for comfort. His hands? That was easier for those he knew were above ground. Yes, they seemed to open and close on his mental command though he did not exert them far. Arms and shoulders? Attached and moving, though again the motion was small. Lastly he focused on his head and he realized that while the pain at his temple was bad, it had dissipated somewhat while he had taken the time to inventory the rest of his aches. This was definitely a good sign. Optimism was paying off. He decided to take the ultimate risk. He opened his eyes.

The world for a minute was rather blurry, and once he could see it, Gimli decided it matched well the fogginess that invaded his brain. He could see as well as feel that he was laying on a stone and dirt floor, though the place he was in was completely foreign to the Dwarf. Perhaps that was because beyond a halo of light surrounding him, everything else was completely black. Very well, he thought, finding words in his mind to express his opinion, There seem to be no others about who are jumping to my aid. I must be alone and have no choice but to get up and make some sense of this. And with that, Gimli chose to use his curiosity as a key to his recovery. That in itself was enough to give him power to roll over. Carefully.

He started with his legs, working them gingerly, making every attempt not to jar his ankle. He hissed as he methodically pulled his legs out from the dirt, pushing against the rocky soil that buried him. The weight on his ankle caused him to groan but he did not cease his efforts. With patience and persistence he gently eased his legs from the dirt. With their freedom, he was able to roll to his side. The movement gave him better perspective. He could see sky above and now he could understand little better where the birdsong had come. And with that realization a flood of memory came back to him. The hunting trip! That thought alone gave him incentive to rise. How did this come to be? Gimli knew harassment and razzing would follow from his companions if he did not roust himself. No doubt they would discover him, and he intended to appear hale to their eyes, even if such was not the case.

He raised himself on one elbow and felt the world waver with the motion. Overcome, he gave in to the weakness, lowering himself and shutting his eyes to readjust to the vertigo. It took a moment to work past the dizziness and accompanying queasy feeling, but when it passed, he found he had strength enough to shakily rise again. Starting on one elbow, then rolling over to his hands, he brought his knees up beneath him, using them as counterbalance to pull his weight from the ground. He stopped there for a few minutes to rest as again everything began to spin about him. He lowered his head, using what he could will from his mind to concentrate solely on breathing.

Closing his eyes to try to stop the motion, he pulled a deep intake of air into his lungs and allowed time to pass before daring open them again. And grateful he was that he did. Just this modest recovery gave him peace enough to raise his head. The world was still again, and for the first time Gimli came to realize he stood in a pit of sorts. A pit? Had they actually followed his plan and dug a pit? He could not remember any such activity. But then as he continued his survey he realized this space was less like a pit than originally thought. For one thing it seemed far too deep to be of use. For another, it appeared to be quite large and carved mostly of stone. Tentatively, he raised himself to a kneeling position stooping and choosing for the moment not to rise fully on wobbly legs and injured foot. Afraid to move his head too quick for fear that the dizziness would hit him again, he gingerly looked up. The world stayed righted and when he brought his eyes up to meet the sky, he came to realize this was definitely no pit.

"A cave?" he asked no one, but then listened with mild amusement as his voice softly echoed about him. He could feel the heat from the world above drift down on him while the cool air of the cave moved about him. It created a draft of sorts, almost a breeze as the climates came together so abruptly.

And then with a rush the Dwarf's memory of where he should be came back to him again. "Aragorn?" he called out. "Aragorn?" he said again, directing his words to the circle of light above. There was no answer.

Arwen coughed as she immediately tried to free herself, spitting out the dirt in her mouth as she shook away the clods raining down on her from the collapsing walls. Her first thought was for him, "Estel?" she called out, hoping he was here somewhere in this confusion of dirt and rubble. She heard no answer, only the continuous sound of dirt falling down on her like water from a shower. It was chaotic, the darkness of the enclosing walls not helping and her attempt to roll away. It would not be an easy thing to do as she found herself curled in a tangled pose against a minor outcrop, her long limbs twisted awkwardly in the embrace of the tight tunnel around her, The pack containing supplies and the lamp had been harnessed over her shoulder and under one arm. In this position, the bag tugged behind her back, half-choking her, half-propping her up. She could feel the awkward implements within it digging into her skin and bruising her already bruised skin.

Her descent had not been a far one, if for no other reason than she had run out of space to fall. The place where she rested in this well, for lack of a better term, was barely a yard wide, and her legs and back had dragged across the muddy walls as she had come to what she thought was its near end. The grating spill had spun and twisted her as she had plummeted down the chute until she had slowed to an awkward heap on this ledge near the bottom of the hollow. She groaned as she tried to maneuver to an upright position but found this momentarily impossible. She was only half upright, one knee bent downward while the other leg was lodged against the wall, angling upward toward the light. The position, had she been on firm ground and in a direction that was more typical of real action, was one she might have found herself in if she were sitting in a chair with one leg reclined. But here she sat upside down and somewhat wedged into her space by a locked knee and the glue of muddy walls.

Again, she tested her words, "Estel, answer me." A drizzle of dirt found its way into her mouth as she had called him, and she automatically spit it out, focused more on the panic that was setting in by lack of an answer from her spouse than the discomfort of this hole. She tried to right herself so she might assess her situation better. The indelicate pose in which she found herself was made all the worse by the muddy landscape surrounding her. As she found means to twist herself and maneuver free, she slid sideways, propelling further downward. Slowly she descended, her body still askew and uncoordinated. But she panicked as she moved futher down, past the place she had thought was bottom, the walls closing in on her tightly. It was then that she realized the floor was a continuous hole tapering into a smaller cone. Worse yet, it was filling rapidly with the uncompacted and sodden dirt from the tunnel's walls. She could not see its end, the shadows were impenetrable even to her eyes. Quick fear grabbed her. Any movement she made slid her further downward. If she did not stop her own motion, she may have well found herself wedged tightly in this burrow, like a cork in a bottle.

With quick realization, she kicked out her legs and arms, using them to wedge herself into one place before the space grew too tight. She halted her slide, grunting while her legs tangled again, straining her body with twisting muscles fighting against gravity. All the while, fragments of earth continued to shower down on her, blinding her as particles fell into her eyes and face, covering her hair and body and making the confusion of this strange situation even more difficult to comprehend. But at least her motion was stopped, though that seemed of little solace as the dirt walls showed no signs of relenting their fall. With dread she came to realize she may well still be buried if the soil pouring in on her did not end quickly. She said a silent prayer as she shut her eyes to her most certain demise.

Perhaps the Valar had heard her plea, for it was only moments later that the tumble of soil tapered off. She sighed a sob of relief, hesitant to do more than that. Her eyes were still sealed and she could feel a blanket of dirt covering her body, but she knew she needed to act. Her husband was here someplace in this hole doubtless unconscious, and she was dreadfully fearful that she knew exactly where he might lay.

She opened her eyes to the slowing topple of dirt. She was facing up, and she could see skyward and the light radiating off the hole from above. The walls were uneven and jutted here and there with rocks and roots. It was very narrow, maybe only eight feet at the top, and tapering downward to nothing. She judged the distance of her fall as only twenty or so feet, which she knew if she could recover herself and her husband, was not such a ominous distance to cover. But even more assuring she realized for the first time that this hole did not taper straight down, but more at an angle, somewhat perpendicular to slant of the hillside. This gave her courage for she knew they might be able to climb out if they could once again get their footing.

They. They meant she and Aragorn. Her panic never left her. It had not even been a minute since she had fallen into this space and yet it seemed grueling hours had drifted by. She knew well what condition he might be in should she find him. Nay, she needed to find him. Now!

With little more hesitance she began to move her legs slowly, stepping with one foot and then the other down the mud wall to try to pull herself into a more upright position. With her fingers, she grappled the muddy wall, finding little but gravel and muddy clay to latch onto in case she might slide downward again. She knew soon enough she would have need to make her descent there, further into that crevice, but that struggle would be on her terms if she could help it.

Knowing there was nothing else to use as a handhold, she clawed with bare hands at the slippery walls, pushing one hand firmly into the clay until it went just past her wrist. She looped her submerged fingers as best she could maneuver, making a curve with the bend of her wrist. Her muscles quaked with the force, pushing against ground made harder by the earth's pressure. She lowered her legs, letting her body fall with gravity toward the lee side of the tunnel. Immediately she began to slide again, but this time, with the handhold, she did not fall further.

She knew there was more distance to cover, she only hoped that he was not far from her or buried too deeply. Time was working against her, and she knew she needed to reach Aragorn before that time was up. He was down there, further in the hole, possibly covered whole by the dirt that had tried to blanket her. If he was, he was dying, being buried alive. The unkind thought of the earth taking her love angered her and gave her strength and courage to fight it. Her mind snapped clearly in the actions she must take and she called out softly "I am coming, my love! I am coming!" hoping against hope that she would find him before it was too late. Something cool touched his battered skin and he winced as it washed over him, pain emanating from every inch of him even though

Cast of additional characters and aliases
Anborn Faramir's alias
Mattias the eldest son of the witch
Gordash the middle son of the witch
Curtik the youngest son of the witch

Bregus the witch, also called Mother, the shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai (tribe elder)
Kattica Mattias' wife, and a shuv'ni apprentice

Bregus laughed to herself as she watched the girl torture the Elf. Kattica was merciless, like a cat with a mouse, taunting him, giving his mind freedom to move, to venture away from her hold, only to snatch him back again when he'd attempt to flee. It was cruel behavior, and Bregus relished every moment of the display. Wicked she can be. How fascinating, the old woman thought. But Bregus knew this could not go on much more though the old woman was loathe to see it come to an end. It had to if she were to safeguard her treasure. Perhaps if the girl were not so strong, Bregus could have allowed her pleasure some time more. But to let this particular situation to go on much more could be disastrous. The girl was enjoying too much what she did and she was unaware of just what damage she might be causing. Bregus did not know if it was possible to kill an Elf with fright as you could with a Man, but she was not about to test such a thing. She needed him too desperately to see that happen. Fortunately for Bregus' sake, the Elf continued to fight and grudgingly she knew she had to admire his fortitude. Many a Man would be a quivering wreck by now, completely driven to madness. But not this creature. It was hard for Bregus, but she realized she found something to admire in the Elf. It gave her the impetus she to act as she did next.

She crept over to where the Elf lay. No longer was there need for others to hold him down. He was lost, completely unaware of his surroundings or that it was the girl's touch that was driving him into his madness. He trembled and flailed hopelessly, without a target, lashing out and cowering from his own inner demons.

She looked to the girl's face. Kattica's eyes were closed and she too was lost in another world, her expression incongruent to the peaceful serenity of the camp.

Bregus smiled wistfully. She knew well what it was like to feel the satisfying allure of power. She envied the girl, but it was merely a twinge of jealousy, nothing lasting. Bregus sighed as she watched the joyous rapture lighting the young woman's face knowing well her own time for such joys would be forthcoming. Bregus would have moments of personal ecstasy soon and the elder had experience enough to know how to wait for it. Her patience could hold, and envy or not, these moments had been made for the girl's sake. They had been done to show the girl the meddle of her own soul and just how appealing the darkness was. They had been done to give the girl reason not to question Bregus' motives. And they had been done to alleviate Bregus of the fears that morality might still find sway in the girl's conscience.

Because Kattica was not watching, not hearing, it was easy for Bregus to do what she did. With cautious fingers, she raced a hand over the Elf's feverish brow, her fingertips lingering at his temple just above the hairline. She bent over him, watching him, admiring his struggle and searching eyes, attracted to his determination. Then she whispered, "I thought you might have more strength than this, Elf. Is there nothing that will make you look past your own fears?" It was a planted suggestion, just a hint to show him where his true light was hidden. She held him and watched him long enough to see the spark of something take hold there. Then quickly, she removed her fingers, grabbing her kosh and stepping back with a groan in the effort to rise as she watched his reaction.

Almost immediately the girl's eyes flared open, a look of panic filling them. Simultaneously she saw the Elf gain a moment of cognizant thought. "Mellyn," he moaned, though Bregus knew not what that meant. His eyes came to focus, looking first to the girl with disdain. Then shaking her hand aside with a butt of his head, he looked directly at Bregus, his eyes aflame. "What have you done to them?" he said with a shaking voice.

Bregus knew exactly what he meant then, and she met his gaze with a cold smile. She knew the response to give to get the reaction she required. It was simple. "I believe that your other friends are living in a world as dark as yours. They too are being carried downward into the pitch of black earth."

With a glance she could see Kattica act, using the Elf's momentary lapse as a prompt to reach out and target another round of fear into his mind. Simultaneously she saw the Elf fight back, no longer so helpless now that he realized the source of his inner strength.

It was perfect. The fight between wills strengthened them both. Her suggestion to the Elf had given him the power to rage on against his fears, while his fight against Kattica reinforced the girl's resolve. Everything was exactly where it should be. With the girl firmly entrenched in the darkness, Bregus knew she had no more to fear from her. She could rest and prepare for the final steps in her plan. She relaxed her stance, sighing relief as she watched the last minutes of battle, enjoying every last bit of it. She was achingly tired and longed very much now to rest. She smiled as all the pieces were laid out in place and the expected turnabout came. "No!" he exclaimed, screaming out haltingly. "This will cease!"

Such finality there was in his voice. It startled even Bregus. But so it must be. Her serpent spell waned. She could almost see it dissipating before her eyes. And although she was truly sad to see it go, she was also happy it had served good purpose for her cause. With a small bit of pride at the strength of both her own evil magic and the Elf's ability to fight it off when it had possessed him so well, she watched him glare at her and Kattica with bared teeth, valiantly hissing out, "It is falsity! This is not real! You use manipulations to make me see what is not there!" At first she thought these might be mere words, but as he went on, she came to see he believed them. "It is not real! I will not believe it! I will not let you take me!" He shook his head as the enchantment broke. "I will not let you control my thoughts like you do so many others!"

Breathing hard as if he had physically fought a great fight, his eyes became bright and clear. He drew a long slow breath and grimly smiled as he regained his composure. Bregus looked at Kattica. A pleased smile washed over her apprentice's face. The girl was clearly happy with the outcome of her battle, ignoring the fact that she had lost. The young shuv'ni grinned a toothy smile and even Bregus had to laugh for the joy of it. Yes, she is wholly mine now. Then she turned back to the Elf and was surprised to see he no longer focused on the two women. Instead, he was looking past her, his eyes growing wide at something he saw. Bregus suddenly realized she felt eyes at her back. She turned quickly to see who it was and moaned ever so slightly. What she saw could very well ruin everything they had just done. "Mattias" she whispered.

Legolas caught the expression in Mattias' eyes and he recognized that the vague listlessness he had seen there earlier was now gone. What had caused it to go, he could not guess, but he was pleased to see now some semblance of recognition in the Man's face. Dreadful acts were occurring before the Romany's very eyes and slowly that reality was sinking in. Horror tinged Mattias' brow and mouth as his eyes were set in shocked disbelief. Then glancing up, Legolas watched as Bregus came to sense her son's presence and she saw Mattias' recognition of her actions. The Romany man was clearly appalled, and with a small amount of glee, Legolas was pleased to see the old woman felt something akin to shame. Her face flushed as she looked away, her brow furrowed. Legolas saw then that Kattica too had realized Mattias' role as a witness, and her actions were far more dramatic. The girl flinched her fingers away from Legolas, as if the touch of his skin bit like acid. She reached up to her throat in shock while her eyes made contact with her husband's. She winced and Legolas could see guilty feelings playing on the girl's mind. Her expression told him everything she felt, and though he wanted to feel pity for her, he found it impossible to do so knowing how much terror she had wreaked upon his soul and how much she had enjoyed it. She looked down at her hands as if in disbelief that they had been so responsible for the torment that had occurred, and then in a lapse of control, the girl fell backwards, her eyes wide in terror, obviously comprehending something of the role she had played. Her jaw dropped and her horrified eyes swept up to meet her husband's again.

Legolas watched as Bregus gasped, panic sweeping her cocky demeanor aside. Stepping around, she reached down and tugged the girl into her arms, roughly at first, then softening into a gentle embrace. It looked completely contrived. She turned the young shuv'ni away from Mattias' gaze while she cooed in a consoling voice, "You did well, child. You did well!"

But then in a flurry of motion, the girl pushed Bregus away, turning and dropping to the ground. Kattica vomited. The old woman simply stared, all compassion gone. Then flipping her head back to look upon her son, she called out to him. "Mattias," she said as she stepped quickly before him.

The Man's posture stiffened momentarily freezing in uncertainty, and then breathing a cleansing breath, Mattias shook his head to negate his own thoughts as the old woman approached him. With the astuteness of sharp Elven ears Legolas could hear their brief conversation as he watched her face turn kind toward her son.

She saw his hesitance and she touched him, caressing his cheek much like she had done to the Elf only a few minutes past, only now with far more compassion. Legolas saw her eyes as they read her son and then she answered him without Mattias speaking a question. "They are evil, my son. They will try to destroy us if we do not act."

With dread Legolas watched as Mattias nodded, then hung his head, walking away. The old woman watched him leave and then she turned her stare in the Elf's direction. No longer kindly and gentle, her eyes showed fear and even that was a frightening sight. Involuntarily Legolas found himself pushing away, struggling to be upright and regain his useless legs. He felt weak. His victory against the darkness had taken a great deal of his stamina, and he did not think he had it within himself to fight off another assault on his mind.

But fortunately, the old woman's menace seemed directed elsewhere. Bregus snapped her fingers, drawing immediate attention to Curtik and another man who had previously held Legolas, and through economy of words she gestured for them to remove him to this side of her wagon. In quick order, Legolas felt them twist his arms behind his back, using his body weight in lifting him to lock his arms in place. Legolas did not have the strength to fight them, and knew it was useless to do so without use of his legs. With a small gasp he allowed them to take him as pain radiated from his shoulders and his entire body weight was absorbed in the joints from this awkward position. Fortunately, it was a short distance to reach their destination. Within minutes they had him tied to a large wagon wheel, his wrists bound on either side of the rim. In his transport he had tried to catch sight of Faramir but had not located his friend. However, as soon as the men left him, he heard the hoarse whisper of the Gondor Prince.

The Elf thrilled at hearing the voice. It was behind him, on the other side of the wagon. "Anborn!" he answered back softly, careful to use Faramir's alias.

Legolas looked over to where Bregus now stooped over the girl. Kattica was curled into a ball, cradling her rounded stomach with her hand inside her deep skirt pocket. She was crying pitiful gulping sobs. Legolas could hear the elder's words. They consisted mostly of platitudes and Legolas thought they sounded terribly false. He noticed too Bregus' hand deep in her own pocket, and he wondered if she fingered her knife as her hand moved restlessly within those recesses. The old witch did not seem to have her attention on him though he felt tension emanating from her. "I am well and it is safe," he answered, keeping his eyes warily focused on the pair.

"We cannot let her know of my identity. I fear for what might happen should she find out."

"If that were so this would be a simple matter of waiting the situation out. No, I think it is worse, Legolas. Far worse."

"As do I, but I cannot understand what she wishes to yield from us," Legolas said softly as he watched the younger woman look up at the elder, debating words between them.

"She has dark purpose in both of us. This we know. She killed other Elves for her cause though we could not garner why. And the girl did not seem to know you were a part of the plan," Faramir deduced.

"Aye, but she accepted it quickly enough," Legolas countered shivering with his memory of the girl's actions.

"Are you sure you are well?" Faramir asked with concern, detecting the Elf's lingering fear.

After a short pause, Faramir went on, " I have noticed that Bregus answers little when questions are posed. She is slippery. Information seems only to come when she is off her guard. She said when the 'transformation was complete' I would remember little, but only when I rebuffed her advances."

"Those words do not bode fair tidings. And yet I find few clues in them other than knowledge that more sorcery will be at play. I know not yet how we may fight it. My legs still do not move, though I believe I broke the spell she used to confuse my mind earlier. Can you feel it in yourself?"

"Neither did I until I realized it. The spell is coy and gangly but if you concentrate you might feel it lurking."

"Be wary of her powers, my friend. She will try to hurt you with them. And not always for the reason you might observe."

"I will be cautious if I can," Faramir said lightly, realizing the memory still lived within the Elf. "Yet we need more information in order to fight her, and we may indeed incur her wrath in gaining it."

"Escape would be a better solution. I think we should focus there. Have you any thoughts?" Legolas said as he continued to watch the women.

"I would have said 'yes' only a short while ago, but now I fear my answer must be 'no'. It seems Bregus has somehow turned her mind," Legolas answered. "I dare not try to sway her."

"We have few allies then and little in the way of choices. You must try to break the hold Bregus has on your legs, I think."

"Surely one of the Eldar race could fight of her meager spell. After all, she is mortal, not Maia," Faramir teased.

"I would call her monster." Legolas retorted then sighed deeply. "Very well, I shall try," he said as he focused his attention on his legs. But after several minutes it was became clear that nothing would happened. Legolas choked out a gasp.

"Keep trying! You said you broke her earlier bewitchment. How?" Faramir ushered encouragingly.

"I thought of you and Strider and Gimli and how you all might need my help," the Elf answered.

Legolas heard the Man's smile in his words as he urged the Elf on. "Use that then. See if there is something in those thoughts to break this current enchantment."

Legolas watched as the older and younger woman appeared locked in dialog, their hands shifting again in their pockets. And then he turned his attention again onto his legs, closing his eyes and thinking only of his friends and finding a way to save them from their plight. He felt something, a tingling sensation. He opened his eyes to see one foot move slightly. Focusing even more intensely, he willed his other foot to inch toward him and with joy, it did!

He was about to call out to Faramir about his success when he heard footsteps charging toward him. So focused had he been on his actions that he had not noticed their approach sooner. He looked up to see who came before him, but not quick enough to avoid the battering blow that met him.

Bregus had actually been kind. That was the thought that ran through Kattica's mind as the elder had approached her after seeing to her son. The senior shuv'ni was consoling, sympathetic even. It was completely out of character for her and it most certainly made the girl apprehensive. Not that Kattica needed reason to feel suspicious toward the old woman. The last few days had been whirlpools enough of conflicting behavior to warrant that. Had she opportunity to analyze them more clearly, Kattica might have seen exactly how chaotic her life had become. But since everything thus far had been a series of reactions followed by reactions, she had not the time to really form clear thinking or strategic thought. She still did not have a plan for how to fight the situation, nor did she really know any longer if she wished to fight it. She only knew at the moment that she had seen him that there was recognition in Mattias' face, and far worse, repulsion. That alone made her feel fearful and ashamed. She felt tears wash her face with her dread.

She curled in on herself, digging her hand deep into her pouch, finding comfort in the great pocket by being able to more closely nestle her girth. At least the baby was safe. Her hand slid past the objects there, lightly fingering the Elf-hair amulet she had made and along the sheathed choori. Bregus had relinquished the weapon to her after they had created the traps, somehow deeming Kattica trustworthy again. Was that really true? Was Kattica a reliable accomplice? She had felt pride at being held in trust before, but nowThe girl had to think on that.

The knife made her freeze. Dark thoughts whispered in her mind as she fingered the weapon. A knife was a valuable tool, capable of doing so much for the good. And for now she saw the wealth of it in its power to make this personal torment end. She drew it out of its case, still concealed in her pocket, touching cold steal with her fingertips. A sob gripped her throat as she recalled the look on his face. How she wished she could wipe that away.

Such agony. Tears streamed from her eyes. The knife was sharp, cold, unfeeling. Would that she could, she would will herself into that guise. If she could be like the knife, none of this would matter to her. Her love for Mattias would not make her heart ache. Her soul would be vacant. How welcoming that would be. She wished to stop feeling, to stop trying to find what felt right to her soul. It had been a difficult journey and she had been so torn. She was conflicted. What was wrong? What was right? She could no longer tell. And just when she thought she could finally see it, he appeared before her, once again making her look a different way and see a different light. And yet, it gave her such anguish. She was in torment. Escape from herself is what she wanted most. No more thought. No more feeling. She wanted to rid herself of this pain, to be free of her burden. She could use the knife to do that. And yet she did not want to die. But neither did she want to live if it meant Mattias' disdain.

Bregus had done this to her! The girl knew where to focus her blame. Her reasons to take the life of the old woman were few, but after all she had recently witnessed and done, she did not need much cause to consider vengeance. Such a drastic thought! She could die, and thus end her plight and the suffering she placed upon others. But if she were to die, she would take Bregus with her. Yes, she would! Again, another sob pushed out as she bowed her head to her pain. The only thing stopping her was the child she carried. I would take her with me should I go, she thought sadly. That would be so terribly cruel! But then she reconsidered. Still, I have proven I am a capable monster. What kind of mother could I be knowing I have this within me? Would taking her on to the Other World now be such a heinous offense given that of which I have already exposed her and will expose her? At least there she will not be judged by my actions.

She felt a hand at her shoulder. Measured weight rested on it as she found it in use as a support for the old woman to stoop and bend. Bregus met her, stroking her back and Kattica flinched at the touch, suspicion nagging at her raw nerves. She needed something to say, something to counter what she knew Bregus would say in defense of the girl's actions. She felt vulnerable and she needed to hold onto her anger long enough to carry out this act.

It was wrong. The thought laced through the girl's mind. She hadn't really thought that before, at least not consciously, and hearing it aloud now made her realize exactly how correct the statement was. It was wrong. Funny, she thought, how far she had drifted away. Her guilt had been tied into her own self, into her perception of how Mattias might see her. It had never occurred to her to actually feel true guilt over how she had driven the Elf, that that had been wrong. It had felt so good! But it was wrong, somehow. Something deep within her told her so and her grandmother's charm weighed heavily about her throat as a reminder of such moral thinking.

The response from Bregus was one she might have expected. "Nay, not wrong. You did what was right. It was the natural response, the essence of human nature."

Kattica snarled, realizing with each word the truth that was being clouded. She fought back, her true nature becoming exposed. "I hurt him! That should not be a natural response!"

Bregus seemed to be not hearing Kattica's inner turmoil, more focused on finding an answer to appease the girl's mood. The elder said, "Ah, but it is! Kattica, think! You have lived long enough to see how we are treated outside of our kind. There is venom in the eyes of those who do not know us. They hate us. Look back at the Elf now. He hates us. He hated us before, you just could not see it. No, child, your reaction was normal. Better than normal in fact, for you have the power now to fight their hatred. You are better than he is. Better than all of them."

Kattica thought about this. Bregus had the power to be very convincing at times. This had long held true. But the girl had always been able to fight it. But now with the taste of darkness in her soul, her convictions seemed far less mighty. She knew she needed to battle against this ill-will and the call to arms over prejudice that had always been a rally for her people. She sought to find a means within herself to retain her grip on her own soul. Fresh thoughts came to her mind. The Elf has a name. It is Legolas and she will do harm to him. Why? What will she do to him? Kattica winced, refusing to look at where Legolas sat, now truly ashamed. "I wounded him!" she cried.

Bregus laughed sardonically. "Do you see any sign of lasting damage? I tell you to look at him. Look now. Look hard. Ah, Kattica, you did well. Can you not see that? You did something that will help us all in the end. When my spell is fully unleashed, our people will live a far better life, thanks to you. You will see. This affects not just you, your child and Mattias, but all of us. The entire family."

The family? Kattica stared into Bregus' eyes. What could the old woman mean by that. She longed to know. She longed to find a way to make peace within herself. If she were helping somehow, maybe, just maybe she could accept this situation. But she knew she could not think this. She could not give in. Bregus had done so much to inflict torment on too many that Kattica had trouble believing her. She said, "But I know not what your plan is or your intent. How can I know if what I have done is good if I do not understand the ultimate goal?" She watched as Bregus flinched at the words shattering calm countenance. It reinforced Kattica's suspicions.

Bregus sighed a deep breath, timing her phrasing to collect all her thoughts. Hope tinged the words that answered and the girl read the mastery of manipulation within them, "You will have to trust me in this. My intentions are good, you must believe that. I mean only to bring improvement to our lives. When I am done, we will never need to fear the wrath of outsiders again. I will make our lives well."

That was not good enough in Kattica's mind. Her hand tightened on the hilt of the knife. "But we are taking lives in doing so."

Vexation came into Bregus' voice and Kattica's eyes flicked open wider at the sudden change in mood. "And how many of the Romany have been lost to their hate? How many of our children have gone hungry when our stores ran bare and they would not sell us their food simply because of our race? How many times have we been forced away from our shelters and chased into the cold of the night because we unknowingly sought refuge on land they claimed as theirs? How many of our women have been raped and our men have been beaten out of fear on their parts when we have done nothing more than pass through their villages? The taking of a few lives is small in comparison to what we have suffered! It is nothing! And when we are done, you and I, our families, will never know fear again. Never. Your daughter will grow up to be safe in this world. Think of it!"

Kattica's eyes gleamed with tears of longing. It is what she had always hoped for. Safety and calming peace for her people had long been the girl's dream. It was a convincing argument. The old woman had her nearly swayed. Bregus leaned in, stroking hair from Kattica's face as she whispered, "You controlled him! And that is not an easy thing to do, especially for a fledgling. In fact, I have been told Elves are the most difficult of creatures to have power over. Look at how long and how well you managed that. You ought well to be proud of your skill!"

The necklace grew heavier dragging her head down as if forcing her into a posture of shame. Her muscles ached in effort to hold her head up. Pride? No, that was not right. Kattica turned away, her head still down, "But Mattias" she began.

Bregus reached out and touched the girl's face, cupping her chin to force her to look up into the old woman's eyes. She smiled a small smile, then admonished in a comforting voice, "Mattias is a child." Then Bregus gave a slight laugh as if she was sharing a secret and said, "I can say that only because I am his mother. He is easily confused by complex events. He always has been. And mark my words, girl, what occurred today has been quite complex. Do not feel led by his reaction. Mattias will be fine. I will see to that, and all will be well with you. Trust me. Turn your mind away from Mattias for the moment. He does not understand."

Kattica looked hard at the old woman. She wanted to believe this. Her thoughts once again went to the knife in her hand and how she had considered using it. If death were to come, it should be now. But it no longer seemed right to kill the old woman and she no longer craved her own demise. Would it not be easier to just go along with what was to occur and not question it?

The carved figures on the necklace now seemed incredibly heavy. It was uncomfortable. She felt as if it were tearing at her skin and she reached her free hand up to loosen its hold. But as her fingers glanced over it, she heard echoes of her suspicions roll through her mind. Bregus looked different. At least different from how she had been appearing to the girl. Suddenly she saw Bregus just as she had always known her. Not kind, or gentle. Not generous or supportive. What she saw was cold selfishness and greed, insane desire and anger, loneliness and depraved ambition. Revulsion seized Kattica's mind, for both Bregus and for herself. How had she been able to go along with this? She should not be a player in torment of this kind! She turned the knife in her hand. The choori had been given back because Bregus deemed her a trustworthy accomplice and suddenly Kattica realized the thought of that sickened her.

Dread and hatred filled the pit of her stomach, and still she was torn. She had been warned away from black magic, yet she had been forced to perform it. And now that she had, she knew just how wonderful it could feel. She knew in her heart she had to stop, but if the opportunity presented itself again, could she be lured into the evil once more? Meekly she admitted she could. And to make matters worse, she longed for it. She wanted to taste the darkness again.

Given that thought, self-sacrifice seemed not such a horrible thing. Could she do it? Could she give up her life in order to save them all? If so, she should strike now. Do it! she told herself. Now, while she least expects it. But Kattica remained frozen, shaking slightly in indecision. She was not ready for this. Not now. Uncertainty washed over her. No, I cannot. She would be giving even more of herself away if she did follow this course. And in truth, she wanted the best of all worlds. Somehow there had to be a way to enjoy the sweeping power of dark magic without inflicting pain on others. It was a half-way answer and not quite right, but something to hold onto to give herself strength. She would comply with the elder and her wishes, but she would resist causing harm. That was her choice. That was what she would give. And if it became worse she would consider her alternatives later. Grimly she realized that all the dark acts had come from within herself and she knew she had to stop from acting with menace again. She did not like that side of herself. She saw that now. That was the message in Mattias' gaze.

Kattica looked up and smiled at the old woman. It was a falsity really, but convincingly done. Bregus smiled back, relaxing and apparently believing in the girl's compliance. So much had already happened. They could not go backwards. They could only move forward and she decided to refrain from feeling further guilt. She would act with her conscience as they progressed on, taking what she could of the power and leaving the evil behind. Still, remedies had to be made. She yearned to speak with Mattias. Could she reconcile in his mind the actions she had taken? Could she make him see that what she did was for all their good?

She released the knife and let her fingers move freely to round on her womb. There was comfort in reaching to her child. The loosened amulet of the blond Elf tangled into her hand as she closed it over where the baby lie while her other hand touched her grandmother's amulet at her throat. It was still heavy, but not so oppressive now. Perhaps she had not fully found her answers, but some of her reasoning made her feel better about herself. It was a step towards accepting who she was. She said a silent prayer to her grandmother to help give her strength to fight the dark allure. Soon there would be the baby and that would take over where the fear and longing had been. She felt sure of that. Soon this torment to her heart would be gone.

A cry reached her ears and she looked up to see Bregus tugging at the talisman that held the Elf in place. The elder had wrapped it about her wrist like a bracelet and now she was prying at it as if it caused pain. Kattica saw a waft of smoke rise up from the elder's flailing hand and she could smell the slight odor of singed wood. By instinct as a healer Kattica reached out to the woman with both hands, releasing both the amulets she had been touching. She patted the woman's hands and arms to squelch the heat and looked to see if any harm had been done. A red mark circled the elder's wrist where the fine roping had touched her. The skin was mildly burned.

Yanking the talisman from her hand, Bregus looked away. Fury danced in her eyes. Her gaze went directly to the Elf, and innate fear rose up in Kattica for the wrath the elder seemed to bare. She shuddered as she watched the old woman storm away in his direction and she wondered if her new conscience was about to be tested.

Something hard and heavy slammed into the side of his head, and he found his body following the swing as he fell downward, his hands pulling against the ropes binding him. All sound became faint. A sharp pain behind his left ear filled his awareness. Flickering lights danced before his eyes as the world turned an ugly shade of red.

Legolas felt a hand grasp fingers roughly into his hair yanking him upward, and though his mind had a wobbly hold on the scene before him, he recognized Bregus' ugly snarl. She weaved in and out of focus, brandishing her walking stick like a club and mouthing insulting words he could not make out. She pushed an object into his face, and vaguely he recognized the pendant to the talisman she had shown him. At first he could not make out the words she said, but his eyes went back to the medallion and he realized there was something wrong with it. It looked charred around the edges. She pushed it against his cheek and it felt hot against his skin.

Had he done this in his fight for recovery of his legs or had someone else done it on his behalf? He did not know. In almost drunken fashion he smiled, laughing that his battle against her will had wielded such an unexpected outcome. He whispered, "I told you I would fight you! I will not stop trying!"

Legolas' head was yanked further back. The old woman's eyes were alive with hate. "Cause and retribution are for those who live in a domesticated world. We do not live like that. All the world is a gift and we need only claim it. I claim you! You will not get away from me so easily!"

"We are not objects to claim!" Legolas spat back with vehemence, his head clearing as his anger grew.

"In my mind, you are gift to my purpose!" Bregus said, releasing her fingers from the Elf's hair. "Both of you!" She held up the talisman again. "You think you may destroy it? You are wrong! It still holds its power and you shall not escape me! You shall not run! I shall hold you and I will kill you and then I will take your heart! You will pay for this! Your friend will pay for this! I will make you see how wrong you are to defy me!"

Legolas shivered a chill of fear. He had seen her anger before, but not like this. He saw in that instance the true depth of her madness. She had power over him, and it was an uncomfortable position. But worse yet, she had power over his friends, and she was not afraid to lord it over him. That frightened him more. She stormed away but there was no relief in her departure for he heard her steps move to where he knew Faramir to be. New horror came alive with that knowledge. What would she do to him? Her anger was tangible and Legolas worried for his friend. "Anborn!" he cried. He reached his senses out to pierce the distance, trying to breech the sounds of her presence.

He heard it. He heard her words, the licking sound of her lascivious voice. There was seduction in her words. And violent anger. "No!" the Man spat out kicking at her with his free legs. Legolas smiled, cheering Faramir on in his mind. Faramir would fight her.

Kattica stepped forward drawing near, rounding to see to the other side of the wagon where Bregus was. Her eyes widened at what she saw.

The picture in his mind grew as he watched the story unfold in her eyes. He could hear it. That alone might have been enough to tell Legolas all of what Bregus was doing to Faramir. But Kattica's face confirmed the true horror of the old woman's actions.

He heard Faramir say, "Keep away from me! Do not touch me!" with the sounds of more flaying, but then he heard a soft moan from the Man, followed by more of Bregus' whispered defilement. Faramir's breathing hitched, heightening further by the vile stimulus she offered. Legolas could hear him fight, though the effort seemed to lessen by the second. Another moan was elicited with the word, "No!" but Legolas could tell the Man was losing the struggle. It was in his mind and in her touch. And all the while Kattica's face told of the physical deeds Bregus was inflicting.

Legolas had to do something. He had to help. He called out, "Stop this! Leave him be!"

Bregus' voice rose out to him and the bite of it cut their distance. "Silence, Elf!"

But Legolas would be damned before he would be shut out. "Anborn! Do not listen to her! Hear my voice! Hear me!"

He did not need to see them to know they were coming. Kattica's face turned from side to side, watching the horror unfold in front of her and to her side where Legolas was pinned down. Already riddled with torment, her face grew ever graver as she saw the men approach the Elf. Bregus must have called them in her mind to silence him. Legolas knew his time was shortening and he needed to act. "She is trying to bend you with her words!" he screamed. "Do not listen! Do not let her touch penetrate you! Cast her out! Cast her aside! Think of the others and how we might aid them! Think of those you love. Think of anything but what she may say to you now! Fight her! Fight "

And then fists barreled at Legolas from all sides and he was forced away from the plight of Faramir. Yet he could not stop without further attempts, hoping that even hearing the Elf in distress might pull the man away from the witch's spell. "Stop her! Do not give in to her!"

A clouting blow to the head sent Legolas' mind reeling and the world became awkward and tilted. He could feel his eye swelling after the rain of another few blows and another punch made his lip explode with crimson. His ear stabbed out pain where a closed fist made contact just behind the lobe, and a ringing noise interrupted the song of the trees. The wind in his lungs shot out of him as an unexpected kick to his abdomen made him convulse forward. He would have doubled over to shield himself and protect his vulnerable body, but his restraints kept him exposed and his legs could not curl up to answer his mind's call. More blows fell upon him until a soft whimper of pain escaped him. But only Legolas seemed to hear it for it was lost on those hurting him. There would be no mercy. A punch to his jaw flipped his head in the other direction. The faces of his attackers were a blur, but Legolas knew Gordash and Curtik to be among them. Was Mattias there as well? He tried to look up to them, but facing them seemed only to provoke their anger more. Or was it Bregus' anger? It no longer mattered. A small stone held in a closed fist of one of the younger men drove into his temple, and the blow from that strike made the world strangely silent for a moment. His rapid heartbeat was the only thing he could hear. And then the fight seemed gone in the men and Legolas was left alone with his head limply hanging to his chest.

Short, ragged breaths escaped him and panted air filled his lungs shallowly. He was in pain, and he felt his mind slipping back toward unconsciousness. This was all the mercy he would find and he allowed his body to release itself from its present torment. The world was fading away as the ringing in his ears moved in and droned on louder and louder.

But through the pitch of the persistent tone he heard a noise that all but broke his heart. The sound of soft crying reached his sundered body and he recognized its maker. It was Faramir. Deep, heartfelt sobs came from the Man on the other side of the wagon. Legolas recognized them to be the cry of self-loathing and disgust. Again he heard Bregus' taunting words as the Elf plummeted into a world of relief from his own pain. As he descended though, the knowledge came to him that what he had endured at the hands of Bregus' kin was slight in comparison to what Faramir had experienced to the witch herself. He felt terrible pity as his mind ventured away.

But before he could completely lose himself in the void, he felt fingers once again claw at his hair and his head being raised to a face the evil he could no longer see. Bregus' breath spat upon his cheeks as she loomed into his ear, "See that this teaches you not to test my power, Elf. I am not a simple waif learning my craft. Do not try to flee me again." Then she flung his head away and it fell again to his chest. Everything for Legolas went black. Dread filled him as thoughts to the worse came to him

Gimli looked up to the leaf-dappled vista filling the opening above him. His head ached and his thoughts were somewhat hazy. He tried to remember what had occurred to bring him here. They had been hunting, he and Aragorn. He could remember that much. They had spotted the buck, or at least Aragorn had, he thought. And then something had happened and somehow Gimli had ended up in this dank space many yards below the earth's surface. All of that seemed right to him, but there was something wrong. One question took precedence in his mind: where was Aragorn?

Subtle dread filled him as thoughts of worst case scenarios sprang to focus in his mind. He flipped his head about looking to his left and to his right in fear that the Man may have fallen into this cavity too. "Aragorn?" he called out, but no one answered him. Gimli's eyes searched his visible space. There was no sign of the Man in the light, but that did not mean he might not be there. The earth that had been the ceiling of this hollow now littered the floor in a deep pile of rubble. It was quite possible No, he did not want to think such a thing! Yet it flourished in his mind. Aragorn might be buried in the depths of that pile!

Nay, he thought. Cease these dread thoughts! You are jumping to conclusions that bare no weight. And yet without evidence to prove otherwise Gimli could not help but feel apprehension.

Falling back down onto all fours, he frantically began digging, searching through the heavy soil to find a body-sized object. Clods of dirt were tossed aside as the Dwarf sifted through the pile. He made the highest peak his initial point of entry, reaching and pulling at the dirt to mole his way downward. Fortunately, the pile was not nearly so deep as it could have been, only reaching the Dwarf's waist at its highest point. The implosion from the cave-in had sent the debris outward to fill the cavity space in a tapering spill. He found nothing at the center point of the heap and began to spiral his way outward, ignoring the stabbing pain in his foot as he used his body to tool the rocky soil. He pushed against the opening he had made, getting his hands underneath and hoisting huge handfuls as he progressed, digging like a dog at times and swimming out his arms at others. He stretched his reach out to the sides from time to time in case his friend was just beyond the path he made. In his struggles, he uncovered his halberd and he put it to use, utilizing the shaft end as a plow. The toil was tiresome and within minutes Gimli was breathing heavily, gathering air into his stout body with gulping sounds. But he pressed on, letting panic and fear drive him in his quest.

And though he proceeded valiantly, his thoughts came to clear even more as he went on. He tried to remember. Was Aragorn even near him when Gimli had fallen? Think, Gimli, think, he scolded himself. Such a reactionary example you make. The dirt he dug began to rapidly diminish. As he neared the outer perimeters of the circle of light, the soil grew less than a foot deep, and the Dwarf had no need to core down so deep. His brain ticked away as he labored. Memory was an elusive thing to him but it was beginning to draw a more solid surface. He could not recall it clearly, but his memory stirred a picture of Aragorn parting from the Dwarf's side. He continued his probe though this digging was beginning to grow pointless. If Aragorn were here in the outer circle, he would most likely be visible above ground. At least a part of him would be.

Gimli tried to pierce the blackness with his eyes. Dwarves have exceptional sight into dark places, but even still, they need light of some sort to do so. The light Gimli did have was of no benefit to him so long as he remained in the circle of it. It was like attempting to see while in the midst of a beacon. Blinded in this way, Gimli's worries grew and he knew they would not abate until he found his friend or had determined for sure he was not there. He needed to see beyond the breech if he were to know for certain.

But then the Dwarf began to reason with himself. Mayhap he did not fall? Mayhap he went to get help? Gimli brushed a hand through his hair to wipe the sweat from his brow. It was a likely possibility if they had been separated by the Dwarf's fall. A smile came to his face at the refreshing soothe of that thought before he noticed the sticky wetness on his hand. Looking down, he saw his fingers were covered with blood. Blood! Tenderly he prodded his brow, only realizing now that the substance nearly streaked the entire side of his face. He winced slightly at the pain it brought as he remembered the persistent throbbing that dwelt there upon his waking and continued even now. Looking down to where he had been laying, he saw the sodden soil tainted red by the liquid that had soaked into it. That might have done it. Aragorn may have seen that blood and panicked. He went to seek help. If that is the case, he will be back soon and I need have no further fears nor have labored so hard to find him.

Of course that made sense, for Gimli could now recall the fringes of an agreement about strategies for attack. That soothed the Dwarf's worries even more and he chose that as his rationalization for the lack of his friend's presence. "All I need do is wait," he told himself, chuckling at the foolishness he had exhibited.

Still he could not be fully appeased until he had searched his surroundings in their entirety to ascertain that the King was not there in the dark spaces. He determined he would rise and work forward into the void until his eyes could adjust and he could see with the sight that was innately his. But first he had need to review his physical capabilities to do such a thing.

The Dwarf had yet to rise fully. It was one thing having crawled his way through the dirt while guarding his ankle against pain. It was another to rise entirely. He did not relish the idea of facing his pain. He decided to delay that for a moment or two more. Instead Gimli carefully ran fingers over his temple and face. His hands found the drying clot of blood at his forehead and more blood matted in his coarse hair. The wound was less severe than he might have suspected, and by far it was less severe than the blood might have indicated. Such is par for scalp wounds. They bleed terribly and scare the life out of all who witness them, only to reveal themselves as mere scratches, he thought,though Gimli was willing to concede his mere scratch could do with a few suture stitches or at least a bandage to help it heal. He tore a strip away from the hem of his bloused tunic and used it to dab at the diminishing blood. He remembered then his waterskin tucked into his belt, and wet down the rag as well as taking a long draw to clear his mouth and replenish himself. He did his best to clean up the wound until the bleeding was stanched though the rag became heavily stained with smears of dirt and blood. Then he tore a new strip away and tied it around his head to bind the wound. Beyond this injury, there were only some bruises of which to contend. That left his ankle. Hissing in curse, he was only too keenly reminded of this injury by the persistence of pain to it.

Wedging the halberd into the dirt, he used it to balance his weight as he came to carefully stand on the healthy foot. With a tentative pause, he muttered an oath and then lowered his foot to the ground. As expected, pain flared at the point of pressure where his ankle met the finer bones of the foot. Gritting his teeth, he stepped down, allowing his weight to settle on the limb and to test the extent of his injury. Gimli winced, eyes watering as he choked back his sound, but now up and standing he forced himself into forward motion, determined to use his leg no matter how painful it might be. Shooting darts of suffering surfaced the top of his foot and he gasped as he nearly fell over in the attempt, using the rod to help balance himself. He took another precarious step. Then again he inched ahead, his leg involuntarily hesitating in taking anything larger. And though his progress was slow, Gimli refused to be daunted. To his credit, his perseverance paid off and the Dwarf came to realize that with each step it became slightly easier. The pain was there, but somehow it was lessened the more he moved on it. Still, there was injury, and though he was hard pressed to determine how extensive it was, he was not about to take off his boot for closer scrutiny. He could likely guess the circumstance. At worst, a bone or bones in his foot had been broken. At best, a major strain to ligament and muscle had occurred. Neither was a life-threatening event, merely debilitating. He could get about, even if he was leaning heavily upon his staff to do it but it was evidence of Dwarven stubbornness and stamina that he would not allow an injury that he deemed minor from stopping him. To Gimli's mind he had fared well, especially considering how far he had fallen. Once he and his friends found a way to get him out of this place, he might even feel gladdened enough to rejoice in that fact. After all, it could have been far worse.

Yet the need to assure himself that his friend was not by some small chance hidden in the darker places of the cave remained and made Gimli attempt greater use of his leg. "I might as well see what there is to see here," he grunted.

He decided to step out of the circle of light, if for no other reason than to see better. Not that the light from above was glaringly bright, in fact it was rather dim for the filtering of the leaves above, but in contrast to the pitch blackness of the cave surrounding him, it was still quite penetrating, especially since the hour was nearing mid-morning and the sun was rising higher in the sky. Out of the circle, his eyes could adjust to the ambient light thrown off by that halo ray. He used cautious steps to move forward. His ankle ached terribly and he did not wish to jar it unnecessarily. Furthermore, he could not see what lay ahead and that was a scary proposition. Without knowledge of what lay in the dark, he could step unsuspectingly into a potential abyss just out of the reach of light. He used a free hands to reach out, in case any projectiles might be awaiting him while he used the halberd end to touch the ground ahead to judge the firmness there. Six feet, that was as far as he dare go before he stopped and allowed his eyes to adjust. And slowly it came. Slight contrast was illuminated from deep shadow to even deeper shadow, and while it was not much, it was plenty for Gimli to understand and know his surroundings.

He walked the perimeter of the circle, his feet sinking with each step as his staff helped him maintain his balance in the loosened dirt. The soil tapered off where he stepped, and in his progress, he came to see the depth of fresh dirt in these dark places was mere inches, not feet. Rocks and sticks projected out with greater frequency and with that Gimli could see there was nothing here resembling the body of his friend. That was a good thing, and while he was apprehensive to do otherwise, he decided he needed to relax and trust his hypothesis on Aragorn's whereabouts. Which left him with only one thing more to do. Wait.

Dwarves are not usually a patient people. As is their make up by body type, the race is compact, industrious and strong. By nature, they do not sit around well. Unlike Hobbits who can linger for the greater part of a day idly pondering only their next meal, a Dwarf is most likely to be off forging, gathering, hunting and preparing said meal or meals as well as procuring materials and resources to maintain their own livelihood for days, weeks, or even months ahead. Dwarves are keen at efficiencies, hoarding and inventorying with dexterity and foresight. Their minds are sharp, planning for all circumstances, for their lives in dark places over the years have made them perceptive to those things not readily available there. As such, Dwarves grow easily restless, and Gimli was only too aware that this waiting spell would be excruciating if he did not devise something to occupy his mind. He decided to make use of it by getting to know the place in which he was held.

Looking about the dark tunnel, he let his eyes and ears accommodate his curiosity while he stepped deeper into the dark. The chamber was much larger than he might have anticipated. So large in fact that the light did not reach the far ends of it. But there was enough there for Gimli to ascertain that he was in a rounded room of sorts at least thirty feet wide by sixty feet deep, if not more. It was difficult actually to tell scale without an object of Dwarven proportion to judge the distance and so he painfully walked it or as the case might be, hobbled it ignoring what he could of his discomfort. The ceiling above was at least twenty feet high, except for the place where the light leaked out, to which there was no ceiling at all, and the walls in that space were nearly ten feet deep. Other than that opening, the ceiling was relatively free of any projectiles. "A young cave," Gimli muttered, and from the sound of water trickling and dripping in the distance he could guess at the source of its formation. "This must have been the home of an underground river of recent time," he surmised to himself.

He picked up a rock to examine its make. "Limestone," he said to himself, recognizing the lightness of color and measuring the density of the stone intuitively. Like one who works with the soil and can tell just by touch of its quality for planting, Gimli could do likewise with stone. It was almost as if he could feel its origins at his fingertips. This rock was porous, though denser than most limestone, yet still soft enough to allow the earth's waters to seep through and lead it onto a path of greater destinies. But then as he continued his tour, at the other end of the cave he found an interesting find. "Magnetite?" he asked. Although not an unusual stone to find in caves, it was one usually mined, not deposited. The presence of such a heavy ore mineral in a space sheathed in porous bedrock made him ponder the possibility of something he and his people had long come to know. He could almost see the stone's tale as his sight roamed the walls looking for veins of other minerals. He smiled at the thought that came to his mind.

Gimli looked away, seeking out the tunnels he knew would be at either end of this hollow and perhaps in side chambers as well. Now that he was seeking them and he had his senses attuned to them, he could feel the slight breeze that one finds moving from one cave space to another. Air was circulating, which he could have guessed from the sound of dripping water, but the motion of air told him there was a vast environment about him and beyond him. The tunnel before him was a mere crawlspace, but he knew it would lead to a whole catacomb of other spaces like this one. If luck held true and the rock and terrain remained consistent, they would interlace these plains for miles. Thinking of the possibility of what he considered might be there astounded the Dwarf. He laughed slightly as he considered the irony of it. "So Legolas, this is the key to your new waterfalls. Your people have changed the ecology enough to cause a wealth of caves to be opened up. You, who would shudder at the thought of such a bleak place you sit on a nest of enormous potentials," Gimli commented. "A Dwarf could find a nice home here." It was all he could do to keep from exploring further. He dropped the stone back to the ground and went to stand again in the circle of light.

He wished Aragorn would return. He hated to think that the day was getting on without him, and felt guilty for having ruined their hunt. At least we shall have a good tale to tell, Gimli consoled. That is, if he ever were to leave this space. We will have to devise some type of hoist for I am certain I cannot climb a rope with my leg in this state, the Dwarf considered, and then again he looked up hoping to see Aragorn arrive. But since the Ranger did not appear, Gimli began prodding around in the dirt with his shaft to see what might be there of interest. If nothing else it might keep his mind occupied for a time until his friend showed himself again.

Poking further in the dirt he uncovered some tree roots and a number of sticks and branches. Deciding to make this a productive use of time, and knowing it would make his foot feel better to be up and moving about rather than sitting and allowing it to cramp and swell, he started hauling the wood aside, collecting it more for the sake of finding something to do than to have use for it. In a short time he had a sizable amount of sticks and branches collected in varying sizes as well as a pile of rocks and an odd assortment of vine-like roots. He used the halberd's shaft end as both a crutch and also to dig in the dirt. When he had gone through the entirety of the soil highlighted in the circle of light and had forked though it all he felt satisfied that he had found everything there was to find. He had kept himself busy for some time, and looking up at the sky, he judged the time to be nearing late morning. Surely Aragorn would be showing up at any minute now.

Having accomplished everything he had set out to do, Gimli decided it was enough. He was fairly tired, though he refused to believe it had anything to do with suffering injury. Yet a rest would do him good while he waited out the last few minute to pass before his escape at the hands of his companion could occur. Settling himself on the peak of the stones, Gimli came to sit. And as patiently as he could he waited there, hoping that at any moment Aragorn would arrive.

Arwen allowed one leg to swing free, using the limb as an extension of her body to reach out and find what she supposed was her buried husband. Her boot sank into the loose dirt, sinking to her knee without finding anything substantial to step into. It was an odd feeling, finding nothing firm beneath her, yet realizing the weight about her leg hindered movement. She moved her free appendage, trying to find something that might indicate the presence of a body below her. There was nothing.

Realizing she must go deeper, she pulled up, keeping her immersed hand in the sodden clay as a grapple in case her footing didn't take hold. It was a precarious situation in which she found herself. One slip and the unsafe walls would find her careening hopelessly downward into the granular dirt and entrap her forever in a tunnel that would become her wretched tomb. She repeated the process that had brought her lower into this hole. Wedging both legs into the wall before her, she took small steps to lower herself down while her fingers dug into the clay on either side of her, finding a spot weak enough to allow her to get a handhold. The tunnel was getting progressively narrower and the distance between walls was such that her knees were starting to press into her chest. It caused her to be poised in an awkward position, one that made lowering and stretching out her leg again even more dangerous as pulling them back was becoming more difficult. She was nearly sitting on the surface of the loosened dirt, and had she not known its consistency was that of quicksand she might have found comfort. She had reached the visible end of this cone.

Except it wasn't the end and she knew well this fissure most likely went on for tens of yards more. If Estel had gone deeper than her body could reach, she would be buried too if she attempted to find him there. Worse still, the attempt and her body pressing down on the uncompacted soil above might wedge him in even deeper. She prayed this next effort might reach him, for she knew beyond this move, all efforts would be futile and deadly.

Her hands dug into the walls, and again she was able to furrow in, this time finding handholds on either side as deep as her elbows. It gave her the solid grip she would need, for beyond her own body weight, if she found him she would need to pull him up as well.

She was panting her exertions, but she took one deep breath, mentally preparing herself and making sure all was ready before she gave herself permission to let loose. She dropped her leg and let it drift down, slowly sliding into the heavy muck, stirring the limb against the weight of the soil so that it might drop with gravity in a straight path downward. It descended to mid-thigh, her skirt hitching to her hips as she did so, and yet she felt nothing of his body below her. She sobbed a small cry, and then decided to take the risk she knew she must if she were going to find him. She dropped the other leg down, using only her hands now to keep her in place. The weight of her body as well as the earth pulled her downward. The tug on her arms and shoulders increased, but she paid little heed to it. Instead her thoughts were below her as the other leg drifted down to meet the first. With both legs free to move, she was now immersed in the dirt beyond her hips and her skirt was fully leveled to her waist.

She used her sense of touch to reach out to him below. Her legs scissored the mud, slowly kicking into the thickness of the wall indicating the ends she might make for lateral movement. She tried in the other direction. Sweat broke out on her face as the effort to fight the mud-like dirt grew more difficult. Again, she met only the narrowing walls of the cone below her, now only a small space less than three feet apart. Pointing her toes, she pressed further into the deep, making circles that descended inward as she sightlessly searched to find him. She felt nothing.

It had been many long minutes and though she had previously had hope she might reach him before his lungs expired, that thought no longer seemed to hold sway over her emotions. It did not seem possible that he could have survived this long. Did she dare to try to go more? Would he even be alive?

Furthered by her desperation and her inability to uncover him, she was no longer able to refrain herself. She let out a wailing cry of frustration, lamenting to the murky clay walls her despair. The overwhelming realization that she could not find him sank in. Grief felled her heart. "Oh, Estel! No, no, no!"

Could it be possible? It was such a faint cry, if it had existed at all, and she could almost believe she had imagined it. She held her breath as she listened again.

There was a groan and then "Arwen?" It was somewhat muffled, foggy and faint but it was there. She gulped feeling a happy note escape her throat. It was his voice!

"Arwen?" he cried out, stronger now and rising with panic at the unfulfilled question.

Her heart pummeled joy, as shaky breaths rasped out with her excited response, "Estel!"

"Arwen? Where are you?" She looked around. Where was she indeed? Waist deep in muck that seemed to be trying its utmost to pull her down, centered in a vertical chute long yards below the earth's surface where no sane being should be, covered head to toe in mud with muscles aching for relief. That is where she was. And she might have answered his question but she knew these words would not come out well and she was just too happy to know he was alive. She did not wish to taint the moment. She was in an inhospitable place that she deserved not to be in, and all she wanted was to be reunited with her love and freed from this miserable hole. She searched to find the source of his voice though she could not detect from where it came. Quizzically she looked about her, throwing her head back to see if he somehow spoke from above.

"Estel, where are you?" she said arcing her head towards the light. Her voice sounded strangely hollow as it echoed in the tunnel.

"I amI do not know. I am in a cave of some sort. Where are you?" There was a hint of fear in his voice that she recognized. She knew what he was thinking and she knew she needed to squelch his reaction before he felt compelled to do something. Like rescue her.

Her own fears began to revise themselves. He had groaned. Was he in pain? He had not answered her calls. Had he been unconscious? He would fear for her though she felt she had better rights to fear for him.

She followed the sound of his voice, it came from within this space, but not from directly above. It was more as if he spoke to her from an adjacent room.

Deciding there was little reason to remain submerged in slippery soil that chilled her bones, she began to pull herself out, grunting at the effort as she answered him. "I am in a hollow too, though I do not think we share the same space. Mine is rather narrow." Satisfied she had answered his question as best she could without belaboring the event with details, she moved on to another question of her own. "I heard you moan, as if in pain. Are you well, my love?"

She rolled her eyes. She knew well how Aragorn belittled his own injuries. After all these years, she knew him well enough to know how he reacted to bodily incidents of concern. He could have severed a finger but he would tell her it was merely a scratch. On the other hand, a scratch to her own body he treated as if it were a mortal wound. With a hint of exasperation, she decided her own conclusion was probably right. "I will judge that when I see it. Tell me what you can see of the space you are in."

"It is a hollow of some sort. I really cannot see much except for the light above. The hole where we broke through is visible to me. Beyond that I know little. I would judge myself to be some thirty feet down," he said.

She was following his voice as she lifted herself out with her arms. Her muscles were straining with the effort, but in a moments time she had an earth-covered leg out and had managed to prop it against the wall as she tried to release her other leg. She grunted as she pulled. She felt her boot tugging off the submerged foot, but managed to twist her ankle around to keep it on as she felt the discomfort of mud filling in around her foot. She grumbled as she pried herself out and said, "Are you on solid ground?"

"Aye. It feels like rock. Arwen, are you all right?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. She knew he was responding to her grunting noises.

"I am well," she rasped out somewhat breathlessly as she continued to free her other foot. She dared not go into details at the moment about what she had just gone through on his behalf, for she feared he would not immediately appreciate her selfless efforts. "I just seem to have gotten myself into a tight position but I can get myself out." She grunted again as she managed to dislodge her foot. The muck made a dull popping sound at her release.

She opted not to answer the question. "I believe we were split up in the fall. I have been listening to your voice. You seem to be in an adjacent space to mine. My tunnel is sloped, and I am attempting to climb up it to reach you," she said, looking up to the light. She had determined that the entrance to his space must be at a higher point near the top of this chute, though his voice seemed to echo from below, like he was in a deep cavern.

"I have yet the rope," he offered. "Let me find something to weight the end and then I might throw it up to you to pull you toward me."

That was a fine idea and Arwen sighed with relief. Her arms and legs felt incredibly fatigued. And though she was sure she could have made it further upward on her own, the freedom not to make that journey individually brought a smile to her face. "That would be welcomed," she said.

She waited a few moments while she heard him rustle about in the dark, and then she heard him call, "I have tied a rock the end. I shall try it now." Seconds later she heard the sound of something pelting a wall, and then a grunt. "Ow!" she heard him cry.

"What happened?" she asked with concern, boosting herself upward toward him again, immediately forgetting her fatigue.

He answered through clenched teeth, hissing in pain. "I missed the hole. The rock at the end of the rope landed on my foot."

"It is a heavy rock," he protested and she worked to straighten her expression so she might answer him with a more supportive voice, "Of course it is. Please be careful, my love." Still, she was laughing inside. Severing a finger was one thing. But give him a stubbed toe or a minor illness, now that was another issue entirely.

She heard him exert himself again in the throw, and while she heard his footsteps move backwards so that he might avoid being hit again, she saw the rock that he tossed rise up from above, silhouetted by the light, and land with a soft thud in the dirt of the tunnel. It rolled downward several feet, but landed shortly on the ledge where she had originally landed. Its fall littered loose dirt upon her face, spraying her to muddy her appearance more. Quietly she cursed as she spit out the debris and then she looked back. The rock was just out of her reach.

"Be careful," she heard him say fearfully. She gritted her teeth at the fray his nervous cries were having on her temper. It was not the first time he had offered cautious warning to her when she would have appreciated encouragement more. She had already made it through the more difficult part of this tunnel where the walls were far slicker, and her attempt to reach him though he hadn't really been there had been far more dangerous. This portion would be the easier section of her climb. But then again, she reasoned, he did not know what she had just gone through for his sake. She would tell him, later, when the danger was passed and he could handle it without total abandonment of safety to himself.

In a few minutes of slow ascent, wedging her body against the wall to hoist herself up, she slid herself onto the ledge and breathed a happy sigh. "I am there," she exclaimed.

"Good," she heard him breathe. "Now tie the rope about yourself and I will pull you up."

She followed his instructions and soon found herself being hauled upward. She could hear his grunts as he exerted himself, and she aided him where she could by pushing with her feet up the damp slope. When she pulled nearer to where the rope dropped down, she could see how they had become separated. The tunnel walls were not smooth or straight. Rather, they were jagged and bent, with ruts popping out in places, and rock and stone ledges jutting among the roots. It would have been easy for them to have fallen in different directions seeing how much the tunnel turned about. It was at one of these bends that the tunnel split. She had not seen it for the obscuring of the rough ground and shadow had hidden it from her sight. She pulled both feet up onto a heavy shelf that looked as if it could hold her weight with ease.

"Hold there, Estel! Hold!" There was danger ahead. Now that she was nearer, she could see the gap that opened up into the secondary tunnel. As the rope pulled along the edge, she could see dirt unravel along the lip, and she worried about the integrity of the soil around that hole. The cavern he was in seemed much vaster than the space she held, and she was unsure there was anything beneath that opening that might bear the weight of a leveraged pull.

"As a plan goes, we are attempting to get you to a place that is out of harm's way." She knew he said this calmly, but to her well-versed ears, she could almost hear the irritation in his voice. And she could feel her own ire come up in answer to. Or maybe her anger had been there all along. Now that it flared up, it seemed rather familiar.

"Then as plans go, you have succeeded, for I would say I am safe for the moment." She had tried to say this in the kindest voice she could muster, but still it came out tinged with biting terseness.

"That is good," she heard him answer, and she felt the rope slacken as he dropped to the ground in exhaustion. "I do not know how much more I could have hauled.

Under her breath she growled, but feigned humor to lighten the mood. "Forgive me my great girth, Aragorn," she retorted with a sarcastic snort.

"You know I meant no slight. I am merely commenting that I was working against gravity," he said in an exasperated voice.

"Aye, I do know it," she answered in a patient voice, deciding to let the matter drop. "So now that I am safe, do you have a proposal?"

"I am open to suggestions," she heard him offer, and in her head she could see the customary shrug that would accompany such an answer.

She looked above at the light and the slope of the tunnel, then turned her eyes on the crumbling lip of the hole, then back up again. She measured the distance to the top in her mind, taking in the circumference of the opening and how much effort she might need to take in the climb. And then she made her assessment. She could do it. The last bit would not be easy, as the opening was too wide for her to use her prior tactic of bracing the walls, and the slope was rather steep. But she also noted the dirt did not appear so soft and wet and there were more exposed roots to grab onto to gain hand and footholds. It was also rather dangerous, for without the support of the walls to brake her, she could end up falling back into the pit from which she had just removed herself. Or worse, she could fall into the hole Aragorn was in and then they would both be stuck in that place. Or even worse than that, she might break her neck in the spill, as she realized now that would not be such a difficult thing to do given the rutted condition of this narrow pit. They were both lucky they had not suffered serious injuries in their fall.

"I think I see a way," she said. "I will climb to the top and out of the hole. Once on safe ground I will find a way to anchor myself or tie off, and then you may follow, climbing up the rope and out of the hole to join me."

"I have another idea," he said quickly, and she tried to keep herself from feeling discounted before hearing his thoughts. "If you can find a way to anchor yourself now from the point at which you are, or even go further to a lower elevation, then we can use gravity and your weight on that end of the rope so I may climb up to meet you there."

Again a comment about her weight? But she knew he was not really slighting her, instead using it as tool in their endeavor. She put her touchiness aside.

She looked at the hole and gauged her response. If successful, it was not a bad plan, for they could proceed on together to clear the opening and be of aid to one another in the last bit of climb. Further, it would not be such a hard pull to make at this point. Bearing his weight here be better than it would be higher up. But her fear remained for that ragged opening. She gave her answer, "I can see where such a plan would have merit, but I am hesitant to implement it. The opening into your hall does not look solid. I am afraid it may decay with the weight added by your climb over this ledge. And then the passageway to the top would be cut off to us completely."

Another yet a third slight? She growled. "Barely. And I do not weigh as much as you do," she answered, emphasizing the words so he could know she was growing weary of this.

"But if we apply your idea, how will you pull me up should you reach higher ground?"

"When I reach higher ground," she corrected, "I would find something to root myself to for your pull. Or perhaps I could reach the trees to tie the rope off."

"There is nothing to hold onto up there. We fell in the meadow. There were no trees for another fifty feet or so uphill where Gimli is at. This rope will not reach that far," he argued.

"Then if there is no tree or rock to tie off to, I will have to find strength within myself," she answered coolly and with self-confidence in her ability.

She winced and muttered, "And of course I would have my weight to aid me." Then she pushed her hurt feelings aside. "I am stronger than you may think," she voiced sternly.

"Estel, I do not think this is well-conceived! If the opening collapses inward, then the way clear will be lost. In that instance, even if this tunnel remained intact, we would be unable to cross without an adequate bridge," she argued, trying to make him see just how precarious their situation could be.

Irritated that he would not see the situation for the danger it posed toward their rescue, she asked, "Why will you not consider my idea?"

"Yet if you fall in the climb you may injure yourself needlessly. By being up there with you, I can make the climb out and pull you up without fearing for danger to come to you," he reasoned.

She growled. He was trying to rescue her. "Aragorn," she shot back, "I am fully capable of getting myself out of this predicament as it currently stands, whereas you seem to be the one clearly stuck. Allow me to free myself so that I may free you. The danger to me is not nearly so much as it might be to both of us if your attempt is not successful!"

"Arwen, I will not argue this," he sighed. "There is danger above ground. I told you that before we even left and I will not send you out to face it alone. Prepare yourself as I have instructed," he ordered. And then as an afterthought, he said, "Please."

"Yes, your majesty," she scowled beneath her breath as she repositioned herself, wedging her arms and shoulders as she had before while her feet stretched out to easily touch the opposite wall. She did not want to give in but she knew when his need to play hero kicked in, there was little she could do to deter it. When she had herself as ready as she might be, she called out. "I am prepared," she called. Mentally she scoffed at him. His insistence on aiding me is what brought me here. I would have been fine had he not tried to help me stand, thus pulling me down into this hole with him. He thinks I am too weak to fend for myself above ground, but here it is nothing that I play the role of anchor in his climb.

"Then I shall begin," he said and with those words she felt all of his weight pulling on her body. Firmly she had pried herself in, and with muscles tensed, she was a formidable force. Arwen was strong, though sweat poured from her body as the effort continued. She was Elf after all, bred of the Eldar race. Her physical traits had not left her when she made her decision to wed. She lived still in an Elven body. Granted, it was a female Elven body, but it was yet stronger than the typical Human female might be. She could meet the challenge.

Unfortunately, the hole's rim on which the rope tugged was not up for the contest. Just as she had predicted, the lip began to disintegrate. Immediately she heard the sound of dirt and rock caving in on his space, and she felt slack given as he jumped back landing softly on the ground. He had stopped climbing. But even with his weight off the rim, the damage did not end. Like a domino effect, the tunnel before her began to wash away into a growing gulf. With widened eyes she watched as the opening grew wider and wider, and with sudden horror she realized it was not going to stop there. Like the opening of a fault line, the earth collapsed inward on itself and in few seconds Arwen saw their escape to the opening above gone. But it was not over yet. Instead the decay followed, moving onward and downward into the well swallowing up the ceiling above the cavern in which Estel stood, taking away her floor. She gasped. It was coming at her, sucking in all the denizens of this cage into an even greater trap. In mere seconds, Arwen once again felt the earth give way and there was no doubt that she was falling again into the darkness. She screamed as the shadows consumed her. Something cool touched his battered skin and he winced as it washed over him, pain emanating from every inch of him even though

Bregus the witch; also called Mother, the shuv'ni (another word for witch) and puri dai (tribe elder)

Something cool touched Legolas' battered skin and he winced as it washed over him, pain emanating from every inch of his head and torso even though his flesh was barely skimmed in the careful ministrations. A ringing sound in his ears persisted abating only slightly from what it had been. Legolas tried to focus. He realized he must have been unconscious for someone was now before him and he did not remember his or her approach. Whether he had been adrift only minutes or hours, he did not know. He only knew a cold cloth was pushed to his face and a fiery explosion of pain came to meet it. He cried out.

"Hush," came a soft voice. It was a woman. Quiet and kind. He had not the strength at the moment to look up, and even if he had he doubted he could see her. Her stooped body before him was a blurry haze. But her voice was soothing and he gave in to it. "Hush. This will hurt, but I must cleanse these wounds."

His brow furrowed in confusion over whose voice he might be hearing. "Kattica?" he wondered aloud.

He tried to look up but he was unable to do so. Instead his brow screwed up as he tried to pull his head away from the slight brush of her touches. "Don't" he whispered.

"I must," she replied. "You are covered in blood, and I know not how bad this really is. I cannot leave it be."

He hissed in pain as she touched him again, but it was anger that made him grit out between clenched teeth, "Do not touch me!"

She leaned away and he heard her sigh a shuddering breath. Then she leaned back in, whispering lightly near his ear, "I am sorry, Legolas. Truly, I am sorry."

Gentle fingers scrubbed his tender skin, and Legolas bit down on his lip as his head rolled back. Again the world became a roiling whirl and he helplessly lost himself to it. His eyes shut of their own volition as he found himself falling adrift again.

She was fighting back her tears as she finished cleansing and binding the Elf's wounds. Inborn emotion ate away at her as she aided him, though she tried to remain impassive. It was pointless. The tears flowed on their own.

Upon completion, she grabbed the medicine bowl and cloths and hastily took them back into Bregus' wagon, trying to ignore the expression of suffering that rolled out of her. Her face was heavily streaked but she pretended the tears did not exist. A part of her was mournful, but it was not the choice of her mind to be this way. Stubbornly she reminded herself that she had made her decision to move past this. She could not change it. To her stoic mind, that should override everything writhing within her soul. After what she had done, and recognizing the terrible horror of it, she had pledged she would do no more harm onto others. And now she was even trying to help. Her thinking was sound and she could justify her decision fully. Her conclusions should be praised. She was sure she was right.

She rationalized her actions. The facts were clear: what Kattica had done was inexcusable. With a lump in her throat, she reviewed it. She felt dirty. The power of manipulating others through means of magic was tantalizing and great and at the same time perverse. It was exciting and rejuvenating and sinful. It was wrong. She knew that. She had known that. And yet somehow she had managed to be swayed by it anyway. The ugliness in black sorcery was capable of bringing out the basest elements in her soul and that had truly startled her. That was what made her want to turn away. She could not risk finding that part of herself again, for she was unsure she really could stop it from winning over her mind and soul if she allowed it access. Better to know this was something wrong and leave it at that. Try not to even think on it, for dwelling there was not helping her situation. She shrugged the memory of what she had done away. Gone.

Still she longed for it. Her hands shook in her denial of what her soul craved. It was maddening. How to quell this desire without giving in to the craven part of her spirit was something her mind fought to resolve. She closed her eyes, resigning herself to her deprivation. The look on Mattias' face should be enough. This decision must stand, no matter how great her wants otherwise.

And as for Bregus? Kattica sighed despondently. What Bregus had done was beyond the girl's reach, beyond anyone's reach, really. And yes, it too was wrong. The girl could not help how the old woman's mind worked and she would not try now to influence the morality issues in the elder. Especially when her own were so much in doubt. The time for that was long gone, if indeed it had ever been there. Kattica had been witness to it for years. Never had Bregus shown any reservations in getting what she desired. Besides, tradition told Kattica it was inappropriate for a youth to reprimand or counter an elder. No. This decision to stay uninvolved was what was right for Kattica. She would do as she was beckoned to do. Nothing more, nothing less, and she would try to find satisfaction in that. Yet, hadn't she just been aiding the Elf. "Ai! I cannot think! There are too many conflicts and I know not which way to turn!" she exclaimed to herself.

She allowed herself to breathe a moment, clearing her mind before setting a course for her actions. And then she returned to her prior stance. If she were to survive, this is what she must do, for surely anything else meant the demise of her family. There really was no other choice. It was all clearly spelled out. It was all so plain to see. Leave the strangers be. Do as Bregus required.

The girl felt the wetness on her cheeks and the burning in her eyes. She was alone, and she was glad for that. The old woman was not about, instead off searching in the wilds for special herbs she had muttered about after completing her torment on the man. She had taken her mortar and pestle with her, along with a canteen of water and a few other liquids in her apothecary kit, so there was no telling how long the old woman might be gone. Kattica recalled the crazed look in the woman's eyes at her departure, but knew it was futile to give it greater thought. There was great weariness there, and Bregus could do with some sleep, but there was more than that. With retrospect Kattica could see telltale signs of madness, but at the time, the girl had been too caught up in her own sense of shock upon witnessing all she had seen to even consider offering aid to the elder. And even if she had been able to give it, it was unlikely the girl would have done anything to question or stop the elder.

Strangely, it wasn't until after Bregus had been gone that the full force of that assault had sunk in for the girl. And that's when the tears had begun to flow. That's when Kattica had found the flaw in her decision and Bregus' mental capacity in question.

That would have to wait. Now that Kattica was alone, hidden in the confines of the wagon, she could afford to let loose her own agony and free herself of her mental anguish. Except she did not feel it. Oddly enough she felt nothing, empty, which in itself was rather peculiar given that her body was reacting as if she were enormously burdened.

Crossing the small interior space, she put back the tools where they belonged. A small movement in the corner of the wagon caught her attention. The owl looked up at her, lifting its head from its curved wing and staring blankly into her face. She wondered what it thought of all this and then corrected herself. She had heard Bregus talk to the bird before as if in conversation, but Kattica had never really believed true discourse occurred between them. She had little reason to believe animals comprehended anything beyond rudimentary commands. That was, until she had seen Legolas calm the dogs with a few Elven words. How had he done that? Obviously, the dogs had not been raised among Elves so they could not know his commands. Had they merely been responding to his tone and commanding presence, or did they truly understand him? Kattica shook her head at the thought.

She heard a low moan, and it frightened her for a brief moment. It was the Elf outside the wagon. The sound of his voice reached through the floorboards of the vardo. She had not expected to hear him. His cry was soft, barely audible, but loud enough to catch the girl's attention carrying well within the space. She realized Bregus had selected to tie him there so she might keep close tabs on her hostage. "Darodaro" he said weakly, words slowly muttered, as if in dream. The laziness of his enunciation indicated as much. That was a blessing. Were he awake, his pain would be much. She considered giving him the tea she had brewed earlier. It would ease his pain and drive him to sleep. But he was already sleeping and she had earlier opted to hold off in order to see how he might recover when he next awoke. She held to that.

She grimaced as she thought of the beating. The harm had been grievous, gruesome to behold, though not fatal. He was strong and she doubted he would linger long in rehabilitating his wounds. Yet he was pained now. She had watched as he had taken the full brunt of the assault. The worst wound was a blow to his head, the one delivered with a fisted rock. She shuddered as she thought of it. The hollow sound of it echoed in her memory. It had been an ugly wound. It was an ugly memory. She had tried to be kind to him afterward, somehow hoping that would make up for the harm they had done though she doubted that would be enough.

The memories would not go away. The look of hatred that had filled the eyes of the attackers could never really leave her thoughts. These were her people that had done this. This was her family. She thought she had known them so well and yet they had shown an unquenchable desire to hurt. Is this what she had looked like too? Was this what the wave of dark magic that had possessed her revealed itself to be to the outside world? If so, it was hideous to behold, and it gave Kattica incentive further to turn away from that route. No wonder the Elf had not wanted her to touch him. Would she want any different in his place? She could not blame him his feelings.

Still her memory lingered over it. And the most heinous part about was that the hideous brutal blow done with the stone had come from Yulli. Yulli! Sweet Yulli. He was just a boy! He was not old enough to know hate! Not like that. The corruption was sickening.

Then there had been the man. Anborn, she reminded herself, giving him a name. She had considered going to him after she had helped Legolas, but she reconsidered after looking upon him. His injury was to the psyche only and Kattica knew for that there was little she could offer to sooth him. Besides, he was nearly unconscious on his own, driven by a mind unable to grasp the depravity of what had been done to him. His body was left limp, exhausted and disoriented from his struggle against the puri dai's attack. No doubt, that attack had been savage. In fact, it had been awful! Brutal, wicked and cruel, tainted with malicious primacy of immoral emotion! Kattica could not even imagine inflicting such a thing upon another living being. She could not! Not like that! Never! But the thought of the delicious feelings of dark magic interrupted her denial. While she wanted to refuse her involvement in anything like what Bregus had done, she knew that to be an untruth. In her heart, Kattica knew she was fully capable of committing a like crime.

Suddenly, Kattica's legs felt very heavy and her mouth felt very dry. She pulled out the chair and found herself plopping into it without much pre-thought on the action. Something was wrong. Her chest felt horribly constricted. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and she felt something akin to panic rising up in her throat. And then it came out. A cry. Rich and deep and heartfelt, it was a cry of suffering and horror. It was a cry of sadness and grief and terrible, terrible shame. It was a cry of repentance. And now, like a tremendous rush of feeling she felt it. She felt it all!

Great gushing sobs wracked her chest. She bent forward, curling over herself as the tears flowed out of her eyes. Her girth restricted her, and she felt the baby stir around inside her as she crouched inward. "Please forgive me," she wailed softly. "Please forgive me"

After a long while, her tears tapered off. She remained still for some time, lost in thought. And when she arose, she realized she was emancipated . The guilt, shame and anger that had been riding her were gone, all left behind in the quiet solitude of the wagon. Her frayed nerves felt soothed though she knew now what to do. She understood herself now that her tears had brought her recovery. She could look out on the camp and recognize the actions of the others were not truly theirs. Those had been Bregus' motivations. Kattica could not she would not judge the others on that. Nor would she judge herself. Not on the past, but on the future. That was hers to claim.

She had discovered something about herself that she did not like knowing but had to accept. She was capable of harm. She was capable of it and she could enjoy it. That was a very scary thing to acknowledge. And knowing that made it even more critical for Kattica to maintain what she had earlier thought, that she would do no harm again. Beyond that, Kattica was pained to admit she could do little. Bregus was an entity all her own and difficult to predict. She still had no full understanding of what the old woman intended to do or why, only vague clues. Yet she knew time was closing in, and if she were to do something beyond playing an aloof part in this game, it would have to come soon.

She began to step from the wagon, but heard something approaching. She stiffened as she recognized the sound of Bregus' steps but then realized she had no reason to be fearful for being caught there. Kattica was returning the tools. That had been real. And yet would the old woman realize now that Kattica was free of her influence and that she was ready to fight again? That the girl was not sure of, for she was not sure if the old woman could see into her mind.

Kattica chastised herself. If Bregus were that omnipotent she would know of Kattica's presence already. Nonsense thoughts these were and Kattica realized she attributed Bregus with too much. She reached the curtain to depart but then stopped as she heard the elder move towards Legolas. New fright made Kattica freeze in her place when she heard what the old woman was saying.

Bregus prodded the Elf with her kosh, balancing a bowl in the crook of her arm as she did so. Her body was tired, aching from muscles long underused and now pressed with greater need. She scowled, her temper shortened by weariness. She was determined to see the Elf alert. "Wake up!" she ordered. He did not stir. She prodded harder but he remained still. Yet in her mind she saw the corners of his mouth turn up in smile. His head was bowed, lolling forward on his chest but she was certain he was awake. He was mocking her. "I know you can hear me! Look on me!" Still, the Elf remained prone, listless, and in a fit of rage she lifted the kosh prepared to swing it down upon the unmoving body. A hand behind her grabbed her wrist, effectively stopping the staff before it could begin its downward descent.

Enraged she flung around, eyes fierce and ready to send whoever was depriving her of this pleasure into a misery from which they might never recover. But the answering face made her withdraw immediately, dropping the kosh as if frightened by it.

He smiled at her, glancing down at the thickness of wood now lying on the ground then looked back into her eyes. He laughed, "You nearly killed him in your rage, Bregus. You are not thinking clearly it seems. You may have destroyed our plans single-handedly with just one blow."

Bregus looked back to where the Elf lay, his form unmoved from before. "He he was taunting me," she stammered.

"I thought I saw himthere look at him now. He arises!" she exclaimed, and there again in her mind she saw the Elf gaze up, a gleam of malice filling his eyes. And simultaneously he remained unchanged, head lowered.

"You made the potion, didn't you? Think you the possibility that you may be affected by it?" Bäla said with a chiding voice looking at the contents within the mortar.

"I was going to show him what I did. I was going to show him how I planned to get his friend to tell me what he knows," she said, lifting the pestle. A globule of a creamy grey substance drifted down the grinding tool. She bent forward, certain the Elf was attempting to fool her while she ignored the substance slipping between her fingers. She knelt to where the Elf lie prone. She knew his eyes were following her. "He will pay for distracting his friend from my attentions before." Disappointingly, the Elf was paying her little attention. He remained still. But she would not be ignored!

She arose quickly, ignoring the pain of stiffening muscles. She moved away, deciding to act immediately. She rounded the vardo, seeing the man, Anborn, now stirring uncomfortably against the tree. She leered at him, remembering with greedy thoughts how she had made him cry out. Yet he had not been entirely forthcoming with her. The information she wanted for the sake of her own comfort was still missing. "I was not able to get what I wanted entirely from you. The Elf distracted you. Now he will see the new torment I have devised." She approached him, bowl in hand, the grinding tool dripping the liniment, a smile gleaming off ragged teeth. The man's eyes grew wide with fear and anticipation.

"Bregus!" Bäla screamed, and the fright of his words made her fling the pasty substance on the pestle aside, dropping the bowl and splattering the contents to the ground. Anborn swept his legs away agilely despite his kept position. Most of the substance fell to the ground. Immediately the globules in the dirt disappeared without a trace.

Bäla rounded on her, and she looked at him with fright. He pointed to the pestle in her hand. "How many times must you be reminded not to touch it with bare hands? Fool! Now you will be wrapped up in its spell."

She had been careless she realized. She was too worn from exhaustion to take more careful steps. Apathetically she thought that perhaps it did not matter. She stared at the creamy substance disappearing into the tips of her fingers and then looked up at him. Her pupils were largely dilated. "Nay," she answered. "I am too powerful for it have the effect it might have on these paeans."

He sighed with resignation. It was too late to do anything else. "I suppose he got a dose of it as well," he said, watching to see if any droplets were fading away into his clothing.

She straightened, seeming more sure of herself for all her uncertainty. She glanced at Anborn, watching his eyes for signs of the drugs effect. His expression was confused and he did his best to back away from her, but there was nothing to indicate the drug taking affect. She looked back up at Bäla scowling. "He seems free of it, yet I can remedy that. I have questions I might ask him." She reached down to brush her hand along Anborn's face while the other hand reached out the distance to take the bowl laying on the near ground. Remnants of the potion clung to the side of the mortar and she felt confident there was enough there to fully anoint him. With her touch, she pried at his mind, and he tried to pull his head away while she laughed. She enjoyed reaching inside to his thoughts.

But Bäla grimaced, grasping her hand tightly and pulling her up. The bowl remained on the ground while his fingers pinched her hand together in his strong fist. "Like this I suppose?" he asked. She watched his face perceiving small jealousy over the attentions she was doting upon the man, or so she supposed. A slight smile crept up on her face for that small triumph. But Bäla ignored it, his face reddening at her interpretation. He flung her hand down and turned away in fury. "So caught up in the petty details are you, Bregus! I told you to let this go! Do you not realize time moves on and instead you play games choosing uneven weapons that cannot be wielded with precision. You are having too much fun in the preparation, you forget the task! So typical of you! And now it has caught you instead! You and your potionsI should have known! Your mind will be affected by this! You shan't think clearly. Look at you! Your mind already is befuddled from lack of sleep. Now you add this to the mix? What of the Protected Place? We need to take the Protected Place! Now!"

Bregus listened to his anger and swallowed, taking it in. Normally she would have shrunk away from him, but with the drug's influence and her own temper riled, she found the strength to unleash venomous retaliation. Her fury let loose, lashing out in response to his tirade. "And what is it you think I am trying to do?! The Protected Place is useless to us if we cannot know how much is needed to gain it!"

Bäla looked at her with an expression of genuine disappointment. "You need only have entered it to gain admission," he said with a raspy breath, pointing down at Anborn. "You have them as hostages. You could have used that as your vantage to gain access. You still can."

"No, you do not see! There are elements we do not know! We could be defeated easily if we are not certain!" she replied in haste.

Bäla sneered, "You make a poor leader, Bregus. This is the hour when risks were meant to be taken and you cower, looking for answers in the heads of these tormented souls. They will not tell you what you want to know." He bent down to look at Anborn, staring into the face of the man. The resemblance between them was remarkable. Bäla had an almost sympathetic look on his face as he said, "They have already fought you valiantly, and now you use ritual medicines to find your answers? I should have never put my faith in you. You will fail us."

Dejected misery crept into her heart, but before she could respond and attempt to make him see that what she did was right, an even voice spoke behind her from the other side of the wagon. "You shall never take it," the voice calmly called out, and she rounded the corner to see the Elf smiling at her as she had imagined he had before. His eyes had an eerie shine to them and she felt a shiver slide down her spine in response to his gaze.

But she regained herself almost instantly. "I shall take it once I know what I need to know. Tell me, and it will all be that much easier," she coaxed, sidling over to him.

"Fool, Bregus! You talk to an unconscious being. Look at him! He is not awake!" Bäla scorned, and for a split second Bregus saw the Elf still laying unaware. But then she blinked again, and the Elf was beaming at her in a taunting manner.

"Nay, it is your ploy to try have me act rashly in your favor, Bäla! And I am too frightened of what might happen should I act rash in this. I have worked too hard to gain this much," she cried, turning away from him and focusing on the Elf.

"But what if we do not reach the Protected Place in time?" Bäla lamented with an angry voice from behind her.

"THE SPELL WILL NOT WORK WITHOUT IT!" he shrieked, and she flinched at the ferocity of his words.

Not wishing to back down from her decision, she glowered at the Elf. "How many are there in your party? What weapons do they hold? Tell me! Tell me now!"

The strange creature smiled up at her, completely unmoved by her emotion. "Too many to count," he answered serenely. His face shone in great joy as he said his part and he seemed to relish every word and the effect it had on her. "Our cave is a fortress and we have multiple entrances and exits into and out of the place. We span the hills and valleys here, and our lair is an underground world you could never imagine. The Elves are immense and powerful with weapons of magical potency. When they realize our disappearance, they shall come, seeking us out. And when they find us they will smite you down in a wave of great force the likes of which you could never match. You shall be destroyed and forgotten, left to rile in the charring depth of damnation for all eternity."

"No! Demon! You speak only to frighten me! Your words are false!" she screamed, reviled.

"The falsity is in your mind. I am only a hallucination constructed by you," the Elf retorted, his expression never changing.

Her face went rigid in fright before she relinquished herself to her spite. "You shall see! You shall see! I will take your heart and you shall see what mocking me brings you! You of them all are my key! I will live forever once I have it, and I will be forever young! You will see then not to mock me! And Bäla will take Anborn's body and he shall be with me as well! Tell him! Tell him, Bäla!"

The Elf laughed merrily, as if a great joke had been told. "He can tell me nothing for he is not here. Your memory perpetuates his existence, but it is skewed. This is not what Bäla was."

Flinging around to face Bäla she raced into his arms, crying, "Tell him he is wrong! Tell him how powerful and fearsome you are! Tell him of your bravery and strength! Tell him how willfully you will rule upon your return!"

But the male shuv'ni only smiled, then gave a slight shrug. Behind her, the Elf's voice echoed on, "How can he tell you anything when he too is only a figment of your mind?"

Appalled she whipped her head around, staring down at the Elf. "Nay! He is real!"

Cocking his head slightly, he said, "Have you not noticed? Bäla only appears to you in your dreams. Yet he appears now in full light of day while you still walk and function."

She looked back to Bäla, mouth agape. He was walking around to stand next to the Elf. He smiled in a pleasant way and said in a neutral voice, "It appears obvious to me, Bregus, that you have gone mad."

Rage fired out of the elder in pent frustration and confusion. "How dare you say this to me! After all I have done for you! After all I have yet to do for us both!" Swooping down to pick up the fallen kosh, she raised it again, ready to strike though she was uncertain which one she wanted to hurt most. Both carried the same smug expression of knowing more than she did. All her earlier years of frustration waiting for her rightful position of power to come exploded into a despairing wave of hatred at being made to feel so helpless and inept by these two males. She gritted her teeth and lunged forward, taking aim first at the Elf.

A voice broke the spell as a cool hand came to rest upon her upraised arm, gently pulling down the hand holding the stick. "Calm now, my dear. All is well." Bregus blinked. They were gone. They had been there smiling at her, mocking her, and instantly they were gone. Instead, the Elf laid before her, hands still tied to the wagon wheel, body unmoved from where it had been before, slumped forward in an unconscious state. And Bäla? Where was he?

"Drink this, Bregus. All will be right again if you drink this." A tin cup of a ruddy brown liquid wavered in front of her eyes before it found its way to her lips. She took the cup, considering it, but hesitated to drink. She looked up to see Kattica watching her carefully.

"No! You mean to fool me too!" She threw the cup aside. Then a hand at her shoulder gently spun her around and she looked up to see Mattias' face.

"I would not fool you, Mother. Will you trust me?" he said, his face so like his fathers, but kinder, gentler.

Almost instantly her mood changed. Tenderly she smiled at him, a maternal expression settling on her face. He said to her, "Come this way, Mother. I will take you someplace where you might rest."

She smiled lightly at the suggestion. She was tired. Sleep would be welcomed though she could not allow it. Panic fired up in her as memory of what needed to take place returned to her and she took a step away. "No! No sleep! There is still much to do. I need to know their numbers! I need to know their weapons! How might I fight them if I do not know. We have to act now. Today! Sundown tonight. And tomorrow is almost too late! The moon will not be right if we wait much longer!" she ranted.

Kattica stepped forward, hushing gently like one approaching a feverish child. "There now. There is time. The day only draws near the noon hour. A few hours rest, that is all you need. Just a few hours will replenish you and you will be able to move more soundly. The sun does not set until late in the day. When you awake, together we will work to tackle these tasks," the girl said, looking first at the elder, then toward the man who was guiding her.

Feeling incredible fatigue, Bregus did not know if she could resist the suggestion. Her eyelids began to droop, but she swung her head up, shaking it off. She looked past the girl to the unconscious Elf and beyond that to the man they called Anborn. He was awake and watching her, trepidation in his eyes along with confusion. She knew now was the time to act with him, to anoint him with the creamy potion if she could, but her exhaustion was too great to wield any power over him. Maybe after a few hours sleep she could do it. And if not, she could show Kattica. The creamy concoction she had mixed would have lasting power. It would still be potent to use later.

Bregus turned, looking about the camp, then raised her arm with quick drama. Instantly the dogs came out of their resting places beneath the wagons, scurrying to settle before her, laying at her feet. Silently she commanded them, and just as quickly as they had come, they disbursed.

Then she turned to Mattias and said, "Lead me away, my son. I am tired and will take rest now." She leaned into his shoulder, letting him bare the bulk of her weight.

She saw him look back at Kattica as he said, "I will take you to our tent where you can sleep in peace. There is too much activity here for anyone to rest comfortably." And though she would have preferred her own vardo, she did not have the energy to fight him and so instead allowed him to lead her away.

Eowyn knew it was too early to start worrying. The day was still young and there was no reason to panic over Faramir and Legolas. She was simply feeling edgy. Gimli had been hurt, and Arwen and Aragorn had gone to help hours ago. Surely Faramir and Legolas would return sometime soon to offer their aid. But trepidation plagued her. She tried to stop the feelings from coming. With silent assurances she reminded herself that they could have traveled miles in their pursuit of the hunt, and that if they had snagged a stag, they would likely have a heavy burden to haul. That would easily slow them. Most likely that was what had happened. At any time they would return, and if not, within the next hour or two.

Besides, they had only left at dawn. There were many hours in a day to hunt and they had carried a ration of food and full waterskins each with them. Surely that meant they expected to be gone long hours. Anxiety was unnecessary with logic such as this. So Eowyn knew it was too early to start worrying.

If only they would return her fears could be put aside. Her heart thudded in her chest as she climbed the stairs to the upper ledge reminding her again and again of what Aragorn had said. Premonitions of evil in the wood echoed in her mind and her hiding place below was doing nothing to distance her from that myth. If she looked out on a green world, perhaps her fears might abate. Besides, she could watch for their return from this perch. It would give her something to do while she did wait. The confinement of being locked away under solid rock was beginning to get to her. The freshness of the breeze would do her good.

But what of Aragorn and Arwen? Surely they would have returned if all went well? There must be serious harm to Gimli if they could not leave his side. But Eowyn's logic pushed that scrutiny aside. If there had been serious harm, Arwen would have come back seeking further supplies or even help from the soldiers. Perhaps the climb into the hole was a difficult one and had slowed their aid to the Dwarf. Or it might be that they had to seek other means to get the Dwarf out. Once again, Eowyn chided herself for jumping too far ahead. She could think of dozens of possibilities for why she was standing alone on this ledge awaiting some indication to what happened to her loved ones. But since nothing was forthcoming at the moment, Eowyn knew she would have to wait. For she knew it was too early to start worrying.

Behind her, as Bregus walked away, a perplexed expression danced across Kattica's face. The girl warily eyed the dogs circling the entire camp. For a moment she had thought there might be a chance for freedom. But then the elder had called the dogs to post guard, and any chance of flight was forfeited.

Kattica frowned. Bregus' behavior was startling, beyond anything the girl had ever witnessed of the old woman. And while she had listened and then eventually watched, Kattica had grown fearful. While the conversation was one sided, it revealed enough of Bregus' plan for Kattica to finally put all of it together and know now with growing certainty what was going to happen. What was mystery to Kattica was why the shuv'ni had grown so erratic so quickly. Unless

She walked to where Anborn sat and the bowl had fallen at his side, then lifted and sniffed the remnants of the contents within. Quickly assessing and recognizing the medicine, she held it an arm's length away from her body, afraid of getting too near it. She would have to dispose of it somehow before the elder awoke and tried to use it again. This was a dangerous medicine.

She looked at Anborn as she crouched nearby. She had not seen the elder touch him with the concoction though she knew she had intentions to use it on him. He was awake and in full possession of himself though Kattica worried that the shuv'ni had somehow dosed him with the strong ritual drug.

He watched her as she scrutinized the bowl's contents and then turned to look at him. He snarled at her gaze, spitting out vexing words in counter to her concern, "Have you not had joy enough tormenting my friend? Have you come to seek pleasure with me as well? Will you finish off where Bregus started? Nothing you can do to me will match the vile recklessness she wrought before." He turned his eyes away, effectively dismissing her presence. It was strange the power his words had over her and she saw about him an aura she had not noticed before. She felt small in his presence, as if she were not worthy of him. But she pressed forward.

"I have not come to do harm, only to help. How do you feel? May I be of aid to you?" she timidly asked attempting to look into his eyes. They seemed clear from this position, and she assumed he was well physically, even if his mind was still reeling from the elder's earlier treatment.

But before she could close the short distance between them a dog rushed forward, blocking her way to his side and growling a low snarl at her in warning. The man smirked. "You are of untrustworthy character to everyone it seems." Then looking her squarely in the eye, he grew serious as he said, "If you wish to be of aid, free us. We have been your friends and have done nothing to your people to deserve this treatment."

"It is not punishment for which you are held, but for Bregus' own gains I fear. Anborn, I would help you if I could, and doubt not that I will try, but as you see, even I am not allowed near you," Kattica answered, swallowing as the dog growled again when she did not back away.

He shook his head as if uncertain whether he should believe her. Looking at her, his gazed softened a minute amount as he sadly said, "You offer little of aid to me."

"I am sorry," she said regretfully, feeling small and helpless as she turned away. Some satisfaction came to the dog and it moved away just as she did.

"But there is one thing you can offer," he called out a moment later as she parted from his sight.

"Help my friend," he said, and Kattica saw the fear revealed in his eyes. She understood. He too had heard Bregus' words and had put it together. He knew the dire future the elder had in store for the Elf if Legolas did not find a way to escape her.

Kattica's hand floated down to her belly as she realized her future was also tied to the Elf, and if they did not work together, they could possibly both die. She could see that Mattias and Anborn were extras in this puzzle. They would come only after Bregus had attained her goal. Youth and immortality were what she sought. And though the elder claimed she desired Bäla's return as well, Kattica was also certain the old woman feared him and would help him only after she had helped herself. Kattica understood now. Mattias and Anborn were not in as great of danger as she and Legolas were. And even Kattica could be replaced. The old woman had said there was a substitute, another woman with child. Or perhaps that was yet another deception. With the dawning of these thoughts, Kattica realized the old woman had revealed everything in her fit of madness when she had screamed at the Elf. He was the key. He was the thing of which she only had one known source. And knowing that, Kattica realized how terribly she had been duped. There was no threat at all if there was no Elf to take. And yet Kattica had helped to guide him to the camp. Kattica had been blind to it. A pang of new guilt lurched up into Kattica's heart as she realized she could have prevented everything that had come to pass these few days. If only she had known

She bowed away from Anborn, nodding agreement. She knew what she must do. She must reach Legolas and help him. She must break the spell the elder held over his legs and aid him somehow in taking flight. He had to get away. He had to flee! And if she were to do it, she must do it now, while Bregus slept! It was critical to her own safety as well as that of Mattias, Anborn and an unborn child.

But she stopped short. As she rounded the corner of the wagon, she found a male figure kneeling before the Elf. The cool eyes of the observer took the prone creature in, pondering his form. Careful not to seem surprised, she watched as the man tested the bonds that held Legolas secured. She supposed he was assuring himself that the captivity forced upon the Elf was maintained and she was disappointed that she would be diverted from her efforts while he was present. But that feeling was nothing compared to what she met next, for nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when he turned his gaze upon her.The Hunting TripChapter 21: Answers Within Darkness "Aiiiiiug!""Oompf!"With a dull thud and a gasped release of sound, Arwen's fall ended. Surprised that it had ended as quickly as it started, the expression on her face belied her startled halt and how she had anticipated a far greater end. And at the bottom of her fall, there was Aragorn to greet her and laugh at the comic expression on her face. Only he could not laugh. In fact, Aragorn could not breathe. Aside from the rain of dirt from half the ceiling above caving in on him, a rather large force had dropped ungracefully into his lap. Or onto his chest, as the case may be. Flattened by the unceremonious landing of the Lady Arwen, he lay prone on the stone floor, straddled by her form. The delivery of her fair person upon him had knocked to his back and in doing so had crushed all the living breath from his body.She immediately rolled off him, more startled by the shortness of her drop than injured. She was greeted by the look of panic-filled orbs, taken aback by a sudden lack of oxygen. He tried to speak. But instead what rattled out of his body was a wheezing sound reminiscent of the bellows heard in the smithy shops. Except not that enchanting.He too rolled away, desperate only to draw air back into his body. His lungs sucked in an insufficient gasp as his face grew red in the struggle and his eyes bubbled up with tears. He told himself to try to exhale, despite the fact that it felt wrong to do so. He needed to remind his body how to work. His lungs ached in the effort.One more time a raspy sound expelled itself from his body as he drew in little breath, though it was better this time, less appalling a sound. He could feel his lungs inflating minutely. And as he started to find air coursing his chest again Arwen asked from behind, no doubt guided by the sound of his faithless breaths, "Is all aright?" Her voice was laced with deep concern, or so he supposed.He nodded, choking out, "Fine," in a voice that croaked two octaves higher than normal, the sound beginning and ending at the back of his throat. "Justairknockedout," he said, breaking into a withering cough to punctuate his sentence.Her hand reached his shoulder and he was moved by her perceived concern, a drastic change from the irritation that had plagued her voice earlier. "Are you sure you are well?" she said in a voice he mistook for kind.Nodding his head, he turned to face her taking in another breath. This time the air entered and exited his body almost normally and he said in a voice more reminiscent of his own, "Aye, I am well."Had he been more attentive, Aragorn may have noticed the marked change in Arwen's demeanor. Had he been more willing to concede Arwen's role in attempting heroic measure to benefit them both, she might have backed away from the need to assert herself so brutally. Had he been less inclined to act as her defender and more as her equal, he may have never turned back to offer her aid before their initial fall when his help was not really needed. But those were all moot points in retrospect to the cold, dark, muddy world they found themselves within. Not much had really changed in this dank hole in the ground. Not much, but everything. Their route of escape was now gone, disintegrated in mere seconds, leaving little means to climb up and out of this cavity. The ceiling above opened more, revealing the upper portion of the chute Arwen had been climbing within. Unsteady ground it had been, and little doubt was there that it would eventually have caved in as it had. Aragorn felt it was lucky Arwen had made it to the point that she had, for there was little that would eliminate the thought from his head that she could have been buried more fully in that chute had the walls from above caved in rather than the floor collapsing. And yet while he looked at her freedom from the chute as a relief, he could not foresee that she might have a different perspective. While he was happy to see her alive, muddy but well, he was also aware that their situation had grown ever worse. But unfortunately for male intuition, Aragorn perceived 'worse' to mean they had need to develop a new strategy for escape. He certainly had no clue 'worse' meant he was about to have his good intentions ripped into shreds.In a calm but steely voice she said, "I am so very pleased that you are well," though he noticed her frozen expression as she said it and a cold glimmer in her eyes that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. Something told him it was a redundant statement, one without real feelings of happiness that she claimed to possess. But so caught up was he in his own introspection, he acted as one mildly impaired. It took him several moments to process her countenance and to realize what it meant. He had seen it before, but only on a few rare occasions, and it was usually garnered toward somebody else, like her brothers. But the weight of it was not lost on him. His stomach churned, a queasy, shaking feeling coming to him as he came to see, came to realize, she was angry with him. Really, really angry. And for that he was confused. Surely, he thought, she is not still irritated at the slight I made toward she and Eowyn? But that thought did not live long in his minds as she gave a weak grin that made his spine dissolve. It was then that he saw the transformation coming about, subtle though it was. She fixed a look on him that removed all the goodwill in his body just seconds after its conception. A dread fear rose up in him, wondering what might have provoked her and just what she might be capable of unleashing. He had done nothing, or so he thought, that might warrant truly deep ill feelings. After all, had he not just been trying to rescue them from this dark cavern? Had he not been attempting to return to his friend in hopes of reviving a fallen comrade? Had he not expressed concern for her safety and well being, putting himself in harm's way before her? He had to all of these. And with humility and chagrin he was willing to admit had failed dismally. And her willingness to assuage herself by blaming his failure was cruel in his estimation. Did she not know he would blame himself greatly for these failings? Surely she would. Then why, therefore, would she deem to make the wound worse by inflicting more blame on him? He felt himself stiffen as these thoughts rocked his mind. It was split-second thinking really, but it only took a split-second to realize you were about to be attacked and to set up your defenses accordingly. And the dark set of her eyes told him he was indeed about to be attacked.Aragorn had been witness to many a dark vision on middle-earth. He had looked into the Palantir and beheld the eye of Sauron and fought off the evil that tried to pervade his mind there. He had faced ghosts of numberless proportion on the Paths of the Dead, turning them ultimately to answer his call and act on his behalf in taking on the Southron menace. He had marched to the gates of Mordor itself and faced the minions of Sauron by the thousands along with the Dark Lord's lieutenants, matching them unflinchingly in combat and battle. And yet none of it could really prepare him for the fear he felt as Arwen unveiled a creature of which he had rarely had to face the likes. He was not pleased to see her face screw up ever so slightly marking a contortion to her features that made her seem demonic enough to match the menace of any Orc in the old Ephel Dúath lairs. And he was aware that in this state her voice could become a shrill grate to rival that of the contingent of Nazgul, piercing eardrums with her cry. He gulped in anticipation of her attack to come in full force, but it did not come. That surprised him, for he thought he could anticipate it. Still, her weapons were unsheathed. She narrowed her eyes, launching her first means of assault. She pierced him with a boring stare, driving holes through his spine. He felt his knees quake slightly in the attack though he held his breath, awaiting the words that would give the blow its full effect. "And what, please tell me, was the benefit of that last action?" she asked, her words seething in a chill as they encircled his field of vision.Still caught off guard by the means of her anger, he chose to stall rather than engage. "I know not what you mean," he said in a nonchalant manner in an attempt to garner the true reasoning behind her ire.Her nostrils flared as the corners of her lips turned up and he knew he really would not sweep her aside so lightly. "Did you really think to get us out of this prison so easily? Did you even heed my warning?" she asked, her tone ringing with a resounding echo as her volume grew slightly louder.Thinking he saw where she was headed, he responded honestly, not realizing the trap that he laid for himself in doing so. "I thought to free us by attempting to free myself," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, like one addressing a petulant child. He really did not have time for this. There was Gimli to think of, and if she saw he was unwilling to do battle with her, she might back off.He could almost hear the steel door open releasing her full malice. Her face froze into one of deep disdain, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw the rancor in her eyes. "You disregarded what I had to offer so that you could play the part of hero?!"At first he gulped reflexively, until the words fully registered. And as they did, Aragorn felt his own anger rising in his chest. The sarcasm in her words bit into him. Heat filled his nostrils as venom came to his tongue. Without knowing what was spewing out of him, he lashed back. "I was thinking only of Gimli and how we might quickly get to him! I was not concerned with appeasing your ego nor that you were so frail that it needed boosting!""Nay, it was not my ego you were concerned with, only yours!" she snarled back, no longer attempting to hold back her words."My ego is fine as it is!""Aye! Far more so than the average Man! And so long as you are given ample opportunity to play the lead. Dare you not to be upstaged! No wonder you and Faramir vie for the same prize. Valar forbid, the mood you will take if he should win this contest. And I know well who will be to blame for it if you shall lose!" she spat. He really did not think about what he was saying, for if he had he might have realized where his next statement would take him. "You were the one who insisted on taking this venture with me, Arwen! Do not blame me that we are trapped in this hole!" he yelled back.An uneasy calm fell over her, though her stance was hardly that. When she spoke, it was in a soft voice with each word enunciated clearly in an icy tone. "Oh, I blame you for so much already! Why not give you credit where it is due!""I told you not to come!" he shouted, his brain still making blind stabs at her attack and trying to protect his own wounded pride."And miss out on all this joy? Never!" she answered with biting sarcasm."If you had not insisted on slowing me, I might be at Gimli's side right now!" he parried with exaggeration knowing he was the one that had stopped but hoping she might not remember that."If you had not felt compelled to catch me every time I took a misstep, we might never have been in this situation!" she retorted cocking a superior tone. She did remember. Then pointing accusingly she said, "AND EVEN STILL, if you had even given it a moment's consideration, you might have seen the wisdom of my insight!" she accused."I was doing what I thought best!" he countered though he knew he was losing ground. He was still confused by this and tried not to take her words to heart though that was not an easy thing to release. What had brought on such hate?"But I had the vantage point! I could see what was happening! Why do you think I called a cease to your leveraged pull? I could tell the walls were beginning to crumble! And if you had been watching you might have too! Surely the dirt beginning to tumble down from above was telltale to you!" With sudden humiliation he realized he had seen the dirt and had chosen to disregard it. He could feel his anger retreating, shame taking its place. "I did not think it a great enough hindrance. I thought I might get past it." And then seeing his out, he played his only powerful motive. "Truly, I was thinking only of getting to Gimli." There, he thought triumphantly. Let her overcome that! But while his own emotions were quickly waning to embarrassment at being so blind, he could see she was growing angrier by the second. The look in her eyes confirmed this. He actually found himself backing away as she shrieked out her wrath and he knew the monster that could be the dark side of Arwen was fully free to roam. "AND YOU THINK I HAD NO REGARD CONCERNING OUR FRIEND! PERHAPS YOU THINK I WAS TRYING TO MAKE OUR SITUATION MORE DIFFICULT! PERHAPS YOU THOUGHT I WOULD OFFER SUGGESTIONS IN HOPES THAT MIGHT HASTEN OUR AID! OH, YES, I HAD MOTIVE TO SLOW US SO SAYS YOU! MY EGO NEEDED BOOSTING! THINK YOU I AM SO DULL-WITTED, ARAGORN? HOW COULD YOU IGNORE ME LIKE THAT?!"Rarely was Aragorn so caught unawares as he was at that moment. Yet her question to him came as a complete surprise, and more so the means in which it was delivered. At the moment all he could think to say was her sarcastic remarks were not endearing to him, but he knew that would not soothe the beast within her. Which left him with nothing to say. His shock was so great that for the moment all he could do was stand there and gulp out, "Uh"Obviously that was not a sufficient reply for her torturous pitch echoed forth. "DO YOU REALIZE HOW CLOSE WE WERE TO ESCAPING THIS HOLE? DO YOU EVEN PERCEIVE HOW NEAR I WAS TO REACHING THE TOP? IT WAS JUST THERE BEFORE ME, NOT MORE THAN TEN FEET AWAY! I COULD HAVE CLIMBED IT! I COULD HAVE MADE IT ABOVE GROUND! BUT NO! YOUR ARROGANT IDEA TAKES PRECEDENT ABOVE MINE!"He was confused, uncertain of what to say. In self-defense he considered that he was merely trying to see their way out. How could he know it was going to turn out this way? And if it had turned out to the better, he doubted she might be carrying on so. He thought of pointing this out, but decided against it realizing it would gain him nothing."WELL? ARE YOU NOT GOING TO SAY ANYTHING IN YOUR DEFENSE?" Truth be told, he could think of much to say, but every thought quickly fled his head within seconds of arriving out of the certainty that no matter what he said, it would be wrong. "Er" he managed to mumble."NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" she shrieked confirming his suspicion. "I SUPPOSE YOU WERE EVEN TRYING TO CATCH ME WHEN THE CEILING CAVED IN, WERE YOU NOT?"As a matter of fact, he had been. How did she realize?"SERVES YOU RIGHT THEN! I HOPE MY MIGHTY BULK BROKE A RIB TOO!""Arwen" he managed to choke out before the next wave lashed out at him, but even more astounding was the sudden change that rose up to meet him as she instead stepped away. He could have never expected it as it was a reaction that he had never faced in a foe before. Turning her back, Arwen drew into a personal embrace bringing her arms about herself tightly. And then she began tocry? Everything within their space froze into the crystalline sound of her quiet weeping. Aragorn stood perplexed. He was completely thrown, uncertain which direction he should turn or what words he could say. On the one hand, he was afraid to say anything so frightened was he that that hideous beast would spring forth again from this demure creature. But on the other hand, the sound of Arwen's crying was pitiful, penetrating, agonizing, driving his heart near a precipice of regret. None but another man can truly appreciate the effect a woman's tears has on the spousal order. It is a maddening sound, enough to drive rage into the members of that fraternity, and at the same moment send them reeling under burdens of shame and guilt heavy enough to bring them to their knees. It was a sound of torture for any married man, and if Sauron had truly known what he was doing, he might have found it the most effective of weapons if he could have harnessed the power of said cries. But that history was past, and for now only one female's cry was having the desired effect of rendering a male mute. The response was exactly as desired. While as of yet Aragorn was uncertain exactly what he had done to set about such a reaction, whatever it was, he would do anything to avoid it again if only it would make Arwen stop crying!Of course Aragorn had heard her cry before. It is nearly impossible to be married for twelve years and to not have experienced a tear or two or even a hundred. Or for that matter, to take on battle with one another as husband and wife. But it had never been like this. Aragorn was certain he would have remembered seeing Arwen this angry. This rage was new, though with fear Aragorn acknowledged it probably was not so new if it were to spew up so violently in the normally placid she-Elf that was his wife. There was something bothering Arwen and he suspected, with a dull pain at his heart, that he might be the source of it. His guilt took over as his own monster departed rapidly. Dully, he wondered if he were falling into a planned trap or if Arwen's reaction were truly real. But he recognized this only as an after-effect of his own darkness, and he knew that the overriding emotion was that he felt terrible to have made her cry. Without thinking further on what was the right thing or wrong thing he might say or do, he reached for her, carefully pulling her body in close to his. She was so incredibly frail in his arms, light like a bird, and he almost feared crushing her in his thick arms. He held her tenderly, gently, hushing sweet sounds into her ear as she melted into his body. At least this felt right.Breaking off her sobs she whispered, "Hold me, Estel."Again hushing with soothing sounds, he lightly kissed her brow and uttered, "I am. I am, my love."But it wasn't right. At least not in her estimation. She said it again, "No, please. Truly hold me, Estel." Aragorn grew confused. He did not know what she meant for indeed he already held her in his arms. Perhaps she was befuddled. Perhaps she had been injured after all. That would explain much in his estimation. His eyes swept down as his hand raised her chin. Carefully he looked at her under the dim light. Her tear-streaked face was sooty and scraped, but there were no visible wounds. Gauging her eyes he saw that they looked normal, though teary. And so he smiled and said, "I do hold you, love. Were I too take you any harder, I might break you."She frowned at him though she did not relinquish her hold. At least he was gratified to see the tears had nearly stopped. But her voice was sad, and he knew whatever it was that was disturbing Arwen had not gone away. "I am capable of so much more."He could see she wanted something from him. His heart stirred with her sadness and he wished to grant what he could to relieve it. With subtlety he tightened his grip on her. "Is this more to your pleasure?" he asked. Her eyes cooled slightly and he could see the corners of her mouth turn down. "Nay, Estel, it is not to my pleasure. It shall not be to my pleasure until you see that I am made of sturdier stuff." Then with a strength that surprised him, she pulled him into her embrace and squeezed. It was like being held by one of the burly border guards. Her soft exterior obviously belied the muscle and sinew that lie beneath her surface. And even more astoundingly, it hurt." Arwen, you are hurting me," he grunted. "You do not like being held so tightly, do you?" she taunted, her mouth askew."Nay, I would choose to be lessconstrained," he said, beginning to understand that she was trying to tell him something in this mixed message that was making his ribs ache.She released him. "And so I set you free so that you may find your comfort as you please,' she said with a slight bow of her head.He sighed, seeing now that her anger was still present. Perhaps, but mayhap she was in a quiet enough mood now to at least talk? "You are speaking riddles, Arwen. Plain words will go further." "I have spoken plain words to you, Estel, and you seem not to comprehend. I will speak as I need until you can understand me."Again, he sighed, perceiving the creature had taken on a different guise. As before he was uncertain what to say, and if they were elsewhere he might have walked away in frustration, choosing instead to return when her mood had settled and she might be more reasonable with which to speak. This side of Arwen he had seen, and though it was still a part of her he dreaded taking on, at least he knew how to handle her. But seeing that there was no escaping, he comprehended that his best method was complying. Or finding a distraction. He looked up at the skylight and then around at their surroundings. He saw the rope he had been pulling, still tied about her waist, his bow and quiver, the medicine kit he had been carrying, and the satchel with the other equipment she had transported, now haphazardly discarded on the stone floor. Quickly assessing a plan, he offered, "I think I have an idea to get us out." She looked at him, then at the skylight, then at their strewn possessions. The distraction was apparently working as she looked at him and asked, "How?""A long shot," he offered. "Or more accurately a short shot," he seconded, then ordered, "Untie the rope from your waist."She did as she was told then held the loosened end to him. He took it and tied it to the shaft of an arrow. The projectile would be unfavorably thrown off target by the heavy rope, but he did not need to hit his target with any accuracy, just force. If he could plunge the arrow into the dirt of the shaft walls above, it was just so distantly possible he might still be able to climb out.Arwen saw then too what he planned. Pessimistically she negated him. "It will not work. The arrow is too light to hold such a weight. "We shan't know until we try," he replied, not held by her words.She shrugged and stood back to watch as he readied his bow.With the sound of the bow string echoing about them, he saw the arrow lodge into the wall above. It did not go in deep, perhaps only six inches at most. It would have to do. His rope was attached to it.Grabbing with two hands and giving a slight tug to test the rope's security, surprisingly he found it stayed taut. Deciding he had little to lose, he jumped up, putting his full weight on the rope and arrow. It did not budge. And so he began to climb. But he had not proceeded far, maybe four feet at most when he felt the rope and arrow giving way. And although the change of the rope's hold slipped only a minor amount, he could feel it going, and thus prepared to drop just as the arrow fell free from the wall.He looked to Arwen, expecting to hear glib words admonishing, "I told you so." But instead she surprised him by saying, "Do it again."Glad to see she had not dismissed his idea so carelessly, he eagerly complied. He repeated the process, attempting in this pass to reach even greater heights. But once landed, opportunity to make a rescue attempt was thwarted as she came to stand before him, grabbing the rope in his steed. He was not pleased, and began to contest her right to try but she cut him off with logic. "I am lighter than you are. It might hold for me." Fighting against his own better judgement, he let her try. He was surprised to see she could climb so well. Still, it gave him grim satisfaction to see her fail, and he had to bite back his own 'I told you so' comments knowing they would not endear her to him.But she was not done, and she had him repeat the process several times before the shaft of the arrow broke under her weight. He was surprised actually she had proceeded so long. It was silly to think such a small device could bear weight enough to lift them out and he lost faith in his idea. But even then, Arwen was not satisfied, and she made him repeat the process again and again until nearly a half dozen arrows had been lost in the attempt, either broken by her weight or left lodged in the slanted wall above where the rope had slipped off. And when she told him to go on, though he had been loathe to protest before, he would not hold his tongue any further. "It is not working!""I have yet to hear another suggestion," she said, ignoring his frustration and handing him another arrow with the rope tied mid-shaft. Her mood definitely seemed better for the attempts to be free."Nay, Arwen. We shall go through all our quiver at this rate with nothing to show for the effort," he said grimly.She laughed and held out her open palms in a friendly manner. "I have something to show for it," she said, indicating her blistered hands.He grimaced at the sight, taking her reddened skin in with his eyes. The palms of her soft hands were torn and tender from the repeated climbs. But sensing his disapproval, she quickly pulled them away saying, "It is nothing."But she was mistaken if he would let this be. "No more, Arwen," he said in a firm voice that was one he used in command. It would not be broached. Her lips pursed in protest, but she did not follow up with further debate, instead lifting her eyes upward to the light. He joined her in this and they stood silently in contemplation for several minutes. Then she broke the silence."Look at me and tell me if you love me," she said.He had not expected such a statement from her. "I love you," he answered simply. It was not such a difficult thing to say. He had always loved her. But her need to hear it was telling. Despite the momentary distraction, Arwen's monster was not gone.She moved away, to the dark side of the hollow. Her voice echoed slightly in the distance of the cavern walls. "And if I stand over here where it is more difficult for you to see me, can you say the same?"He chuckled at her foolishness. "Yes, of course. I love you," he answered wondering what she might be getting to with this."And can you see the injury to my hands from there?" she asked holding up her hands in the dim light. He squinted into the darkness, barely able see anything of her. He answered honestly, "I hardly see anything of damage from here.""Do you hear me protest or complain of them?" she asked and he was growing annoyed. "Nay, Arwen, you do not complain," he answered dryly.She took a few steps backwards into the full darkness so that she was no longer visible to his eye and then said, "And if I were to be here where you cannot see me at all, is anything different? Do you still love me? Do you see my harm? Do I complain of it?"He was beginning to grasp her point and he did not like it. "I understand," he answered brusquely."Do you? I don't think you really do," she whispered emerging again in the light."Arwen " he began, but she cut him off, a finger brushed lightly against his lips."You wanted me to speak plainly and now I will. For long years I have granted you this. The opportunity to leave my sight without knowing the harms that might come to you and yet having faith that you would see it through. You loved me when we parted. I loved you. And beyond that there was nothing else. It was what made our time apart bearable in those horrific years when the world seemed to be coming apart. I could hold onto that and know that no matter what, no matter what injuries befell you, what pains came to your heart, they were part of the effort and that you were trying to return to me," she said, watching his face carefully as she spoke.He looked hard into her eyes, saddened by what he was perceiving her to say. "Do you think it was easy for me to leave? My heart ached to be with you always, to bide my time only in your companionship.""And yet you left," she said noncommittally."I had a duty," he replied curtly."And I never questioned it. I knew that our love took precedence even in that and I was willing to share you."His brows pressed in confusion. "Arwen, you said you would speak plainly and yet I fear you talk in riddles again.""I could let you go because I was certain of your love for me and mine for you. Even if something so drastic as you were to die, I knew it would have been with my name on your lips," she uttered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes."And so it would have been," he said, responding to her saddened eyes with a whisper."Once I thought the same might be true of me. I no longer believe that," she answered with downcast eyes.He froze, afraid of what he thought she was saying. He felt a knot tighten in his throat and his words nearly choked him. "You you no longer love me?" he asked.She looked up, surprise taking her expression and then she laughed a tinkling sound like bells chiming. He jumped slightly at how unexpected that response had been. "Oh, my love, is that what you think I say? Oh, nay, never! My love has not wavered, will never waver. We were meant for one another, Estel!"A small smile of relief danced on his lips before the confusion returned to his brow. "What then? What are you saying?"She gazed at him long before answering. At last she said, "It seems it is acceptable for me to release you, to let you go to fend on your own, but it is unacceptable for you to release me. You act as if were you to let me go you might lose me. Do you believe my heart is not true, Estel?"He drew back, suddenly understanding where this conversation was headed. "No, of course not. It is not you!""Tell me then," she said, her eyes penetrating the depths of him when she spoke."II do not understand it myself. It is the world. It is not a safe place, Arwen," he replied, trying to find words that might tell her his fears.She stepped backwards away from him, dissolving again into the darkness. "If I stand here where you cannot see me, do you believe I am unsafe?" "Nay, Arwen, but " he began."And if I were to face trouble, do you think I would just allow it to occur?"He smiled weakly and chuckled lightly. "Of course you would not."Arwen too laughed from inside the shadows. "That is good to know. At least you do not think me a complete fool." He laughed again, amused by her insights. Then she continued. "And if I were to face trouble, and I could not resolve it myself, do you think I would not call out for help?""Yes, yes," he said, pulling her out of the dark and embracing her. "It is not you that I doubt. It is the rest of the world for which I have fear.""And yet it is a safer world now than ever I have faced," she answered."But it is not. The Elven realms in which you lived were highly secreted and secured. You never truly faced danger while in the company of your people," he said.She frowned for a moment, then said, "Perhaps you have forgotten the fate of my mother then. Nay, Estel, there was danger to the Elves wherever we dwelt or roamed, escorted or not, within the safety of borders, or not. Middle-earth has not been a safe place for my kindred since the beginning years of the Eldar race. But now, if ever there was a time when middle-earth was safe for all living creatures, it is this moment. Like you, I chafe at being held against my will. And that is why I worked to make this respite happen. I thought perhaps this trip might make you see how tightly you were held and how tightly you in turn hold me. Yet walking amidst an entourage is far less grating on me then not being allowed to roam even with the entourage. You hold me back, Estel. You take away my opportunities to be free. I have become useless, a delicate trinket, prized for my beauty and charm, but incapable of venturing further than my tether. For fear of what?""I want you to stay near me. I do not want you to go abroad without me," he said, his head bowed in true shame."Why? You said you believed in me. And as an Elf-Queen who is highly recognized among the race of men, I dare not, even if I wanted to do so, travel alone. So what is it you desire of my presence?" she asked, her eyes drawn sympathetically to his face.He kept his head down, afraid to tell her what he really felt. Would she hate him for his desire? Deciding to face the truth no matter how difficult it might be, he raised his head and said to her in a soft voice, "I had hoped that by now you might have borne me an heir."She scoffed. "And so you keep me saddled at home so I might come to be with child because of our proximity alone? But we have talked of this! You know what it is I face. Why can you not accept it?"His face dropped. He truly felt shame. "I hear the voices of the people, Arwen. They have doubts there will ever be an heir. They feel certain it is because you are an Elf that you bare no children.""It is precisely because I am an Elf that I bare no children. Why do you listen to this?" she asked, her voice somewhat chiding."Because I too want a child. I worry that my reign will begin and end here. If there is no heir, my rule may indeed pass back into the hands of the Steward's line," he said darkly. There he had said it. And if he had gone on he might have said he was jealous of Faramir, envying them their riches in family. But he suspected she already knew this of him.Arwen sighed, staring long at him before speaking. "Estel, look at yourself and then look at me. In the twelve years we have been wed you have barely aged a day. Nor have I. You are of Numenor blood. Longevity graces you. Your reign over Gondor will last a good many years. There should be no rush to produce an heir unless you wish them to be withered and old when they should take the throne," she responded.He gave her a scowl, "Not so old as that.""Old enough still. Perhaps my lineage will prolong their years, but the Numenorean line diminishes with each generation. Even still, you are destined to live a long life, Estel. And Gondor shall benefit from that through the consistent rule of a fair King. That should be enough to satisfy the people, I would hope," she said, caressing his cheek."They want an heir and I too desire a child, Arwen," he muttered kissing her palm."As do I, my love. But it is not in my soul yet to do so," she said softly."But you have chosen mortality," he began."And so it shall be. My life is tied to yours. I live so long as you do. Should you die tomorrow, I would soon perish as well in my despair. And should you live another five hundred years I would be there at your side, fading as you fade, my soul the same as yours," she answered. "Yet if you are mortal, should you not respond in a mortal way in this longing? Should you not desire to have kin of your own?" he asked."Estel, my heart and my soul are mortal, but my body is still Elven. I cannot metamorphose like a butterfly arising from a cocoon and become something into which I was not born. I remain who I was, an Elf. And Elves do not bare children as mortals do," she calmly explained."When then will we see remedy to this?" he asked, his voice skewed with the agony of impatience."When it is time. When my body is synchronized with yours enough to feel paired wholly," she answered, watching his face. Seeing the disappointment there, she went on. "My love, do you not see? I have lived for countless centuries before I knew my fate was tied to yours. Our marriage has been twelve years long. To an Elf, that is like the passing of a whim, a mere day. We are practically strangers to one another in the eyes of my people. How can I be fruitful and bare children when our life together has only just begun?" she pleaded."But it has not just begun, Arwen! We have known one another long. Fate has a plan for us. We shall die. Soon, by Elven standards. I do not have all eternity to wait for an heir, nor do you. Our time together will end. Is there nothing that can be done to speed this up to make all well for us?" he asked."We have our history as an advantage, my love. Please know I am trying, Estel. Truly I am. But I need your help in this as well," she said as she looked longingly into his face.He gave her a wanton smile. "I thought I had been helping."She returned his gaze with a coy smile of her own. "That has never been an issue between us. What has been is this," she said stepping back into the darkened corner of the cave. Her voice carried to him though it seemed strange not to see her as she spoke. "I am still here, Estel. I still love you and I am safe even though you are not at my side to assure yourself of this." She stepped out of the dark again, slowly drawing near him, her arms opening wide to accept his embrace as she said, "And strangely enough, I am stronger in my feelings knowing you are there, trusting that I will return to be with you again and again, and yet given the freedom to aid you as I might without fear that you will worry for me."He held her in his arms then, accepting her place there and softly said, "I am so afraid, Arwen. I am so afraid of losing you after all we had to go through to be together. What would become of me if something were to happen to you?"She looked into his eyes noting the glisten of tears within them and said, "If something ever were to happen, it would be fate's doing, not yours. You cannot be responsible for all things, nor do I want you to be. I am suffocating in the cage you have placed me and I am sure you do not want that either. Let me fly free, Estel. You will see my music is sweeter when I am given liberty to roam. And you will find I am far more capable than you give me credit to be. I am not made of glass and I have not lived all these years solely to improve upon my needlecraft and feminine tasks. I have skills far greater than that. I may be of benefit to you if you would only see."And he did. He understood fully what she said, for he too knew what it was like to be imprisoned within a position. With bitterness he sighed, "Old habits die hard, Arwen. It shall not be easy to give up my notions of being your protector.""Try please!" she begged, and he nodded hearing the desperation and need she expressed in those two words. Then wryly he smiled. "If only I could make the same plea to my court. How much I long for my freedom as well," he said, wistfully.She smiled back. "But Estel, you have your freedom, you just haven't learned how to use it. You may come and go anytime you please, and there is no one to stop you."He laughed a soft chuckle. "I invite you, my dear, to participate in a meeting between me and my ministers sometime. Then and you will see. They overrule me on everything when it comes to my liberty.""Only because you let them," she answered with a smug smile."Nay," he said, feigning a frown and pulling away. "On this I am the caged bird.""But Estel, if you were to refuse their security, what could they do? Relieve you of your heritage? Behead you for disobeying an order? Ah, perhaps take away the new year? It is all the same. They are incapable of doing anything to stop you. As a Ranger, would you have traveled under banner of royal bearing and escorted by an entourage of guardsmen wherever you went? Hardly! In those days you chose to disguise yourself as a mere Ranger so that you might travel with ease without drawing attention. Would it not be wise to do so again? Do you not think our journey here might have gone any different had we traveled as common folk? Yet the generals insisted we go with escort, and seeing that you chose not to dispute too greatly their claim over your safety, arrangements were made to do exactly as they wished. But do you no think it is rather arrogant to do so? Do you think your people would blame you for wanting to be one of them again? I think not. If anything, I think they would laud you for attempting to keep your appearance among them untainted.""I do not think it is as easy as you believe it might be," he admonished, turning away. "So your skills at deception and stealth have faded. I see. You do not think you are capable of evading them," she returned."Not an entire army!""You rule the entire army! And you rule the generals that preside over the army! Assert yourself! I guarantee they will bluster and threaten, but in the end, they would not dare to take authority over your position. You are too well loved by your soldiers and too well loved by your people for them to do that. There should not be anything but respect for what you would wish, and you have yet to let them see you have that right." She put her hand to his shoulder giving it a firm squeeze. "Make it so, Aragorn," she quietly encouraged.He breathed a deep sigh, not entirely sure what to do, but realized she was probably right. Without acknowledging it, he had given them the liberty to rule him, and it chafed at his binds. He did not like to be leashed as it interfered with how he truly worked best on his feet. He needed to be free to move and for too long he had been chained in one place. It was time to find Strider again and to truly resurrect the man again, in more ways than just name. He looked at her and smiled, gently taking her blistered hand and kissing it. She was right, he realized. She had been right in many ways, though he had not bothered to listen. She looked at him and smiled, and for the first time in a long time he thought he saw her fully as she truly was. He smiled. "I suppose you would want to talk about making that journey into Poros as my ambassador then?"She smiled back, laughing. "Later, Estel. I think we should table that issue as at the moment I am more interested in finding a way out of this hole and getting to Gimli's side."Aragorn jumped in surprise. So caught up had he been in their conversation that he had nearly forgotten their mission, and now that he had been reminded his mind immediately went to work again on means to get them out and on to the prior emergency: Gimli. He hoped the Dwarf was faring well though there was nothing he could do at the moment to aid his friend. He had to believe in the wily nature of the Dwarf and that somehow he would survive that fall and manage his own recovery for the moment. And in the meantime, he knew he had need to find their way out. Another idea flashed through his mind, though he immediately dismissed it as he knew it might be a feeble effort. Fear, desperation, and enlightenment rose and fell in his soul in split-second intervals, but before he focused his attention entirely on finding their escape he decided one thing that was pressing for his attention. He turned Arwen to face him, holding her at arms length. He had to apologize. But reading him she did not give him the opportunity.Instead, she smiled into his eyes, a look of glory and love dancing across her face and he found himself lost in that as she uttered, "Hold me, Estel." And he did. He took her firmly in his arms and held her tightly to him. And then he bent over her and kissed her with a passion that was anything but gentle, for he knew now he could not break her in this way. He finally understood. She was not made of glass. She was as hard as steel. Mattias jumped back when he realized Kattica was watching him

When two that have known one another well are parted and forced onto different paths, foundations begin to shake loose. The actions that one might expect of the other go astray, usually out of self-preservation, sometimes for sacrifice, or even because there is belief that one has been spurned. Without the reinforcement and assurances built into companionship, the motivations and reasoning of these actions can become confusing and sundered.

For those within it, the world goes askew when lovers are torn. What was once right can suddenly become wrong. Words are misread. Ambitions are ill-perceived. Trust is lost. But is all truly forsaken for those who had great love? Can something so deep and abiding be totally cast away? Does the foundation of this attribute hold true even when communication is cut off?

No two loves are ever the same, so it is impossible for any who have suffered such a fate to answer alike. In the case of Mattias and Kattica, their love was strong from the start. Yet the question still held as to whether they could withstand the test they now faced.

Mattias jumped back when he realized Kattica was watching him. He had been lost in his thoughts as he stood over the Elf, bereft and alone for the first time in his memory as the weight and magnitude of what had come to his people laid before him. The limp form of the Elf was a reinforcement of the blame he must bare. He had been witness to it all, though distantly, and his posture gave away the sickness he felt at the mere sight of the unmoving creature. He had not heard her approach so was startled by her sudden appearance. To her unexpected entrance he graced tears and an expression of aching remorse that etched deep ridges into his brow.

Kattica was equally as surprised to see him, startling with wide eyes at his uncertain appearance. He was crying, and she was uncertain as to why. His behavior for the last however many days would have led her to believe he was beyond sympathetic emotion. But the confusion between these two people did not begin and end there for she had been approaching the scene very quickly, and unfortunately for her, he was very certain as to why she would come with such haste.

It had come to this. In scant days they had become near strangers to one another, torn apart by the independent actions and deceptions of an outside force. Like two halves of a mirrored object they were, separated and tossed aside. They recognized and knew one another, only they were unclear as to how to reunite, to bring their motions back into sync with each other. Bregus had brought them to this. Once they had been happy, living in the small world they had made together, wanting nothing more than to continue their blissful normality. Yet so much had happened in such a short time to destroy their happiness, and worst yet, to destroy their trust in one another.

They eyed each other nervously, neither certain what the other was about to do. Finally, with what seemed to be resignation, Mattias turned back to face the Elf he had stood over. For one casually observing the scene at a glance, it was easy to interpret his actions as ones of a captor checking the binds that held a prisoner in place. But a knife was concealed in his hand. Kattica could see that what he had truly been attempting was a means to rouse the Elf so that he might free him and that too surprised her.

At first Kattica did not understand, interpreting Mattias' actions as he had meant them to be seen. It was only the quick gleam of the blade in his hand that made her realize something else was in process. Even then, she thought his intentions might be of Bregus' doing and she wondered how she might fight him. It wasn't until he spoke that she came to understand his true intent. Sadly though, in that short conversation he never came to see her actions were meant to be the same as his.

He spoke, stunning her with his words. "This is my fault. All of this. It is my failure that has made these events possible." His eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he confessed this.

He looked sadly at her, as if he had done something to bring harm to her, shaking his head in regret before he went on. "I should have stopped this, years ago, before it became so dangerous. Before others became entangled in it."

Kattica took a step closer, stretching out her hands to him. "Mattias," she said, "What is it you are saying?"

He flinched at her short step, but then corrected himself, straightening as he did then turning his back on her in a subtle show of isolationism. He spoke over his shoulder and his voice was stern. "I hope you will not attempt to stop me, Kattica. I must do this whether she likes it or not whether you like it or not. I have to stop this cycle."

The girl held out her hands to him, the message sent one of aid, not hindrance, but his back was drawn to her, and he did not see the obvious desire to assist his cause. Instead what he did observe was the look she sent over her shoulder, seeking out the location of the dogs around the camp perimeter. She cried out warning, though he read her words as threat. "You should move away now lest the dogs get you, Mattias!"

His voice rose in heated indignation and fear. He spoke a coarse whisper, "Agent of my mother you may be, but you are also my wife. If ever you loved me, I have faith you will not act against me."

It was apparent from the expression that danced across Kattica's features that she grasped his misinterpretation. Trying to correct it, she said, "No, Mattias! You do not understand! I am not captive to her will!"

Too late though it was when she said this, for immediately dogs came from all sides as if beckoned, circling Mattias and his stance over the Elf. He did not seem to hide his actions any longer. He bent down and flashed his knife near Legolas' slack left arm and was about to cut it loose when a deep-throated growl caught his attention and forced him to freeze in mid-motion. Remaining perfectly stiff so as to not be seen as a threat, he called out to his wife, "Call off the dogs, Kattica! I will not be dissuaded!"

"Black magic guides them, and sadly, you have become its mistress! Choose, Kattica! You cannot have both! This darkness or me!" With those words he moved his knife nearer the ropes binding the Elf's hand.

The girl's face became taut with anxiety as she watched both his actions and the dogs'. She appeared beside herself, uncertain what to do in answer to his challenge. She cried out, "Mattias, no! You do not know what you ask of me! I dare not go this path, for all of our sakes! Please stop, now, before harm comes to you!"

But just then the edginess of the dogs could no longer be restrained and the greatest of the males, the lead hound, pounced upon Mattias. Chaotic madness followed as a fray of beasts leapt into the hub, snarls and growls rising into the air punctuated by his grunts of pain and a whirl of arms fighting them off. And all the while, Kattica watched, frozen by indecision as her face registered the horror bestowed upon her husband.

Bregus struggled against her exhaustion. Age had done much to render her helpless to such a triviality as sleep. Her body required rest much more than she would have preferred though she fought hard to banish that need. It was a difficult attempt made worse by the drug coursing her veins. Still, her mind raced on in a haphazard direction while her body managed a state of restfulness. It was an odd sensation, awake and asleep simultaneously.

The drug had been a mistake, one she really could not afford, but made all the same. It was called tabib hsear in the Romany tongue. Vision seeker. And though it did much to stir her already active mind, it also made her unfocused.

She had little control as she tried to reach out with her mind. Her grasp on the souls under her spell was weak. They moved on without her and she became vulnerable. She knew this and was frightened by it, but she held tight to the thought that she had controlled for so long that a few hours rest would not forfeit her dreams. She only hoped no one else would detect her failing. There was only one person who knew what truly had befallen the old woman, and Bregus was taking a gamble that that knowledge would not be played upon.

No one else would be familiar with the potion Bregus had concocted except for Kattica, and limited though the girl's education had been, Kattica had surely seen the effects of that formula once or twice in her life. As a shuv'ni apprentice, she would have been exposed to supervised sessions of the drug at the shuvanis tents at tribal gatherings. It was a coming of age experience when first taken, and with proper guidance, the mind of a young drai'bengo could find their center and their life guide to aid them in their path. The introduction of that spell had been what led Bregus into Bäla's steps, her guide showing her into his arms and telling her the destiny they would hold together. It was the singular moment that defined who she would become, and Bregus held it close to her heart.

It had also been a moment when she realized how much of an influence the guiding shuv'ni could have, and she knew this drug could be used to bend the thoughts and will of a soul if used properly. Bregus had used it many times over the years, administering it to many, even her sons, Gordash and Curtik on occasion, to coerce them into adopting her plans. It had worked beautifully, and was what made them answer her call at will. There were others she held under this spell as well, but none so compliant as her sons, and she supposed that the combination of their love with her magic made them incapable of resisting her.

While she had considered it though, she had never delivered this elixir upon her eldest son, Mattias. Why this was so she was not entirely certain. It may have been that she had no need to, for of all her sons, Mattias was the one most willing to bow to her wishes unquestioningly. Amazingly, he almost perceived her desires without need to ask. With respect, he turned to her nearly always first when a tribal decision loomed. He was their leader, yet he bowed to the grace of her wisdom, which was how Bregus felt it should be. Mattias was courteous and mannered in the customs of his people. And therefore there had never been need for Bregus to sway him to her will. He was swayed without use of tabib hsear. Not that she hadn't used her dark powers against him entirely. There were short-lived influences she had cast upon him when she had need, much like the one she had used on the entirety of the camp only a few days prior. Yet, the use of the vision seeking drug was one she did not deem necessary for Mattias, and truth be told she liked that he was untainted this way.

She had actually considered using it on him once though when he had brought Kattica around the tribe at one of the gatherings. Immediately Bregus suspected the girl's influence and the use of magical spells to woo her way into her son's heart. Yet by the time she had known of the girl, it was too late, for Mattias was in love, and that alone could drive away the effect Bregus had wanted. It was pointless to try to change his mind and so Bregus tried to accept the marriage of Mattias to Kattica. And though that held strong, Bregus had worked to make the girl's life as miserable as she could, hoping that somehow it might drive the young woman away. It did not work, then. Had she realized what an effect the introduction of black magic had on Kattica, Bregus might have considered using this method far sooner. Having an ally was better than having an enemy.

But those were the random thoughts of an incoherent old woman. What was truly disturbing in her mind was the sound of barking, snarling and vague cries of pain. Bregus could hear them, but in an unattached way, like one hearing a distant song. Still, she knew from the sounds that there was trouble somewhere near, and vaguely she considered that it could have something to do with her captives. A disaster that would be, and she attempted to rise in order to tend to it. However, she was too befuddled to make a deep heartfelt effort, and she found herself settling into the comfort of gentle sleep despite her need to rise. The sounds went on though, and rather than mixing into the soft caress of dreams, they stood out, alerting her mind of dangers. But there was no more strength in the old woman. She called upon the only thing still available to her weakened mind her sons.

She called out to them. She needed their help, and in a plea that was weak she made contact with at least one of them. The reply was swift, and Bregus had nothing more to fear or worry. Someone would protect her treasure.

Yet something else nagged at her mind, something yet undone. She pried at her thoughts, digging into her memory to try to recall what it could be. The world was a blur, and she could not sort it out. And rather than fighting it, dully she came to know she would need rest before her mind would grow sharp again. Relaxing into it, she let her thoughts meander an aimless path.

Legolas had been deeply asleep, trapped in the lethargy of Elven healing. His rest had been heavy, unblemished by occurrences in the outside world. It was therefore startling for the Elf to be driven to wakefulness so abruptly. Yet he could not remain in a neutral state given the chaos that had erupted around him.

A cacophony of noise echoed in his ears and it all mixed into a medley of harshness that wrenched him out of his healing need. With Elven senses alerted, he picked it apart, identifying the various components to the assembled sounds, each adding to the nightmare. There was the sound of growls, and a woman's sob, along with the grunts and fighting temper of a man embroiled in battle. In the background he heard Faramir's cries of curious fear and the voices of roused souls from across the camp, wonderment and chill pressing their voices.

At the same moment, his eyes came open and the vision fit the sound. The flash of a coarse grey and black coat raced across his body in flight toward another, a body thrown against his in a whirl of movement as the sharp, quick pain of racing feet and the thick nails of a dog made contact with his torso as the animal flew past. The heavy musk of animal breath reached his nostrils at the same moment that a snarled visage of white fangs whipped past his eyes. Several dogs there were in this attack stance and at the exact same time, several other animals pounced into the fracas, each jumping and attacking a body that Legolas could only identify by arms and legs shooting out in protective mode, fighting them off. A cry of pain and fear rose from the beastly carcasses moving to and fro. It was a man's cry, and Legolas gasped. The dogs were not attacking him, but someone that stood at his side. And though he was not the target of their assault, he still felt the brusque shouldering of bodies as they buffeted him to reach their intended.

It was the cry of the man that was most disturbing among all the others to the Elf. It was the noise of one surprised to be made target. Flashing his eyes from the whirl of bodies to that of the other mortals about, his head came up to a woman's tearful plea.

"Mattias!" she screamed, then her eyes fell to Legolas and a begging voice called out to the Elf. "Help him! Speak to them! They understand you! Help him! Please! I cannot!"

Meanwhile, Mattias' voice shrieked out from the hurling fur and snarled echoes making the scene like one on a battlefield. It was hard to follow everything, but Legolas managed to hear the man's plaintive cries. "Kattica! Send them off! Send them off! Call off your magic!"

Rocked by bodies pelting against him, Legolas cried out, naturally falling into his Elven tongue. "Daro! Daro, haundil! Lasto nin beth! Daro!"

He had to repeat himself many times before some of what he said began to register. Several animals turned in answer to his cry, barking as if angered by his interruption, but the lilting sound of Elvish words were distinct and carried over the ruckus of the beasts' growls. Legolas did not ease off, continuing the rally of words, and as heartbeats passed, the animals began to respond. Ears pricked and more than one dog backed off his attack, growling as it did so, while simultaneous pitiable whimpers carried out of their throats and echoed through the thickly branched canopy of trees. The golden eyes of the hounds turned to face him, snarling and nipping in answer, yet finding his voice irresistible to ignore.

Still there was more to communicating with animals than just words and while Legolas kept up his running monologue, repeating key phrases again and again, his eyes remained set, daring to look into those of the wild dogs. "Lasto a daro!" he exclaimed.

The hounds that had stopped at his command could not hold his stare. They backed away, holding a perimeter guard around the scene. Still, the horror of the man's cries went on and the voices of others echoed on, while Kattica sobbed her worry.

Interrupting these actions, Legolas could hear Faramir's call, "Legolas? Legolas, answer me if you will."

But the Elf dared not answer, knowing to drop the command in his voice was to lose the control he had gained over the situation. He continued to speak to the dogs with Elvish words. "Manman, huanellon. Lammen nin golodh le. Lasto a daro!"

Two more dogs moved away from the huddled form of Mattias and Legolas could hear Kattica gasp a sob as only one hound remained. The male dog snapped at the others, drawing back, as if commanding their obedience while it circled anew its prey. Still the other dogs held their positions, looking down or away like one caught in indecision. But the lead male was not willing to give in.

Alone, it snarled, baring its fangs in a threatening show. Legolas could see it was about to launch itself again, and the Elf knew alone or with aid, this dog was trained to kill. It would do so without hesitating.

Changing his tone, Legolas began to speak softly, turning to gaze on the dog. "Beleg dholdraug, pedan le lasto! Ú-farith si."

The dog turned, glancing away from Mattias and staring at the Elf. Its yellow eyes fixed in a cold stare, and Legolas could see it was challenging him for dominance. The Elf knew the scent of his blood from the previous attack at the hands of the men would not help his situation, nor would his bound wrists. The hackles on the beast's nape rose, its coarse hair standing on end from the base of his skull to the mid-rise of its tailbone. A heavy musk smell penetrated Legolas' nostrils in a new wave, and he could feel the tension of the beast assessing him. It knew. Legolas was helpless if the dog should attack.

Knowing his position and hoping the plea was enough, he averted his eyes, backing down from the dog's challenge. He hoped his words would call the dog back, the animal perceiving and understanding the tongue gifted by the Valar to the Firstborn. In a far calmer voice he softly repeated, "Ú-farith si"

Fangs exposed themselves in a startling sneer, and a low rumbling growl emanated from the dog's throat. Several dogs around him licked their chops in answer, as if showing they would join in the fight should the lead dog attack.

Even with eyes downcast, Legolas could sense the movements of those around him. Kattica remained frozen, as if she realized her actions were a danger to both the Elf and her husband. In the distance, Legolas could hear voices questioning and calling, several sets of feet running this way. He could hear Faramir struggling, giving up on his calls after the Elf had not answered, bucking the ropes that held him and letting the dogs' growls be the indicators of where this tale traveled. But the being Legolas was most attuned to was Mattias, and Legolas hoped the man knew not to make any sudden moves. And Mattias did not, shifting only slightly in his position. But it was enough to pull the dog's attention away and back to where it originally had been. Another threatening growl rolled out, this time directed at Mattias.

Legolas felt his throat go dry as his pulse quickened. He knew what was about to happen. Though he had spoken, the beast's heart was cold. It felt no allegiance to the Eldar, and it would attack despite understanding the Sindarin words. There was nothing more Legolas could do except call out quiet warning to Mattias.

"He means to attack, does he not?" the man asked in a soft whisper, glancing sidelong at the dog.

But it was too late, and without further warning, the dog kicked its hind legs and launched itself forward at Mattias. Legolas closed his eyes, not wishing to see the renewal of the pack's attack. But even with eyes closed, he could not hold back sound. A snarl of foulest fury spewed from animal throat, and at the same time a yelping spike of a wail shrilled out from the dogs throat as heavy feet kicked past the Elf and made their way at the furious animal.

Opening his eyes at the suddenness of new activity, he caught the scene of another man dashing at the beast and lifting it by the nape of its neck and tossing it as if it were a weightless object. The animal was hurled tens of feet away. Simultaneously the cried word, "Mattias!" escaped the throat of another, and Legolas both recognized the face and voice of Curtik pulling his brother upright while Gordash was turning to face the growl of the beast.

The large man grimaced as he pulled forth a knife from his boot. As the dog lunged again at the men, the sheen of the blade disappeared into the thickness of fur at the dog's belly. A sound of a barked whimper was the last utterance of the beast and it fell back, stumbling, then sitting, then slowly sinking to lay almost directly at Gordash's feet. Its eyes never left the men who it had meant to attack, changing from fixed and hardened to confused and unfocused. It panted softly, opening and closing its mouth as if swallowing, tasting a last remnant of life before its pupils went wide, and it stopped moving entirely.

The scene grew eerily still for a moment, and the sound of the men's heavy breathing along with the panting of the dogs were the only noises available to the Elf's ears. Legolas leaned his head back, sighing inwardly that this terror was over.

The scratching shuffling sound of the other animals cleared the silence. The remaining five dogs backed away, whimpering softly, sniffing the air to ascertain the death was real, while Curtik called out in his native tongue to them. One dog in particular growled at the others, nipping the heels of two of the more staid animals, then it leapt forward, leading the others away from the scene, its heavy breath dripping saliva along the path it created. The other dogs followed their new leader, heads cast down and Legolas assumed they returned to their duty of protecting the camp.

The corpse of the dead dog lay only five feet from where Legolas sat prone. He looked at the dead animal. He had to wonder what might make the dog so fixated on halting one of its masters. His attention was drawn away as he watched Curtik balance his brother. He realized then the animal had been helpless not to obey its true master. Just as had these men, the dogs had formed their loyalty to Bregus early on in their lives.

The larger man's concentration was on Mattias' wounds, and Gordash hissed when he saw the multitude of punctures breaking the skin across Mattias' arms and body, tearing his garments and lashing his chest. With fortune, though, none of the dogs had maimed Mattias at a critical vein, and blood did not spill forth in any great way.

"What happened, Mattias?" Curtik asked, and for the first time Legolas realized there were many eyes cast on this event. A small circle of people were gathered around them.

Mattias' eyes met with the Elf's and he stammered, "II was checking his bindings when the dogs came upon me." A subtle flicker in the man's eyes shone, and for a moment Legolas detected almost an apology in Mattias' stern face. "I do not know why they attacked," he said, and Legolas knew he was lying.

Almost forgetting she had been there, Kattica then stumbled forward surprising all in the company. Her eyes were also on Mattias' wounds, though the second he saw her he pulled away. Looking into her face it seemed he almost dared her to say something that would challenge him. Mattias' lips drew into a thin line while his chin lifted defiantly. "You could have stopped them," he murmured toward her. Then he looked at Gordash still cradling his arm and said, "I must clean these wounds and then perhaps you will help me bind them, my brother?"

"Let us see to it," came the larger man's answer as he released his brother's arm and all three men turned away. Gordash released a heavy sigh as he bent down to study the fallen dog again before picking it up. Legolas saw there was something new in Gordash's attitude, almost disdain, as if he blamed the girl for the dog's death. He glanced back for a moment to let Kattica know his words were directed to her. "I should have liked to know what could control this animal to act with such bold effrontery and desertion of loyalty." Legolas saw Mattias wince slightly as if he were hurt that the blame could be placed on Kattica, but then he marched forward, ignoring everyone and everything, including Kattica. Picking up the dog, the large man followed and Legolas was left to consider the irony in the Romany's question.

"Legolas?" came Faramir's pleading whisper and though the girl stood by, Legolas thought it might be safe to answer.

"I am well, Anborn. Have no fears," he said, stressing the last word ever so slightly so the Prince would know the Elf was not alone. It was enough to appease, for he heard Faramir settle back and audibly sigh.

With Mattias and his brothers walking away, the gathering disbursed. Legolas was amazed again at the fickle, unfeeling mood of these people as he was left alone with Kattica. He could see them watching from a distance, but their compassion was still cold, and he had to wonder if Bregus held them captive to her will, or if by some odd twist in human nature this were more normal for their temperament. At least there was scrutiny among them where before there had been nothing. He felt curious to know what they thought of his and Faramir's presence in their camp, if they thought anything.

The only representative he had to judge them by was Kattica, and that was an unfair comparison he knew, for if anyone, she seemed more aware of what was taking place than anyone else among them. Yet she did not appear to be all that clear herself at the moment. In fact, the girl looked ready to faint. Still she remained upright and he concluded it was emotion that drove her onward only because her face was locked in an expression unreadable. It mattered not, for she gave herself away as she softly muttered to no one present, "I could not have stopped them, Mattias. Not without fear of losing myself. I know I cannot go into the darkness again but how do I make you see?"

Comprehending little, Legolas mustered up the courage to speak. He interrupted her haunted stare as it followed her husband and said almost accusingly, "He begged you to call off the dog, and yet you cried to me that you could not save him. A strange contradiction you present."

Still watching Mattias before he entered the supplies wagon, she winced, "I would have had to reach into the dogs' minds. Going there is a dark place. I do not know if I could have stopped at just that."

Legolas was lost as what next to say. Her face showed great pain and distress, but he knew he felt enough disdain for what she had done to him and her role as an accomplice to Bregus that her did not want to attribute any sympathy to her. Yet her expression was pathetic, and though he could see she was trying to steel herself to it, it ran deep. Vaguely, he recalled her attempts to comfort him after the beating he had taken and though his feelings then were of repulsion and fear, he had to acknowledge she had helped him. The medicines she had applied had healing properties and they had aided his body in finding a course toward remedy. He knew in his own heart he should try to ease her sorrow at least in a small amount in reciprocation.

"The darkness did not seem to frighten you before. If it would have been of aid, why do you not have step there again?" he asked.

Kattica turned and stared at him, looking hard into his face for the first time. Her eyes were accusing and he realized this was not a simple question. And then almost instantly her features softened, and with a slight groan she kneeled before him. "Let me look at your wounds," she said as she cocked her head slightly and lifted a hand to his face.

Reflexively the Elf flinched, and Legolas scolded himself for the action when he had not intended it so outwardly. He could see she had been attempting to aid again.

She smiled sadly, continuing her tending despite the small move and proceeded to unwrap the bandage from his brow. The moisture gathering in her eyes told him however what she felt. Her voice quavered as she spoke through her ministrations. "You fear me," she softly uttered. Glancing into his eyes, she caught him with her gathering sorrow. "Mattias does as well. It was never my intent to be feared."

Legolas surmised enough from her expression to know the truth of this statement. "Bregus did this to you," he assessed.

The tears that escaped her eyes were answer enough. Her hands shook as she continued the unbinding of bandages. "I am trying to fight thisthis darkness," she whispered while the corners of her mouth skewed downward.

"And touching a mind draws you deeper, does it not?" he asked, watching her carefully, knowing already his answer.

"It is the essence of all dark magic, to maneuver without askance," she said, bowing her head minutely and squeezing shut her eyes. "And it is powerful in its allure. It calls to me now."

"It beckons you?" Legolas asked, a chill running up his spine as a warm breeze from the south brushed past his face. There was something familiar in what she was saying.

Kattica opened her eyes and stared tearfully into his face. "I can hear it. It draws me. It wants me to join it. Can you know the struggle of that?"

Legolas dimmed his eyes and sighed. He could feel her pain and his heart ached at the sadness and strain he knew she felt. He could share this feeling with her. He knew it well. Even now, in this darkest of places, he could hear the beckoning call of his own inner desires. She asked if she could know his struggle and with a hearkening lurch in his chest he knew his answer. Beyond other Elves, he had never met mortals who suffered as he did. He knew exactly what she fought and almost automatically let his thoughts wander there. He stopped himself and shrugged off the harm it might render. He thought of his friends and their plight and it balanced him. He took another breath to clear his thoughts before he found it within to answer.

"I can know," he answered solemnly, suddenly feeling an enormous kinship with the girl. "I understand what you feel for I fight a similar battle."

Suddenly moved, she turned her concern to him. "For you? What struggle erupts within your mind?"

Legolas felt his own anguish bubble forward, but he held it back. It was worse now that he would speak of it, though he knew he must if he could be of any aid to her. Gimli often tried to pull this from him, not realizing exactly how much worse it was when he did. Legolas had long found he did better to hide it behind a wall of greater feeling, to use his friendships to gird himself from the echoing cry of the Sea's full assault. Speaking on it only made him more vulnerable to its presence. He could push it aside so long as his other feelings were stronger. But Kattica needed to understand, and so for the second time on this journey he let a small crack in his resolve spill forth. He could feel his own throat constrict as he said the words. "The Sea," he whispered. "She is a constant in my mind. She calls to me always to leave these lands and travel on to join my kindred Beyond."

"It is a horror to me," he answered curtly, blotting out the underlying waves of feeling before they could render him helpless to their magnitude. "Often has it swept over me like a swift wind, unintentional and soaring when I do not wish it so. I am nothing but mute and dumb in this affliction's presence. I know not my own mind when it is upon me. If what you suffer is anything akin to my ailment, I can well understand your torment," he said as he bitterly pressed back the Sea's grip on his thoughts.

"Aye, it is as you describe!" Her eyes were afire with eagerness for his words. She looked upon him with compassion and remorse. "Yet you fight it. You do and you remain whole. But how? I cannot help but feel admiration for that. How do you manage it?"

Legolas leaned back, closing his eyes and struggled to push the plundering thoughts away. He felt a whisper of wind glance across his face and smelled the familiar scent that rode upon it. Even this far away, he could sense the Sea's presence and he almost found himself carried away by it as its pull resounded about him. Mournfully he spoke as he fixed his mind into action. He could feel the tears spill from his eyes as he fought it. "You misunderstand. I am not whole. I am very much torn. But, I do fight it." He said this as if trying to convince himself. "For some dozen years now I have battled it, and I expect that fight will go on for many years longer if I am allowed. I do not desire to leave these lands yet. The Sea continuously pries at my soul with her song, but I wage war on her." His tone grew in strength as he went on. "There are things I desire more than what she can offer. She will not have me. My friendships root me to middle-earth and middle-earth is where I will stay until the time is right for my departure. I can only do this by remembering always my comrades and my duties. I remind myself constantly of my allegiances, my loyalties. They have always seen me through these troubles, even when I have had doubts."

He opened his eyes, perceiving now his control over the Sea's song safely locked behind other emotions. He looked at her and said, "You must do the same. If you can hold tightly to your values, Bregus cannot harm you."

Kattica's eyes were wide, and Legolas could see she was shaken. She turned her attention to his wounds as she softly spoke. "This must be the way of the Elves. You have hidden strengths. Your wounds heal well. I do not think this need contained any further and the air will do you good now. Would it that I could heal myself so easily," and as she said this, Legolas realized she was speaking on other matters beyond his physical wounds.

"You can heal yourself, Kattica," he said with quiet assurance as another breeze caught a wisp of his hair.

She stared at him for a moment before looking away. "You have your friends to help you through your pain. I have no one. Even Mattias has turned away from me."

Legolas swallowed hard before saying what next came to him. His mind was still riddled with doubt. Yet, for some reason, he trusted her. "I would have once considered you friend. I still may. And if that is so, I would help you."

She too looked doubtful. "I have done nothing to earn your trust. I would try, but I do not know what I can do to win you over or make you believe I would no longer deem harm unto you and Anborn."

It was only a fleeting plea, not one of which he expected her to truly respond in an affirmative, so he was surprised when after a moment of quiet study she nodded and smiled. "It was my intention to do exactly before I found Mattias here." She looked down at her blossoming skirt and reached into her deep pockets.

"Was it his intention also to free me then?" Legolas asked, remembering the look on her husband's face when he had been asked his excuses by his brothers.

"It was," she answered solemnly, and Legolas began to understand Kattica's sorrow. Her intent and Mattias' were the same, yet he perceived her motivations as being driven by Bregus and not for the good. Her husband no longer trusted her. New pity washed over the Elf, and he felt compelled to offer her greater solace.

"Both of you came to the same conclusion at the same time. That shows there is hope to break her, does it not?" he asked.

"He believes I work for her," she answered tearfully, pausing momentarily in her search to look up at him.

Legolas pursed his lips in thought before saying, "He has little reason not too," but then added, "He has lived long under her spell, I assume, and only a short while with you in the guise of darkness. It could be he knows not what you struggle against nor has he been given ample time to learn of it. He only assumes you have become like her. Have you tried speaking with him of this?"

A hint of anger mixed with shock rose up within Legolas at this confession and he realized then just how lost she really was. Such naivete, he thought. She was making assumptions without knowing full truths, and if she would help him, simply acting would not be enough. There were holes in what she knew, even her relationship. Something so valued as this should not bare these gaps.

Perhaps what he would say would be too much for her to hear and would frighten her away. Indeed, Kattica was young, but it needed to be said, especially with freedom at stake. Pushing away his hesitance, he guarded his words to hold back their harshness. "Before throwing your soul to the wind and accepting your fate I would recommend you speak with him, Kattica. Has it not occurred to you that Mattias has somehow freed himself from Bregus' spell? Do you think it would it not shock him to learn of her evil after dwelling within it for so long? And to wake to discover your black powers as well must be frightening for him? Yes, you need to speak to him. Should you not find the reasons for his release? Should you not console him and show him your heart is still truly locked in goodness?"

A lone tear trailed her cheek, and Legolas could see this had not occurred to her. "Look around you," he said. "Have you not noticed that the camp seems more alive with true emotions in the last several minutes than it has in the last several days? Why is that? There is danger here for all in this camp, not just for my friend and for myself. I can feel it. Cannot you? To save them you must know what her intent is and how will she make it done? There are so many that have been rendered harm in this endeavor. What of my friends, Strider and Gimli? Where are they in this horror? Can they be helped?"

Kattica's expression was unreadable and so Legolas delivered his final thoughts on the subject, "This is what will cure you, Kattica. You must cease wallowing in misery for your own plight, for you are not the only one affected. You must be selfless, Kattica. A true healer is, and you must now become that. It is time."

She looked at him with something close to horror, and he mentally chastised himself. It had been too much. He was asking her to take on too much in the role she had been given. She was not ready. Yet her expression yielded and he came to see she could accept it. She fumbled further in her pockets. Reaching in, he could see she had found something and a small smile ran up over her scarred mouth. She pulled out a small length of roping and for a moment he thought it to be the talisman Bregus had constructed. However, this decoration was missing the pendant with the running figure. After another moment, a smile came to Legolas' face as he realized that this amulet was made from, of all things, his own hair. With a smile, it all came together for him.

"You are right, Legolas," she finally said as she began to tie the amulet about his wrist, looking over her shoulder as she did so and making it appear that the action was one of adjusting the ropes tying him down. "At one point finding out these things would have been my greatest priority. Now I can see just how corrupted I have become. You are my friend for telling me, and I shall endeavor to remedy my ways." She finished tying the coiled hair about his wrist and then smiled. "This is where I start. For you, this amulet will protect you against her spells. I made it when I was still whole. Try now to move your legs."

Legolas focused his attention on his limbs and was mildly surprised to see his legs indeed could move, though not well. They were slow, retarded in their response, yet they moved. Legolas felt gratitude for this, but Kattica frowned.

"Do you hasten to move them because wary eyes have sight of you, or can you truly not extend them more fully?" she asked, deep worry settling across her brow.

"I am grateful for what I am given, Kattica, yet I cannot move with greater ease," he answered in a whisper.

"When I tried my freedom earlier, before I had this amulet, my movement was greater," he said.

"Was that when her talisman grew singed?" she asked with concern crossing her brow.

"Aye, though I know not how it came to be," he said in confusion looking still at his legs.

"Nor do I, though I have suspicion. Can you move with haste in this state?" she asked.

"Good," she said, then she lowered her voice to nearly an imperceptible whisper as she glanced about and saw they were still watched from across the camp. She made the pretense of looking at his injuries. "I shall free you then when I know we are not watched. I will have to find a way to distract them. But please know, Legolas, you are in mortal danger. Greater than that anyone else in this camp, even your friend, Anborn. You must flee, for if you stay she will kill you and steal your heart as she will the heart of an unborn child's."

"And so the same cannot be said for you? Flee, Kattica, now while you still may!" the Elf said, sudden panic in his voice.

"I intend to, but not without attempting to reach Mattias first. He too is in danger, as is your friend, Anborn, though as I said, not as great as you. And yes, I too am in danger for my child, though Bregus has told me there is another who may substitute in my stead," she said.

"Another? In this camp?" he asked allowing his eyes to search for the unsuspecting victim.

"Nay, not here. I suspect in your camp. Bregus did not say, but she looked rather pleased that it would be someone she need not know," Kattica offered.

Legolas' mind raced forward to the women he knew to be in their encampment. Surely it was not Arwen, for Legolas knew that many of the King and Queen's problems stemmed from their current lack of children. That left only

The word slipped out of him in a soft rasp. A shudder whipped through him as he realized the Lady of Ithilien faced wretched danger. He traced over the last several days and realized the symptoms were there, and that he had probably known, only he had not bothered to see. Eowyn was with child and she was in perilous danger! With sudden fear he realized she must be warned away!

Kattica went on, "I know not if it was real. It could have been just a means of foolery to keep me within her easy reach, but if true, even still, without you, the magic requiring both hearts may not be performed. Your friend may be saved if you flee."

Legolas thought it perhaps best not to point out that Arwen too was an Elf, for he suspected that the Gondor Queen's presence had not been discovered. Would this evil spell work with a heart that divined itself tied to mortal world? He could not know. He only knew that despite Kattica's words, there was great horror to be found should Faramir's or Eowyn's or even Arwen's identity be found. Or Aragorn's for that matter. The Elf could only imagine several dozen scenarios that could take place, from various means of ransom to murder, depending on the motivations and mood of their captor. So even if it were not as important to the girl, to Legolas it seemed it was important that Faramir too escape. They must all get away before the old woman found out these things.

"How does she mean to do this spell, Kattica? When? Where?" Legolas asked anxiously.

She sighed. "I know not these things. Again, it is my fault for thinking only of myself, for had I tried, surely I could have learned these things from her mind. Even now, while she is "

The young woman cut herself off, and Legolas wondered at what she held in her thoughts. Then Kattica turned and looked at Legolas and said, "Do you think my soul can be protected from the tainting of this siren's call into darkness if I guard it with good moral intent?"

Legolas' brow furrowed in confusion. "I know not. But if I take your meaning correctly, I might suppose the answer to be yes. And even so, if I truly do understand what you pre-suppose, if I had I to save my friends by leaping into the Sea on their behalf, I would do so regardless the consequences. Is this what you mean?"

Kattica smiled genuinely, and the Elf could see this was the answer she so desired. "I know what I must do, Legolas."

"Tell me your plan, Kattica," he said, sensing danger in her confident demeanor.

The girl did not answer, instead looking toward one who approached from the other side of the camp. Without looking, Legolas could hear the lumbering steps of Gordash.

Before the man arrived she whispered, "I will return to free you and your friend and I will not fail you this time. Go along with my words now if this is to work."

Before Legolas could say anything further, the deep baritone of Gordash's voice entered their conversation. "You are lucky the dogs have not caught your scent lest you would find yourself baring the same fate as my brother," the large man stated as he approached.

"I think they may have learned their lesson and found me to be trustworthy and unassuming, unlike others," the girl answered looking with hard light into his eyes, irritation mingling in her answer.

"Perhapsor perhaps you have control over them by means of sorcery," he said, a note of disdain echoing within his own voice.

"I have never had need to use it before. Why would I do such a thing now?" she said scowling. She looked into his face before rising fully to her height. "I do not have time for word games. You think I have gone black. Very well. Be done with it then, Gordash, and tell me what it is you wish of me.

"He he wishes to speak with you privately," Gordash said. He briefly glanced at the Elf then turned away nervously. "He does not like that you dabble in mysterious activities. Darkness does not become you, wife of my brother."

Kattica's brow shot up. "Relegated to title only? Has it come to this? Then know this, brother of my husband, if I am a product of darkness I did not go there alone. This tribe flounders in a blackness that etches at all of our souls. Lest you forget in a less coherent moment, to which you seem extremely prone, your mother brought us to this. Try to remember this."

With shock, Legolas watched this small interaction. Such words were out of character for Kattica's diminutive presence, and certainly not typical for women of the Romany heritage. Apparently Gordash thought so too as his jaw fell slack to her words. But in a quick moment, Legolas realized it was an act, a part of her untested plan. She looked at him, narrowing her eyes almost imperceptibly, and he read her thoughts. She intended for him to know her words were falsity and she intended for Gordash and the others to fear her. She spoke. "And you be careful how you speak with me, Elf. I have means to cut out your tongue if I should choose. Remember I have been of aid to you when you offer words of vile retribution toward me."

Reading her, Legolas spat out, "I would not have need of aid were I not a captive of your filth! You and your people seem to think I magically appeared here before you. You forget I was taken by Bregus' sorcery against my will." He glanced at Gordash to see if any spark was lit. The man's face was wracked in confusion as if this thought was new to him and he was only hearing it now.

Kattica then laughed, a wicked laugh, much like one Bregus might cackle, and again he saw Gordash flinch as if he recognized it. Even Legolas was nearly convinced it was real. Without further reserve, she strode off in the direction of the other wagons calling out, "Take me to your brother," to the now almost-helpless bear of a man. Gordash scampered along, moving quick steps to catch up to the girl who was not much like a girl any longer.

Legolas smiled and offered a small Elven prayer for her as she disappeared from his sight. Despite her sudden confidence, he feared she would need all the help the Valar might offer. Mattias jumped back when he realized Kattica was watching him

Eowyn's hands shook as she rounded the stairs, hurrying into the cave from the upper perch for the umpteenth time in the last hour. She found no solace there, nor did she find any here in the caves for that matter.

Calm, calm, she told herself for what must have been the one hundred and eleventh time in a few hours span. It was obvious this mantra was not working. Her patience had run out some time back. She had followed her own sooth wisdom as long as she could, willing herself into stillness and patience. Yet her resolve for self-control and willed endurance was now gone, and slowly as the hours had dutifully ticked away, she had lost her composure and ability to reason. She now found her seeming restraint had manifested itself into something teetering on the edge of full-blown hysteria.

She told herself to breathe. She told herself to calm down, and yet she felt as if she might rip out her hair if she stood in any one place much longer. She felt completely abandoned and lost. What was she to do? Did she dare wait any more?

"Stop this!" she said aloud to herself in a voice that was hardly temperate. This was not the quiet confidence she liked to think she possessed. This was the verge of madness seen in one caught up in nightmarish horror. Still, considering her worries, this reaction was nearly justified. Eowyn was genuinely fearful. And worse yet, it was for things she could not even know. She stifled a cry. She knew she must not give into this fear and once again battled with herself to gain control.

Focus, she told herself reaching into her past to find something that might ground her. It was an old lesson, one from her youth when she had first taken up sword, and droned into her serious nature from an early age. She forced herself to stand still. There remained calm within her, and Eowyn knew she must find it if she were to resolve this situation. Again she let her mind drift back to instruction etched into her mind. Closing her eyes, she allowed the sounds of the roaring waterfall to fill her head. She could feel the light mist of its spray waft over her skin. The sound was a relentless rumble, always in motion, always changing in quick, unreadable notes that she registered in her mind regardless of being unable to follow them. The noise was pulsing and alive and it vibrated through her body. It quickened her heart, and yet something about it was calming, and she gave into it for the minute control it gave her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she let the sensations envelope her. Slowly, so slowly, she found her mind's torment diminishing and her thoughts freed from their barrage. Slowly she found her breath, the rise and fall of her chest coming to a more normal pace.

She opened her eyes again and steadied herself. This was better. She could almost relax now and were she to do anything, poise was the thing that would make it successful. She felt more herself, and her confidence was coming back and her mind was settling into its work. She needed it to work. She needed to think this through. Fear would only make her actions clumsy and poorly conceived.

She called upon her training. Focus, she told herself again in a steadier internal voice. Think only in the moment and do not move too far beyond the periphery. You cannot know what is around the corner. You may only suspect. Be ready to act and that will be enough.

Yes, thinking like this was helpful. It calmed her like the exercises she undertook in her daily practice. It had been long since Eowyn had been required to actually think like a warrior, but there was a certain comfort in the ritual mental preparation of it that she now realized she missed. Too long had it been, yet she adopted it as if it were comfortable old clothing. Training had done this for her, and though the comfort of it felt a little odd at first, she knew she could find her mindset here again with minor adjustment.

Yet she warred with the part of herself that could only view the situation from a personal standpoint. Something was horribly wrong. Eowyn knew this, though she had no evidence to prove it. She was going by gut instinct, a trait she did not hold highly in others and reproof was there for herself in it as well. But had not Aragorn warned of dangers he could not prove? She had confidence in his ability to judge such things and gave in to her own concerns. Something had happened to Arwen and Aragorn, as well as to Gimli, and there was no one about to help her decide how to face this. Worse still, she knew nothing of what she was facing.

She turned about, looking for clues as to where to start. Her fear had been the only thing occupying her mind up until this moment, and while the day had progressed, her fear had won dominance over her. Struggling against it to find a solution to this mystery had only been furthered on by her suddenly very active imagination. Scenario after scenario of all the possible, and oftentimes ridiculous, things that could have happened to her companions had assaulted her mind as she had waited, and she had had to continually push herself away from it in order to make it this far without falling into deeper panic.

Shifting locations had helped, if only temporarily, and this is what had caused her to change places, running up and down the steps every few minutes in efforts to ignore the thoughts in her head. Now she stood inside, and though her mind had been made that she needed to act, Eowyn was completely uncertain as to how she might do that.

Should she seek out Arwen and Aragorn as was foremost in her mind? Most likely this could be done by seeking out the injured Gimli in his location and hoping to find them there as well, as that had been their destination. They could be hurt, desperate, sitting on the precipice of disaster. Or worse. Did she search for Faramir and Legolas in hopes that they could track and find the missing and potentially harmed trio? That would be even more difficult than finding Arwen and Aragorn for she did not know the direction of those two hunters. Of course, she could simply remain put, awaiting someone, anyone to return, but that was no longer an option.

No, Eowyn had made up her mind. She had waited long enough. More than long enough and she refused to sit around waiting any longer.

Furiously she thought she should have stood up to Aragorn and his demand that she remain behind. For if she had, she would not be left in this hold, but instead would be . . . would be . . . Oh, that her heart should know! This is what was so frustrating about her terror. Where could they be? She knew not. The only thing she did know was that he and Arwen had set out at a brisk run toward the new waterfall, wherever that was. East! As if that were an accurate direction to go on.

The sun was traveling into the western sky and the day was progressing. Hours in the past had been their departure and Eowyn felt the day working against her. Hopelessly she admitted she knew not quite where they might be. Due east, a half hour's run, near the foot of a forest toward the new waterfall she had been told. That might have been enough had she known that course, but Eowyn had not ventured there herself and these woods had changed much in the time since she had last traveled here. She and Arwen had just been about to set off to wander in that direction when this disaster had come. The waterfall was a new addition to the landscape as was so much else in this formerly bereft place. Sighing, she fretted. If only she had studied in skills of tracking, perhaps she might better be prepared, but her attention as a youth had been made to wielding weapon and taking foe, and had not been one of outdoorsmen's learning. What grace did holding a sword do her when she needed to act as a huntress? According to Aragorn, Legolas knew where it was they should go, but Legolas was not here.

And where was Faramir during all of this? With Legolas, of course, though the Elf was not the focus of her inquiring mind. With mixed emotion, Eowyn felt a tug at her chest. Faramir. A new war came to the forefront of her mind and Eowyn knew it too had been there all along. Truth told, Eowyn was also frantically worried for her husband, and for Legolas too, but she knew she could not to give in to that subtle terror. It did not have credence. Yet. Not enough time had passed for her to further her fear, and since it did not help her situation any, she chose to let her terror go and imagine all the other likely scenarios that had come between the Elf and Man if that is where her mind wanted to go. And that is exactly what was happening. Worry was most definitely plaguing Eowyn's mind, but allowed the rage of emotion in other guise to sweep over her was helping to push that away. It was far safer to wallow in this place than the other. Mental images of the pair and all the possibilities there were for their lot coasted through her mind. Pictures of them obliviously traipsing along, singing and laughing and making merry filled her head while Eowyn was left here to suffer torment alone. Still considering the other images in her mind, it was easier to scorn them than to let that one come to fruition in her imagination. Idly she let her mind fester with resentment. What was wrong with Faramir? Could he not sense that she was beside herself in fears?

Eowyn chastised herself for her foolishness. Of course he could not know, but still, she could not help but rummage through the possibility that this is what was taking place. This . . . or something else. Something terribly bad. Something very, very bad.

Nay! Banish that thought! She could not allow her mind to go there and it was evidence of more gut apprehensions. One worry at a time, thank you.

No, Eowyn would not consider it. Legolas and Faramir, while gone the morning and past the mid-day meal, were not considerably late. Eowyn knew their activity could well be an all day one, especially since the prize of the hunt was a very particular one. Patience, she reminded herself. They are probably well and unscathed, having a good day under the sun and trees.

Deciding it was paranoia getting the better of her, she opted to ignore the very wary voice within her that was prodding her to act on Faramir's behalf as well. She could not allow herself to fall into her fears. Besides, Faramir would be furious if she were to act for him without reason. Nay, she could not suffer for his failure to appear though secretly she knew she longed for his strength. She would do this. She had no choice. She would do it on her own.

A thought occurred to her, and so startled was she by the very obviousness of it that she had to blink. Laughing at her foolish fancy over dilemmas uncalled for, she considered the simplicity of her idea. She now saw it. She could aid Arwen and Aragorn, while simultaneously aiding Faramir and calming her own fears with aid from better resources. She could go to the soldiers who camped so few miles away and have them take command of the situation.

But then the counter measure of her idea hit her squarely in the face. What if she were wrong and she was acting with insane panic over nothing. Aragorn and Arwen and Gimli were likely to come strolling into the camp at any minute. Legolas and Faramir would follow up after, if not even before, and soon this cavern would be filled with laughter and mockery, some of it directed at her for her insecurity. And concealed anger would be there too if she acted rashly. Calling upon the soldiers was nearly the last thing Aragorn would want to do. Eowyn grimaced. Had she given it enough time? Was she jumping to conclusions too soon? With chagrin, she acknowledged her actions were rather sudden. Was she simply letting the hormonal changes in her body guide her to rashness. If her suspicions were wrong, she would look very foolish and make everyone within the camp quite embarrassed and irritated with her. But if she were right . . .

Frustration gripped her and she pushed back the scream that wanted to erupt out of her in the sheer lose-lose impediment the situation manifested. For all their fine plans in setting up this holiday, neither she nor Arwen nor Faramir nor Aragorn had ever discussed a situation quite like this one and Eowyn was flying by her skirts to find a solution that might fit into the realm of what they might have wanted. Not only was their safety at stake, but so was their pride. If Eowyn was wrong in her suppositions, then a blight of brooding might follow that would plague their further companionship.

But the she realized this was foolish. Evading aid because her companions were too arrogant or stubborn or humble to admit they might need help was idiocy. Aragorn, for all his charms and bravery, could be a dolt in this arena. Why was he so adamant in proving his worth? He was king, was he not? Why fight off the right for protection? For the sake of pride? As if there was any doubt to Aragorn's prowess with a weapon? Yet Eowyn understood it was not easy for him coming from the humble beginnings as he did. It was one of the things she knew bothered her friend and she hoped Arwen could somehow help to make him see the truth of these matters. That is, if Arwen were still able to rationalize anything with anyone.

It was the right decision. Once more from her gut, she felt this was the correct path. No, more so than an intuitive, it was logical and for the first time she smiled. There was small pleasure in knowing she would no longer doubt the conclusions formed in her mind. And if she was wrong, then so be it. They would all live with it, and living was far wiser than allowing harm to come because of uncertainty.

Rather than marching East on a path that could be anywhere within a painstaking, miles-covered grid of hills and plains, she would go to the soldiers camp for aid. After all, was that not what they were there for? To call upon should aid be needed? Of course it was, and this was most definitely a time of need. Further, she at least knew where they were camped, and with their horses and their greater numbers they could search Aragorn and Arwen out and likely find them. And if not, as soon as Legolas arrived, he could help them pinpoint exactly where they might look. But until then, she would make ready the preparations to do this.

Taking the things she would need for a hike in the woods, she ignored those items she might require if she were trying to get a Dwarf and his companions out of a hole. Rope was not required, nor were lanterns or items of healing. Instead, digging through a trunk the Elves had left with their supplies, she found the equipment she might need to arm herself were she to be headed into a fight. This was sage wisdom. Her dread had not left her, nor had the echo of Aragorn's parting words. About her waist she buckled a long knife in place, while in her boot she hid a short blade. She would travel with nothing else except a waterskin to quench her thirst for it was not such a long journey to the soldier's camp.

Pausing for a moment before heading out, she looked at the window of the falls before her. The sun was still high in the sky so it did not cast its glowing rays into the cavern. It would be many hours yet before it descended to the frame of the portal. On summer days, it was late before the sun settled into the plains beyond the Anduin River. Eowyn projected ahead. She hoped that the next time she looked through this window, the sun might be setting and all those dear to her would be accounted for and safe.

She walked to the corridor that led to the downward path and from there to the trail that led to the soldier's camp. A warm breeze scented with pine and juniper met her nose. It was dusted with the light aroma of the ashy remnants of their fire from the night before as she walked past that picnicking place near the shore. Looking back, she reached down to her belly, feather light flutters in her abdomen hinting to her of her child's presence. It was too early to feel the movements of a baby in her womb really, but Eowyn liked to imagine it was indeed her daughter asserting herself to this world. Smiling and remembering a similar caress from Faramir the night before, she gave a last, long sigh, then turned away to her destination. And though it was daylight and she could not see it, she walked forward into a darkness that fell over the day and covered her in the inevitability of the unknown on her path.

With a jerk, Gimli brought his head and body upright. It was both sound and movement that shocked him back to his senses and Gimli realized with embarrassment the noise had come from himself. He had been snoring and a jarring, grunting wheeze of a deep timbered snort had actually awakened him.

A startled expression danced across his face. It had been a deep sleep he realized for his mind was still semi-attached to it. Where was he? He felt somewhat dazed, unable to recall exactly where he was or why he was there. Blearily the memory returned to him in sudden small bursts, like flashes of lightning dancing between storm clouds, obliterated from sight except for quick puffs of white light. The swift panic of thought made him edgy. The hole. He had fallen. The hunting trip.

"Aragorn?" he called out, and then he remembered he had covered this territory earlier. He had already searched that worry and found it groundless. Instead he had been waiting for his friend to return. That was right, and glancing about he recognized the stockpile of assorted treasures he had found in the dirt.

Still feeling mild confusion, he wondered how much time had passed. It was a heavy sleep he had taken, but that meant nothing for the time he might have been out. Gimli knew such rest could occur within only minutes or could go on for hours. Looking up, he realized unfortunately it was the latter for the shadows arced on at a different angle than they earlier had. Curses!

That gave him new reason for panic. Aragorn should have returned long ago. Growling in his frustration, Gimli knew something bad must have come to his friend for Gimli to have been left behind as he had been. Sitting about waiting was no longer prudent action.

He started to rise but a shaft of pain ran through his injured foot and up his leg. He had forgotten his injury and fell back down to the ground as he cried out for the ache of it. His lungs choked on air as he gasped out a moan and his head swam in a wobbly wave of discomfort. Sitting there, he waited for the pain to recede before giving try again to rise. His ankle felt more swollen within his boot than it had before, and Gimli cursed again his weakness in falling prey to sleep. Remaining still had made his ankle worse.

He had not intended to sleep, yet somehow he had managed to drift off. Touching his head as a means to settle the spinning motion that was rolling over him, he winced at the wound to his brow. This too he had forgotten, and bringing fingers away with the tug of pain he had felt there, he realized the tips were painted with blood. His bandage was seeping, and Gimli came to comprehend how he might have fallen into sleep. Into unconsciousness would be a more correct statement, at least at first, for he could not forget his snores which were telltale evidence of true sleep taking over. Still it was weariness brought on by his injuries that had initially caused his lethargy, and Gimli had to give pause to consider that he had been harmed a little more seriously than he had originally suspected.

But that was then, and this was now, and no Dwarf would allow such a thing to keep him down long. He had had his rest. He was done with that. Other things pressed upon his mind of more dire circumstance. Foremost was the absence of Aragorn. Where was his friend, the king?

With more patience and care, Gimli again started to rise. Holding his balance to his good foot, he used his halberd at his side to ground himself and balance as he came to stand, much like he had before. With wariness he stepped forward, using the shaft of his weapon to take the full weight of his body. It held, though Gimli felt it bow slightly under his body's pressure. The Dwarf frowned. His halberd was a good weapon and he appreciated it immensely, but it was not meant to be used as a crutch nor would it hold long if it were taken for that use. He would have to find something else to support him if his ankle were to remain his bane.

There are certainly enough choices for alternatives, he thought as he looked down at the stockpile of debris. Branches and roots in all shapes and sizes were displayed for him, and he was pleased by his former industry for he had even sorted the treasures into different piles according to size.

Lumbering wobbly to the pile with the thickest branches, he sized one up in his mind that might do for a crutch. It was a limb from an upper tree branch of one of the larger trees. It split into a fork, and though it was much taller than anything he might use, did Gimli not possess an axe on the halberd end? Smiling to himself for the ingenuity of his weapon, Gimli put it to use forging a crutch that would fit him. Starting at a size he was sure was too long, he bent down and fashioned the branch somewhat to what he suspected he needed. Standing it up to himself, he chuckled. His estimation was far off, and rather than making a crutch that might be right for himself, he made one that would be more appropriate for his Elven friend. As if such a thing would be used by Legolas, he chortled mirthfully.

Relinquishing the branch back to the axe end, he chopped it down to a size more respectable. Trying it again, he was pleased to find a better fit. With a few more minor adjustments, Gimli had it complete. He tucked the crutch under his arm and with tender steps he made forward. To his pleasure he found that once again as he moved his ankle was taking more and more pressure from his weight. If he had not known it before, he was certain now. His injury was a sprain only and Gimli knew he could relax for that worry. Still the crutch gave him better confidence, and Gimli decided it would come to use where he was about to journey.

For journey he must. No sign was there of Aragorn, and with the passage into midday, that absence made it all the more painfully apparent to the Dwarf that his friend needed his help. Absent of Legolas and forgetting about the fact that he was injured himself, Gimli felt Aragorn's security was in his hands. The harm to himself was minor. Aragorn should have been present, and if he had been there were no discernable clues that might give him away. That he was not was both frightening and mysterious. Gimli did not much like mysteries. He was not fond of fright either.

Gimli looked up. The passage to his escape was above, but he could not reach it, not even by extending his halberd to the furthest of his grip. And short of hewing through the walls to dig his way out, Gimli knew he would have to find his escape in a more methodical way. The tunnels beckoned him.

Truly, he did not mind, for these were the ways of a Dwarf, and a part of him had been aching to go onward and see if his suspicions were right about what he might find there. But he would not linger. Aragorn was in need of assistance and that was by far more important than seeking riches in the dark, though other Dwarves might disagree.

Knowing what he must do, he looked to the stockpile of seemingly useless twigs, branches, vines and rocks. To his eye he saw possibilities, and he began gathering and forging what he could from this into neat packs that he could sling over his back. He knew not how long he might be traveling in the depths of these caves and so planned out frugality in how he might extend his resources. Beyond the bits he could not carry he left the rocks behind, for he did not assess his need for them and assumed that, of all things, rocks were the one thing he might find in abundance down below.

Looking much like a pack mule, he turned in the direction from which he had found the magnetite stone earlier. Pulling free one slim twig of a branch, he twisted it until it snapped, still hinged at the joint, and he laid it in the center of the dirt pile. He fashioned it into an arrow pointing out his direction, just in case Legolas and Faramir might come looking for him. He would leave clues like these throughout his journey as it was the only sure way he knew for others to track his path in the dark.

His halberd in one hand and his crutch in the other, he made forward. A wisp of a breeze rushed past him as he neared the edge of the smaller tunnel at the end of this cavern. The circulation of air gave clear evidence that the tunnels led into more caves, and Gimli's heart beat brightly at the prospect of what lay ahead. As he entered the dark tunnel and the light continued to diminish, he thought of his friends encouraging him on as he drew into the darkness of the unknown.

Aragorn did all in his power to stifle a small cry and grimace from passing his lips. Further, he squelched the impulse that drove him to leap forth and catch his beloved and pulling her away from harm. It was not an easy thing to refrain from doing things that had become habit. His instinct to protect Arwen was as normal to him as breathing. Though true that he hovered over her actions, it irritated him somewhat that she felt he singled her out for his attentions. If she had given it much thought, she would see he devoted the same scrutiny to all of his friends. The only difference between she and they was that they had long ago threatened to pummel him if he did not leave off. Or words to that effect. In his humble opinion, Arwen was being slightly too sensitive.

Still, she was right, and Aragorn recognized her need to do this task without his assistance, though he was there to offer it should she want it. At the moment, asked for or not, it appeared needed, though he felt hesitant to step forth. He watched as her foot slipped off the flimsy rung to a ladder he had constructed.

Not truly a ladder was it. A crude set of footholds disguised as arrows he had shot into the muddy walls, each one a long step apart from the next, and despite the close range of the arrow, the mucky walls were not holding the arrows taut. So far his latest idea was proving to be a miserable failure.

Unable to restrain himself further, he stepped behind as the shaft holding Arwen's left foot, and in turn her entire body weight began to bow down and the arrow in her right hand that she was using to pull herself up dislodged itself in her hand. She was only four feet from the floor as she came toppling down once again. This was the fifth attempt at the feat and it was getting no easier with practice. Aragorn laid only a steadying hand to her back, ignoring the urge to grasp her by the waist and pull her upright. If Arwen wanted freedom to experience failure on her own, then so be it. He smiled a slight grin.

As she stood, the arrow that had been in her left hand and had not dislodged before, suddenly withdrew itself from the wall and fell with limp satisfaction to the ground. Looking first down at the arrow, then up at the place where it had formerly been entrenched, she growled. As if in answer to her inner curse, a clod of dirt from the wall let loose and with a soft splat landed upon her shoulder.

"Ai! This is useless! We shall never be free of this hole!" she cried, flailing in the attempt to brush the mud from her already ruined garment.

Once again Aragorn tried to stifle himself, but the edge of his chuckle crept out of the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps by a small token. You look rather bedraggled, my Lady."

Arwen's brows shot up though she continued to try and brush the soiling dirt from her body. "Speak for yourself, Lord Grunge," she said. She did not appear to be amused.

"I? Lord Grunge?" he asked, pretending hurt. "Then I must be in the presence of Lady Sodden," he said bowing. "My Lady," he said as he took her hand as if to kiss it, then stopped, looking at it with mock disgust before dropping it. "Remind me to introduce you to my friend, Master Grime."

She made a soft, grunting noise and Aragorn perceived her foul mood was not appeased by his attempt at levity. She did not smile, instead looking up at the sun now passing directly above the hole. It seemed so near, and yet so unreachable.

Frowning, she again began to brush herself off. "I do not believe I have ever been so filthy in my entire life!"

Despite her scowl he was still feeling playful. Cocking a brow at her, Aragorn smirked, "And that is saying a lot."

She looked at him, studying him before she pursed her lips and squinted her eyes. "Yet on you, it looks natural."

Hurt, his face suddenly drooped though he refused to let her see she had injured him. "You must admit I clean up rather well for my court even if my current condition does not profess it," he offered.

With a little more than a scowl he grimaced. "Not the fingernails gripe again," he moaned, a small amount of disdain creeping into his voice. Then defensively he said, "I have said it before, I work with my hands. I do not have time to scrub them clean every time I put down a quill."

A reproving sound escaped her lips as she said, "Every living being who can hold a fork works with his hands. It is hardly an excuse for the condition in which you keep them."

He looked at her hard before choosing to speak. With exasperation he shrugged. "Do you plan to continually berate me, or will you be easing off sometime in the next decade or two?"

A look of complete surprise swept over her face at that response, then she cast her eyes down as if absorbing it. The corners of her mouth twitched downward before a new expression washed over her. It was a look of sympathy and apology she graced on him as her eyes came up to meet his.

"You are right. I am so sorry. I should not take it out on you. This is not your fault."

"Yes," she answered loudly, frustration taking over. Then turning about and gazing again at the sun, she said, "I cannot help but feel there is more danger about and we would be better off were we to have Gimli with us."

"Ever since we neared this field," she answered filling in the blanks to his worries. He had felt it though he had not spoken of it until now. There was something not right about this hillock or field, not right about any of the environment, as if it were marred somehow, made into a trap. He shook his head to free himself of it.

"There are always Faramir and Legolas. Eventually they will come and rescue us," he offered, choosing to be optimistic.

"I do hope so," she said, glancing skyward, but her voice held a hint of disbelief. He was about to ask her of it when her expression suddenly changed.

He flashed his eyes upward as well. He could hear it. The sound was of rustling brush from above. A waft of fresh breeze came down upon him then and he squinted into it. The sound grew nearer, and he wondered if it were wise to stand in a beam of light when an unknown was approaching. Subtle footsteps gave way to the figure that stood over the hole a moment later and he did not then have time to act. It drew near, looking down on their presence and casting shadow upon them as it peered into the darkness. All they could see of it in the harsh contrast made by the sun was the outline of its form. A great buck stood before them, a head and a crown of antlers indicating it to be the buck of the hunt.

A pool of brightness surrounded the animal, light beams breaking off from the contrast of sky and form like an intense chiaroscuro in the frame of the opening. Shafts of color broke out from the zenith of sunlight, curiously bending in a spectrum of color which only Anar could do when meeting object below. Aragorn and Arwen both gasped at the sight while the crowned head above extended slightly at the sound, as if acknowledging its majesty.

For the briefest of moments, Aragorn considered reaching for his bow and quiver, seeking out one last attempt to take down this elusive creature. The contest still held, and despite his current predicament, it was the best shot he was likely to get. But then he watched the rise and fall of the animal's massive chest, and the poised grace of the magnificent head and he deserted the thought. There was something about the animal that was familiar. He felt almost as if he could reach out and touch it, that nameless thing that he recognized. Still, Legolas was right. This creature was far too grand to be blighted by an arrow shot, to be killed at all. It had stood the test of time and it deserved its regal place in the animal kingdom. It was not Aragorn's to decide when the animal might come to its end and it seemed out of place that a king of men should hold authority over a king of beasts.

He felt humbled. The stag was a masterpiece to behold, dominant in his vision. He could not tear his eyes away. The stag looked down upon him, its deep, earth eyes searching his soul and penetrating it. There was a connection between them and Aragorn felt stupefied as a rush of comprehension came to him. The obviousness of what he had not seen before, the familiarity he had felt, it was all poignantly clear. This deer was not his to take. It was a gift from the gods, and harming it would be like harming a part of himself. It was tangible to him, a part of his own soul, a symbol of something in himself he had lost. The animal raised its head, and briefly he could see more detail of its handsome face as the light broke in such a way as to not hinder the sight. Such grace and beauty. Such equanimity. Why did he not recognize these traits before? It was all there to be had. Aragorn only need reach out and it was his.

The buck's ears twitched and the animal pivoted its head around. Then instantly, without warning, it leapt, bounding over the hole and disappearing soundlessly from their view evermore. Once again a flood of light fell down on them, and Aragorn had to blink back from it, startled and suddenly uncertain if it had ever really been, yet a quick glance toward his wife told him his eyes had not deceived him. A single trickle of a tear escaped her eye leaving a clean trail across her cheek

She smiled at him and he smiled softly back, then he turned, shaking his head at his foolishness and he began to laugh. It was a small chuckle that escaped him at first, but then the irony of it all caught up to him and the mirth gained in volume. A deep belly laugh erupted as he recognized his own foolishness. He turned his head upward, as if trying to send a message to the animal, but he knew it would not hear. Still he laughed as he realized all of this, every minute of their dire situation, was his fault. If only he had seen. If only he had known. None of this was necessary, this escape from duty and pressures. Had he only realized earlier, he might have saved them all so much trouble. And the laughter fell about them and as it echoed about, he felt relieved, as if he were shedding a cloak that was too heavy and large for his body and had stifled his movements. These prior actions were not his but merely the persona of what was expected of him, what he expected of himself. No one else had placed this upon him. It had been his own making. And now he was free of it.

A glint came to his eyes as his laughter died down, and the beaming smile on his face rivaled the brilliance of the sun above. He knew. He understood. Arwen met his eyes with pools of happy tears filling grey orbs. She recognized him. He had come back.

With a hint of a smile he nodded to her, then bowing slightly in thought, he looked up and said, "I think it is time we found our way out of here."

But the expression of unerring confidence fled abruptly from her face as a look of terror swept in to replace it. Turning her head, her eyes darted along the walls, seeking out a source for her fear. And then she turned to him with an expression that he had seen on Legolas' face many times on their quest with the ring. It was the look of fear, and his heart skipped a beat and his throat constricted as he realized exactly what it meant.

As she said this he heard the earth tremble and rock as muddy clumps began to rain down.

"Get the lamp!" he shouted as he bent and stretched to reach the waterskins and the rope. Arwen did likewise as she grabbed the lamp a few feet away. Her head flipped side to side searching for the medicine kit. Aragorn saw it in a farther corner next to his quiver but already it was too late, being buried in dirt. "Leave it!" he commanded.

Then grabbing her arm, he surveyed the measure of the cavernous room as the rumbling grew in strength. The walls on the hillside began to collapse inward, and fearfully he pulled away dragging her with him. The noise was overwhelming, vibrating through his body as he shook with the tremors of earth movement. Blind terror enveloped him as he pulled Arwen ever nearer, crushing her head to his chest as if he could somehow protect her from this. He continued to rush back, back, away from the roiling dirt and muck that was crumbling down without distinction about them. Suddenly his heart leapt to his throat when sensation of ground beneath him gave way, and he realized quite suddenly that they were falling. Murky depths surrounded them and a rush of air slid past them as restless ground skittered away. Down, down, down they drew.

No, not again, he thought as they fell into an unknown world below and everything became black. ****

Kattica put on a personality, though she did not know she could act. She was pleased at how easily she fell into it as it was not typical of her to behave in such a fashion. After living a life where she bowed her head and never talked back to her elders, and most certainly not to men, it felt amazingly liberating to walk forcefully through the camp, head held high, eyes focused and sharp as Gordash followed in her wake. Her voice barked out, "Leave me then. If he fears to see me in the open, he would not want witness when we meet in private."

Kattica had to restrain herself from laughing. Under normal circumstances, away from the witchery and manipulations that had almost become the norm in the camp, Gordash was a dear brother-in-law. The grand-sized man had a heart that was large and tender and he could always be counted on as an aide to the camp. It nearly broke Kattica's heart when he had been bent so easily to Bregus' dominance, and the girl had watched the beloved spirit fade quietly over the months into a monstrous sort of bully. She had not liked Gordash much of late, and it gave her pleasure to see him somewhat humbled by the character she was putting on for all of the camp to ponder.

There too was Curtik. As the younger brother, closest in age to her, he had always shied away from her companionship. Mattias told her once that he suspected his youngest sibling had a small infatuation with her, and though Kattica denounced such a thing to her husband, secretly she agreed it might be true. She found him often watching her, yet he nearly always fled when she came near. It was the baby she hoped that might bring Curtik closer. He was wonderful with children, and Kattica longed to see how he might take to a niece even if he feared being close to the child's mother. She had hoped to make him see some day that women could be companions, not just wives and lovers.

She looked at him now. Over the last several months as Bregus had become more secretive and isolated, so too had Curtik, talking only with the men and barely making contact on more than a one-on-one basis. It was now amusing to see that both brothers appeared startled by the transfiguration in the girl. This at least was assuring, for it gave Kattica the confidence she needed to go on in her false guise. She was playing a dangerous game and she knew it.

Her hand shook as she drew back the curtain to enter the tented wagon. She knew she could not give up her resolve and so fixed her face in one of confidence. She licked her lips nervously before letting her voice contradict the fear that raced in her chest. "So where is my dear husband? Do we have Mattias within?" she asked sardonically.

The charade came to a halt when she entered the wagon. Of course she knew Mattias to be here and her eyes did not lie when she beheld him. She gulped convulsively. The look he cast at her told her that he seemed not affected by the energy she put into her act. He held his gaze on her, and this time refused to shy from the nearness of her body. She could see his eyes piercing her, trying to recognize the soul within her to which he had been privy in their physical bond and she found her pretense melting. She could not keep it up with him.

She realized she was frightened in his presence. She felt a strange foreignness about him. Was this truly Mattias? His earlier actions would tell her it was but she reminded herself that he had betrayed her when she had begged him to leave. In the back of her mind she realized she had not quite forgiven him for that or allowed those feelings to heal and she knew she would have to let it go if they were to get past this breech. He appeared so much her Mattias, and yet she was uncertain she could trust him. It was the separation that Bregus had thrust upon them that had done this, though Kattica recognized it could be repaired if she could only reach his soul. And if he would hear her out.

It did not help that he had witnessed her act with such depraved indifference to hurting the Elf before. That she had confessed this sin to herself and to Legolas was unknown to him and she reminded herself of this fact. She was willing to make up for it now if he would be willing to acknowledge her remorse. Could she redeem herself to Mattias? She wanted it very much to happen.

A thought occurred to her as she gazed upon his emotionless face. Was he even himself any more? She knew Bregus was powerful, and though exhausted, the elder seemed to exude great influence over her kin even in the meekest of efforts. It could very well be that Mattias' pull toward moral thinking was swayed once again by the old woman. Could this be a test, a trap to assess the young woman's loyalty? Kattica tried to brace herself for all possibilities.

Yet her mind automatically countered this fear as her eyes moved down his bandaged arms. He had been attacked by the dogs, and she doubted Bregus had intentionally done this. To Kattica, the assault was evidence that Bregus' control was slipping. Would the dogs have had opportunity to maul one of their own so freely if the old woman were in her right mind? It was doubtful. The dogs' task had been to watch over the prisoners and the camp, and unless they somehow realized Mattias was attempting to free the Elf, they would not have normally pursued a Romany let alone the camp leader. Bregus' mind must have strayed from her control over the animals. The dogs' message must have been muddled. It was the only solution Kattica had for what had happened.

Then words spilled forth, interrupting Kattica's thoughts, and he surprised her. As if reading her mind he took a step closer, gazing almost coldly into her eyes and then glancing down at her swollen belly. His eyes swept up, and he looked to her in askance, his expression suddenly softened. "May I?" he said and she nodded. With a gentle caress, his hand came down and wrapped tenderly about her rounded womb. As if sensing him, the baby kicked and a small smile flickered across his lips. Kattica smiled in turn. It was a familiar moment, one like so many before these trying events. Tears brimmed her eyes again as she looked upon him and she found him to be staring at her. Could it be? Was it truly him?

She wanted to touch him, something simple to assure herself his presence was still there. He had been so alien to her of late, and she supposed she had been alien to him as well. His eyes studied her and she found herself suddenly shy and awkward in his presence. But she could understand why he needed to consider her so long. It was for the same reason that her trust in him was so shaken. What she had asked of him, what he had offered, she realized now what it had meant to them both. They had both been true to their characters, but there had been something missing in their exchanges. Communication between them had been readily absent. But this mix-up went back much further than just the last few days. In a way, this was something that the girl knew she had brought upon herself.

For years now, Kattica had kept her fears and knowledge of what the elder had been from Mattias because she feared hurting him or making him choose between Bregus and herself. He had not been given the knowledge of everything Bregus had been and now she realized he had been forced to react only to Kattica's actions. He did not know what the cause of them was. Perhaps if she had been more open, shared her fears more plainly, he might have seen the danger and have worked to correct this long before anything more had come to be. So much of what was now their turmoil could have been prevented, Kattica realized, and it was her fault it had not been.

In that instance, she saw there was much to repair in their relationship. Could they begin here? Could he ever learn to understand or trust her again?

"Mattias," she softly whispered, and her hand instinctively reached up to touch his face. To her relief, he leaned in to her caress. Just that alone was enough to give her reason for small joy. And then he gazed up. An expression danced across his face that told her the truth of what lie in his heart. He was aching just as she was. A knot closed in on her throat as her eyes mirrored his.

Kattica fought to speak around the lump in her throat. "It was a mistake, I think. One of them also came at me only minutes before you, but I withdrew. That is why I was looking about for the dogs. I feared they might return. Still, I don't think she really had intention for the animals to attack one of the tribe. "

He looked intensely at her. His stormy eyes met hers and she found herself torn between relief and fear. She was joyously happy to find his self-control holding and, at the same moment, tremendously frightened, fearing a trap. "Kattica, what has happened to us?" he asked and she gasped at the question.

She could not answer. Her throat felt too tight, and she was choking on the guilt borne from his knowledge of what lay in her heart. Looking away, her face flushed in humiliation and she began to pull back but his hand swept up and took her heated palm into his own.

Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him. How could he be responsible when Bregus had been the one to bring this strife upon them and Kattica had been so resolute not to disturb the peace?

He shook his head as if reading her thoughts, negating her responsibility. "I brought this upon you. I did it. I should have seen what she was forcing from you. Kattica, I am so sorry! Forgive me, please." She felt his strong arms sweep her into an embrace and she could hardly contain herself. Desperate. That is was how she felt. She clung to him as fiercely as he clung to her. It felt wonderful to be held again, to be loved again. How she had missed him. How much she ached to tell him everything that had been happening. But first she needed to make what he said clear in her mind.

"I should have seen it, Kattica. I have long known that my mother used her influence to manipulate and maneuver others into her schemes, but I never realized how far she could go until I saw how she had bent you. I did not think it could happen. I never wanted her to affect you like this. It is I who has brought this upon you. Please tell me, is it too late to recover you? Will you ever be the person I knew?" And then he furthered Kattica's shock by crying. "I am sorry!" he whispered to her.

Kattica reached up and took his face into her hands, drawing him near so she might console him. "Oh Mattias! Is it truly you?" With teary eyes he looked at her and grimly smiled, nodding. Then Kattica cried, "It is not your fault! It is not your doing! Mattias, she bewitched you. She took away your power to decide and she would not allow you to see it. She kept you blind to her doings. She has done so for years."

Confusion crossed his brow. "Years? Years? Has it been that long? Why did I not see it before?"

"She is a powerful witch, Mattias. She uses dark spells to attain her whims," Kattica said, touching his face again to assure herself this was real.

"She wants her youth returned. She wants Bäla back in her life. You heard some of her rant. She thinks she may bring him back," Kattica said.

"She is mad. That is what fully convinced me of it. Her raving" He turned around, bringing hands to his temples and squeezing his eyes shut as if he did not want to see this. "Alas! I should have known!"

He turned and faced her, caressing her skin with a callused thumb. "Ah, Kattica, sweet Kattica, you do not know. You do not know what it was like in this camp when my father still lived. You do not know what it was like between them."

"He was an egotistical man, Kattica. He was tyrannical and many feared him. My brothers and I feared him. She was the only one who could stand up to him. He actually respected her that. Outwardly, there appeared nothing but hatred between them, but truthfully there was a passion that even I did not understand," he said sighing.

"She speaks of him as if she worships him," Kattica said with a perplexed frown.

"Ever since his death, she has been this way. Nothing wayward could be said of him, though when he lived she had nothing but cruel words for him. She mourns him so now."

"I think this was their way of expressing it, through harsh words, violence and lustful acts. She was hardly mother to us. Others in the camp played that role and she seemed not to notice. Her mind was filled with ambition. I never wanted my marriage to be like theirs, Kattica, or my wife to be like her."

"- As if he were a god," Mattias completed the thought. "Aye, I know. I think now that he is gone, she is lonely."

Mattias scowled. "She does not love us, Kattica. Not as you love. She rules us. We have always been just another tool to her. I do not know if Curtik and Gordash ever really realized it. They were always - still are - desperate for her approval and love. Yet I think he was the only thing she ever truly wanted, only she could not be satisfied when she had him. When he died, that was when she came to realize how much she needed him."

"Perhaps she does not. She was ambitious. It angered her that he did not try even harder to further their position. She never thought he was doing enough," Mattias said.

"They were already leaders of the tribe. What more did she want?" Kattica asked.

Mattias smiled grimly. "My father's point precisely. He wanted nothing more than to rule our own tribe and for us to prosper. It was mother who wanted to see the clan expand so our family would be large enough to rule all the gatherings. She was constantly trying to recruit others into our family by whatever means."

"She was afraid of you. Perhaps because she dabbled in the dark arts and she feared you would know it," he offered.

Kattica swallowed. "I dare not say. Jealousy perhaps? Her feelings for you are dark, Mattias. It makes our situation ever worse. We must flee. There is danger everywhere due to her," Kattica warned.

"I gave her the opportunity." Mattias looked away, seemingly ashamed. She saw his face flush and a grim expression cross his brow. "When Bäla died and Mother clearly went into mourning, I tried to do what I could to console her. I suppose that I too was trying to earn her love. She was never truly evil with us, Kattica, never that I could see, and despite all, I do love her, though I loathe her actions. I gave her the opportunity to continue her role, though when he died it was no longer hers. It looked harmless. After he died, she seemed to shrink up, and her goals always appeared to be small things. One more night in a haven, fresh greens from a garden, a small barrel of tavern brew. It was never much really. But it was always too much. Just one thing more than what we were ever offered or for which we could pay. She resented that we could not obtain it, yet she knew the burden really fell to herself for I had allowed her to decide. She began to loathe herself, and the worship of Bäla became enforced. Somehow she thought he might have done better. And maybe he would have. It did not stop her from wanting, and when she could not have it, from taking. By the time I saw the estrangement she was reaping in our wake, it was too late to rein her in. She had grown used to having a say. She took over and I I did nothing to stop it. To stop her."

"She cast spells on you then. You cannot blame yourself. You did not realize she was doing such things to you," Kattica assured him.

"She tried, but her spells always failed on me. I fought her. That is the key. She cannot truly take one in black magic if one knows one is being guided by it. It is frightening though, because if the wielder is clever enough, the ones who are possessed never know they are taken. That is what has happened to this camp. They can fight it only if they realize they are not in their own right mind. I was stronger than I perceived. I fought her off," she answered then raised her hand to the amulet hanging around her neck. "Or perhaps I had additional help."

"She threatened your life. She threatened the baby's life. I complied willingly to save you. In that she did take me," Kattica answered with shame, eyes cast down.

"She threatened your life as well, did she not?" he asked, though it was not really a question.

He then crushed her into his strong chest. "Oh, dear Kattica, I am sorry! I am sorry!"

Kattica could feel tears spilling forth from her eyes, but these were tears of joy. "How I have prayed that you would come back to me, that you would believe me. Once before I asked for your complicity and you denied it. But now "

"That was not me. I swear it was not. But you have me now and I believe you. And I will not bend to her will any longer," he said with conviction.

They stood like that for a long moment before tearing themselves apart. The danger about was real and Kattica could almost feel it.

"Yes," she agreed, though she found it difficult to break away from him despite knowing she must.

"I will not do that, Mattias. I have come back to myself and I will not allow them to fall victims." She paused before speaking. Touching his hand she said, "Will you help me in this?"

"Yes, of course," he said, and she explained all she knew to him. She did not tell Mattias of Bregus' alternative plan to use him instead of Anborn. That was one blow too many, and she felt she had to spare his feelings for his mother in some way. She could shield him from this much of his mother's darkness at least.

One positive thing, however, could be found to give her hope. Locked within the confines of the supply wagon, Kattica and Mattias were reunited in heart and thought. Together they would find a way, as if they were two parts of a mirrored object rejoined.

After some time passed discussing possible options, they agreed upon a plan, though his response was as she expected. "Would it not be better to free them and to flee ourselves?" he asked.

"If she had no allies it would, but there are many eyes in this camp, and I know not how many are reporting back to her now through their connection to her mind. I only hope my ruse will hold. I have free access at the moment. That may not last. I need her to think I am true to the darkness," Kattica said.

"She thinks you are loyal to her and you must not let her think otherwise," she demanded. With one last embrace and a stirring kiss, she turned away from him, but not before looking back. She was smiling with encouragement.

His expression was grim, but his eyes expressed earnest hope and he gave her a small grin. "Luck to you, Kattica," he said. "I will look for you as we had planned. May good fortune follow you, as will my heart."

Kattica felt her face beam in joy, but then knowing the danger, she schooled the expression away. Then she drew through the curtains to the wagon and found herself again in the camp. The curtain of her false self went up to replace the giddy happiness she truly felt. It was time to act her role.

Mattias followed her, his expression of quiet sympathy now substituted with something akin to fear. She turned to him, staring at him as if angered, and he flinched as if he truly did believe it. But he spoke next and she realized it was his way of telling her everything between them was well. He said, "Please, Kattica. Do not tell her. You must believe me. I was not trying to free them!"

She scowled in response. "As her apprentice it is my duty to protect this camp and her hostages." She emphasized this last word and she could see several sets of eyes turn toward the Elf and Man on the other side of the camp as if pondering them for the first time. "You nearly ruined everything."

Mattias straightened as if mustering his courage. "I am her son. She will believe me."

Mattias drew back, as if indeed frightened of that very prospect. "Nay, but please . . ."

Kattica stepped forward, and act or no act she could not resist. "I will not tell," she said, stroking his cheek seductively. "You are my husband after all." Then removing her hand she turned cold, whispering but in a voice loud enough for all those near to hear, "And you are tribal leader. As a member of this camp my loyalty is to that above all else." Her eyes swiftly swept over the others, taking them in and hoping their thoughts were breaking free of Bregus' hold. And she hoped also that those that were not might be reporting her seeming loyalty to the old woman. She needed Bregus' trust if this were to work. And yet she fought for dual purposes. Kattica suspected Bregus was losing control, and anything she could do to further the independent thinking of their people, she would. She added, "You rule this camp. If you command it, I will obey."

She watched him as he pretended to act as if he had achieved some great goal. Then he squared his jaw and quietly said, "You are so different from what you were, Kattica. It is as if you have been transformed!"

Kattica scoffed. "Transformed? I? I act as I have always acted. Just as you have always acted as you do now. I remember nothing being different. I am Bregus' servant, and I obey her unless I am ordered otherwise by an authority higher." Her intent was that these words might surprise them. The contrast between who she had been and who she was now was great, but was it enough to give them pause to consider their own motivations?

The hurt in Mattias' eyes was near believable, and a small swell in her throat came forth by gazing there. She could feel her eyes sting with tears as he said, "I command it of you then. You will not tell her."

A small murmur of wonder swept through the crowd. She bowed her head in seeming acquiescence, but truthfully it was to hide the small smile that crept over her face. He had played this well, as had she, and her plan for their people was working.

With eyes cast down she backed away from him, retreating as the voices grew louder and the crowd milled closer to him. The people asked Mattias questions that thankfully diverted attention away from her.

"She made it seem like you should be afraid of Bregus, Mattias. Why should you be afraid?"

"I cannot recall it either. There was something about them doing harm to us, was there not? Or was it salvation?"

As the voices swooped in on Mattias, she slipped over to where the bender tents were and made her way to her own shelter where she knew Bregus would be sleeping. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. This was the danger of her plan and it would decide her fate. Succeed and everyone in the tribe would be freed. Fail and the Elf and the Man would be killed, not to mention herself and her child. And perhaps even more would die. That she could not foresee. It was terribly risky, and it would be far easier to just flee right now. She and Mattias could get away and start anew on their own. Yet her conscience would no longer allow her to desert Legolas and Anborn to the old witch's devices. Bregus would still succeed if Kattica did not act in someway against her, and though fleeing now would keep the girl alive, she was not sure she would want to be if she did not try to help.

She could also just go and cut their ropes in open view and be done with it, as Mattias suggested, but Legolas' legs were still hindered and she was not certain he could run in this state. No doubt did she have that he and Anborn would be hunted down and brought back if she did nothing to remedy this. And then she would have exposed herself too and her chance to get away would be gone.

Mattias had been afraid for her. He saw her task as going face to face with the enemy. Kattica was certain, though, that he had the harder job, for once she planted the seed of doubt in their people's minds, it was his to make it grow while seeming true to his mother, at least temporarily. He would be the one ultimately testing their loyalties. If she succeeded.

They both knew the risk for failure, and if this did not work, they would try to get away regardless of harm to others, meeting alone as they had decided. But it could not fail. It should not fail.

Kattica knew the potency of the vision-seeker drug. For a moment she remembered the bowl and her prior intent to dispose of the contents. She had not. She had left it out in the open near Bregus' wagon and she worried what could happen if it were mistakenly put in the wrong hands. But she decided not to fret. No one but she or Bregus' sons neared the old woman's vardo, and they knew better than to touch any of her potions. Of course Bregus also had access to the wagon, but Bregus was asleep, and if Kattica was successful, Bregus would stay asleep for some time.

The purpose of the drug was this: it made its recipient extremely susceptible to suggestion and vision. Not anyone could wield it though and Kattica had no personal experience with it since Bregus had never deemed her ready to progress in her training to that level. Yet it was said that through it the great shuvanis could enter thoughts and maneuver the user into paths of grand discovery. They could see into the future, into the beyond, and into the thoughts in the user's mind. It was a drug with tremendous benefits, and also horrible ramifications if abused. Kattica was certain Bregus' intent had been one of harm, but this was a way to redeem that. Though her own skill was new, Kattica felt certain she could reach the old woman's mind, and through it cut off the contact she had with the tribe. The beginnings of a break were there already, and it was up to Kattica to complete the task. Kattica had to have faith in herself, and also in Bregus' befuddled state for she also knew without guidance the user was lost somewhat in hallucinations. She was certain this is what had caused the dogs to veer off of their goal, to harm one of the tribe. It was the command of a mind gone mad. Fortunately, the drug only lasted a few hours and that time for Bregus would be ending soon. If Kattica were to act, she had to do it now.

Bregus lay still, frighteningly still. The light of the tent cast an eerie blue-green light that made the old woman's skin a sickly tint and the deep lines in her face somehow deeper. Circles of sunken skin ringed the elder's eyes and it was all Kattica could do to repress a shiver. She felt as if she were looking upon a corpse. It was only the slight rise and fall of the old woman's chest that let Kattica know Bregus still lived.

Fighting her fear, Kattica prepared herself. She calmed her mind, much like Bregus had taught her, and let the repetition of a quieting incantation roll over her thoughts. She had to bring herself into a trance to make this work. The words were in her head, and the fluidity of the unspoken sounds droned over and over her consciousness. Ever-changing and simultaneously always constant the chants came again and again. Releasing her from earthbound troubles, the words morphed and crystallized into shapes and figures until soon they were no longer words but pure sound, resonating in lovely tones that could only be heard in her brain. They were accompanied by images she could not describe, and yet she was grounded. The world spun around her, though her focused eyes never lost their bearings. She was floating upward, skyward and free, and yet she was awkwardly heavy, her body pressing stolidly into the earth. A hyperawareness came to her as her present condition rolled away. She could see and hear everything about her, but it was as if she were a distant observer.

Placing fingers to Bregus' brow and cheek in much the same way as she had done with Legolas, the girl pressed on and her mind entered the old woman's thought. Fleeting visions skipped through her in a dizzying array. So much passed there and for a minute she was lost. These were Bregus' thoughts in a jumbled, disconnected world. A seat at the wagon bench as it was being pulled by a team of horses children playing around the campfire the music of an impromptu performance within the family a knife skinning a stag after a day's hunt aiding in the birth of a child watching a loved one die in a small tent a hand slapping her face the Elf's cursing words the look of glee in her own eyes the dream of the cave that was the Protected Place watching Anborn caress a woman's face in the moonlight the contents of the bowl the feel of the medicine on her fingersBälaMattias' wild look of fear Anborn

It terrified Kattica. So many thoughts whirled by so quickly and she came to realize in that instant how difficult the task that she had set out for herself was. Time was short, and wandering aimlessly through Bregus' sifting thoughts would aid no one. She floundered, seeking control but knowing not how to attain it. Frustration for the bend of time teased at her but slowly she found her reign. She drew into image, putting her own thoughts forward so it was not at Bregus' discretion where they went, and that is when she felt it again. The warm and tantalizing taste of the darkness. It tempted her, yet Kattica refused to relish it. She denied it access into her waking thoughts. She could not take backward steps. She needed to use this skill, and black though it was, there was no allusion that this was anything but self-preservation. I will not allow this to taint me! she thought.

Leading the other, Kattica directed Bregus' mind to the Man and Elf, for this is what she first needed to learn. She asked the pertinent inquiries that had been playing in her mind. Who, what, where, when, why, how? This was done with all the accoutrements of questioning that filled in the blanks to Kattica's understanding, and a long dialog between the two women commenced, though words were never spoken. More images flashed before her, and a clearer vision of what was to be came unto her. It was frightening. Future holdings and desires lingered forth from the old woman and Kattica was surprised and appalled that someone so old might linger in such depths of ambition and blind jealousy. She would have thought that that need might have been quenched at this age, but it was apparent the shuv'ni's longings were not stanched. Bregus wanted and needed a long line of yearnings, and the girl could see the desires for greatness and power were a well of infinite depths to her. They could never be fulfilled. With dread Kattica feared what might come should the old woman succeed in her plans. Youth would feed her goals. With renewed life, there was no telling how much harm could be wrought.

One thing showed itself that gave Kattica courage. There was fear in the elder for what she was about to undertake and the girl drew into that. She could see its great depths and she stirred the brew of it. If they took the cave, if she killed the Elf, if she allowed Bäla's spirit to possess . . The elder's apprehensions grew and Kattica smiled to herself, thinking that if she could make the worry strong enough, the old woman might be convinced not to act on this depravity. The down-reaching uncertainty was made up of an insecurity that highlighted Bregus' fear of failure and Kattica saw and felt the elder's masked hesitations there. They were great. Fear of soldiers. Fear of weapons. Fear of being overwhelmed. Fear of attack. Fear of being wrong. And most significant, fear of her people's rejection should she lead them into danger. The bounds of her strength were only so strong. Fortunately, the fear was strong as well.

This led to the other path that Kattica had been seeking to find. It was the one that gave Bregus control over her people. It was there before her then, and Kattica startled at its appearance. It was rooted and rocky, not smooth and well-kept as the elder would lead her to believe. Again the girl smiled, seeing she could add more confusion to this road by covering it over and obscuring it. Looking about she sought out a tool to make it so, but in her glancing survey she saw him and it made her stop in her task. Walking past the shadows and into the light, Bäla made his appearance and came to stand before her, blocking Kattica's way to the well of fears and the path of control.

Outwardly, the sight of Bäla focused into her softened vision and inwardly she felt Bregus' desires piqued. It confused Kattica, this wanting for the man so evil, but the description of the elder woman's mate matched Mattias' words to what she saw before her inside Bregus' mind.

Physically, Bäla and Mattias were much the same, and Kattica could feel Bregus pushing and pulling against this. She could sense that the old woman had very much relished the appearance of her husband even as he had aged, though her mind seemed most fixed on him as he had been in his youth, much as Mattias now appeared. Kattica had to admit he was a handsome man, but she found Bregus' desire went beyond normal attraction. She lusted for him and this too was an unquenchable thing that had not been halted by age. Those desires were left without slake. Kattica felt sorry for the old woman and pitied her for the only thing she had left, this memory, and she realized Bregus' thoughts. The shadow of him was left in the face of their son. It sickened the girl as she realized that the feelings and the desires in the old woman's heart had been transferred. From the old man they had moved and taken up residence in the form of her eldest son. Kattica could feel Bregus' eyes washing over this man, and she felt the want for him and the resignation that she might have to settle elsewhere. Madness pressed on Bregus, and Kattica knew the torment of lust fighting against chaste maternal love as Bäla's face became Mattias' and then back again. Bregus wanted her son. But then Kattica saw something else. It was not physical intimacy the old woman desired, though Kattica could sense that too. It was the longing to be cared for and held and loved that the elder truly wanted. And perceiving the emptiness within the old woman, Kattica could see even that this wish could never be sated.

It was easy to slide into Bregus' thoughts and Kattica had to take a step back to catch herself from falling while Bäla inched his way forward. Kattica could see he was trying to move to the forefront of Bregus' thoughts and she righted herself though she felt off-balance. It was a precarious hold Kattica had. There and not there she was, and she had to stir herself from time to time to discern where she ended and Bregus started. The thoughts that rolled through her became partly her own, and she could feel them as if she had conceived them alone. It was not an easy thing, and more than once Kattica had to draw back to preserve herself. Yet it was so lulling, so completing and intoxicating, the feel of the power in taking a mind. She felt tainted by it, as if a part of Bregus were taking over. Still, she remembered Mattias' assurances and she knew she would not fall again. He anchored her to herself and she used memory of him to pull herself back.

Again, Bäla danced into her mind, and as he whipped around, it was almost as if he was gazing upon her. He could see her. Kattica knew it could not be, for he was not real. He was dead. A ghost in Bregus' mind. But he was so vivid. She could feel his presence with her, sitting next to her in the tent and simultaneously not, and she could see his expectation to live again through Bregus' mind. She wondered at that. Could a memory really be reborn? She had heard of possessions by spirits, but she had never truly witnessed one especially as she deemed Bregus' vision of Bäla to be untrue, a phantom only in her mind. Kattica never actually considered him to be there. And yet

His breath whispered upon her neck, and she could feel the lick of his tongue upon her throat. Her own breath quickened slightly to the touch. It seemed so real. Could it be?

In her mind, he laughed, as if recognizing her. A welcoming hand touched her own, and her eyes grew wide in their trance-like state. He could see her!

Wicked words unspoken by him dashed through her mind, and she felt herself recoiling, trying to pull away from him. His grip tightened, and she could see his madness too. It shone in his eyes as they pierced her. In the background she could see Bregus watching, laughing, observing it all as she huddled quietly in her corner. Kattica too was forced to observe. She was forced to see exactly what Bäla wanted, desired.

They were two of the same. Kattica could not discern anymore who was who. Which was Bregus? Which was Bäla? They were one, like a mirrored object united. Their desires were insatiable, demanding, alike. Their dominance and pull toward each other were the riders in this form. They were Bregus in body, but Bäla in mind and Kattica came to see and understand. There was no Bäla. The one who had lived by that name long ago died. His memory existed only in a shell maintained by the twisted dreams of Bregus. He was not real! He was not real!

She wanted to scream. She wanted to pull away. Yet her conscious mind told her not to do these things as giving in to them would give her place away. This was only a trance. It was not real. It was taking place only within her mind.

Despite all, Bregus slept on and the only physical touch remained the one Kattica had at the gentle placement of her fingers. Her hands shook though as if Bäla's was curled about her own and he was trying to wrestle her loose from the hold into Bregus' mind. More laughter followed as he could perceive her press to fight him and regain mastery over Bregus' mind.

In a flurry of thought, Kattica told herself this was most definitely not the Bäla that Mattias knew. This was a monster of Bregus' concoction, worse even than described, an addendum to the old woman's mind. As she attempted to push his prying away she reminded herself it was doubtful Bäla ever looked as such, acted as such. Yet here he was now, a carryover made real in the old woman's mind.

Kattica tried to redirect the thoughts of the old woman, to focus them on the many she held in the encampment. She tried to release the grip the shuv'ni had over their thoughts, but she found that lock was cast in iron. A small sob breached the silence as Kattica realized she was losing her hold. A flood of doubt washed into her mind as she found Bregus-Bäla marching inward to capture her soul!

She opened her eyes, breaking the trance. She pushed away the spell. A fearsome throbbing pulsed at her temple, chiming in synch with the dull ache issuing from her brow. She pulled her fingers away from the sleeping form of Bregus. She willed her shaking hand to stop, sighing in relief that she had ventured and returned.

"You should not have come here," came a male voice whispering softly in her ear.

"Bäla!" she gasped jumping back, suddenly realizing she was not free from him. He was still there! He was beside her! He was tangible and real!

Clawing hands clenched her shoulders and arms, bruising her, mangling her, pushing her down. His face pressed into hers as his heavy breath blew hotly across her skin. Greedy eyes ran over her. It was a confusion in her mind to look upon him. Mattias, Bäla, and Anborn all at once he was. He was each of them, a figment of desire that was one with them. And Bregus too.

She cried out, knowing now full well she was captive to this. He held her down so she was laid side by side with the old woman. He smiled wickedly at her and she knew what was to come. He would take her. He would rape her thoughts as his fingers pressed down on her brow. She would be helpless to flee. Hopelessly she conceded that they would know everything. The unified Bregus would know of hers and Mattias' deception. Alas! It was over! She had failed!

A journeying thought whipped past her minds eye before she lost herself to his torment. Her dark eyes ran past his face, to the tent wall, to the resting figure beside her and lastly to the talisman still wound about the old woman's wrist. She saw it, and realized she could do one thing more. Reaching out with a hand unbounded by his, she grabbed for it, loosely fingering the pendant that showed the radiant sun. Her other hand pressed to her chest inching up to the amulet at her throat. The cool stone at her chest vibrated in her fingers, tingling and alive, and simultaneously the wooden ornament stirred with heat and fire. A spark ignited from her fingertips, and Kattica's eyes grew wide as she watched. Wafts of smoke perpetuated from the small decoration at the old woman's hand. Katticas fingertips stroked the charring remnant and she watched as the inscription of the running figure burned away. The smoldering continued, and began to carry up to the ribbon of fine hair making up the cord. And then Kattica looked away from it.

Bäla's gaze went wild and he howled. Jumping away he was gone and Kattica gasped at her release. She was free. Run now! Run! her mind screamed at her as she pushed herself upright and away. But then a new reason for fright stirred beside her as she attempted to rise.

Bregus eyes flew open and looked upon the girl. Kattica stopped, momentarily shocked and unsure of what to say. Did the old woman even realize what had happened?

Unbalanced and clumsy, Kattica could not move without drawing attention. "Sleep, Bregus, sleep. It is not time to rise," she whispered in a shaking voice, hoping it convinced enough to keep the old woman from really noticing the girl's awkward pose. The suggestive part of the drug seemed to take hold. Bregus' eyes drifted shut, and a short minute later Kattica expelled the breath she had been holding. Her body shuddered convulsively over the fear of what she had beheld. Slowly, she sat up straighter and called to her body to exit.

Cool fingers pressed to her brow. She had not seen it coming. Suddenly Bregus had her held in both mind and body. Wide eyes shined into her own. The old woman's thoughts came into Kattica's mind. It was an exchange that went on for a time uncountable. It was fleetingly quick and dully slow. Both and the same. Two parts united. The two women fought for control. Bregus prodded the girl's thoughts, tempting her with the darkness she knew and desired. But Kattica kept to her resolve. Fighting, pushing back, struggling against Bregus' hold, she felt the old woman relinquish and move away. But it was a ploy, and Kattica did not see it.

"If I shan't know your mind, I shall take your strength," she heard the old woman speak. And then a draining power coasted over her, shadowing her, like a cloud rolling over the sun. All was darkness for Kattica, and she felt her energy floating away. Lethargic apathy wound around her and her eyes rolled back. The last thing she remembered before she succumbed to the pitch was the feel of her head smacking the coverings blanketing the floor of the tent. ****

Then and now. How different life seemed. How much things had changed in mere hours, in a day, or two. Then the strife, the rivalries and the worries all had been a part of the course of life's road. When caught up in triviality as the normal order of things the harsh edge of danger and death was certain to clear the meager pettiness from one's path. Then and now. It was impossible not to see the terrible contrast in this comparison. Legolas had been watching the scene before him evolve and a tickle of nervousness sent his keen intellect forward to discern what was afoot even while he replayed the days past and where it had all gone wrong. But he could not linger long mulling over their deeds as there was danger for which to fret. There was danger now.

In the last few hours since Kattica had affixed the amulet to his wrist, he had been dulled by the listlessness of waiting. He had occupied himself by doing what he could to unravel the binds at his hands. It was impossible. The Romany people, it seemed, were gifted with rope and knot skills and the bounding cords were as strong and tight as anything of Elven construct. Short bursts of quiet conversation between he and Faramir had taken place, and in these he had learned that the Ithilien Prince was having no more success than he at unleashing himself. Legolas had to console himself that at least the man was hale, and the Elf breathed a promise of gratitude for that. He also warned Faramir to be prepared for anything. Perhaps it was Bregus' failure that did it, but none in the camp seemed to be heeding their converse, and except for the random look sent their way, and the patrolling Romany who might walk by on an occasion or two to check their ties, the hostages were left pretty much to their own. With little to keep them from doing so, they had shared all that they knew between them and Legolas informed Faramir of what transpired in the camp since Faramir was at the disadvantage by facing away. Fate would not tell what it had in mind for these two, but Legolas was determined that they would be as ready as they possibly could when their time came.

Yet quietly time passed and patience was needed to make it move along with any sense of calm. He felt certain they would be freed somehow. Kattica was fighting for them, and as the events before him slowly showed, there was a rift building in the camp. Fortunately, patience was a skill bested in the Eldar race, and he had forced his mind to alertness even if nothing was apparently occurring. Like water seeping between stones, he knew erosion was taking place. Outwardly he was eager to be done, though he knew it was not his to decide when action might take shape. Better to be alert to the possible outcomes than to wallow in boredom and frustration. And if he allowed his mind to linger over it, he realized the circumstances were both fascinating and anger provoking.

There was Mattias to consider as well. Legolas had watched the girl enter the wagon, boastful as she did so and creating many a raised brow over the disdainful manner in which she had spoken. Legolas had been witness to the shy nature of Kattica prior to this day. The harsh contrast between the before and the after could not be hidden, even from folk this altered. Their thoughts had been filtered through someone else's mind and therefore he saw reason for Kattica to push her contrived act. Fortunately, they saw the point without seeing the melodrama of her play and a hum of words followed in their responses. They were confused. Legolas smiled to himself, wondering how that might appear to Bregus' mind if it should appear there at all in her dream state. The people of the camp mulled the change in Kattica while the girl removed herself from sight and into the supply wagon where she conferred with her husband. She had remained absent for some time, but when she had emerged, Mattias had followed.

"Please, Kattica. Do not tell her. You must believe me. I was not trying to free them!"

"As her apprentice it is my duty to protect this camp and her hostages. You nearly ruined everything."

Legolas had witnessed more of the saga unfold. Careful, Kattica, he had thought, wincing. There is a thing such as giving yourself too much away. Yet as obvious as he had thought she was, the people did not seem to notice it was a ruse. And Mattias what had been his motivations for the argument? Had he been acting or simply reacting to what he had perceived as real?

Legolas' answer came after a time. He had watched as Mattias took on the barrage of questioning to which the people assailed him. Kattica's disturbing words had moved them. He had felt their gaze slip over him at the mention of 'hostages' and noticed a compassionate twinge in Mattias' eyes when the Romany had looked his way. The consoling answers were confusing, but assuring at the same time. Mattias had appeased their fears. He would lead them he had said. He no intentions of allowing harm to befall them. The camp's mood lightened for the moment, and the people had shuffled away to their respective tasks, leaving Mattias, like Legolas, to wait and wonder. The Romany came to lean on the wagon between where the Elf and Man were kept captive, as if he were on watch, but he kept his back primarily turned away from Legolas. The Elf wondered at the trustworthiness of the man. Long minutes had passed since Kattica had entered the old womans tent, but Legolas remained frustratingly ignorant of both what the girl was doing and the nature of Mattias true role. The truth came as both good fortune and disaster, and Legolas saw that Mattias was true to the girl. Then.

That was the moment when Legolas had felt his legs come to life. As if sleeping limbs had been awakened, the lethargic weight that had held Legolas' legs lifted. Tingling nerves came to life riding over the long calves, thighs, knees, toes of the Elf. Where before there had been only the dull sense of connection, that though these were his legs merely attached and not possessing true mobility, now he felt everything. The touch of garment against his skin, the pressure of ground beneath him, the heat of his feet within his boots. Legolas would have laughed had the situation not been so desperate. As it was, he could devote only tentative seconds to appreciate the return of his entirety before he had need to engage it once more.

That was also the moment when Bregus had emerged from the tent, rather than Kattica. A shudder rippled through the Elf at that moment and all his instinct toward survival alerted itself in attention. His nostrils flared and his eyes filled with hate. He was prepared to do now anything he must if he, Faramir, the girl, his friends were to survive.

Then and now. The waiting was over. Action was to commence. Bregus stepped forward with all the drama Kattica had earlier displayed. It took a few seconds for Legolas to register the old woman's new appearance. Where there had once been a stooped and exhausted old woman now stood an aged creature with bearing of regal haughtiness. By the tale of the sun, it could not have been long that the old woman had been in retirement, a mere few hours at best. Yet her recovery would lead him to believe she had been gone a full day at least. It was incredible. She seemed thoroughly rejuvenated, vivacious and almost youthful and the astonishment in Legolas' face belied his knowledge. Only magic could have put this fore.

He heard then Mattias' words. "Kattica, what has happened? Why does Bregus appear?" and the puzzle came together. Mattias and Kattica were in collusion, conspiring together against the old woman. So it appeared that their scheme had gone astray as evidenced by the sudden appearance of Bregus and Mattias' fright. Legolas felt his stomach tie in a knot as his anger towards the witch grew. What had she done to the girl? His eyes followed the old woman then raced back to the tent. Where was Kattica? Why did she not appear? With a darting glance to the Romany, he saw Mattias' thoughts were the same.

When she had left him, Legolas had easily interpreted Kattica's actions. The false bravura, the mock scolding, the aloof appearance they were contrived conveyances and he understood the intent. Stir the crowd. Make them question. Let them wonder. If it could happen to Kattica, who else would fall prey to this madness? Could their own minds have been turned? And as much as Legolas appreciated the effort she afforded to free her people, he knew the danger was immense. Kattica was going by a route that was far from easy. He wished she had chosen a different way. And while there had not been ample opportunity to warn her, he was fairly certain Kattica already knew that she was playing with a wily tempest.

Yet he understood her reasoning. Given that there were other solutions for freeing her people's minds besides this awkward path, he took tremendous pride in her actions. She had chosen the most compassionate way and that was far from what he had been thinking he would do were the circumstances altered.

With a coldness that gave him fright for his own disturbing darkness he thought it. She could kill. It would be so much easier to take Bregus' life then to try to maneuver and weasel the old woman in this contrived way. Kill and be done with it. It was the simplest answer. It was the answer he might have chosen.

Yet he warred with himself knowing well this was a cold response. It was an answer to the harm to which he and Faramir had been subjected. Revenge. There it was. He could not help the anger and hate he felt toward the old woman for what she had done to him. For what she had done to Faramir. For what she had done to these people. And somewhere beyond the periphery of his Elven senses, for what she had done to Gimli and Aragorn. Bilious scorn left a rank taste in his mouth as he considered the fate of his friends. Were they in danger? Were they even alive? He could not know so long as he was prisoner to this witch. His apprehension and fears for those he loved overrode all sense of compassion within him. There was nothing to calm him or allow him to choose otherwise of his emotions. She had harmed and she intended to harm further. There was no room in Legolas' heart for pity. Death would be too kind an ending for Bregus.

Letting his mind linger back to the torment Faramir had endured and those of his own agonies, his anger rose to a fevered level. His jaw clenched as he realized it had been a game to the old woman. There had been no point in either dealing of harm. And even if there had been one, it had simply been to feed her own ego or to ensure Kattica's servitude. Leaning back, Legolas inwardly gave a scowling smile. At least that plan had failed.

Still, he wanted remedy for what Bregus had wrought. He could see how these people were dealt the blows in her quest for power, mindless to the evil for which they acted. His heart went out to them. They were innocents, all of them. He could perceive the good in them and he was saddened that they were held captive to Bregus' will, just as he was. Yet they did not even realize they had another choice.

Yea, how he hated her. He could easily see himself taking sweet revenge on the elder, going so far as to relish each moment of torment he could apply. He was appalled at himself. So unlike his normal mood this was, but it played through his mind all the same. What might it be like to let her suffer as they had? That would be a heady trophy.

He took a steadying breath but the torrent of anger in his chest remained. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to see her cry out. Justice could only be so glorious!

He crushed his eyes shut. This was not right. These feelings were cruel, and he realized he was giving in solely to his desire to seize revenge. Where was his compassion? He knew no one was born to cruelty. There must have been a reason that Bregus was as she was, just as there had been with the dogs. Had she been taught her cruelty? As she had shown Kattica the side of evil and deception, had she been lured to such a mindset in the same fashion?

This was Kattica's motivation. Sympathy. She would not maim because she understood to do so was to relinquish such feelings as pity and empathy. And that would be giving in to the evil and darkness. Kattica was walking in Bregus' path. How she followed it was what would determine the fate of the younger witch and the life she would lead in the aftermath of this situation. It was a terribly considerate gesture, certainly not something the elder deserved and certainly not one Bregus would have offered. Then again, Legolas felt fairly certain Kattica did not do it for the old woman's sake so much as for her own sanity and redemption.

It was a dangerous choice, more so because she was toying with the minds of so many. And those, it appeared, all led back to Bregus.

Time and the luxury of seeking out Kattica's safety, however, were not to be found. She had been swallowed up in the confines of that tent. Was she still there? He could not know. It was now, and action was to commence.

Seeming to have forgotten her need to put on a false front, Bregus scowled and screamed out to the masses. "Now we leave! Gather up your needs and prepare to go! It is time! It is time!"

Legolas heard Faramir whisper to him, "Legolas, what goes on there?" but Legolas ignored it for the moment, instead intensely watching the sudden change that came over the camp.

All heads shot up and collective stares slipped through the crowd. For a minute no one answered, all watching in wonder the old woman, as if trying to fathom the meaning of her words. And then, tentatively, voices began to rise from among them.

The look of astonishment that washed over the elderly woman's face was almost enough to make Legolas feel vindicated. He laughed ever so lightly, jubilation coming to him for the stymie of her order. It was clear the old woman had not expected such a reaction from her people. Shock marked her discomfiture, but it lasted only seconds. Legolas felt the smile slide away from his face to be replaced with cold dread. An expression of such supreme ire and vehemence crossed Bregus' brow and he could see it reaching into the heart of those most near as if it were a tangible object grappling with their form. He watched many turn away, consideration of flight from her marking their expression. And then he heard the startling sound of her voice erupting in a seething bellow of quietest vexation, "You dare question me?"

It was terrifying and it held all in thrall. Legolas trembled slightly for it. He felt again fear and he turned his eyes away. Such control. Such power she possessed. To look upon her was to fall. He focused on what grounded him. His friends. His home. He would not let her sway his plan nor would he lose sight of his hate.

"Hush, my friend. A moments pause," the Elf quietly answered, then looked again at the gathering.

There were many with eyes looking away. It appeared they were fighting her too. Legolas felt joyous to see doubt winning. But he knew Bregus would not be deterred.

Gordash and Curtik stepped a foot forward. Gritted teeth showed on the faces of the brothers and the younger of the two swept his eyes about, fists clenching and unclenching as if a message were being sent. "Your authority stands, Mother," he said.

Darkly she turned, boring holes through her people. "I know not that this is true," she answered warily, her eyes flashing from face to face.

"Whatever needs have you, we will comply. Fear not, Mother," Gordash said in a voice that brooked no arguments. Again, eyes fled.

She looked past her middle son, like he was a shadow, and she said in a slow pitying voice, "What has come of us? I had no premonition I would need to right such as this. It appears much has occurred while I've slept. What has happened to their duty and faith?"

For a brief moment she came to act on her hurt, bending her head as if to cry. Curtik and Gordash again stepped forward as if to console her, but Bregus held them back with an upraised hand. She paused. Her gaze came up and the intensity of her sad stare did not fade. She closed her eyes, sealing herself from the trepidation that permeated the gathering. Standing stock still, she swayed ever so slightly as she took up place at the inner folds of her mind. Slowly Legolas saw the slightest of motions. Her lips began to move and the soft whisper of breathy words flickered upon the air. It was barely sound, and Legolas could not hear the words exactly, but it was the essence of a prayer. No, not prayer! Spell!

Without thinking he cried out, " The witch casts a spell! Cease to listen! Flee her!"

Bregus' eyes flared open, and without hesitation she flung out, pointing her gnarled fingers in his direction while shrieking a black curse. The words he did not recognize, but they felt of dire malice. A heavy blow sent him back, forcing him onto the wheel, putting pressure upon his chest and throat as if he were being dragged backwards by a team of horses. A weight immeasurable seized upon his rib cage, choking off all air and sound. He sputtered for breath, but his chest would not rise. His face began to redden as veins stood out at his brow. Squinting his eyes, he fought as tears came. He sucked in bare trickles of air, choking sounds passing his lips as his eyes fell to the crowd. It was his only weapon. Nervous shuffling met his actions and many looked as if ready to cry out for his sake. His agony reached others as well, and this too was working for his cause.

Behind him he heard Faramir struggling against his bindings again. "Legolas! Legolas!" he called out, no longer worried about the weight of his voice. Yet the Elf could not answer to appease his friend's fears.

Bregus resumed where she had left off. The breath of a cool breeze lifted the hair that fell away from her coif. Gentle wind swirled about her skirt, spreading the fabric in a balled flutter over her legs. Muttered sounds whispered from her lips. She swayed. The gust of wind moved about, circulating the gathering and the crowd swayed with it. Legolas saw Mattias sway as well and nervousness fell over the Elf. The Romany man blinked his eyes as if a new thought had occurred to him and he was now mulling it over. The majority of the people also appeared this way but a few shook it off.

She snapped open her eyes and shot her gaze in the direction of Faramir's voice. The crowd responded to her actions. Instantly, in compliance, heads bowed. Faces turned away. Shameful glances were sidelong taken as the people stood about without direction.

Bregus then stepped forward. She patted Gordash's shoulder as she stepped into the crowd, directing her eyes on her subjects one by one. "Go now," she said, her voice softer, more soothing. "Prepare to leave. Take only the barest essentials for survival. If all goes well, we shall return to this camp ere long."

The pressure on Legolas' chest ceased instantly. He gasped for breath, quick rasps taking in his need. He did not wait. He could hear Faramir fighting the bonds to free himself. He blinked back tears, but he did not end his fixed look on the people as he answered, "Here, Anborn! I am here!"

Bregus' eyes shot at him again. It was as if he was contesting her will. He would win. He was determined he would win. He turned his gaze on those who had seemed to waver, and he saw them blush and glance his way, as if he saw into their souls and they saw his. They shook their heads, muttering at first, then finding courage in these small vocalizations. They glanced about, first looking at him as though he was confirming something for them, and then seeking others who questioned. These tiny doses of assurance allowed their voices to gather nerve and speak. Legolas leaned back and breathed more readily as he heard it, his hands twisting to find means of escape from his binds as they did.

A murmur of a few voices echoed the sentiment and another voice rang out, somewhat stronger,. "You are only puri dai, Bregus. Such a decision belongs to the tribal leader, not you."

Again a small ripple of concurring voices flowed over the crowd/. Bregus' face screwed in rage, though she said nothing. He had to worry for that. What means of retribution Bregus would unleash?

She seethed. An angry glare smote down those who had spoken. Instantly, though, it was gone. Instead Bregus' eyes turned icy and went to Mattias, as did everyone's who had been watching the scene. "What say you then, Mattias?" she crooned.

Mattias' face was a mask to his thoughts. He stood silent a long while, and for a minute, Legolas was unsure the man had even heard the question. "Is there a reason you would wish it, Mother?" he finally asked with great innocence.

She took a step forward to close the distance between them. "I seek only to defend our people, Mattias. I seek to bring them now to the Protected Place," she said in a sweet voice that hid nothing of her ire.

Again, echoes of those words, "Protected Place" whispered among those in the crowd.

"But why is this reason to leave?" he continued, his voice wavering uncertainly.

"Because, Mattias," she said, closing the distance between them, "The Vision that came to me told me such things would I lead. You know this, my son." Her voice was no longer malicious,. It had become pleading, but that was done for the crowd, Legolas realized. The kindness was removed. She stood face to face with her child, and her tone took on an edge. She lowered her voice and spoke in a whisper that was meant only for Mattias' ears, though Legolas clearly heard. "Consider this as reason as well," she said with a sweet smile,. "I could kill her now." Legolas flinched at her words. She knows! She knows! he thought but he pulled himself from panic as he watched Mattias' reaction. The man was completely unmoved. She stroked his cheek and Legolas detected something malevolent and depraved in the motion. He shuddered. Mattias visibly stiffened as well, but what that meant, the Elf didn't know. Legolas could not determine the man's thoughts but he felt great fear all the same. "Surely you would not betray me, Mattias," Bregus continued in a cooing, seductive voice while her craggy hands fingered a single lock of his hair.

Legolas felt all his hatred burn a new fire in his chest. They had been healed, he thought. Kattica and Mattias, though hidden from her, had been whole again! Yet Bregus could not let them get away. She had to pry. She had to twist. Such dominance of rule she possessed. And worse yet was the answer that followed in the wake of this thought.

Horror filled Legolas' mind as he absorbed the meaning of Mattias' question. Has he forgotten her? Has Mattias forsaken Kattica in the wave of that simple spell?

Mattias' eyes darted down. Ignoring the Elf, Bregus' smile was evil as she crooned, "You are loyal to me, are you not?"

Mattias did not bring up his gaze. A long moment passed to silent contemplation. Slowly then, he answered, raising his head to meet her eyes. His voice was flat, emotionless. "I am loyal, Mother," he calmly said.

"No, Mattias, no! What of Kattica?" Legolas called out, reminding the man again of his loyalties.

The old woman smiled, laughing as she released her son. "Then as you will," she said, speaking louder and waving her hand to those who had watched the scene.

Mattias dropped his head and let out a silent sigh, shutting his eyes as if making a decision. As he brought his head up again, his troubled eyes looked to hers. He asked, "You are certain this is right? What if trouble awaits us?"

She smiled a dark gleaming grin. "It is right for you to worry, my son. But fear not. It is all part of the Vision. I will find out now exactly what awaits us. I have stalled long enough. And if there is trouble, we have them," she sneered nodding toward the Elf, "to use as pawns to our admittance."

Mattias gave no reaction to this. He simply nodded, then called out to the camp, "Make ready. Prepare yourself lightly, but be sure to take weapons and food. We know not for certain what we might face."

"Not yet, but we shall momentarily," Bregus promised and her eyes shown brightly as they went to where Faramir was kept. Smiling briefly at Mattias she reached over and patted his cheek before departing for the other side of the wagon.

Watching Bregus depart, Mattias made a slow spin surveying the doings of the camp. He watched carefully the activities, seeing to it that all were occupied. If he felt anything, his face was schooled well not to show it. This made Legolas all the more confused by what followed.

In three broad steps, Mattias was at Legolas' side, quickly and surely setting to work. Squatting down to ground level, he whipped out his knife with deft skill and cut the binds in two swift flashes. Still nothing gave away the man's emotions. "Can you move?" he asked in a quiet voice.

His eyes stole down. The Romany placed his curved knife in the Elf's hand without words passing. Gazing up, Legolas met the other. Mattias' eyes were unreadable still. "Try to be merciful," the man offered and Legolas nodded. Then the Romany rose and walked away to aid one of the men with weapons. It had taken less than ten seconds for the entirety of the exchange to be said and done, and none seemed the wiser among the people in the camp.

Legolas looked at the knife as he fingered the blade. It was sharp and well-balanced, but he did not linger over it and instead slid it into his boot. His mind pondered those words he had said. He desperately wanted to see Bregus dead and now he had the means and the freedom to do it. Yet killing for vengeance was not in his make. Quietly, he pledged to himself, "I only kill out of necessity, not for trophy or pleasure."

This lingering was wasting time and Legolas scolded himself. His ears alerted him that Bregus conversed with Faramir on the other side of the wagon. She had evil in mind for his friend, and now was not the time to muse on his own intentions, only hers. Now was the time to free his friend and to escape this place. Now.

Glancing about and seeing he was again unnoticed, stealth movement helped him rise and speed off like a graceful beast of the forest. The Elf darted, barely noticing the stiffness of his legs. To his fortune, no Romany was present to see his departure, nor did they notice his disappearance until several minutes later.

Faramir had heard nearly every word as the old woman had drawn near and apprehension gnawed at his gut, clenching him tightly. He had been warned to be prepared, and he knew well of what the old woman was capable, but he had not expected Bregus to appear so vibrant when he next saw her. The old woman held her carriage high, her chin jutting forth, and except for her body, which was indeed time-worn and unappealing, her stance, her demeanor, her vitality was much that of a young person. It was enormously incongruent, and Faramir restrained a shudder as he caught sight of her.

She seemed not to pause when she saw him, heading straight to his side with purpose. She did not linger over words but broke into converse as if they had been at it for some time. "Tell me," she snarled, "Tell me about your camp."

Faramir recoiled as she neared him. He remembered her touch and he was loathe to feel her repeat this act again. Yet, he had fought her off before, and he would not let her take him now. He did not answer, instead finding moisture enough on his tongue and in his throat to hurdle spit in her face.

She was not deterred, letting the liquid roll down her cheek unnoticed. She grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look into her eye as she straddled his body. "Tell me how many in your company! Tell me who you are! Tell me how you gained access to such a secret hold!" she demanded.

She slapped him hard across the face and he could feel the evidence of a welt drawing up from the sting. "TELL ME!" she screamed, pulling ever more fiercely on his hair as she did.

"I would choose death before I gave you any such information," he glibly answered, calmly watching her.

She froze with widened eyes, barely breathing, so strong was her rage. She spat out her next words with a menace that made the hairs at his nape stand upright. "When I am done, you will wish you had," she said in a venomous whisper.

Throwing his head back, she released him as her head shot around. An ugly spray of laughter sprang from her lips as she rushed to the bowl near the steps of the wagon. She examined the contents, lightly touching the implement within to assure it was clean of residue, then she gazed up at him. A wicked smile filled her face, as she looked again to the bowl's contents and then to him.

Faramir's eyes went wide as he realized her intent. The vile contents of the bowl were what she had taunted him with earlier, and Kattica's reaction and concern to it made him reason that it may not be beneficial to be too near it. Yet he had no choice. He had been fighting against his ropes for hours and was no nearer release than he had been when he first started his pursuit of freedom. And now she was nearing him. He could see the creamy matter within the bowl, a large globule balanced on the ball of the pestle.

She spoke. "This should ensure your cooperation, I would think. Do you know what I might find when I open your mind to this potion?" she asked, her voice acid.

Faramir did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the rounded mass of grayish lotion rolling off the tool and into the bowl. It seemed potent somehow, alive, moving of its own volition. The smile never left her face as her eyes traded glances between watching his face and balancing the contents on the pestle. The gelatinous liniment rolled languidly over the tool and around the mortar, tipping back and forth across the instrument with each severe turn. Her eyes caught his and he could see evidence of the madness he had earlier witnessed still within her. His fear grew greater.

She smiled, reading his apprehension. "There will be no secrets between us then. Your mind will become mine and every cognitive gesture will be won through my direction. You will tell me everything. I will know everything."

Faramir held her gaze. He was terribly frightened, being very uncertain what she really wanted with him, but certain she needed Legolas somehow to complete her task. He willed her to stop, screaming in his mind out of fear, but he would not show it outwardly. She would not know his horror over what she proposed. He would tell her nothing.

She posed over him a minute longer and when he did not give response, she sighed and lowered the pestle. Stirring the mixture, she glanced at him one last time, a light hum passing her lips as she readied it. A moment passed in the stirring and preparation before she deemed it ready. She found mirth in his gained trepidation. She raised the tool to his eye level and then began to near him with it, the intent to douse him in the noxious substance. The implement drew nearer and in his mind he could almost feel the cold touch of it on his cheek. He pressed back against the tree, attempting to push away, but there was nowhere to go. Her weight came down harder on him, her knees grinding into his thighs where she kneeled upon him. He grimaced as the pestle came inches away from his skin. He could not bare the thought of its touch. He shut his eyes to it, and then . . .

Her weight abruptly left him, sliding off with a violent shuffle, heels skidding across him and bodies rolling over. Faramir quickly opened his eyes to see the tangle of two forms fighting before him. Relief leapt though him as his heart pounded mightily. The old woman was caught in the throes, but it took a moment for him to realize it was Legolas who had engaged her. He saw the bowl fly away from where they wrestled, the contents oozing out as the mortar landed rimside-down. His heart gladdened for that, thinking that peril now gone, and he turned his eyes to watch the Elf masterfully take the old woman down.

She appeared ready to shout out but Legolas drew a knife from his boot. He held it before her face and she froze. Light flickered on its broad surface. Legolas pondered the blade for a moment. Faramir heard him mutter, "I should kill you, vile creature."

Without a minute to think on the matter, Faramir encouraged, "Do it, Legolas! Kill her!"

A minute paused in which no words were spoken and the Elf and old women stared coldly toward one another. Then slowly Legolas shook his head, seeming torn and Faramir began to understand. Although her death might free them, taking justice upon themselves was not in either of their make.

Seeing his distress, Bregus taunted with a mocking smile and an expression of rage once again passed over the Elf's face. Ending the dilemma, Legolas balled his fist and slammed it into the old woman's face, quelling any desire on her part to further rile him. Her eyes grew dazed to the punch.

The sound of voices pulled Legolas' attention away. Looking back at the old woman, he considered his private thoughts for a moment longer, and then he shot up and was instantly at Faramir's side.

A flash of light caught the edge of the blade as the man's legs came loose from the cords. At his back he felt a sudden pressure. The ties were cut. He was free.

Rubbing his wrists and gathering wobbly legs beneath him, he let the Elf aid him in rising. Changing momentum, Legolas commanded of the other, "Follow the stream to the river and let it lead you to the soldiers' camp. I will find you there or along the way. Hurry!"

"I will lead the dogs away from your path. Stay with the water. It will cut your scent," Legolas demanded.

Faramir's thought was interrupted as the empty bowl that had housed the vile potion was flung at them, bouncing off the tree trunk just over their heads. The little remaining contents within sprayed out upon impact, raining droplets of the oily mixture upon them. They looked up to see Bregus awkwardly standing in a wobbly pose. Catching their attention, she screamed a bloody shrill pitch and a gathering group of the Romany people began to run from the camp.

Faramir had just enough time to register that three small globules of the ointment had landed on his wrist while another had hit the cheek of the Elf and a sprinkling showed itself upon both of their clothing. Legolas grimaced and wiped it away, then turned, pushing Faramir in the direction he need follow. "Go!" he yelled. Then he darted away in the opposite direction.

There seemed little choice as he heard the dogs' barks and the Romany seemed to gather up speed seeing he and Legolas freed.

"Stop them!" Bregus shrieked, further awakening their actions. No more incentive was needed for Faramir to flee.

A host of the men charged him, but he saw Mattias turn them away. "The Elf! Get the Elf!" the man called and they changed their course.

Another voice rang out, "I will get him, Mother!" and light steps quickly followed Faramir's path. Faramir did not stop to look back, afraid for how near the voice had been. And then the worst thing that could happen did. His legs, weakened by remaining in the same posture and bound tightly for so long, did not respond well to his demands. With a lopsided gait, he leapt, attempting to dodge a fallen limb, but his foot caught a tree root instead and clumsily he tumbled. Rolling quickly to his side, he tried to regain his footing, but too late, for instantly the one in chase was upon him. He was plowed back to the ground, rolled over and about. Dazed momentarily, he looked up to see he who had pursued him. He was astonished to see Mattias' eyes meet his own. ****

"Mattias," Faramir uttered as he looked into the face of the Romany leader kneeling beside him.

The sandy-haired man's eyes widened as he glanced up, taking in something unseen to Faramir. The Itihilien Prince began to rise, determined so long as he was not held down he would continue to run. But he got no farther than his knees when he heard a rustle behind him. He began to turn just as Mattias cried out, "Curtik, no!" and a harsh object plowed into his head. Dizzying forces blinded him, then quickly the world rolled around in a disturbing whirl as Faramir drifted away and felt no more for the moment. Nothing came to him but a numbing void.

She could not move. Unshakable sluggishness fell over her body. Exhaustion sealed her eyelids, and there was nothing she longed for more than this heavy sleep.

She felt her brow crease with these words. Peril? Peril? Yet that seemed so very far away. Thoughts. Words. Surely they did not pertain to her? She wanted to live merely in dreams.

"Kattica, for the love of your child, awake. You put yourself and our baby in great danger by staying."

Our baby? Mattias? What danger? Not my child! And with these thoughts Kattica's mind stirred. She realized as vague awareness fell over her body that she was being held, roughly at that, and strong hands were pulling her upright, shaking her lightly to rouse. Her eyes came open with the next pull forward, but they were without direction, blind, rolling in her head as her skull lolled back.

Her mouth scowled at the assault upon her face and her fingers came up to block the touch of the broader, callused hand. "Stop!" she slurred, attempting again to open her eyes. Her vision focused and unfocused, but it steadied with concentration. At last it came to her who was before her. "Mattias?" she sighed. "My love . . ." and then she felt herself relinquish her grip on reality, trusting him to protect her as a soft smile pressed her lips.

With a jerk she felt herself hauled upright into a full seated position, and a pungent smell was dragged under her nose. She twisted her head away, but the one forcing it upon her would not ease the assault to her nostrils. She coughed and gagged, trying to push the hands away. The sharp odor penetrated her skull, and her eyes grew teary as the accosting vapors reached them. Rhûn Mineral! "Ah . . . no! Vile!" she sputtered, for the scent was acrid, but it also was potent enough to waken the unconscious soul. She knew this cure from her practice. Comprehension began to clear her mind. She opened her eyes and firmly pushed away from the offender. "Cease! I I awaken!" she coughed.

The world was spinning and haphazard and she moved her hands to her side to steady herself and prop herself up. Where was she? Her tent? She remembered naught. It was day. What was she doing within the confines of their tent? Had she been ill? She felt inexplicably fatigued, her torpor reaching every inch of her physical being and extending into her soul. If only she could sleep, but she knew that would not be allowed. Something stirred that required her attention. Was someone else ill?

Slowly her haze faded and she came to realize more her surroundings. Mattias! She thought, recalling now their conversation and earlier reunification, and her eyes came up again to meet his. Her head pounded a throbbing timbre within her skull and severe nausea roiled her insides. She felt weak, her muscles shaking from the exertion of just sitting upright, and she felt uncertain she could stay conscious long, let alone offer aid, if that was what was required of her. "What has happened?" she blearily asked.

Kattica blinked at the mystery of his words. But then, like a blinding light, the memory of that evil returned. And with it her illness grew stronger. She swooned.

Strong arms gripped her shoulders and in the back of her mind she heard the sound of the jar reopening. A part of her warned of its coming, so when the pungent substance appeared again to her olfactory senses, she was more easily alerted and awakened. "Oh, Mattias," she cried in a whimpering voice, "I recall such madness!"

"Aye, 'tis true!" he admitted, "But no time is there now to lament this. She has parted for the moment, but I fear she will return before we would wish. You must flee while you can. Hurry!"

He tried to push her forward out of the tent, but her body was limp, bare strength was gone from her. Her limbs barely responded to her call to them, such heavy lethargy weighing them down. She felt them fully, and they ached as if every muscle had been beaten and tugged and sapped of everything that might give it obedience and haste. She prodded herself to move, yet her body simply could not obey. "Alas Mattias, no. This . . . will not work. My body . . . it fails me. I cannot move. I feel as if . . . all of my strength has been . . . drained."

"Did she do something to inflict this upon you?" he asked, giving her a moment to catch her breath. They had not even made it to the tent flap and she was already wearied to the point of collapse.

Her head rolled forward and she closed her eyes, willing the agony of this listlessness to pass. She swallowed as flashes of memory passed through her head, with the parting words of the witch echoing faintly there. If I shan't know your mind, I shall take your strength. And she had. She had. Somehow the old woman had stolen all Kattica's energy. She remembered the fight of wills with the old woman as she had tried to pierce Kattica's thoughts just before the final assault. "I . . . have no doubt," she answered tiredly, certain that exactly such a thing had happened. "I have no strength. . . I cannot flee on my own," she said with a small sigh, weakness again coming over her and pushing her mind to a hazy place.

She missed Mattias' expression as her head was bowed, but she heard his words. They were despairing and they encouraged her to regain her focus. "I don't know how I shall carry you both then. . ." His voice trailed off in thought.

She blinked, trying to grope this slippery thought. Her brow creased and she knew she was missing something. Had she been well, she might have comprehended sooner, but as she was not, and her mind was sliding in and out of the grasp of anything resembling reality, she had to ponder his words. She shook her head. "I think . . . there is more I should know."

Mattias sighed, and she could see his patience was waning. Vaguely she thought that there must be much danger if his normally calm façade was feeling pressured into rash actions. He shook his head briefly, as if chastising both himself and her in the same thought,. Then he swept ahead, his movements swift, and then he slowed to deliberate action. Delicately he pulled back the tent flap, observing from a distance so his face stayed in shadow to see if any neared. After that he let it drop and sat back on his heels, his face for a moment locked in thought as to their next movements. Looking back at her, he finally said, "I freed the Elf."

He crawled forward before her. "Aye, I did, and both he and his friend nearly had made their escape when Curtik interfered. I thought I had diverted the men. The Elf sent them off on a chase as he darted into the trees, and I thought he might find safety there. I did not notice that Curtik went in the opposite direction and chased the Man. I caught up to them too late. Curtik succeeded in recapturing Anborn."

"It grows worse. It seems somehow Mother affected him. With her potion. He awakens, but really he does not. His mind is lost. I cannot reach him."

Kattica gave a minute nod, remembering well the mysterious paths she had followed into Bregus' mind. "It is tabib hsear the shaman drug. It . . it was not meant for the purpose in which . . . she applies it. He walks on roads in his mind . . . not outwardly seen."

"Nay, 'tis a swift agent. He should be right again . . in a few hours," she answered finding herself drifting away despite the fear in her mind.

He shook his head and muttered, "No good, no good. Surely she will have returned by then, for I expect at any moment she will swoop down on us." In his paranoia, he again sought out the flap, staring out with piercing eyes hidden in shadow. The admittance of light pushed her eyes open again.

"She follows the others in pursuit of the Elf. All are gone, save a few women and the children . . . and Curtik," he said, pausing, "And Anborn. The women are harmless, barely cognitive of anything occurring. And the children are fearful, but removed enough that they do not fully comprehend. That leaves Curtik. It was my intent to either send him to the others as an opening to escape, or to battle him in order to obtain for your freedom. In the end, if I had succeeded, I was prepared to carry the stranger. I was not prepared to carry you both," he said, shaking his head.

"Perhaps . . you need not . There is . . . another way," she said, the faintest of smiles reaching her lips.

"Can you bring me to him?" she asked, dull eyes looking into his though the slight grin remained.

Faramir was unsure when he had awoken, for the living world was not like anything he could recall. In physical nature it was much the same, but at equal measure it was completely different. Strange and unfamiliar and simultaneously much the same. There was one fundamental change. It was enhanced somehow.

He had looked all about, his eyes glassy and wildly dilated, but he could not know these effects on his being. What he did know was how disturbing and odd and incredibly beautiful everything about him was. Every sense, every feeling came at him at such keen magnitude that he wondered how he could ever not see the world as he saw it now. All color was magnificently intense. All detail was painfully apparent. All sound was musical and alive. And all breath, feeling, taste, was bizarrely full and enriching. He felt euphoric in his exploration of the world, and at the same time he was tremendously frightened by the foreignness of it. He could not decide which feeling was more dominant, and so he decided not to feel at all and to simply respond as needed. So liberating and exultant it was. He was free. In his mind he was free.

Sound was the first thing that had come to him, and he listened with sharp ears. He could hear the birds chirp. It was not the loose flutter of noise that blurred together in his normal state of mind, but the sounds, the individual sounds, of the bird voices. It was breathtaking to analyze, for her realized as he listened he could pick apart song for song of the avian creatures who trebled them out, and he located their sources among the branches overhead. It was almost as if they had voices. It was almost as if they were speaking to him.

A rustle of wind broke his concentration and carried his mind to a new place. No, not so much new as simply unexplored. It was sound still that he followed, but the birds were no longer part of it, dropping off as his concentration changed course. Familiar and yet not, he let his thoughts wonder. He could hear it, and he could not, and for a moment he grappled with that incongruity. But the sound was more powerful than his wavering mind, and again he was pulled into it. It was all around him, singing from high above. As though within a cathedral the ethereal sound resonated, and the noise conveyed mood and subtle thought. It took a moment more for him to realize what it was he heard, but when he did he laughed uproariously. The trees, he thought to himself. I hear the trees.

Upon realization, he knew he could listen to their songs for hours. How lovely, how tranquil, and yet they were speaking out, as if in warning, as if in fear. Faramir frowned at this, wondering if his interpretation was wrong. Beautiful yet marred. He could recognize their rightful potential and felt saddened that it did not fully reach them. Evil had befallen this place. The trees had needed to heal from this harm. And slowly, he knew they were, for he could perceive their improvement. It was not only visible, but he could feel it at his core. The trees were happier now, though much was still to be done. Faramir understood now the Elves desire to stay in Middle-earth. They were helping. They were restoring the trees and the landscape. They were repairing the Valar's gardens. A noble cause all, was it not?

Something flashed in the corner of his eye, and his head shot around to catch sight of it. A creature of marvelous proportion ventured into Faramir's eyesight and the Prince gasped with intrigue. It appeared as if out of nowhere, and Faramir was uncertain if it was his mind that had set it there, or if the beast had wandered into his vision of its own accord. Antlered and majestic, the animal stood, gazing and lingering, striking a pose before him as if waiting for Faramir to absorb its regal beauty. A great headdress of mighty horn crowned the fair head, and its body was hewn of strong muscle and sinew, poetically carved, molded from the beauty of all wilderness. Its eyes were a richness all unto themselves. Pools deep, mesmerizing, innocent and wise. It was the stare of the animal that penetrated Faramir's mind and the man found himself willingly falling into them.

It stood far off in the forest, and though Faramir knew on some level that his hands and feet were bound, it did not restrict him. He could move forward with his mind, cutting off the distance between himself and the buck. He could observe it as no man ever could. He traveled a radius around the beast, digesting every nuance of its grace. The animal took it all in, pausing to allow the man this visual feast, as if it appreciated and expected Faramir's awe. But it too regarded Faramir and seemed inspired and in wonderment for the Prince's own prowess.

Faramir ducked his eyes. He felt humbled by the stag. By looking directly onto the creature, a new appreciation came over him as if he had somehow met his match. Or, better than that, something superior to him. A short wave of jealousy rippled through him and Faramir had to consider that. How could something so natural and intrinsically just cause such feelings within him? It was the complete innocence of the animal, he concluded, that and its innate sense of being. Like the bird that does not question its ability to fly, like a tree that does not wonder at the wind, this creature too seemed to accept the very nature of its existence. There was no doubt in the animal's soul for its place in this world. There was no rivalry. It simply was and it was contented at that. So easily the stag fell into this,. So peaceful was its acceptance.

Yet for how small Faramir felt before the deer, he saw that the animal envied him as well. But why?

The deer stepped forward and its eyes looked into Faramir's, penetrating the Prince's soul. Faramir brought forth a tentative hand and touched the coarse coat, expecting the animal to bristle at the contact. But the stag seemed calmed, comforted by his touch, and Faramir relaxed as the animal's tranquility passed into him. He saw through the buck's gaze another view on the world. Blinking in surprise, he saw himself. Amusement ran through the eyes of his mirrored vision, and he watched himself laugh at the counter play, as if Faramir's body was there facing him while his mind had found the comfort of another home.

Someone else entered the scene. The buck blinked and came back to itself, turning its head to face the new arrival and Faramir followed the animal's eyes. With tremendous serenity Faramir gazed at the countenance of Eowyn, surprised that she should be there, but then again not. He admired her beauty, which radiated out from her frame, and even with age he felt his eyes caught up in her visage. She was lovely.

A flitter at her skirts sent his eyes moving down, and he realized that sitting at her feet was the sunny smile of a small child. A little girl, dressed in a charming floral weave of summer blossoms, with hair of honey color and eyes dancing green. A chubby fist made its way to her mouth and lit up a smile as his eyes met hers. Then a thumb plugged the hole, though her face maintained the grin.

Eowyn laughed quietly at the girl, and singing a loving tune, she picked up the child and walked away. Long lashes and sparkling eyes peered over the slight form of his wife's shoulder. Ringlets of gold meshed into the glorious weave of Eowyn's tresses. The baby watched him as they parted, and instinctively Faramir made to follow.

"Faramir!" a voice called him, and he was startled, turning around to face it. The face that was his own met him, but now there was something different about it. An evil spread over the features, and Faramir paused to wonder. The other, his twin, drew a lopsided grin, then laughed. Taking his bow from where it was slung across his shoulder, he pulled an arrow from his quiver. Notching the shaft, his counterpart slowly made the weapon ready, raising the bow, and drawing back the string. It was aimed directly at Faramir.

Confused and surprised, Faramir quickly looked to the direction to which Eowyn and the child had gone, but they were had disappeared. He searched then for the buck. Again, gone. Then looking back at the shooter, he realized the features on that opposite face had changed. No longer was it his own face he saw. Though similar, there were differences. A slighter curve to the jaw, a sharper peak to the cheek bones, a wider set to the eyes. This was not himself to which he looked. This was a stranger!

If he had the power to gasp he surely would have. But that skill escaped him with this guise, and all he could do was blink and stare. Terror ran through him. He was about to die, shot dead by a stranger, and for no reason could he discern it.

Then a change came over the scene. A small shadow was beside him, and cool, gentle hands touched his face. He was comforted and soothed in the recognizable female caress, and he could not help but draw his eyes to her face, though his thoughts did not discount the danger of the strange man. Kattica's smile met his, though it was meager in its wholeness. Tired eyes looked upon his, and deep shadows ringed them, but a kindness permeated her being and set her off in fine contrast to the monster he had been facing.

She spoke. "I can help you if you will have it . . . I can see you are troubled by stray dreams. I would set your course right, . . . but only with your consent."

"How?" he asked, his eyes glancing sidelong to the stranger. A horrid grin lit the face of that man. He was laughing at Faramir and new tenuous feeling washed through the Prince. Rancor drew even with the present fear but it did not override it. He was lost in a world he did not understand, and somehow this man was out to destroy his exit.

Kattica pulled his face away. He was forced only to look into her eyes, and he found that strangely assuring. He had not learned to trust her. She had committed horrible sins. Yet somehow, he found peace in her, a kindness he had not seen before. He watched her carefully as she answered, "I would do this through my powers as a witch . . . I would enter, but not unless you tell me I may. But be wary before you answer, for there is a price. I would take from you some strength, for mine has been nearly depleted. We must run, you and I, but neither may do this in our current states. Your mind will not focus, and my body has no will, but together we may function. Will you trust me to help you?"

Faramir paused to consider this. He had no reason to believe her and yet he did. Somehow through her touch he felt his thoughts come back to normal, and he realized that despite the beauty, he could not function in this state. In it, his thoughts were disordered and blind. It frightened him, especially if there was danger, which he certainly perceived at her touch. They would need to depart quickly. He did not need long to think. With a slurring whisper he answered, "Please . . . do it."

It took only a moment for her to set his mind right. It took only a moment for her to feel renewed. They took from each other and it was a mutually beneficial alliance. With it, she was able to see his thoughts and make him focus them straight, giving him back some coherence. And with it, he was able to discern exactly all she knew. She had not put up road blocks to halt him, and he had allowed her unguarded admittance. In payment, he gave her some of his physical strength. Though she refused to take much, it was enough to allow her flight. And through it all, it took only a moment for them to learn to trust.

But greater still was the power of it. Like the sensation of the dark arts, this too was something she had never felt. She cursed herself for not deducing it earlier, for had she, she might not have fallen so easily into Bregus' whims. The white magic . . . the sensation . . . it too was warming and wondrous, though she had to concede it was not as great as what she had felt in the dark. Still there was comfort in it, especially knowing that it had been brought on with permission to do so. That she did not know this feeling could be found was telling of how poor her education as a tribal witch had been. She would have known, had she been shown this. But Bregus would not have given her ample opportunity to learn of the benefits her magic could bring to herself, nor others, and Kattica had come to realize upon examining Bregus' soul why the elder had not disclosed it. Bregus' soul had fallen to the side of black magic. The old woman's appetite was insatiable, so it was certainly obvious that the woman would choose what gave greater sensation. Yet Kattica was not so certain she would have chosen such a thing for herself. In fact, she knew she would not. There was liberation in knowing a choice was available, and her previous disdain for the dark arts felt justified in that there were other opportunities from which to decide.

Kattica looked up as she released her spell. Her stooped shoulders were now righted, and her eyes appeared bright. As she came back to reality something stirred in her soul. She realized what it was. Call it remnants of the darker spell, it mattered not. She could sense a terror coming their way. "She is returning," Kattica whispered.

"We must hurry then," Mattias said, glancing over his shoulder. "Anborn, do you feel well enough to rise?"

The man looked groggily about, rubbing his wrists where they had been freed, but not answering the question asked of him.

Kattica smiled again at Faramir and answered, not taking her eyes from his as if she shared a secret with him. "It is his true name, it seems." Speaking directly to Faramir she said, "It was a wise decision you made to conceal it. But we can discuss it no further at this time. The danger is growing and we must flee now. There are many lives at stake, and if she catches you catches Legolas then our doom may well be met."

"She too is in danger. These woods are too small to contain all of Bregus' evil. Let us make haste before they choke off our ability to escape her grasp," Kattica urged as she pushed herself up with Mattias' help. She wobbled slightly on her feet as Mattias then offered a hand to Faramir. The man stood without aid, but nodded his appreciation as he tested his tightened muscles and shook his head as if to free from a dreamy state.

Mattias turned them both in the direction of the river then looked back to the camp. His eyes went wide in fear, and he pushed them behind the wagon in the next instant. "Faramir, give me your vest," he demanded. Responding to the questioning look in the other's eyes he said, "There is not time to discuss this, just do it! I think I may be able to grant you some time before your absence is discovered."

Kattica read him, knowing the valor of her husband. She felt compelled to stop him in what she suspected he might do. "Mattias, no! It is too dangerous! Come with us now! We will outrun them," Kattica said as Faramir shed his garment, eyeing the two with a distant look but not speaking.

Mattias shook his head. "She trusts me still, and she will not suspect such a deception from me," he argued. "You are still weak, and he," he said nodding to Faramir, "does not appear fully recovered yet."

But Mattias was resolute. "She has returned alone. I can deceive her in this, and if not, overpower her."

"And Curtik? Have you forgotten him? You underestimate her talents, Mattias. She is a great deceiver herself. You do not realize her plans for you," Kattica returned, suddenly regretting that she had not told him of his mother's incestuous desires.

Mattias was frantic, donning Faramir's garb as he looked around the corner of the wagon. He quickly drew back. "She is coming! Please Kattica, go now! We shall all feel her wrath if I do not do this. I know what she wants of me, and believe me, I have no desire to stay for it. I will flee when she least expects it. For now, allow her focus to remain on finding Legolas. Leave!" He fixed a beseeching plea upon her, and she understood. With regret, she nodded. Backing away she watched him as he took his position near the tree that had held Faramir. He smiled his assurance, and then he looked away. With nothing more to hold them, she took Faramir by the hand and swiftly she pulled him into the woods, away from the camp and out of Bregus' grasp.

Bregus barely noticed the limp form of the man leaning against the tree. At a glance he was sedate, head drooped forward and obscuring his face with hair curtained over his features. At least Anborn is still here. He was the one thing about which she felt secure, having seen her two sons pursue and return him. For the moment, she was far too pre-occupied with reclaiming the Elf to pay much attention to this one. She had little need to pay Anborn heed for that matter. The man was hardly significant in the grand scheme at the moment, though the prodding of Bäla was cloying at her conscience. Still, first things first. The Elf must be found and returned.

She was in a hurry, not anticipating the need to linger long. She had left Curtik at the edge of the camp with the promise to return in a few minutes with a new instrument for the hunt and the request that he aid her. She quickly stepped into her wagon while she pondered the solitude in the camp. Most everyone was gone now, searching for the Elf in all directions of the compass. However, that creature was elusive. Without success she had tried to hinder him with use of her talisman, but the object no longer held much power. The charm had been seriously burned, though she had no recollection of how this might have transpired. She cursed when she had realized, for it was the one true means she had of controlling the Elf's movement. Whatever else she might try failed her.

Not even the Vision-Seeking drug would aid her in holding him. She had seen it splatter on the Elf's face when she had winged the bowl, and though her aim was off (she had meant for it to make contact with his head, not the tree) she could not deny she was pleased with the outcome. A droplet has hit him. He will grow confused, and perhaps that might help me in finding him. It was small benefit, though, for the drug was pointless in directing him if she could not make physical contact, and so far, the Elf was doing a masterful job of avoiding just that. He may be confused, but he still unravels my means of finding him.

The small event with the drug was the only good thing that had come in this hour. Much beyond that, she felt rage. Rage that someone had freed the Elf. Rage that her hostages had fled. But mostly, rage at the way she had been treated by her kind. To question her? It was inconceivable! But it showed exactly how little she had understood the menace of Kattica or the powers the girl was learning to wield. The old woman scowled. She should have anticipated exactly this kind of betrayal. There was a reason she had not enlisted the girl's help earlier, and her ire spiked that she had not relied upon her own intuition as she had wanted. Aggravated at her foolishness in believing she could trust, her mind searched for others to blame. She was not solely alone in this debacle. She had allowed Bäla to offer guidance and this is how she had fared. Not well. He deserved her disdain for the precarious location to which he had driven her, and for that she was ignoring the prying thoughts he was singing in her ears. Fortunately, Bregus had annihilated the threat of her people's questioning. It was still a frightening position to be held, as some of the tribe had managed to pull out of her spell. And there was traitor among them. Pity the soul when she found him. But so long as she held Mattias' trust, all should be well. He held sway over the rest and her orders would stand.

Timing was critical to her planning. By sunset these ingredients had best be in place the Elf, an unborn child, and the Protected Place. Too soon it was coming together and too soon it was falling apart. Her brazen disregard for their haste just days past was now gone. The Elf had escaped, and the timing with which he had done so could ruin all her dreams. She had to regain him. She had to. If not

Though her mind had slipped past him in her earlier observance, Bregus had not been prepared for Bäla's sudden appearance now. She had noticed of late that he had an uncanny ability to surprise her, materializing when she had least expected him, and this disconcerting fact troubled her. Here he was again, stepping forward from the shadows. She repressed her stunned expression. She had not seen him looming so near.

As if reading her internal dialog, he ignored her trepidation for his arrival and said in regard to the time, "Even if you do not find the Elf, you could still bring me back."

She knew he was going to offer this, but this suggestion did not sit well with her. What he said was true enough. The moon's place in the sky was as important in the plans to revitalize Bäla as was the sun's place in hers. She had already ordered the camp to make ready their departure. They could take control of the cave, exercise the spirit of Anborn from the body and replace it with Bäla's on this very eve. And then they could see to her transformation on the next night. Then, then they would rejuvenate her body along with her soul and make her immortal to this world. But an ache gnawed at her in this proposal. She did not trust Bäla to allow her part to come to fruition.

"Perhaps another Elf might be found if this one cannot be? Supposedly these lands are teaming in such thing. I could help," he offered. Still she did not answer.

Beyond another day, she would have no more opportunity. It was today or tomorrow. That was it. Time was waning, and soon the moon would be too. Tonight the white orb would be at its peak. Tomorrow it would seek cycle to decline and recede into its place as a sliver in the sky. These two days were the fulfillment of the celestial body at its greatest point. The stars were aligned. Today or tomorrow. And today was the day when the spirits of these bodies came to wax fully. Once past these high days, there would not be another opportunity. Such an alignment of the astral forms came only once every hundred years, or longer.

She had not intended to remain in this camp as long as she had. That had been the mistake. But her own need . . . to rest . . . had offset her plan to set forth to the Protected Place. Timing was now becoming critical.

"You should have acted with more authority, as I had suggested," he calmly interjected. It was not an accusation, more a statement of fact, and she sighed her agreement. Why she had feared their downfall so greatly, she did not know. It hung with her still, though she could not let it hamper her any longer. Her apprehensions had slowed their movements. She should have been more forceful. She should have taken command.

"I could probe the man's mind now and learn all I need from him. He has been drugged. His mind will be open for my reach," she said, thinking aloud.

"More delays. And if you find your fears are true, will you wait longer still to take the Protected Place? The hours in the day grow fewer," he said with controlled temper.

"Still weak," he muttered, but she did not counter him. She did not wish to argue when so much else held greater import.

"The sun sets soon enough. You will miss the chance you were offered this day. Act while you can, Bregus," he pleaded. How out of character for him to beg me, she responded in thought.

"What will you do if you do not regain the Elf?" he asked, sounding less certain of his place for the moment.

She did not answer in words, only in her mind. I will accept my fate. The answer was an admission to her own thoughts, not his, though she was hardly ready to concede her failure.

He read her and she knew it. She could see from the corner of her eye that he silently raged at this, but strangely, he said nothing to convince her otherwise. Her mistrust deepened because of this. He no longer acted as she suspected he would, and this added to her troubled mind. He is gaining his soul, she thought. Perhaps as the moon comes to cycle, he too is growing in power. He needs only a body to make him whole again, and then my control over him will falter. I have not heard the last from him on this topic, I think.

Yet she needed to act. Lingering longer would not find the Elf. That creature had evaded the dogs somehow, speaking to their minds in a way she could not. They followed the Elf's commands, she perceived, and ran about the forest in a wild fury but without leading in a real direction. Another betrayal, she thought. At least there are still some loyal to me. And once I am transformed, none shall ever counter me again. She called out a soft voice, and the eyes of the owl shot open. She came to stand by the creatures perch.

"Come Rartichirilo," she crooned. "I need you now, dear friend. I need your keen eyes." At her side, Bäla chuckled his amusement.

Bregus stroked the owl's wings as she encouraged the animal, "You are wise, Rartichirilo, and you can go where we cannot. The Elf climbs through the branches of the trees and eludes our sight. Find him. Hunt him. He is weakened and will not see you. Aid me."

The bird hopped onto her arm, taking the perch offered. Bregus smiled, whispering soft words to the animal. Drawing the curtain, she stepped into the light. Both she and the bird shut their eyes to the momentary blindness as they readjusted to the harsh reality of daylight.

He followed her out of the wagon, his eyes also taking in the harshness of the sun's glare, even though it was filtered through the shade of the leaves. His eyes swept up to the sky and he clucked his misgivings. "Too much time, Bregus. You waste too much time on this pursuit."

Bregus had had enough of Bäla's incessant prodding and her temper flared. "Be still! You have not control over me, and I will not be swayed! Your time comes soon enough, but not before I say! Be gone with you! I will hear no more of your words." Angrily she swung her unused arm. Her body rocked with the movement and the bird adjusted itself, feathers ruffling and settling as it balanced again on her arm.

Her fierce expression slipped away. He was gone, folding back into the shadows, she supposed. She knew he was not completely revoked from her thoughts, nor did she really want him to be. She merely needed the silence to make her own voice heard in her head. Soon enough his whispers in her mind would disappear. Soon enough he would roam on his own. Soon enough he would be freed from the Netherworlds, and then he would not stir in her mind as he did now. He would be his own individual, free to move about and act, just as she was free to move and act. But she was not fully ready to free him yet. The control she held over him now was all she had left to keep him, and she would not relinquish it if it were not necessary. She had served under Bäla before. She knew him not to be completely trustworthy. She preferred to wait to dole out his reward.

If she gave in, and gave him what as he asked, his power would be great. By restoring him before herself when the moon was at its fullest, when its strength and his were at their ripest, she would be giving him higher ranking between them in terms of power. And to give him this when she could take none for her own benefit was giving him back his original sway over her. She had no intentions of doing that.

Too many years as the submissive one she had spent. Too many years as the second to his order she had given. Too many years believing her say was equal, only to find in the end her powers were not. Too many. Too long. Her memory could not wipe away the tally. He would not have it. Not this time. She would not give him dominance over her again. She would will him his life back only when she had taken her place first. This time she would be the superior power. It was the ultimate revenge for all the years of brutality she had allowed him, though she refused to acknowledge her own role in those evil acts.

That was not to say she did not appreciate Bäla. She did, and she loved him too. If anything, she had learned to love him more in his absence. The value of holding onto what was dear while one could was a lesson hard learned, but taught and accepted all the same. She would have him back and she could not be happier for that fact. Never again could she take for granted their time together. But also she would never allow herself to be made into a non-entity before him. Woman or not, she would be his superior. That would hold, or nothing would come at all.

She had not been heeding his blighted words when she had offered to be satisfied with what may come. I will accept my fate, she had thought, and she would. A part of her knew this was the right thing to do. Accept what came, and not pry for what was not hers. Then again, this was white magic's influence, and she had to acknowledge she had been granted this thinking when she had delved into Kattica's mind. An echo effect perhaps, but it felt inviting. There was some assurance to holding this philosophy. It made her less responsible for the outcome. That pleased her. There was peace in that. And yet, her heart remained black, and the corruption from black magic could not so easily be withdrawn from one who had practiced it so long as she had. True, there was comfort in adopting a less desirous attitude and she could live with this new way of thinking. However, it did not mean she had intentions of giving up her old ones.

She looked about the camp, and her eyes again fell to the man. Anborn. What if she took out from the time she needed to hunt the Elf and used it to assure herself their journey into the Protected Place was safe? What if she were to now bend this man to her will, forcing the information from him she had earlier sought? Would it offer any help in making her plan go forward? No, likely it would not. To the contrary, if anything it would give her more reason to hold fear. No, much wiser was the course Bäla had offered, though she was remiss to admit such a thing, even to herself. Accept her fate. Act without knowing the outcome before movement. That was what she would do.

Another round of encouragement she offered the bird,. Then she gave the owl room to open its wings. It flew. Fly. Fly. It was away, off, seeking out the means to make her life eternal and to bring to her happiness at last, happiness that she had so long sought in her life, happiness so near and yet left to the fates as to what would happen next.

Tossing and tumbling, roiling and swaying, each step was a precarious foothold toward a measure of inconsistent imagery. An odd taste filled his mouth and light was skewing in angles that did not match its source. Sound took on an unusual array of musicality and his heart throbbed a quick tempo to it, making the coercive song in his head into a symphony of strange mystery. He could make no sense of it, but he did not try. His mind had given up on attempting to gain order from this chaos, and all he could think, all he could sense, was that he must get away. He must flee, for his life was at stake.

A vortex of disturbing and strangely enchanting messages filled his mind. He was frightened by the hallucinations that unfolded before him, but mesmerized all the same by the serene beauty of them. Yet when he paused to ponder them, he felt the ground gained in this race slipping away. He could sense this, and the panic that seized his heart was the one thing he could recall from the reality that lay beyond his eyes.

With each step it was becoming more difficult for Legolas to focus his attention. He found himself almost drowsing into a trance of some sort, and each time that occurred his progress would stop. With fired observance he had managed to roust himself enough not to fall, but even that was precarious as his balance was haphazard. He had nearly slipped from a branch twice. Or had it been three times? Legolas was not really sure, only vaguely aware that he was making an attempt to flee.

From what he was running he could not fully recall. Images flashed through his mind. Mortal witchcraft, his friends, the face of the old woman, a knife in his hand, the girl. They melted together and somewhere in that he knew his answer lay, but where and how, he could not quite make out. And time . . . time had no measure for him. As an Elf, it never really did, but he could always make sense of the pattern of the sun and the looming of that orb in the sky, and he knew the distance between the rise and set held a modicum of benchmark for all things in nature and their passing. Yet the events in his mind would not fit in that sphere. If they happened today or a man's lifespan ago he could not tell, so confusing was the whirl in his mind. Still he told himself for the sake of consistency he was running for a reason, and he pushed himself to keep that above all else.

Pushing himself for reason and pushing himself for the sake of movement, however, were two different things. So much easier it would be to sink down, to stop, to let his mind slide over everything riding before it, and to not fight. What harm was there in letting this pass, for as much as the confusion of the moment weighed on him, Legolas knew this was not a normal state for himself. If he could only last it out, he might prevail in whatever this fight was he undertook.

South, a part of his mind told him. You must direct your attention south. And with this he recalled his attempt to redirect the dogs. He had leapt into the trees as soon as he had departed, though not without whistling and calling the attention of the canine beasts. He felt an affinity for them even then, but now his perception was magnified far greater. He could hear their charged steps and their raspy barks, but they did not frighten him. It was an effect, he was sure, of what transfixed him. He was certain he could communicate with the dogs. Not just in word, but in gesture, in understanding, as if he too were one of them. It was a heady feeling to speak and comprehend the animals so, but he knew there was not time to linger on it. He had been able to grasp their attention once he had led them away far enough from the camp, and like a game he sent them merrily off to hunt an intruder further north while he turned direction and headed south.

South. What was there south that he needed? He had difficulty recalling this thought though he knew it had much to do with his survival. But to ponder long on anything sent his mind once again into a slowed mental state that halted his steps. He had to trust rather than assure. He had to believe whatever it was that he sought would be triggered once he caught a visual presentation of it.

The dogs had returned, playful and cunning, asking for more in this game that he roused. Legolas happily gave in, knowing somehow that it was critical he sent the dogs off again in a different direction, if only to confuse those in his pursuit. Thus he complied, singing words so quietly placed only the dogs might hear them, but sharp enough that they would follow with a loyalty he did not know he commanded. In their joy to obey, they gave chase through the woods to anywhere but where the Elf hid. The pleasure in this made Legolas wish to laugh.

But his steps dragged him back to his own worries. Which direction was he headed? South. It was a word that he knew, but it would not congeal in his thoughts. This confusion was frustrating and he shook his head at his unknowing. Why was this so hard?

He looked to the sky, knowing there would be his answer for the direction he sought. But then again, that effort took his focus away from the task, and he had to push his mind to not get caught in the beauty of twinkling foliage overhead. The sky was telling of his direction, but how? His focus was lost once again and he felt his steps stumble and slip.

He stopped, allowing his heart to slow its pace a small amount while his hands grappled with resurrecting his position in the tree. The tree helped him rise, pushing his awkward feet onto the stronger boughs that Legolas no longer seemed capable of picking out. Thank you, my friend, he thought, and he heard the tree answer his call. Yet instead of moving on as he knew that he must, his mind danced into the song that he heard from his bough and branch companion. It had been there before, the song of the trees, but he had not given it much attention, such had been the barrage of overload to his other senses. However, in that moment of peaceful gratitude with the trees, he let the noise of their voices envelope him. They rode over and through him, and his eyes met with the sky as a symphony of light and sound took over his thoughts. He stood still and pondered their beauty and in his ignorance ceased his flight to freedom, letting all fade away as if in dreams.

From its place in the sky, the bird could see all, though all that it saw was not as its master might want. It soared between the trees, never turning its mind from its target. It had its task. It had been given a goal. Find the Elf it had previously sought.

The owl was a keen hunter. It knew to anticipate actions and where one might hide in the forests. The Elf could not be far away and the bird's mind reasoned all the places it might look. Though the actions of an Elf would be different than that of a Man, the bird understood how to adapt as would any fine-tuned tracker. With the long practiced craft of a seasoned killer, the owl made its pursuit a patient, methodical game. Cleverly, it knew to look to the trees as well as the ground. It circled a short radius from the camp not venturing far at first, the circles to grow with each rotation. It would cover a few miles, but not many, for unless the Elf had the speed of a stallion, he would not have gotten so far as the great river body that touched the horizon. The bird knew it need not look there so early. Not yet.

Something strange in the near deserted camp caught the bird's attention. A scream pierced the air. The owl recognized its master's voice, and it nearly returned to her for her aid. But it hadn't been called and so it stayed within reach, but remained aloft in the sky. Below, it saw a human, previously listless, now moving unfettered, though the man had given the impression earlier of being held to a tree. He was loose, shedding a garment. The man jerked at the noise. He turned, looking one direction, though appearing to want to move in the other. Confusion seemed to buffet him, but within an instant he looked to have decided. The man ran toward the scream. He ran to the bird's master and the creature was gladdened. Its master would know what to do with the strangeness of the man. Its master would find out why the fettered man was free. The bird moved on. Upward it flew into sky, then back down again to trees. It had its task. Find the Elf.

She crossed the wide camp to make her way back to Curtik. With the bird in flight now, she would again try to find the Elf she had lost. Bregus felt more at ease knowing this capable huntress was at work, and she knew that the owl would turn the attention of the dogs back to their task once it had found the object of the chase. She felt certain now they would find him. Her fear subsided slightly with her mental assurances.

The faces of a few women and small children near the row of bender tents caught her eye, and she slowed her pace to gaze upon them. They surrounded the place where Kattica lay, packing their gear as instructed and maintaining the camp until the host of the men returned from the hunt. She probed their minds quickly to give them a new task. Watch for Kattica and make sure she stayed put. Though it was likely not to happen, should the girl somehow manage to wake from the deep sleep the witch's work had rent upon her, Bregus would have her kept.

It came as surprise then when one of the women's minds observed having seen Kattica gone.

All other troubles slipped away momentarily from Bregus' mind and panic screamed out in her head at such news. No words passed, but the women in unison, backed away at the elders approach.

"What do you mean she is gone!" the old woman screamed, but she did not have time to discern which one of the women had shared this information with her. She rushed instead to the tents where Kattica was supposed to lay. One of the children cried out in fear at the grim terror Bregus' face evoked, scurrying to find her mother for consoling, but the witch paid little heed. She ripped open the curtain that served as a door to Kattica's hold, shedding light into the interior of the tent. There was nothing to behold. The girl was gone.

Bregus screamed as fear uprooted her calm. It was a hair-raising cry, telling of a most horrible fear confronted. It was a scream that called out for dire aid.

Quick feet raced to where she stood. Curtik came to her side, weapon raised and ready to take on her attacker. But seeing none, he tossed down his knife and raised his arms, offering sympathy while her voice rattled on her lament. From the other side of the camp, another approached. With a look of shaken fear, Mattias ran into the cluster of tents, eyes wide, footsteps wary, but no weapon was drawn. Curtik stepped closer, attempting to console and query as her cry slowed to pale sobs, but she pushed him away, racing instead to take Mattias into her embrace.

Her older son froze as she crushed him to her, but she leaned her head into his muscled chest all the same, finding comfort in holding him and hoping he might take her and hold her as well. But he did not. Instead he stood rigid, unmoved by her cries, but softening enough to ask, "What is it, Mother?

"Gone!" she wailed. "The girl . . ." It was all she could get out, and for a moment she believed he too might know her mind and the devastating effect this news had. He stepped back, unbalanced by the information, and he quivered an infinitesimal amount.

No one answered aloud, but the voice of the woman who had informed her spoke out in her head. She was with him, her voice said, and the implication was that of Mattias. Bregus did not need to look out for confirmation. The image in her head showed her the picture of Mattias carrying his wife away.

She reeled backwards, recoiling as if she had been struck. The image was there, vivid and clear. Shocked for the betrayal that was becoming apparent to her, she looked down to where his knife would be at his belt and realized it was gone from its sheath. The picture of the knife in the Elf's hands as he held it up before her face wove through her thoughts and made her stumble again. She found herself off kilter by the realization that tumbled over her.

The dawning comprehension in her eyes was hard to mask, and she felt something akin to tears rising up at her loss. She had thought he was hers. Her eyes gazed into Mattias and she held his glance for but a moment before he turned away, pretending to look beyond her into the tent, as if Kattica might be hidden succinctly in that small space. She tripped over her words, measuring them to give him opportunity to recant. Weakly they came out. "Do you do you know where she is?"

He flinched, nearly imperceptibly, but she could feel it as well as see it. His guilt was there. It was completely visible. Her heart cried in her chest at the acceptance of his traitorous act. He was her betrayer.

"I knew not she was here," he lied and she saw the falsity quite clearly, looking through him. "I thought she might be with you. Was she resting?" he asked, making her anger all that much greater for the grace in which he spoke these affronting words.

Her stomach caved and she felt weakness take over as her heart beat in maddening tempo. It was becoming too much for her mind to comprehend. Her head was swimming and her legs grew weak. She began to collapse, but at last his arms came about her, if for no other reason than to keep her from falling. Limply she leaned into him, arms loosely dangling at her side. The Elf was gone. The girl was gone. Her son had failed her in the greatest way she could imagine. And . . . she realized too as she looked on him and the clothing he donned, Anborn was gone.

Alas, the cruel betrayal. She wanted to cry out her agony as her mind placed all the pieces together to this puzzle. He had disguised himself for the sake of their escape. The evidence was there in the foreign tunic he wore. And it had worked. It had worked! No doubt was his plan to escape when she left the camp again. So close. He had nearly succeeded. Had she not cried out, he too would have fled. Yet a part of her fractured heart lifted when she realized he had come when he thought she was in danger. That was consoling at least, though she wondered if he would have fought for her safety, and decided he probably would not. Morbid fascination is what drew him, she thought. Cruel! He is cruel!

Bala's words whispered then in her ear, and she shuddered at how near he physically felt. "Take him then. Take him and make him pay for his conviction and deception."

She could argue this but it was pointless. Her heart was too shorn to find compassion and pity. Pay! He will pay! her mind raged though the sympathy and patience she had earlier devised fell away.

"Fear not, Bregus. Look ahead. I see something that will ease this conflict for you," Bäla said in an enticing whisper.

His words surprised her and she started. "See? What is it you see?" Bregus asked aloud, not liking that Bäla could visualize something she could not.

Mattias' face screwed up in question though she couldn't hear his words. She suspected he offered an answer, though it appeared to confuse him. She could see him mouth a single word: "Mother?"

"If I promise to lead you to the one who could take Kattica's place, will you give me our son's body as vessel to my desires?" Bäla asked, no longer teasing.

Bregus' eyes grew wide. Her anger at Mattias was tantamount to a raging volcano, and she wanted to lash out and hurt him. But sacrifice? Somehow she had admonished this notion when Anborn had been found, never really considering it as this event drew nearer. Instead of answering the request, she hedged, asking, "You know where to find her?"

Mattias spoke again, but his voice barely touched the outside of her thoughts. "Mother. Are you well?" Mattias asked, but her mind could not register it while she faced this internal struggle.

Very well, she thought, giving in and allowing her eyes to wander up to Mattias and for hate to fill her heart. All sympathy was lost. All kindness was reneged.

"Do you still accept your fate whatever may come?" Bäla breathed into her mind.

I do not, she answered with hostility, pushing back anything of good that had been gifted her. Her stance grew tall, proud and authoritative.

"Take him then," the voice ordered again, and the decision was made. Her pupils dilated with her madness as she gazed about her once more with new eyes.

"Come, now, everyone. If she is gone, she is gone, and there is little I can do to halt her. Perhaps she is on the hunt with the others, yes?" she offered, and she saw the women's heads bob in acceptance of this explanation. "If so she is ahead of us, and is seeing right with our plans. Gather everything now. It is time to part."

She watched as Mattias' eyes darted about, realizing her menace and looking for escape. With quick steps she caught him before he had time, grasping his arm and pulling him with her as she came to the aid of one of the women. "Here child," she said to one of the women folk struggling with the bundles and a baby, "Let Mattias help you with this. He can take the packs."

"There now," she interrupted, "Surely you are not going to desert us when our need is dire. Curtik," she called, and the younger son was immediately there, "Convince your brother he must stay with us. Mattias, you would not be planning on running off to seek out Kattica when it is obvious she acts toward our tribe's need of aid? She is ahead of us, I am sure. I can foresee her now."

He stared at her and she could see he realized her ruse. She knew his actions. Furthermore, she knew his flight was imminent unless she did something to stop him. She smiled. "You will not leave us now, Mattias. These women and children need you. Without your accompaniment, how could so many make it through the forest with only Curtik to guide us? Surely you would not wish harm to befall any of these people. Their lives depend on you," she said, barely hiding the implications in her voice that spoke her threat to these people if he did not comply with her wishes. That was how strong her convictions were. That was how desperately angry she was.

Mattias looked stunned, as if caught in a trap. But it was momentary as he grasped his next move to break free. "And if I do not authorize our parting?" he asked, his eyes warily surveying those about him.

She smiled, knowing he was trying to hold her with his position of rank. Fool! she thought. I have spent nearly a lifetime learning how to get around such manipulations. That he would try this only made her resolute in her passion and hate. She could match his bluff, though now that he saw through her it was a pointless gesture. Still she tried it to measure what he knew of her. "You would not do that now, knowing what exactly is at stake. Ah, but my child, you look weary for all that fatigues you. Tiresome work is this, leading a tribe," she crooned as she raised a hand and made to touch his cheek.

He jumped away and she smiled, seeing how easily baited he was by the threat that he could be affected still. So Kattica did not teach you everything there is to know about me. For instance, how to fight me. "Frightened, my son?" she asked. "Of me?" she continued, scoffing. "Now I see for certain how desperate your need of ease truly is. Perhaps your brother here needs act as your counsel." Curtik smiled for the false promotion he had just received. Turning her eyes to her youngest she urged, "Stay close to your brother, dear Curtik. He is fatigued more than he knows, and his actions could grow haphazard with the strain. Stay with him. Stay at his side no matter what he does. And when we meet up again with Gordash, he too can aid in this task." She laughed to herself as Bäla echoed her sentiment of joy at capturing Mattias without chain or rope for she had effectively posted guards over her son. But she was not done. "For now though, let us be off and on our way. We must reach the Protected Place this day, and hopefully an Elf will be dropping from the sky at any moment to fulfill our need," she continued sarcastically.

Yet again, Bregus anticipated his words and actions. Reaching down and grabbing the nearest child, she swept up a pretty girl, barely three years of age. The child did not squirm in her arms, for she knew Bregus as she knew all the womenfolk of the camp. The old woman ran crooked fingers through the dark locks covering the girls head, pressing fingers to temples in the last motion to manage the hair from the child's face. Her fingers locked to the small girl's features in a manner she thought Mattias might recognize as one from her magic. "There, there, my precious," she consoled though the girl had made no complaints. "Nothing shall come of you should we travel companionably together. Though if we separate, I shudder to think what could happen to small ones such as yourselves." She smiled at Mattias, but menace was in her eyes and she made it quite clear to him in that expression that she would not brook any counter movements on his part. Tribal leader indeed you are, she thought, and as such, you will be accountable for the lives of those you rule. She wished to laugh for the bitter irony of it and the fear in his eyes.

He made no more sound, simply shouldering the pack to his back, and reaching out for her to unhand the child. Yet the look in his eye was scathing and harsh, and the bile of hatred warred within them. Sudden sadness filled her chest for her despair at his dark anger but she pushed it aside. She reminded herself he had betrayed her. Taking the child, he turned away, ending their sight into each other's souls. He moved ahead, thus effectively marching in lead to the group. He would take them to where the hunters might now be found.

"Do not fear for him," Bäla said with undertones of sarcasm. "He has all the makings of a fine tribal leader. I am sure I could do him justice," the figment laughed.

Bregus ignored this, choosing instead to watch Mattias carefully as she followed his path. "And where do we go now," she muttered softly to Bäla, "to find the other woman? Where do we go?"

"In the direction we were already taking, of course," Bäla laughed. "We would have found her regardless."

Tricked! Bregus realized it, and she shook in fury as Bäla continued to laugh. Betrayal reigned on all sides, and she could barely contain her shock or her hurt. Her eyes watered in frustrated tears, and she nearly screamed for her rage, but Bregus had long learned to master her true feelings, and thus she schooled her wrath into something controlled. They will pay! They will all pay! her thoughts seethed as she set her focus on the path ahead and the actions she would take.

"Mother?" Curtik interrupted at her side. "What of the remaining captive? Anborn."

Bregus did not even bother looking back, so certain was she of what had occurred. She snorted her disdain for the question as she shrugged her son aside and followed his older brother. "Fear not, for his place shall not be missed." Then gazing back on her youngest, she felt a wave of compassion and said, "There is no captive, Curtik. There never was. Forget everything you have seen and you will be peaceful in thought."

Turning, she smiled a menacing smirk as she looked over the deserted camp. They were on their way and the next step in her plan was about to be loosed.

A short drop found Aragon and Arwen with solid ground beneath them, but absolutely nothing of traction to hold them in one place. Gravity carried them away and down, and as a unit they splattered and splayed, spun and sped, rolled and writhed, and skewed around and about in a landslide of collapsing earth. Their travel had taken them through an ever-widening chute of soggy muck that fell in upon them as their bodies were hurled ever onward to the tunnel's lee. Puddles of sludge lubricated their path, and so long as their course stayed clear, on they raced. After a journey of at least a hundred feet from whence they started, the chute leveled off, and instead of being a sharp diagonal in nature, it turned horizontal. Lord Grunge and Lady Sodden could not have been better-fitting names for the duo that sloshed to a mucky halt after tumbling down that tunnel of sloppy, oozing, sticky mire. With a splot they came to a stop. Which body was which the observer could no longer tell.

The King sat up, pleased to find himself unscathed after so tumultuous a journey. So many times in this day had he descended further underground by rather violent means, yet except for being incredibly filthy, he seemed none the worse for it. A sound erupted from beneath Aragon in a curse that was unmistakably one of vexation and he thought perhaps his partner did not share his sentiment.

At the base of his mind he thought the rending of this call must hurt the throat of the one screaming it, so primal was its guttural pronouncement, but senseless musings like this were not endearing him to his wife. The squirming form of a body beneath him gave clue to the voice's source, and a grunt in the more normal voice of his wife told him the worth of this tale. Unlike the earlier predicament in which he had found himself with Arwen bearing weight upon him, now it was he who handed landed upon her. Fortunately she had landed face up, but his form laid nearly prone over hers, and the image was of two shapes stacked in a crisscross of opposing directions.

Quickly he made to rise, though the thought of doing and actually doing were two separate things. Instead of standing, he was slogging in a grand gesture, held down by the thick mud making sucking and bubbling noises as he rose while his legs kept pushing and slipping from beneath him. Yet his movement was enough to free her, at least to the point of raising her head from the thick muddy bath. And all the while in his exhaustive efforts to right himself, his tongue kept spilling out the words, "Arwen! Are you all right? Arwen?"

Of course she did not answer, for she could not hear him. Her ears were quite filled with mud. And even had she heard, it was doubtful any words he might have said could have restrained her from screaming in the best of her anger's fine form. She shrieked out again, "Aiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeuuuuuuuuggghhh!"

If it was possible to give such a bellow any greater emphasis the second time, she did it. In fact, so great was the cursed scream that Aragorn found himself unbalanced by the major shift in his prim wife's persona and fear quaked in him that the walls might come tumbling down again. Awkwardly he found himself reeling only to topple and land side by side with his wife as a small wave of mud came up and slapped her in the face.

Nothing about them resembled that of the King and Queen of Gondor. And it was a fortunate thing indeed, for in the moments to follow, Aragorn was certain his people might derail his sovereignty in the surprise over the creature often assumed to be his wife. No other eyes but his graced the form of one Arwen Undomiel Evenstar, who, at the moment, looked ready to chew metal, so great was her wrath. Another frightened idea occurred in Aragorn's head. Dear Valar! he thought. I hope this ire is not directed at me. I cannot imagine what I could have done now to deserve the scorn of this . . . this. . .??? He could find not the words. Luckily, it was not he for whom the Elven Queen howled. In this case it was the Valar themselves to whom she directed her fury and Aragorn felt perhaps they too might be quaking, even if they were better armed for it.

Foisting herself out of the mud that encased her body and covered every square inch of her form, tooth to nail, she looked rather demonic in the murky gloom. Further, the sounds that escaped her lips surely were not those that inspired the songs of lore oft sung of her. Aragorn blanched at the string of curses that littered the echoing chamber walls. Arwen spat words of which he did not know she had been aware, and a few of which he had not been aware himself, some going so far back as to be Quenyan in origin. After several minutes of this rant, accompanied all the while by her helpless flailing to be free from the goo, she calmed.

Breathing one last exasperated gasp, she shrugged, pushed a muddy strand of hair from her face, and then sighed, turning to Aragorn and saying, "Would you help me to stand?"

Aragorn blinked, not knowing what to think. This was certainly a day of odd events, not least among them being the wild displays of temper shown by his wife. Calmly he asked, "Are you quite done now?" though he prepared himself to duck should she choose to lash out.

"Quite," she said demurely, not even giving hint that a torrent of barroom language had just passed her lips. She attempted to brush the layer of mud from her shoulder as if a fleck of dust was all that disturbed her pretty frock.

And so he stood, gracelessly finding his legs and nearly skittering again before gaining his balance Then offering his hand, he raised her to her feet with a tug that made a sad popping noise as she pulled free. Squinting into the near blackness, she searched their landing area and smiled wanly at something she found. Raising her skirt as if she were merely crossing a puddle, she gracefully stepped to the muddy lump, and dipping in her hand she pulled out the lamp she had been carrying prior to their last fall.

She wiped her hands off on her dress, though the cloth was hardly cleaner, until she bore only a minor layer of dirt on them. Then, shaking too the lamp, she brushed away the heavy coat of mud and made to open its fastenings and closures so as to free the kerosene onto the wick. She found the small tinderbox contained within the housing, and deftly she sparked a small fire. Handle of the lamp over one arm and hands nursed around the flax threads holding the small flame, it was an admirable task done, especially for someone who had been lolling in a fit of rage only a minute before. Aragorn gawked as the light illuminated their space. She merely smiled the sweetest of smiles in return.

"Arwen?" he started with trepidation. Now that he could more fully see her, he realized he was afraid of her in ways he had never thought possible.

"Yes dear?" she answered, delicately picking through the goop to find what she might of their other belongings.

"What just occurred here?" he asked, feeling a little braver with each passing minute.

"What do you mean, love?" she asked, calmly lifting now the rope from the mire as if she were picking wildflowers for a bouquet.

"That," he said, waving his hands about in a wild gesture, which he meant to be interpreted as the screaming fit that had previously transpired.

She stood and cocked her head at him in what was a very Elven expression, her face stoically withholding any sign of emotion. Then she brightened slightly before shrugging and turning back to her work as she said, "Oh. That."

Aragorn paused, waiting for her response, but he knew one would not be forthcoming. Elves had an uncanny ability to act flighty and evasive when they wanted to do so, and Arwen was no exception among them. After a very long break in the voicing, he drawled, "And?"

She acted as if she had not noticed the long wait for reply. Shrugging again and answering blithely she said, "I was merely angry."

Another chuckle followed as he digested this news. "Angry?" he inquired as delicately as he could. "It appeared to be more of an eruption to liken Mt. Doom," he said, wincing and again steadying himself, ready to duck should the need arise.

Arwen sighed, nodding in slight agreement. "Aye, I suppose it was a bit . . . extreme." Then she stated simply, "I do not like mud."

Aragorn laughed. He did more than laugh. He guffawed. He snorted. And then he broke into a fit of raspy chortles that nearly sent him toppling into the mud again. All the while, he pointed to Arwen, eking out the words "Do not . . . like . . . mud . . ." He could barely contain himself, and only the stony stare of Arwen seemed to stifle his fit.

Still, a snort and a giggle trickled past his sealed lips when she looked away and Aragorn had to wonder if there was more to this tale than she was revealing. A sudden, baleful glance silenced him fully an instant later though the thoughts continued to ruminate and he could not help but urge the news out. "I know Elves are fastidious in nature," he taunted, "but surely a tirade of that magnitude is a little much given the circumstances."

"I am not enjoying this experience much, Estel. Allow me to vent my fury if I must," she countered in a lecturing voice.

He could not seem to cease the jocularity given the uncouth manner of her tantrum. "Aye. But the Valar? That is a mighty wrath you keep penned."

She smiled in a merry way seeing his mirth, quite contrary to the oddity of her prior outburst. "One tirade per century is my motto. I think I was due. It has been a rather tedious day, would you not agree? Or would you rather I directed my antagonism toward you?"

He held up his hands as if to push away an unseen enemy, though the laughter continued as he answered, "Nay! Nay! I have borne witness to that already and would happily wait another century before seeing it again." Secretly though, he suspected more to the story than what she told and he wondered what it might take to pry it out of her.

"Very well then," Arwen said, mustering up what dignity she could given the circumstances and her appearance. "I think it is time we got on to business," she said, looking quite serious, which Aragorn admitted was difficult to pull off under all the layers of mud. "There is still Gimli to consider," she reminded him.

Aragorn very much sobered then as he shrugged past her as best he could and wandered toward the sloping light that filled only a small part of the room in which they found themselves. He looked up the shaft, sighing at the distance they would need to cover in order to get back to where they had started. It was an impossible task given the urgency of their situation, the pitch of the slope, and the absolute slippery quality of the incline, and so he turned his attention on this new cavern.

The space was dark as midnight, blacker still in places beyond where the small trickle of light barely reached. It was much larger than where they had been before, and unlike their past experience, this room appeared to be contained within stone, not mud, the exception, of course, being the tunnel that had led them there. He felt gladdened for that for he was uncertain his luck might hold when it came to falling into holes again, and he did not think he could take another muddy turn down.

Trudging back to her side in the mid-calf deep slop, he held out his hand for the lamp, which she surrendered silently. Slowly he waded about the room, water pooling about his legs where the mud gave way. It was very difficult to step, the consistency being that of watery porridge and each tread causing the other foot to pull with suction before leveraging free. In a moment though he discovered a way to release himself of the ooze as a broad step took him up to a ledge that appeared to follow the circumference of the room. He dropped the light lower, seeing better the path, and realized another room jutted off from this one and, better still, appeared to lead on to another past that.

"What of the healer kit?" she asked as she retracted a waterskin that bobbed to the murky surface.

Aragorn looked back upon her and her efforts to regain their lost items. Scanning the outer cavern he discerned the kit was not available to them any longer, and had most likely been buried when the cave-in had sent them down. "Leave it. Even if you were to find it, it would probably be in ruins," he said as he took the rope from her shoulder and offered a hand in helping her make the next step. "We must hope that Gimli will fare well on his own without need of our ministration. So much time has passed already."

She stood before him, and in the light she was an unsightly visage. He could not help but quirk a smile once again. "My Lady," he said, scraping and bowing before her as he offered his arm and turned back to a merry subject to avail them in their journey. "Now you must tell me the true story of why you 'do not like mud', for Elf you are and I know you are not prone to magnificent tirades of the sort I have witnessed, even once per century."

She sighed. A shy grin was barely visible beneath the grime covering her skin. He did not need to see it to know that she blushed. "You will not let this pass, will you?" she asked.

The floor of the cave suddenly seemed fascinating to her, though he did not ease his gaze. At last she looked up and confessed. "It was Elladan and Elrohir who were truly at fault."

"Aye. My brothers put me up to it," she confirmed with a nod, frowning at the memory.

Aragorn smiled knowing fully well the mischief those two Elves could stir. "So there is a tale behind your tantrum. I would guess that the twins somehow goaded you into a situation having to deal with mud. Am I correct? I would expect nothing less of them. But surely it was not as bad as this," he said, holding out his arm once again so he might lead her. This time she took it.

"And I was practically an Elfling at the time, barely past my second century. So you can see how finely honed it is in my memories. Of course, it was a natural mistake on my part if you consider it," she said in her defense, as if they were conversing over tea.

"Your countenance was sullied greater than now? I find that difficult to believe," he said. All his mannerisms were sarcastically those of a gossiping female. He could not help himself. He was amused by what he knew would be a great tale, and more so that her ire seemed to be lifting. It would be good to vanquish those feelings and he knew in his heart as they journeyed into the unknown it would be better for them both to be in high spirits.

He kept the truth hidden. He knew they could be lost for days or weeks in these tunnels, though he did not wish to say that aloud, and anything he could do to offset that gloom he would do. Already his stomach growled for food, but he ignored it, afraid to look at the meager biscuits he had tucked away in his pack, fearful of ruin to the dirt. He hoped their path would be easy, for they were not really prepared if it was not. They would back track and return to this spot if need be. At least a route was visible to them here, even if it was not passable. At the entrance he marked their path by using a small sandstone that lay on the floor. He scraped the walls with the design of an arrow marking the direction they took for any followers. He pocketed the stone to use for later markings, and then held the lamp high so to lead the way. Turning again, he smiled and said, "Do tell more, please, Lady Sodden," in the attempt to keep alive their discussion.

It was then that she struck him, and by this time he had forgotten the need to duck. Still he laughed, as did she for it was a light blow and not really intended to harm. She continued, "You know of the Hoarwell Fens?"

Aragorn turned to stare, blanching slightly as he did. "That stinking cesspool of polluted filth? You did not?" Then when she did not negate him, he added, "But Arwen, it bubbles," as if that was justification enough for her never to approach such a place.

She only nodded in confirmation. "So it does, Lord Grunge. I knew not what I was getting myself into at the time, but hindsight makes it all that much clearer," she said as she picked her way in the darkness at his side. Together they stepped into the black, unaware indeed of what might come next.

Despite the ache in his foot, the throb at his temple, and the hobbling manner in which he was forced to move along, Gimli was having, in an odd sort of way, a splendid time. He was in his element in the deep, dank spaces below ground, and as any Dwarf might contend, there was nothing that made Gimli feel more at home than that. The darkness did not bother him as it might other creatures. In fact, so accustomed were Dwarves to making way through dark corridors without access to great light, that they had many learned traits that had become second nature to them in situations such as these.

Like Wood Elves that flittered through the trees, Dwarves made easy access through the rocky tunnels below ground. While above ground, in the sunny amber light among twittering birds and frolicking squirrels, such a thing as Dwarven grace might be mocked. Here in the deep dwellings of the rich earthen caverns, Dwarves had uncanny skill, so keen in fact that they could rival that of the Elves in the trees.

Among these skills were some most fitting for pitch places, and Gimli was employing them well. For example, the ability to use the sound of their footfalls was considered great benefit to Dwarves. Many a time had the plodding tread of Gimli been the subject of amusement to his Elven companion. Yet Legolas most likely did not realize that the booming sound was as intrinsic to the nature of a Dwarf as was that of the silence to the of Elves. To appreciate such a thing, it was important to know just how adept Dwarf ears could be. In the confines of a grotto, a Dwarf had sensitivity to sound that was heightened to a peak of pinpoint accuracy, giving him the ability to tell distance and know measure of obstacles in his path without aid of light. It would have been an insult to say a Dwarf's hearing was like that of a bat, but truth told, they were more alike than different.

Though their heavy steps were a positive trait in Dwarven custom, Dwarves also had the craft to adjust their tread. Like an Elf in that respect they were for they could make their noise nearly as inaudible as their bodies were invisible in the dense blackness, which was no small task given the repercussion of noise within those hollow walls.

And together, with knowledge and manipulation of sound, a Dwarf could be a mighty foe in his place in the earth. It was long said that no Man, or Elf even, could enter a Dwarven stronghold without detection, and in their history Dwarves bragged much on this fact. Though many attempted to steal away with those infamous treasures of Dwarven kings, none ever succeeded to carry out even a farthing with all of his limbs intact. Such was the Dwarf talent to manage sound.

Still, Gimli was being extra cautious in this trek. He was no fool, and he knew in his injured state he would not want to fall prey to any misadventures. Thus, one arm was poised beneath his crutch while a bundle of tied brush was harnessed to his back. In his other hand was the heavy end of his weapon. The other end of his axe, as might be described as the grip, Gimli scraped over the floor before him like a blind man wielding a cane. Gimli understood well his shortcomings. Despite his ability to 'see' when no light was allowed for it, the Dwarf had enough experience to know one could still fall into a pit that might not catch the echo of his steps. The going was made slower with this device in hand, but Gimli knew his only options were to give up the crutch, give up the halberd, or carry on with both items. And even though the third choice was the more difficult, Gimli opted for it, knowing full well he would desert none of those things he came to carry.

When comfort took hold, Dwarves also were known to utilize their talent for hearing well in caverns in other ways, and Gimli was making handy this skill as he trod. He was singing.

Without Legolas to jeer at him, the Elf's friend felt at ease enough to hum with some relish, and this too, like his heavy steps, aided in his going. Thus, he was humming for many reasons. One was to drown out the throb in his head that, though disconcerting, was only a mild hindrance. The second was to utilize the echo much like he would his footfalls and determine the size and depth of the caverns. And the third reason was because it sounded nice and it lifted his spirits. It made him think of many times in the dwarrows of his home in the Misty Mountains that he had heard the sound of Dwarven voices rise in song to meet his own. That was a joyous memory. Dwarven voices are rich and deep, like the earth, and when they join together in song, it is lumbering and moving, resonating in places of the soul that are seldom so stirred. The choir of those baritone vocalizations echoing through chambers and singing in tandem and harmonic renderings of song was very much a moving thing. There had been a time once during a visit to the Aglarond when Legolas had heard it, and Gimli had been astounded to see tears in his friend's eyes, though the Elf had denied it. Dwarven music could indeed be a beautiful thing.

In fact, Gimli had often thought he and Legolas might pair to make very lovely songs together, if only Elves were not so queer in how they went about music's making. Many a time had Gimli chimed in on one of the more familiar tunes his Elven friend sang only to find his notes sounding flat as Legolas veered off, changing the tune. Stubborn and selfish, Gimli scowled, for in the origination of Iluvatar's song Gimli knew that one of the Valar had done much the same. But then there were other times when the Elf joined Gimli in the Dwarf's hummed tunes, and at those moments the combination was lovely. Deep down Gimli was certain Legolas changed the tunes to show the superiority of his race for such things, for try as he might, he could not anticipate when the Elf might alter the music. It was amazing, in fact, that Elves could do so with such easy adaptation. Gimli had traveled through Legolas' realms in the past, first Eryn Lasgalen, then Doro Lanthiron, and each time he heard a barrage of Elven vocalizations chorusing through the trees, all singing as separate entities, yet united as one. In those moments, Gimli too often found tears in his eyes.

Of course, there would be no song in these caverns if Gimli suspected menace to be about. His keen hearing detected none, so onward he sang his song. Every few dozen yards he would stop and break off another of the small twigs, using it as a marker for his trail should he need to find his way back. And if such were the case, it would be then that he would light a torch so he might see his markings. For the moment, at least, he did not need it. Certain also was he that he had not doubled back on himself and crisscrossed his path. Another trait of the Dwarves was this. He had a remarkable sense of direction while looming in the dark. Most Dwarves did, and Gimli could tell he had pretty much stayed a course going west to northwest, which was the direction in which he recalled the river to be, and the place where he thought this cave might empty.

It was not to break off twig though that Gimli suddenly halted his steps after journeying for some time. His reasoning was clear in his earlier prediction; he suddenly knew the caverns about him had changed. Perhaps it was the way the air moved, or the scent of the dirt, or even the minor difference one heard in the echo in the walls, but all of it added up to a very interesting find, and Gimli felt his heartbeat speed in anticipation. A lucky Dwarf was he if he discovered his prediction true. Most Dwarves lived a lifetime without ever discovering what Gimli thought he might find and he was not about to let such an opportunity go by untested.

He reached to his parcel and pulled out one of the torches he had manufactured earlier, for now was not a time to be frugal with light. It was not a torch in the true sense, for there was no oil cloth or kerosene to serve as a wick and to urge a slow burn to the staff. Instead the torch was the brush itself, and he knew it would have a short life, burning for just a few minutes and flaring brightly only at first before petering out to a dull glow. Still, he needed to confirm what his ears and nose told him was there, and so with shaking fingers he pulled out his flint and steel and easily sparked a light. A short minute later the torch was lit.

It was as he suspected, though greater than anything he truly thought might be. His hands shook as he took in the magnitude of what he saw. And while the torch was at its greatest, his eyes reveled in the glory of what lay before him. The glow filled the teary pools of his eyes. He smiled. The torchlight dimmed. A laugh broke free from his gut.

"Legolas," he said after all the illumination had faded to black again. He relished the sound of the word, letting it fill the chamber as if it might mark his claim. "I think I have found a way to save you, my friend," he said softly. Then he stepped forward and touched the stony wall.

Eowyn grumbled to herself, cursing her failing legs and wondering if she had somehow made a wrong turn. Impossible that was, for she had followed the river as it flowed southward toward the Anduin. Somehow they had managed this path in their travels to the cave of Henneth Annûn before, yet it had not seemed so rugged and contentious then. She grunted, summoning up her depleted strength on somewhat shaky legs. She realized they had been on horseback before, and they had pretty much allowed the horses to find their way up the rocky slope, wandering a bit away from the river's course where need required, and using the sound of the falls to bring them back. She wondered if she might fare better by traveling inland a bit more, away from the water. Here, near the shores of what was becoming rapid currents, the terrain was almost treacherous. It certainly was hindering her way, and Eowyn's progress was far slower than she would have hoped.

In fact it was so slow, Eowyn began to wonder if she had misjudged the situation. The raw frustration of being out and traversing this steep ridge was unraveling her earlier resolve. Would it not have been wiser to have stayed in their refuge and waited for all to return? Likely it was that the moment she departed they had arrived. She cursed that she had not thought to leave a note, but then she had been certain dire fate had befallen at least some, and she had felt this the wisest choice. Now she doubted herself.

It did not help that she had forgotten to pack a meal to fortify herself along the way. On consideration she realized she had not supped since that morning. So focused was her mind on more tragic things, she had not noticed the missed meal until now, the hour when she might normally dine (or at least be in preparation to dine). Then again in these days of early pregnancy and sickness, it did not surprise her she had forgotten. Her stomach seldom wanted for food. But when it did, it was a fierce monster, making its will known with the force of a dragon.

It had been long since she had suffered this way last, but yea, did the memory return quickly. Very few moments there were when the nausea did not press on her. Even in her direst hunger it called to her, leaving her shaken and ill. She was certain this is what ailed her most in her fumbling steps. True, the slope was steep, but not so steep that some sustenance might not firm up her wobbly knees. That is, once the queasy turn in her stomach had passed.

She took a draw on her waterskin, filling her stomach at least with some fluids. This way, too, if her gullet decided to divest itself of contents, it would merely be bringing forth something mild. Still, even the thought of such things nearly made her gag, and she pushed it away quickly before her fears became reality.

Deciding the horses most likely had the best idea, she walked further from the river in hopes of finding safer ground to step and perhaps some berries as well to tide her over. Her skirts made the walk more difficult, and she almost wished she had donned one of Faramir's trousers. It might have been a ridiculous scene to witness a woman in leggings, but it would not have been the first time Eowyn had done such a thing. For the sake of comfort and ease, she might well have forsaken tradition, had she the presence of mind to think of it earlier. Truthfully, the time when she had taken the guise of Dernhelm had been a liberating one, and she had been a bit saddened to return to the familiar attire of feminine endowment after having taken reign for a time as a man.

True to her desires, the terrain did level off as she moved further from the water, and this pleased Eowyn. She wiped the sweat from her brow and continued her southward trail, though she was still able to detect the water's sound. Her deepest fear in leaving the river was that it might veer off without her realizing and she would find herself in the thick of forest when her intent was to find the soldiers' camp near the shore. Still she judged she had many more miles to travel before making her destination, and so long as she skirted the water by this distance she would hem in on it after she had reached leveler ground.

She had not traveled far this way when all the landscape of her mood changed to something which gave her fright. In the distance she could hear the sound of dogs barking and she fretted, touching the hilt of her sword. Her first reaction was to think that it might be wolves or wargs. But neither of those creatures was known to give away their presence when hunting, unless they were already in pursuit of quarry, in which case Eowyn knew she was not their target. Still, she was vulnerable to them as they came.

Darting beside a fallen tree she found a place to take cover should the animals come her way. Her eyes shifted as they watched the trees and ground, listening intently for progress. She jumped at a sound in the forest before her, dodging below a sheltering branch as she watched the motion of something nearby. Her heart began to thump more furiously in her chest, and the echo of the dogs' barks quickened as it grew nearer. She made ready her sword, feeling the weight of the pommel balanced in her grip as she held it loosely ready.

There was no warning. All forms of distraction were upon her. Motion from above gathered her attention and a shrill cry from the throat of a predatory creature rang through the air. There was commotion and more cries. The rustling of leaves and snapping branches caught her sights and she fell witness to the most disastrous of events she could imagine. She flinched, gasping. Cruel injustice and nightmare were upon one she loved, and Eowyn's heart went into shock at the disaster of it. Eyes went wide. She released a scream, and without thinking, she ran.

It took Gimli a full minute to digest the information that faded with the light but remained bright and ever glowing in his mind. He was flummoxed and for that brief period no words would come to him that could even mildly convey the awe inspired by the vision that had filled his mental paths. When he came back to himself, he realized his heart was beating in ecstatic tempo and the emotion he equated with it was complete jubilation.

Although he had guessed the mineral to be there, he had never expected to uncover a vein quite so rich, or quite so fast. It was astounding, and near hysterical excitement flooded over him. He wanted to scream out his delight, but he knew that was not a prudent thing to do in the bowels of the earth. Instead, words flowed out of him that he could barely contain, and the impulse to bounce in sheer joy overwhelmed him. "Ha! Legolas, oh Legolas, we have done it! I have found it, my friend! I have found it and it is yours! Can you feel my happiness for your people? Even you will rejoice to know of this discovery!"

Then he paused and he laughed. "Mithril! It is mithril, Elf!" he at last proclaimed. It had been a sight to behold, and he was almost afraid to say the words aloud for fear it would chase the discovery away. The jeweled light had faded, but the memory of the flashing ore sparked still in his mind. Quickly he drew out another make-shift torch and his flint. He had to see it again if only to assure himself he had not hallucinated such a thing.

The flame erupted and there again it was. The light was magnificent, bouncing off the walls and shimmering all about him. Never had he seen such brilliance, even in his own personal unearthing of riches.

He knew he had to act quickly. The illumination would die again soon and he knew he had to mark this place and confirm the quality of the metal to assure this claim. Though Gimli was certain of what he had found, prudence would rule, and examining the mineral in better light would be needed to make his claim for the Elf fully vested.

With a sharp stone and the flat of his halberd blade he chiseled out a clump of the glowing rock. Three taps more and he had a handful of samples that he immediately thrust into his pockets. Then the light faded and he was left alone only with the smoldering red glow of the tiny branches that disintegrated into shadow. They cast no light, but their color remained to remind him of the sensation of heat and aural spectrum. He watched them burn out, leaving nothing but scent and the impressed shadow on his retinas.

He felt a breeze brush by him and realized he must follow it". It was time to move on and his valorous uncovering was incentive enough to follow the air's course. He was most eager to find the Elf.

In his mind, he could hear it all, the Elf's objections returning to him. Often when he entered his caverns in the Glittering Caves he was greeted by his own imagination and what he thought Legolas might say. It was a silly preoccupation, but in many ways Gimli enjoyed the mental sparring his friendship offered, and by playing two sides of any argument, he felt more adept at the verbal jousting his real friend often gave him. Even now, the nag of the Elf played at his conscience. No Gimli, this is wrong. You are robbing from the earth.

The Dwarf snorted in answer and then chuckled once to enforce his stance. "You protest? Foolish friend! Do not tell me the Elves in past ages have not done the same themselves. Were they not too robbing the earth when they dug into her holds? Your objection is weak for you cannot claim immunity to this metal's allure and its beauty. I know well the ornaments hoarded by your kind. Many are there that are conceived from this rock, so put away your criticisms," he argued back in his mind with the fiction of Legolas that ran through his head.

"Nay, it is yours! It is a gift delivered to you to aid your people in their troubled times."

No, Elvellon, this land belongs to Gondor. This mithril, by all rights, belongs to Gondor.

"But did not Gondor give you claim to this land to improve on it and make it whole again?"

"Surely Aragorn asks nothing for the fruits of your peoples' toils. You are beautifying what you hold."

"But what if you could extract it from the earth without causing damage to the surrounding area?"

"You have seen my home, Legolas. You know I would do nothing to harm that beauty. If you hired the Dwarves to mine the mithril, we would keep the calm of the earth and the environment intact. You could trust in my word on that."

I know of your home, Gimli, but I have also seen the way Dwarves will cast aside beauty for wealth.

"Not I, my friend. Wealth no longer interests me as it does many of my kind. I would bring only those who could be trusted to take only what was needed."

Ah, but you do have a price? I know no one who would do such a thing on goodness alone.

"Of course there is a price! Dwarves always demand something! But I would be fair with you. A percentage of the take we would ask. A small percentage."

The Dwarf laughed. "You are going to have to travel halfway to see this through. Aragorn would certainly gift it if you would only confess your troubles to him. Perhaps there would be a small percentage to be paid to Gondor as well, but the man has your best interests at heart. He would not let you fail and he would not turn his back on the Elves of Ithilien." Gimli shook his head, realizing for the first time that he was speaking aloud. When had his words become vocalized, he wondered? He sighed. "Ai, Elf! Surely I am going mad, for even when you are not here I argue with you!" Then he pulled out a small twig and again used it to mark his trail as he had the others before turning back in the direction for which he had been headed.

He started to step, forgetting for a moment to use his crutch. A shock of agony slid up his leg and he nearly collapsed on the floor in his pain. He hissed a slice of anguish, and the sound carried through the dark. It seemed even this small spell in his journey had caused his ankle to seize up and he could feel that the swelling was increasing within his boot with even that short step. His heart's throbbing in the pained injury was apparent from where he stood, and he was beginning to think he may have misdiagnosed himself.

He grimaced. His head suddenly ached as well with the reminder of his other hurts, and he paused for a moment to collect his wits. He suddenly felt ill with the shock of his returned pains. The world coiled around him and he had to pause for the tumbling feeling to pass. Cold sweat broke out on his brow, and wiping a hand over his face, he realized his skin was of a heated condition. Fever? Slowly the flow of harm subsided from his foot, and he felt well enough for the moment to stand aright, though one hand balanced him by claiming the wall.

"I am not ill," he proclaimed, and he willed his hurts from his mind. He pushed the feelings of nausea and dizziness away, and he focused on his next steps alone, refusing to think further beyond that goal.

Crutch beneath his armpit, halberd thrust ahead, he took a hobbling move forward, and paused. The pain was excruciating in his foot, and he winced once again. Such an ache! It had not been this bad before! Yet he knew he could not stop. Earlier his agony had eased when he had moved through the pain, but he was not so plagued then with other ill feelings. Still, he mustered his fortitude to step again. It was easier this time. Quite painful, but easier and the hurt worried him. He had not stopped in this cavern for all that long, mere minutes in fact, unless his mind had deceived him. Yet his ankle had worsened dramatically in that time.

He sensed what this meant. His body was tiring, and his foot needed recovery,. But the Dwarf dared to not heed his hurts. Not now. Not after this discovery. Were the circumstances normal, he might indeed have given his foot and head a day or two to rest. However, the events of this day were not even close to normal. He knew if he stopped yet one more time, he might not be able to walk or rise again. Now he had finally admitted that he was aching and tired, but he knew also that he had to go on and he wondered if he could. For the first time in this journey in the dark, his morale sank. Could he survive in this cave? Could he make it from here back to where his friends should be? It had not even occurred to him to have doubt about his ability to navigate his way to find the world again. Now, he was not so sure.

He spoke, more to assure himself than to really debate the issue. "You would enjoy that, wouldn't you Elf to see me lost in the dark?"

The voice of his friend rang in his mind and it was comforting. You underestimate me, Gimli, as always. It is not that I would find mirth in your predicament of losing yourself in a dark cave, but that you ever found yourself there in the first place. Are you not supposed to be hunting?

Gimli smiled. "I will turn the question back to you then. Where are you, my friend?" he said aloud. "Shouldn't you be looking for me by now? I have left you a trail. Even you should be able to find it."

"I know. But I know you care more for me than to simply allow yourself to succumb to your fear of black, closed places."

Silence greeted that thought and he wondered if indeed the time of day warranted such a search. He had been below ground for many hours, and by his reckoning he thought it might be getting late. The light jab at Legolas to come find him tumbled back at the Dwarf. Should his friends not be seeking him out by now? He had worried for Aragorn before and that then had been the impetus for his forward motion. His concern did not waver. If anything, it was now growing stronger. There was no sign of anyone following the Dwarf's trail, and that was more than a little disconcerting. A new thought occurred to him and he voiced it. "Are you in trouble, Legolas?" he asked his imaginary friend.

There was no answer in his mind, and for the first time, Gimli began to very seriously worry. Time had passed, this he knew, and his roiling stomach was telling him it was later than the dinner hour. The Elf should have begun searching for the Dwarf by now. Granted, Gimli had moved on, but he was walking with a disability, and his gait was not quick. Too, the path he had led was a fairly straight one. He should be hearing sounds from behind of the Elf's coming. Or someone's coming. He had half-expected all along to see and hear signs of Legolas and Faramir searching for him, but something inside of him told him that would not be happening. A sickening feeling, beyond nausea, crept into his stomach. There was trouble about, and with sudden dawning his anxiety over the witch and the gypsy camp came back to his mind. Yesterday seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet what had happened in that small village remained fresh in his mind. The danger was real, and he could not ignore his fears. Legolas was in trouble, and most likely so were his other friends. He knew this. He did not need to be above ground to confirm it. It was there in his heart. Gimli would not desert them or deny their need for rescue.

"Have no worry, Elf, I am coming," he said, conviction echoing off the walls and meeting his ears. With that his pace increased, and he ignored the pain in his foot and the sweat on his brow and the ache in his head. It was not important compared to the wave of nervous fear that gathered in Gimli's brain. Like a droning drumbeat, his heart pumped the words into his mind. I must help them. I must help them. I must help them. . . somehow.

Faramir had no desire to stop running, but he knew he must. Kattica was wheezing and holding her side, her face contorting into a grimace. Studying her rounded form, a thought seized him and he panicked. "What is it?" he asked. "It is not . . ?" He could not bring himself to say the words. He considered her state delicate, and this light jog could not be helping it.

She held out her hand as if to barricade such a thought while she panted out. "Nay! Nay! I just need a moment to rest. Aren't we nearing the river yet?"

Faramir looked up, startled that he had not noticed it before. The sound of rushing water was close by. He could hear it, yet he had not noticed it until her words drew his attention to it. He shook his head as if to chase away cobwebs, grumbling to himself about this misstep and the betrayal to his years of training as a Ranger. Despite Kattica's help, his mind still seemed somewhat rattled. He supposed it was just an aftereffect of the drug but that did not relieve him. He wanted to think swiftly on his own again, but he knew he must find comfort in the small steps towards progress. At least he could now think, even if his thoughts were a bit loosely constructed. That was an improvement.

He answered, "The river is just a hundred feet ahead, I think. There will be shelters along it where we might hide."

"I do not want to hide," Kattica said abruptly. "I want to find Mattias. He said he would rejoin me where the stream met the river."

Faramir nodded. "So it seems we have found the river. Your brook is most likely further downstream."

Kattica smiled at him, for this was an obvious statement. They had not crossed a stream in their journey, and the one near the gypsy camp had been on the south side of that circle while he and Kattica had escaped from the north. Faramir realized his words sounded foolish, but it had not occurred to him that they would until after they had flown from his mouth. Embarrassed, he answered for her, guessing the sarcasm of her thoughts for it was certainly in his, "It is more likely there than upstream, I suppose." Then again he felt ridiculous for having uttered this silly nothing as well. Why was he even bothering to speak? His brow furrowed as he opened his mouth once again, trying to remedy the inept quality of what kept passing his lips, but she cut him off before he could further the damage.

He jumped slightly at the name, so unexpected was its sound. It was the first time she had said it in conversation, and it startled him to hear her use it with ease. He addressed his thoughts on this. "Odd it is to hear my true name spoken through your voice. I had grown accustomed to being referred to as 'Anborn'."

"You were wise to conceal your real name though," she answered. "You know that, do you not?" She leaned back into a tree and observing him and he saw the relief wash her face at the release of her ache. She did not address her pain further though, only continuing her thoughts on the witch. "No doubt Bregus would have kept you in closer check had she any idea of your nobility. Then again, had she really known, she might have tried to steal the body and heart of your other friends, Aragorn and Arwen. A King and an Elf. Her aspirations could go no higher. Be happy that did not come to pass. She has no qualms in following her ambitions, for had she known she could take the role of wife of the Steward, or even the wife of the King, she would have grabbed the opportunity without even thinking. Had it come, then the danger you face would have been that much more grave."

"The danger is bad enough on its own without that fueling it. I still do not understand why this is happening," he sighed.

"It is either coincidence or fate that brought you to her. Only you know where your beliefs stand. I can say this: had you come a week later, none of this would be," Kattica stated with a shrug.

"That I cannot say. But your appearance made many things possible for her. She was able to fully plan my demise with your arrival, that is certain, though it seems she had conceived that idea a long time back. The key ingredient now, however to make this all become a reality for her was finding an Elf. She already had the visions of your cave. And Bäla has been playing through her mind for his resurrection for a time as well. Had she been delivered an Elf, little could have stopped her. The desire to be young and immortal is very tempting for her and that is what this incantation will bring her if she succeeds. She is terrified of her own death." Kattica frowned, breaking her random monologue. "So many paths have been presented and still exist, despite our escape. If she had succeeded in casting her spell, even with you gone, Mattias surely would have followed the path upon which you were taken if only to assuage her loneliness. You were chosen because you bear resemblance to Bäla, as does Mattias. That is the only reason she had for wanting to possess you. She misses her dead husband too much to want to go on forever without him, though from what I know of him, he is was a terrible man. I suppose of all people though, he understood her. He was her confessor. He knew things of her I cannot even begin to imagine."

"But why? I still do not understand it. Why choose strangers upon which to rain hardship?" Faramir asked with a scowl.

Kattica arched and pressed a hand upon the small of her back, standing again with her feet squared beneath her. "You assume she must suffer guilt. She does not. She cares nothing for you. She cares nothing for my people. She cares only for herself. Her heart is nearly as cold as the stone in your cavern."

Faramir watched Kattica's wearied movements, and like his mind, he recognized she was not nearly recovered in body from her ordeal with the witch. He could see her discomfort and remembered Eowyn's pregnancies. He knew this to be a very uncomfortable period, growing progressively worse as the weeks went on. Kattica was not enormously large, yet with her small frame and the slight limp in her walk, he knew that even the slightest of weight gain must pain her. She looked rather miserable at the moment, and Faramir realized more rest really was required. He understood her desire to meet up with Mattias again, for he felt the same about finding Legolas. Yet Kattica's health was an issue he could not ignore it. Furthermore, he thought it might settle his own mind if he could find a brief spell of quiet to ease him.

"Come," he said. "I think I recognize this place. There is an overhang in the rocks ahead where we might take shelter from seeking eyes." Her gaze conveyed her displeasure at this plan, but he allayed it by saying, "We will not stay there long," to which she sighed and reluctantly nodded.

Within minutes he had found the place he had sought and he was pleased at least to know his mind was functioning well enough that memory was attainable and falling into the right places.

His hiding place was a deep rut in the cliff-side. An overhang from above jutted out over the rippling water while greenery trailed down from the perch, somewhat concealing the room beneath it. It was damp within walls made perpetually moist by a dank atmosphere, but that was a benefit as it made the quiet room cool, despite the fact that it was not completely closed. It was open on one side and they could see beneath the curtain of long summer grasses and leafy ivy cascading from the earthen shelf the rush of water pass before them.

Faramir settled Kattica on a small, flat boulder that merged into the incline and she lay back on it, sighing as she took comfort in the leaning seat it provided. It was cool to the touch and he supposed that also aided her, for her skin was feverish with the exertion she had put forth from their flight. For his part, he nestled himself near the water's edge, sitting on a smaller rock some few feet away. Small pebbles lined the shore at his feet, and crystalline water bubbled merrily before his eyes. Looking closely, he could see many small fish darting about in the slowed current below and he thought the hunting in these waters might be easy enough. Had they the desire to do so, they could make camp in this place for it was stocked with sustenance and comfort, though fire would be difficult to coax in the moist air. Though I suppose if I raised it with stone beneath, like a grate, wood might grow hot and catch fire, he thought. Then immediately he abandoned the idea. He had no means to make a fire with him, and he had no intention of staying here. Suppositions were pointless when reality was so harshly screaming at him. Again he realized his mind was loosely scattered and he reminded himself of their intent. They would move on in a few minutes.

His thoughts raced ahead as he enjoyed what he could of this small respite. He had not heard the sound of the dogs for nearly a half hour, and he wondered if they had abandoned their hunt. Their silence both pleased him and worried him. It seemed he and Kattica were safe for the moment, but what of Legolas? He did not like being separated from the Elf, and worry plagued his mind for what could be happening in other places within the forest. If the dogs were not chasing him and Kattica, were they now in pursuit of the Elf? He did not want to think this, for it had appeared that Legolas had gained a friendship with the hounds. He did not think they would turn against the Elf, yet he had seen how quickly loyalties could be shifted under the elderly witch's guidance. He began to doubt the dog's unwillingness to do harm to his friend.

He wanted to agree, but her face still looked flushed and he could see the fatigue dragging her. "We have only arrived here. Rest a bit longer. We are safe."

"I know," he conceded, "but he will not be pleased if you were so worn upon your reunion that you could not travel further. Once we find him, we must make for the hiding place in which my group camps."

"The cave beneath the waterfall?" Kattica asked, and Faramir blinked. Was his mind still addled? She had knowledge that place? It had been guarded so long against anyone discerning its presence that he found he was astonished to learn she knew of it. He could not recall speaking of it. "That would not be a safe place for us to go," she concluded, interrupting his shock.

"She knows of it. She saw you and your wife standing before it and watched you disappear into the door concealed in the rocks," she answered, as if drawing upon a visual memory as she spoke.

"How ?" he asked, suddenly feeling as if he had somehow been violated. Had the old woman read it in him when she had touched him before? He had fought hard against her prying then, and felt certain he had kept much from the old hag. Had he failed? Trepidation ran its course through his heart.

She looked at him consolingly. His personal blame must have been readily visible on his face, for she said words to comfort his guilt. "I know not how she found it out, but it was there in her mind when I broached her. She had a visual memory which tells me she visited that place in person," the girl answered, shaking her head for the dark menace the elder held.

"Eowyn," he murmured suddenly. "She is not safe!" Up until that moment, he had not considered his wife to be in any danger. Now, knowing no information was securely kept from the witch, he felt their steps must quicken. Gathering his needs, he began to rise. "Hurry, we must get to her before Bregus does!"

A smile lit Kattica's face in amusement. "Now who pushes for speed. Peace, Faramir. You do not know your wife is in danger. She may well be safe."

However, Faramir knew his face conveyed his terror. A kind light returned to Kattica's eyes. "Peace, please. I understand your plight and your fears. I will not stop us. We will be on our way." She began to rise, then suddenly gasped and fell back to her seat. Her eyes were wide in surprise.

New fear and dread assaulted his mind. "What . . . what is it?" he mindlessly asked though he was certain he already knew the answer.

She squeezed her eyes shut, head bowed low. Slowly she exhaled and let the dreaded words come. "I . . . I felt a pain," she choked out, and he could feel the fear in the words.

In an instant he was at her side, assuring and consoling. "Nay, nay, it is not true. It is nothing. My wife had three babies herself, and there were always small pains at this point in her internment. I am sure all is well. You are fine."

"It is too early yet," Kattica lamented, tears in her eyes, grabbing at his hands. Panic guided her words. "My baby cannot come yet! It is too soon!"

"Hush, I tell you. The baby will not come. It is a phantom pain, nothing worth fearing," Faramir said, his voice sounding certain. "Lay back now and rest. You just need a few minutes more and all will be well." Despite his assurances, he felt terrified that perhaps it might not be. In his heart he was torn, horrified by the baby's poor timing and also the need to rush to the aid of his wife and his friend. Looking at the girl though, and the drawn fear on her face, he knew he could not leave her to try to escape to the others. If the baby should come, and he were not there to aid or console, he could never forgive himself.

Ai, Eowyn, Legolas, he silently cried, wherever you are, make haste! Please! I cannot come at the moment, but know this: the witch will not be easily satisfied and the two of you are poised for great danger should she find you. Flee! Flee now!

The golden rays of the sun shimmered calico light through the masses of greenery overhead, making sparkles of rainbow-colored auras dance before his eyes. The rustle of foliage sang small choirs of nature's melody in languid, joyful notes. Soothing rhythm lulled him while the boughs and branches of the trees hummed trills of amber song in his eager ears. The melodies took physical form and stirred the air, mixing with the visuals the light played for him. So restful and placid the sight was. It thrilled his heart and made him delight in the casual mystery of their formation. He let his mind go and he accepted them, singing along in earnest pleasure for the gratification and mirth such imagery brought him. Without apology, he no longer wanted to notice anything of the reality that flung itself before him. He was lost, but happily lost, in a world that resembled nothing of what he had known, only of what he relished.

The tune of the trees shifted, and his brow furrowed. The undertone of minor notes playing into the song reduced his cheer. His mood was altered, going from pleasure to anxiety driven only by sound, but that aural stimulus had a profound effect. The light moved, as if a cloud had suddenly enfolded the sun with unhappiness, and the sparkled light of the leaves emanations died to a dull shimmer. Light wind touched his skin, sending shivers of trepidation through his body. It was as if the changed pitch of the melody was now attempting to awaken his heart to something different.

Legolas' reverie was broken. The cries of the trees warned him, and he realized his need to come alert. Regretful for the loss of the beautiful light, he heeded the song all the same. All the voices of the wood were calling to him, and though he was hard put to shake himself from their silvery murmurs, he recognized the urgency with which they tried to rouse him. Slipping in and out of his dawning memory of the heightened meditations like slowly waking from a glorious dream, Legolas was very much uncertain as to what was happening. So difficult was it to comprehend the tree's notes. The deeper meaning of their words could not reach him, and he had to blink back his befuddlement.

He listened, but the sounds were foreign to his ears. He was trying so hard. Too hard. He realized this and he attempted to quiet his mood so he might relax into it, and find meaning by simply allowing the sound to happen. The light no longer danced, and the melodies no longer seemed pleasant. Fear came up on him as the words slowly began to register.

Dark bird! Owl! Trouble draws near! Hide, now, friend Elf! Hide! The bird is searching!

He was confused as to what he should do. An owl? What harm could an owl wreak upon me? But the trees were his friends, and he opted to heed their warning.

Unfortunately something was wrong with his natural grace and physical poise. It seemed a great deal of effort was needed just to stand properly, so off-kilter did he feel, and he realized that the tree he had been propping him aright all this time. This rather disconcerting conclusion did not make it easier for him, for his legs and his torso did not seem to recognize one another and acted as if determined to find their own balance separately. He pushed away from the tree's trunk, resolved to make good his own way without support of cradling branches, but he wobbled, nearly toppling. Protective limbs rustled about him, and gratefully he accepted them as he realized his shortcoming. The Elven trait for physical prowess seemed to have faded somehow, and he felt crippled by his inability to make his body move as he might like.

Still, the trees' worries cried out. Hide now! Hide now! It draws near! So close! Legolas could feel his heart hammer within his chest. Fear tasted sour in his mouth. The smells of the forest, combined with the constricted blood vessels in his nostrils, fed the disagreeable flavor at the back of his throat. Eyes searched, darting the sky and trees, looking to find the creature tracking his path.

His mind wreathed a sequence of memory, spiraling inward to a place where he had previously been pursued and caught. Nightmarish was his recollection. He remembered. He could not recall an owl in that place, only prior warnings from the trees of such a thing. However, the pieces fit together in the slippery regions of his brain, and he realized why he should hide.

Hugging the tree more closely, he looked up and down to see if he might make better his perch. His current location was visible from high above, and he knew he had best resolve this or too easily would he be seen. A density of foliage he saw in higher branches, and he chose that path even though he could also see other hiding places lower down in different trees. He did not trust his body to carry him elsewhere, so he opted instead to stay in this tree and merely travel upward.

The tree, sensing his wariness, aided him as best any companion could. Footholds jutted out where there had barely been anything on which to stand. Branches twisted as if pulled by a gust of wind, reaching out helping hands to guide the Elf prince to his nest. He had never felt so incompetent in his footfalls before, and he hoped this effect of his illness might soon pass. The echo of those positive aspects of his condition still taunted him, and the songs and light teased him to fall back into his playful trance. The call of danger was more prevalent, however, and he ignored the temptation to experiment with color, light, and sound as he tried to remain focused.

In due time, he made it up to the place he had seen earlier. It was not so nearly private as he had expected, and he chastised himself for such a hope, for he knew from much experience with hiding in trees that a spot might appear ideal from the ground yet prove to be otherwise. Still, he put his trust in the fact that the tree would hide him as best it could. He nestled more snuggly in its grasp, laying across the offered bough like a cat reclined in the limbs.

Legolas did not need to see it to sense it. The owl swooped from above, making ring-like patterns in the air. The light whisper of air cut by strong wings caught the Elf's ears, and in his heightened state of awareness, he could practically see the owl's passage in his mind.

Dark bird. Dark creature. He pondered the mystique of this animal. Trained to hunt by night through instinct alone, this one had been taught greater arts in its time. To seek out prey by day was the sign of a more desperate animal. Owls were not comfortable, for the most part, using sunlight as a vantage in hunting. Their eyes, though keen both in day and night, served them better in the darker hours. Yet this creature apparently ignored those traits, hunting instead like a hawk, and using its speed and acute sight to go after prey much larger than it might normally.

He considered what he knew of owls. In his experience, they were mild creatures, trackers of small quarry like rabbits and mice. However, in the further reaches of Mirkwoods forest he had come to know of owls which served as agents to the menace of Dol Guldur. Spies to the darkness that dwelled in those holds, owls were preferred companions to the Elves enemies. Though no such threat existed in the woods of Ithilien any longer, Legolas well understood the hesitance of the trees to let this prejudice go. It was founded in reality and, unfortunately, he feared that in this case they were right.

From above, he knew the secret of his hiding place was well-kept. Heavy clusters of leaves met the light, but nothing was visible of what was beneath them, and his clothing aided in this camouflage. However, from certain angles below he might be seen. This was what worried him, and his hope remained that the bird would not choose to search for him from the lower heights.

A leaf caressed his cheek and he was startled by it but then relaxed, realizing that it was almost as if the tree was offering solace for his fright. He breathed a whispered word of thanks back to his friend and kept glassy eyes focused on only what he could see below.

His mood was one of terror, and he concentrated on his breathing to try to calm himself. This was a very difficult thing to accomplish, it seemed. While he had amazingly precise use of his senses, almost to the point of being overwhelmed, he was having a horrible time gaining control over his body. It seemed disjointed and odd to him that he could not get his arms to move as he might like, and only when he stopped concentrating on making a limb react as he chose did it actually do so. He decided he needed to give up being proactive in his movements and allow his body to react by instinct. Such thoughts were more easily considered than done, as his place was a precarious one, and if he could not hide from this bird, he might well have to move again. Legolas was not sure he could do that.

All thoughts of taking action were immediately driven from his mind however when he felt again the soaring movement of the bird from above, and without conscious consideration, his grip on the bough beneath him twisted, knuckles and wrist scraping on the bark as his hands tightened around the limb. He ignored the pull of fabric from his tunic bunching about his arms just as he ignored the yank on the cord of the amulet at his wrist. His eyes shot upward, as if looking to see if the bird could be visible to him.

With a lurch, he realized the bird swept down and dashed into the tangle of branches of the trees. Legolas' heart pounded faster, the sound resonating loudly in his ears, and he feared, only for a moment but long enough at least to let a deep tremor stir his body, that the owl might hear the rapid beat. The sound of that throbbing organ alone might drive the creature nearer in finding him! Involuntarily his grasp shifted, and again he paid little heed to the snagging of hairs in the charm's cord. He verily did not notice when the amulet came loose from his arm and hung by light threads to the bough. All his attention was driven instead to the animal.

His fears were not allayed. He saw the owl beneath him. As if tracing his invisible steps through the trees, the bird honed in on the vicinity in which Legolas hid. Sensing it as well, the trees seemed to hover in closer to their Elven friend, and Legolas was entirely grateful. Still, the owl swooped and turned, weaving in and out of the trees with the grace of a dancer. It had not however flown upward, and Legolas thankfully realized the only way the creature might find him was by turning and spotting him at the precise moment it moved. Judging from the closeness of branches below, he saw such a maneuver might not be easily accomplished, and for the first time he felt he might get away. His place, despite his earlier fears, really was quite cleverly kept.

Still the bird searched, circling through the trees. Legolas held his breath as the creature neared, and he was gladdened at least that instinct was taking command. And slowly, so slowly, he saw the animal was withdrawing, moving on, leaving him in peace in the trees. Though it still hovered near, it was not so close as to be directly below any longer.

The release of air from his lungs made a light sigh past his lips, though nothing so loud as to call the attention of the owl. He felt freer somehow, and his rattled mind rejoiced. Innocently he pushed himself up to a better seated position. His leg brushed against the branch as he righted himself. That was when he saw the flaw in his comfort. It had not been much, that motion, but it was enough to disturb the amulet hanging from the tree.

Knowing for the first time that the charm had broken free, he saw it twist and fall, a feather light object grasping a current of air. He swooped to retrieve it, nearly toppling in the attempt, but too late did he try. The amulet fell away, dancing pirouettes as it sailed noiselessly to the ground so far below. Like a leaf it tumbled and fell, and for a brief second he hoped it might be mistaken as one. He prayed that the golden cluster of hair that had been stolen from him and fashioned into a device for his safety would be ignored, unnoticed, that it might continue to protect him though the magical quality of it was no longer needed.

He did not need to see the owl to know his place had been detected. A shrill series of hoots cried out, and the creature he had once associated with solemn apathy was suddenly there, in the trees at eye level, bounding at him with all the advantages of flight.

Three notes more from the bird's throat confirmed his position, and in the distance, Legolas heard the dogs' barking as if in answer. He had no time to consider the meaning in that message. He only saw the bird coming at him, tail feathers sweeping down, razor-sharp talons thrusting out. All prior disorientation was gone as adrenaline and survival instinct kicked the Elf into action. He raised one arm to shield his face, striking blindly to halt the owl's progress. A flurry of screeches pierced his ears as he pelted the animal each time it came near.

He clung to the tree, knowing the tree was doing its utmost to protect him. All the while the bird shot forward and back, upward and down, always in flight, always at advantage. Claws grazed knuckles. Blood was drawn. An arm shot out and pummeled into a light body, sending the bird wobbling in mid-flight. Then the owl was away again to regroup.

Legolas took a quick gulp of air, remembering suddenly the knife he had tucked in his boot. Reaching down with measured control, he grabbed for the blade. Blindsided, talons scratched at his face, and he shrugged away, dodging aside. The motion sent him off balance, and he grabbed again for the tree. Grappling with thin branches, he used his strength to counter his awkwardness.

Such actions left him vulnerable, and the bird was quite sensitive to weakness. It dived in on the struggling Elf, stabbing at flesh with bared talons while pecking at areas exposed, beating great wings so that it might blind him. All three attacks dealt out simultaneously had the desired effect. Legolas lost his hold on the tree.

But not without retribution do such things happen lightly. Flailing for something solid to anchor him, Legolas' hands found solid comfort in the legs of the owl.

Slowly he experienced it, as if the meaning of time was lost, and nothing was left but to ponder his fall at a lethargic pace. At a glance, he saw the bird panic, the first signs of real emotion he had seen in those killing eyes. Wings flapped fruitlessly as the Elf's weight carried it down. Above him and around him he could hear the trees cry. Very briefly he regretted that he could not tell the tree this was not its fault and that he truly appreciated the effort made to save him. Wicked branches lashed out in his descent, scratching and bruising flesh as he brushed past them as a hard limb cracked into the skull of the bird. Somehow he knew he should be curling into a protective ball, but again instinct and action were warring for control, and Legolas felt helpless. Wind rushed past him, and he knew the entirety of this happening must have been no more than a second, perhaps even less. But the time allotted to consider the outcome made it ever the more gruesome.

A loud crack reached his ears at the same moment that an explosion of white torment shot through him. Breath escaped him in a sound of hurt, but it was barely the noise he would choose to make. Surprisingly mild was the cry for the anguish that vanquished his reality. Pain! Pain! Rivers of it throttled him in a manner he had never before known. Fervent agony wracked his core as a white, hot knife of piercing abuse ran over his spine. Nerves riddled his soul with wretchedness, and sickness immediately fell upon him. He knew neither the beginning nor the end of this writhing affliction. Had he the will, he would have screamed out, but sound would not come. The misery of this malady was so extreme that voice could not be given it.

His body flipped over the obstruction, as there was no chance any longer for a graceful end to his journey, and like a limp doll, he lifelessly fell the remaining dozen feet or so. He splayed on the forest floor, twisted in an awkward jumble like the roots of the tree. His body convulsed but he had no control over it as aching grief met his mind and soul. A sob passed his lips but he knew not that he had made it. Nausea, black weariness and disquieting darkness trod over him, pummeling him in inextinguishable hurt even as his conscious world slipped away.

"We are getting near," Bäla chuckled, gloating for what appeared to be his superiority in knowing such things. "They are just ahead."

"Aye. This I know," Bregus said, wishing not to be outdone, rushing her legs to keep up with the eager hunters and the dogs. Her answer came with a twang of annoyance, an emotion she felt growing quickly. He was stating the obvious, and she felt certain he was doing it to make her aware that he had perceived their situation sooner than had she. She did not enjoy this tendency. It had been one of those tedious traits she had found unappealing when he had been made of flesh, and she thought to herself she would have to do something about it before he manifested as a whole again. It had been grating then, and her patience for it now was growing thin. She gritted her teeth, realizing for the first time in many years, that with the good came much of the bad. She really did not desire the parts of him that had made their marriage difficult, yet it was her hope that, when their transformations were complete, she would be the more powerful between them. Powerful enough to overturn his strengths. In her mind, that would put all that had been wrong between them into the right. She did not like, as she had in years past, being subservient to him. This time he would be subservient to her.

On the other hand, this needless tendency of his to prattle on about his accomplishments she could almost understand when she practiced sympathetic reasoning. He wanted to please her. His eagerness to give her this gift was easy to recognize. Though ultimately selfish, he was justified in offering pleasure. If he provided her the elements she needed to achieve her dream an unborn baby and a living Elf she in turn would give him his desire a flesh and blood body to house his spirit. There were many flaws in their plan, and none of it had come about easily, but the one that was troubling her most at the moment was Mattias. To grant Bäla his wish would mean to give him the body of their son for his possession.

That his requirement meant sacrificing Mattias did not sit well with her, yet she knew there was enough longing within her that she could quash this unpleasantness, if pressed.

Such things did not come easily. It was going to take a lot of magic to undo the confusion being wrought upon her people. Already, their fears were growing. She felt their minds reeling with counter thoughts and it was wearing on her again to keep them in place.

Bäla, however, did not seem to mind the fact that Mattias was to be used or that their son was becoming a disruption as a result. It struck Bregus that she might wonder why Bäla was so coldly adamant in regard to this. She turned her head to glance at her eldest son. He was a handsome man and she wondered if that might be part of the allure. She could not blame Bäla for wanting to appear as he had, for in his living days he had also been quite attractive. But his demand that the body be one close in appearance to that of his former life was making this task that much more difficult for Bregus, and had contributed greatly to their trials. Mattias would not willingly comply, and Bregus feared she might have to use force to hold him. With Mattias being the eldest, and thus tribal leader, this would not sit well, nor be easy to accomplish.

But perhaps it was Mattias' position, as well as his body, that Bäla wanted. Cunning, she thought, for their people would not perceive her son's change outwardly when the transformation occurred. Bäla's person would inhabit the body, but to all spectators, Mattias would remain. And Bäla would be tribal leader again.

Bregus, on the other hand, would be considerably different. Dare she even think it? She would be beautiful, restored to all the vigor of her youth. And with a bonus. She would have immortality too! Now there was a way to appease the demons that had otherwise plagued her dreams. She could not be burned, carried into the fires of their touch if she would not submit to them. If all went as planned, she would never have to face the dismal decay of old age, with all its aches and limitations again. Forever young. She ached for it.

Bäla, however, would not be gifted this advantage. At least not yet. She chuckled for that. Perhaps someday she might acquire for him another unborn child, another Elf heart, so that he might join her in this eternity. But he would have to prove himself worthy first, and Bregus enjoyed the idea that he would always be beholding to her until his time came. After all, the sun and moon and the stars must be aligned properly for the magic to work. He could well be an old man before that time came. That was plenty of time for Bregus to hold over him her accomplishments. Otherwise, there was no point to bringing him back at all.

As if he could see her thoughts, Bäla stepped closer and stretched his arm about her waist. It was a reminder, and Bregus did smile to it. A physical presence in her bed would not be an unwelcome intrusion. The fact that he would be a handsome creature was not disturbing to her, and she felt a shiver of excitement for that idea. With her own youthful body, she would be desired as well. And the want to be touched, loved for her beauty and the pleasure her body gave, that was powerful magic as well, almost as strong as that evoked in the dark arts.

The feel of Bäla's hand, pressing at her side made her forget for a moment the repulsion she felt for what was about to occur to her son. She longed to resume sexual pleasures, and Bäla, despite all his other flaws, had been a great lover. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him in her youth, that drew her to him now. Yet, he would be within Mattias' body. The idea that her son may soon become the host of their whims made this decision more awkward and difficult. It had been so much easier when she had thought it would be Anborn she would be taking. If I close my eyes to it, she thought, perhaps I will eventually grow accustomed to his presence behind that face.

The taking of the woman who was Anborn's wife, however, would be an easy accomplishment. Without even knowing her, without even speaking to her, Bregus knew she hated her. Taking the child of that one would be a pleasure.

"I think the dogs have found them," Bäla interrupted, and Bregus turned her attention back to the situation at hand. The men were running ahead now, prodded by something within the beasts response.

"Aye, so they have," she answered, no longer thinking his obvious statement was an annoyance. She was as eager as he was to make progress.

Éowyn gasped, jumping back, surprised on her approach to find the Elf suddenly conscious. Stricken disorientation mixed with his misery and pain, and he seemed to look through her unrecognizing for a moment, his brow creased in agony. Pain-filled eyes gazed up at her, blazing blue, the one reminder of color within the gray haze of this scene.

Downy feathers danced around him, tossed loose from the carcass of an owl that lay nearby. Whispered wind lifted and carried the tickle of the soft plumes over the Elf's face and body lightly, playfully, brushing his skin as if painting his form. The motion was harsh contrast to the violence of the incident she had witnessed and the torture he endured. The mystery of that animal's appearance was lost on her.

Éowyn sank to her knees, tenderly reaching for Legolas' hurt body as she did. Her hand moved forward and grazed him lightly about the face and throat. Gentle fingers felt for the weak pulse, though the lady of Emyn Arnen was startled by how quickly it raced beneath her fingertips. She grew alarmed at the clamminess of his skin. She knew what it meant to observe these small symptoms. Shock was upon the Elf, and she knew somehow it must be treated. Legolas' breathing, his stress, his pallor . . . he was deathly ill. She knew not how a member of the Eldar race would withstand such hardship, but neither did she feel ready to find out. Mortals could die from such illnesses. Of that she was certain.

"Ai! Legolas! Where are your hurts?" she queried. It was the first question any healer might ask. "Tell me, friend, and I will aid as I may."

His face contorted in response, ugly hurt crossing his features, and at first she perceived he might not even have strength enough to speak. She decided to probe him gently instead, and she reached for his hand, starting there. It gave her the opportunity to offer comfort, as well as to learn the extent of his injuries.

"Can you feel me squeezing your hand, Legolas?" she asked. It seemed a contrived question to ask, but she had seen his fall. There was no telling from merely looking at his body how harmed he might be.

There was a small tug on her grip, a weak attempt to reciprocate the response. "Aye," his voice weakly cracked. She smiled for that small positive aspect.

She then reached down to his legs, touching and lightly pressing his feet, first one then the other. "Can you feel me touching you here?" she asked.

A tear trickled from one eye, and he shook his head slightly, gasping on a desperate sound of agony. "Nay. . ." he answered with a whisper. "I cannot."

Éowyn too gasped, now suddenly afraid of what her examination might uncover. With trembling fingers, she worked her way up his body, reaching his knees, his thighs, his hips, and finally, his waist. All were met with a negative response. It was at the level of his ribs that he finally confirmed the sensation. She tried to find good in that.

"Do not lose hope, Legolas. This loss of sensation most likely is temporary. You cannot be moved, however, for the time being. I must find a way to bring help to you," she stated, trying not to show fear. Yet her assessment was not good. Legolas' back appeared broken and shock was upon him. Éowyn knew any movement, even the slightest shift, might further damage him. It could even kill him!

Outside sound reached her senses. Legolas' eyes opened again, vaguely scanning to localize the noise of the approaching dogs. Wild terror ran over his features as those pursuers neared. Men's calls followed, and she could see him flinch in fear. He pushed his arms from beneath him, as if to rise. It was a small move, barely recognized as one at all, yet the contest with pain was excruciating to behold.

Legolas' voice came as a whisper and she pressed down to him, attempting to find any means of comforting him. Softly he uttered the words, breath-bound whispers brushing along her ear. "Hide. . ." That was all he could manage.

Eowyn's eyes went wide as she drew back. The sounds of dogs and men were growing nearer. Her voice quivered when she answered in her own gasping cry, though she could not truly understand why her voice came so weakly. "Hide? No, I will not! You are hurt! I cannot leave you!"

"Hurt you . . . She. . . please . . . Hide yourself," he said in a strained voice, eyes squeezing shut tightly.

Compassion drove the heart beating in her breast. Her spirit ached for his misery. Tears filled her eyes in response and their wetness washed over her skin. She pushed a loose hair from his face as the droplets rained down on him. "Hush," she murmured in return, knowing little else could be said for the moment. "I will not leave you. Nor will I allow further harm to come." She knew not what else she could say to appease him.

The noise of the brush stirring was the first indication of the threats approach. Footsteps and shouts echoed behind the rasping motion. The barks of the eager hounds sang forth and the dogs appeared moments later, loping onto the scene at a rapid pace. They were large, hulking creatures, moving with speed and fury, and Éowyn felt her mouth go dry for their sight.

Barely thinking, she rose to her feet. Her heart pounded wildly and phantom memory of what she needed to do moved her to action. Battle instinct took over and without forethought, she found herself drawing her blade, the sliding song of metal clearing its scabbard reaching her ears. The familiarity of a hilt in her hand was welcome. Her sword was drawn. Even after a length of years without the touch, it seemed no time at all had passed. The feel of the weapon in her hands was innately comforting. She was ready to act as her injured friend's protector. She would do anything to save him from these strangers.

She braced herself for their attack though she did not think she could stand up to their blows. But the nature of pack creatures was not to leap unless they needed to halt fleeing prey, and she was not running. She anticipated their movements as she remembered watching the training of hunting dogs in her childhood memories. She stood stock still, observing their arrival. The dogs held true to her recollection. The pack leader broke through to the clearing first and his rush suddenly ended. He lowered his head, sniffing the air, detecting her fear. His eyes were a shocking gold, but there was no playfulness in them. His hackles went up, his teeth suddenly bared in an ugly display, and an arc of snarling beasts closed about her.

She was frightened beyond any words, but her face remained composed. She knew from the sound of the men's voices that these beasts were guided by command. Their charge, if they were properly trained, was to seek and hold their prey, not to kill. That did not mean however that if she ran they would not attempt to destroy her. In the minds of these animals, flight was reason enough to attack. She would not run, though. She understood the dogs. Her real foe was not these creatures. They were merely weapons. The true enemy would arrive in the human mass that followed. She held her sword high as they neared.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The truth would now be known, and a shiver went down her spine. It took no time for her real adversary to appear. With a quick cry of discovery, a group of a dozen men broke into the clearing and surrounded her, standing behind the circle of the dogs. They looked back and forth among themselves, somewhat uncertain of what they should do next, and Éowyn was gladdened for that. Surely they had not expected to face a woman in these woods, let alone a woman brandishing a sword. They were armed, knives drawn and bows ready, though again their poise was not completely certain. As Eowyn studied them in these quick seconds, it seemed to her that they almost questioned their actions, like they did not fully believe in them, though none seemed ready enough to stand up to express those doubts.

The beat of her heart charged loudly in her ears while her breathing came in short gasps. She knew voices called out to her, mixed with the growls and barks of the dogs, but she could not settle her heart enough to hear what any of them said. She did not think she needed to do so, in all honesty. Their grimaces and angered eyes told Éowyn that their ire, for the most part, was directed at her, though she could not understand why.

Fearful as she was, she would not show them her emotions. Their menace would not keep her from protecting her charge, though her fright and confusion for why this was happening could not be denied.

As they settled around Eowyn, they were followed by something that surprised her. An equal number of women and several children cowered at the rear of the line, and still more men were to be found there as well. This sight disturbed Eowyn greatly. These innocents should not be exposed to the violence of a hunt, let alone a manhunt! It was irresponsible to make them witness to the brutality here, and worse still to involve them and possibly endanger them. Should a child accidentally get in the way . . . The thought made her shudder. Already she could see some of the children crying for their fear and her shining sword did little to calm them. In empathy to the smallest ones, she thought momentarily it might be best to lower her weapon to diminish those fears. But the snarl of the dogs was at the front of the line, and Legolas' plea for her to flee, to save herself, did not relinquish her thoughts. Based on that alone, Éowyn decided that these were people not to be pitied.

She surveyed the gathering. Among their number there was a range of ages, though most appeared young to her eyes, dwelling in midlife and descending from there. Only one looked old, coming up from the rear and now pushing her way ahead. There was something in the way this person carried herself that was conspicuous. The elderly woman walked through the group, her shoulders held proud and her chin raised as if in challenge. Eye to eye she and Éowyn met, summing one another up in their exchanged glances. A mild tremor resonated within Eowyn, but she was physically able to stifle its outward appearance as she lifted her chin in turn, glaring an equal measure of cool defiance towards this woman. The elder seemed not the least moved by the sight of Eowyn except to appear mildly amused. A sort of pleasure there was to behold in the old woman's gaze, as if she had expected to encounter Eowyn, just as they were now doing.

The old woman, Éowyn noted, seemed to care not for the crying children or the confusion of the group as a whole. She did not gaze upon them to see faces that were turned away, teeth that were gritted in empathy and brows that were furrowed in fear. All of these expressions from within the crowd met the harrowing sight that lay at Eowyn's feet, and in those fleeting glances, the Rohan lady was able to assess that these people were not bereft of emotion. They too cried for Legolas and his undisguised pain. She could even see some among the womenfolk who were pushing to aid him, while stronger hands of the men and wiser souls held them back. Yet the old woman was imperiously unobservant to Legolas' hurt or the mood it set to her followers. She merely glanced down at him, a scowl washing over her features. Looking upon this woman and her reactions, Éowyn felt tainted by a gray veil that drew over the scene. So callous was this strange woman's treatment of the situation. She blithely ignored her people's cries, smiling with menace at Éowyn. It was then that judgment was passed in Éowyn's mind. There was little that resembled love in this old woman, yet she could plainly see greed.

Perhaps equally appalling, or even more frightening was another fact. There was unabashed admiration for the elder in those who commanded the fearful within this group. The crowd's eye turned to the woman in askance of her guidance and Éowyn could tell who ruled them in that observance. A feeling of sickness fell upon the young woman as she watched them.

The old woman's actions spoke loudest. Though these people's minds might be blind to the direct malice she expressed, Éowyn's was not. The elder's glare dipped to look again upon Legolas' injuries, or so Éowyn thought until she caught what was really happening. Eyes flared momentarily and a frown crept over the old woman's mouth. The rasp of "Rartichirillo!" passed the old woman's wicked throat. Eowyn did not know the meaning of that utterance, but she could see it was not directed at Legolas. A cold hatred glimmered in the old woman's eyes, and in that instant Éowyn felt certain her own spite matched it for the vexation she felt. The word, dripping with sympathy and pain, was directed toward the dead bird, that discovery being the only shock held in the elder.

Éowyn was repulsed by the extreme lack of compassion toward her friend, for to the Lady of Ithilien, this failing was tantamount to a crime. Her friend, an Elf, a rarity among mankind and one of but a few in a dwindling number of that race, lay in visible ruin upon the ground. Yet he was passed over for sympathy. To a bird! Not an iota of pity or concern was forthcoming from the old woman for anything beyond!

In that moment, Éowyn decided this woman was coolly cruel and deserved no mercy at the shieldmaiden's hand. The words that followed in their brief conversation did nothing to endear the old woman further to Éowyn's heart.

Éowyn hesitated only a moment before answering. Spite hastened her but she had greater goals given Legolas' harm and need for aid. "I will give my name, but only if you will share yours. I do not enjoy being directed by strangers."

The woman regarded her carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. Then seeming to decide such knowledge could not do her harm, the elder relinquished. "I am Bregus," she said. Gesturing to the others she continued, "And this is my family."

Éowyn nodded her head to show her acceptance at receiving this information, though her face remained stoic. "And I am Éowyn," she said.

"Nor do you," Éowyn returned in kind. She had no intention of telling this woman anything more of herself, and giving any information of who her family was or where it was that she resided would only give Bregus an advantage.

"You stand over one of my keep, Éowyn of No Land or Parentage. You will step aside," the old woman said in a commanding voice, ordering her. Instantly, nearly a half dozen bows ringed around Eowyn, poised to strike and easily punctuating the elderly woman's statement.

As though with the sweep of a brush, the mood was painted a wash of gray, though Eowyn tried to find some glory to the scene. She was outnumbered and her weapon was a pale shield to those in the circle. But Eowyn was not about to surrender herself, despite the bleak situation. It was strange to be crowded in by such a host, all staring at her as if she had caused something of harm to come to them. Their penetrating gazes made her uncomfortable, but she knew that to show any doubt would be to give them an advantage. She did not fear death so much, at least not like this, and insurmountable odds in battle had never stopped her in the past. Memories of far more dire situations flagged her broken, wary soul. Cool confidence found its way into her voice and the sound of it was like the forging of iron as a bolster. She answered with authority, such as one used to commanding the masses. "This is my friend. He is not yours to keep and hold, but a free denizen of these lands. He is hurt and I will not leave him! I shall stand down to no one and shall concede to you only this: Move away now! Move away, and none of your kindred shall be harmed."

The elder merely offered a menacing smile as she stepped forward. She placed herself before Éowyn's sword, as if daring the younger woman to press it. "You would attack an old woman?" she asked, and Eowyn felt disgusted that the ancient woman tried to evoke sympathy from a situation of her own manufacturing.

"I would defend those who are harmless," Eowyn replied evenly, unflinching, eyes narrowed.

Bregus regarded the woman challenging her for dominance while Bäla whispered in her ear. "Take her. She bears child. She will do for your sacrifice. If we hurry now, we can still reach the Protected Place in time to work your magic. And mine." To this Bregus agreed. She was eager to end this and to take her new place as a young woman.

Disrupting her thoughts however was a male voice crying out, "As she should stand ready against you, Mother!"

Mattias pushed his way forward, his face reddened with anger. Bregus clucked her tongue, vexed that her son was being difficult. His obedience would not be easily had, and he had obviously decided this situation warranted calling attention to this fact. "Silence, Mattias!" she shrieked. Then to better control him, she motioned back, adding, "You are frightening the children with your addled mind."

Through gritted teeth, Mattias spoke. "I will not play this game any further, Mother!"

Bregus cut any further words from flying his lips. She would not let him go on like this. He was disrupting everything, and with a few well-placed thoughts, he might destroy all her work with the sway of his arguments. Bregus' control over the tribe was precarious, and with Kattica gone, it was difficult to hold it together more substantially. "Curtik! Hold him back!" she shouted. "Your brother's mind remains confused. He knows not what he says!"

Curtik stepped up and grabbed Mattias' arm, though her eldest held her eyes and dared not back off from the exchange. The look of betrayal within them nearly ripped her heart.

"Leave off, Brother!" Mattias snarled as he pushed Curtik away. Gordash came forward then and Bregus felt darkness taint her vision as brother faced off against brother. Mattias' voice would not be stilled, though. His eyes continued to seek hers out. "She should stand up to you, Mother! She has done nothing to deserve your wrath . . . our wrath, nor has Legolas! They have committed no sin! Stop this, Mother! I demand it!"

Bregus felt her mind spike with anger at the words. The mood of the crowd was shifting, and Mattias was giving them incentive to grow riled. He raged, "You drag us into your folly and you pull innocents into this madness! And for what? So you may cast some dark magic that will "

A mental command was cried and Curtik's hand shot out and struck the eldest son. Mattias, held in Gordash's strong arms, slumped forward, dazed by the blow.

Éowyn saw dissention within the group and was fueled by the incident despite the fact that the blow to the one called Mattias came so unexpectedly. She was outraged by the harm and would declare it wrong, though she was certain her words would not command their attention or convince them otherwise. Still she had to try. She had to attempt to sway their opinions. She had little to lose by doing so. She shouted, her voice rising above the crowd, "My perspective is clearly different from yours. I stand alone, only this weapon to my name and for my protection. I tell you this is my friend. He has been harmed and is in a state of agony. If you would look upon him, you would see the same!"

Bregus seemed to be paying her little heed, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed in some internal struggle. Glancing about, however, Éowyn saw she was having an effect over some of the crowd. While the eyes of a number in that group collectively darted away, as if doing so in unison, others fought this tendency and they struggled to gaze upon her. Éowyn saw their discomfiture and decided to use it to her benefit.

"LOOK AT HIM!" she commanded. She would not be dismissed. Bregus was startled. Startled enough to actually open her eyes and momentarily obey. They stared down at the fallen Elf and Éowyn could not help but feel that they would have some pity. Legolas appeared a lifeless hulk except for the shallow breathing that made his chest rise and fall in rapid succession. His skin was sickly pale, made more so by the trail of blood that leaked from the corner of his mouth and the gashes that marred his otherwise flawless skin. His eyes were sealed in some relief from consciousness, though his brow was furrowed in misery. His pain was terribly evident, tangible and torturous. He gave a soft cry, a grimace twisting his face. He stirred in his dreams, his sob piercing, and Éowyn thought it convincing enough for even the resolve of these cold hearts to be moved. He rocked his head in small side-to-side motions that conveyed the agony his body endured. Such suffering!

"To THIS you have your men draw arrow, poised at my breast? To THIS you insinuate I am evil?" she pleaded, but already Bregus turned away, shutting her eyes again to the plaintive wail. The old woman muttered whispered words, and like a swath of paint, the mood of the people was wholly transformed. Hatred marked the faces of many. Éowyn could see her argument, no matter how persuasive it might be, would not win her favor. The minds of these people were collectively made.

Still, there were some, a few, who were moved enough to feel sympathy. Éowyn could see small uncertainties, and even the old woman seemed to be considering Legolas' condition. Bregus gazed down again. Her brow twisted in conflict, and she stood like that for a long moment before finally ripping her eyes away. She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts, and then finally spoke.

"You imply we are evil," she said with vexation, and Éowyn wondered how these people could not hear that the words contradicted the mood conveyed by them.

She again assessed the gathering. She understood well enough the inclinations of the masses to ally with a majority consensus, for it was not an easy thing to stand up to others and to be a leading voice in a crowd. But she also saw a threat in this old woman, and she felt it unlikely words would be stayed on her own lips for it. Besides, Éowyn had little to lose in doing so. Her life was in jeopardy. Legolas' life was in jeopardy. She would try. "You state that Legolas is your possession and that I am to surrender him. Who is the aggressor if not YOU?"

"We are a peaceable people!" one of her people cried out, and Bregus was pleased. She had not planted the words.

"I see no evidence of that," the woman answered with a hiss. Her eyes narrowed, seeking only Bregus, and the elder sensed this woman read that much of the crowd's behavior was driven by her. Bregus could still feel the sway Mattias' words had held, but her confidence was revived by the mood she cast over them toward this stranger.

She composed herself, not wishing to appear daunted. In her ear, Bäla whispered his encouraging urgings. "Do not let her shake you. The people are yours. Look at them. Say the word and they will follow."

Nodding slightly in agreement, she spoke. "Your likes have come before us in the past, claiming innocence when your intention is to do harm to us. We have little choice but to regard you as an enemy," she said with vehemence though she knew her people heard her say this more as a plea. "Hateful intentions will not be tolerated!"

"Your argument is bankrupt of substance," the stranger replied with a vexing tongue. "You say that merely standing up in defense of myself and my friend proves my intent to hurt you? You are unknown to me yet you make me your enemy! You have the advantage in that you outnumber me greatly! What madness would be upon me if I, a lone female, were to attack you?"

A whisper erupted from the group, and Bregus grew alarmed. There were some in her number that were actually finding power in these words. At the same time, Bäla, at her side, scowled a disgusted grunt. Barely audible words in a foreign tongue cued Bregus that the Elf too was speaking. She glanced his way, but the words were not directed to her, and instead she could see that they were spoken to the dogs.

The reactions of the beasts were curious. Their ears pressed back, whimpers of small solace in their voices conflicted with growls of confusion and licking chops. The dogs looked as the people did, uncomfortable, undecided, unnerved. The utterance of the Elven words rolled like music, even though they were said with halting notes, gulps of air telling of pain wrought in speaking them, and only briefly did she consider again that the Elf might be hurt.

Bäla drew her attention back to the circumstances at present. "She is fiery and he is dangerous. Do not let them control your people. Turn them away now before damage is done that you cannot repair." He was correct. The scene was quickly unraveling to something she would not be able to correct. This woman spoke with conviction. The Elf was rallying allies. Bregus mustered her will, calling again upon the mental link she had with her people and also that of the dogs.

"This is tiresome, and time grows too short," the old woman growled then turned to face her people. "Take them," she ordered, spurring the men in the circle with her additional mental prod. "Take her!" Then, swinging around in remembrance of what her intentions were, she amended the order, "But do them no real harm!" This woman could not be injured, nor could she really afford such a thing of the Elf. The woman could be of greater benefit to them. Recalling her own fears of what lay in the hold they sought, she added, "She may aid us in accessing the Protected Place."

The rush of motion came quickly then but to Bregus astonishment, the Elf did not move. In her suspicions she had fully expected he would come alive when the fight began. Yet he lay still. All others sprang forward though, and with nothing but her knife to defend her, Anborns wife swung into action. With frightening dexterity, the female ducked and rolled as an arrow whooshed by, much like a warrior would do. Bregus cried out, realizing one of her people had not heard her mental call. She screamed out to prevent further near mishaps, "Not the bolts! Not the bolts! You shall hurt her!"

No arrow struck, and the woman ripped her sword around and smacked several bows away from those closest in the crowd. Bregus had to admire the womans tenacity and prowess. She fights like a man, she decided. However, in those split seconds, the witchs number grew surprisingly smaller. The dogs leaped, but not at the target of the hunt. Instead the animals turned, growling. They attacked the aggressing men in the crowd. Cries of disbelief and pained shock were heard from the men's throats while confusion was furthered by snarls and rough barks. Bregus own surprise matched theirs. The Elf has succeeded in rallying my allies against me! She cursed while screams of fear came from further back in the group, mixing with the shouts at the forefront of the circle. Women and children cried aloud, wailing, as a cacophony of male voices screamed at one another. The old woman could detect jostling and the dull thudding noise of a fist striking a body. But the puri dais attentions were focused on the attack of those foremost in the crowd. She watched the womans advance, admiration and fear moving her in opposing directions. Like a dance the woman dodged and parried, her movements choreographed to wrestle away weapons and to thrust at any who charged her. At the back of her mind, Bregus realized this woman could have easily sought greater damage unto these people, but thus far she had inflicted only minor wounds. That is interesting, Bregus thought. She does not mean harm. Perhaps I can use that.

The dogs moved forward and back, crossing and snarling the lines of their circle, effectively holding back any man who dared near the woman. The movement by the dogs was a not a happy circumstance for Bregus. She cried out in her anger, urging her people on, "End this! End this! Kill the dogs then! The sun sets soon and all will be in ruin if we do not succeed! End this now!"

Several men stepped forward in answer to this command, but the dogs swept around and snarled and bit, fangs bared brightly. A knife swept out and answered the charge of one of the animals. The woman pressed her weapon in a lunge as the whine of an injured animal assaulted the ears of all about. The cry seemed to rile the other beasts. They leapt and several dropped to the attack. Men and animals, the ones who did not fall to knives, rolled and fought as the womans sword continued to sweep those charging her.

At her back, she did not see Curtik notching his bow, but she did hear Mattias shout, "No, Curtik!" Bregus turned in time to see the older brother shove the younger aside. In turn, Mattias was pushed aside by Gordash, and a wrestling match between the two older brothers erupted while voice battled voice. "You will have to slay me, Brothers, if you intend to see this through," Mattias cried out. "Mother is mad! She leads us astray!"

Resuming his stance, Curtik ignored the proclamation. He notched an arrow anew to the string and made ready to shoot at the female. This time Bregus reconsidered her opinion of doing no harm, and she stepped gracefully to his side. In a crooning voice, she gave instructions that contradicted her prior command. "Graze her," she ordered. "I need her alive, but she fights too vigorously to remain unharmed."

It seemed the woman had concluded the same, and her attack became more assertive. In the span of few seconds, she lifted her sword into a two-fisted stance, raising it above her shoulder. Brandishing it in a manner as if to pierce with a spear, the woman came, running, charging Bregus and Curtik in that move. It was an unexpected action, and the two had no choice but to split apart in their defense. Bregus fell to the ground as Curtik flipped onto his back. And while they were down, the woman used her advantage, swinging the sword around and facing Bregus as the intended target. Bregus refused to flinch as the woman brought the long knife around, staying only the killing blow to poise the sharpened tip at the old woman's chest.

"Shall I merely graze you, old woman?" Éowyn sneered through panting breaths.

All arguments ceased. The fighting immediately died. Eyes came up to meet the woman. Control over the scene had turned, but Bregus had no intentions of letting the woman maintain it.

At her ear, Bäla cried, "No! Do not let her win! Call one of the men to stop her!" But Bregus had another idea.

The elder tribeswoman smiled, laughing mockingly, daringly leaning into the womans sword. "Do it then! Do it if you dare! Do it! For if my plans fail, I would be better off to die by the sword than in the terror offered by death's dreams!"

But Bregus only laughed, suddenly fearless of the possibilities for her own demise. Remembrance of desolate times when death might have been welcome came to Bregus mind. She would have allowed her end to come to then, had she the courage, and now that she faced it so blatantly before her, Bregus suddenly felt free of her terrors. She smiled as she met the womans gaze across the span of the weapon.

The challenge was made, and the old woman's shoulders were squared to meet the stranger. Deftly she had turned the situation about and it was now the woman who quaked in indecision. Would she kill or would she spare? Bregus prepared herself for either possibility. The woman's face tightened into a grimace, fingers tightening around the grip of the sword, but before she could make her decision and move a forward advance or a backward retreat, from the corner of Bregus eye, she saw a body swiftly leaping and someone pushing the woman to the ground. Almost simultaneously, the air wailed with the telltale sound of an arrow in flight and also the dull meeting of a bolt to flesh.

The womans weapon had been thrown by the charge, and she scrambled quickly, struggling to regain it. A leg from one in the crowd swooped out and kicked the blade away, but the female was already ahead of this move. She pulled a knife from her boot and brandished it with as much ease and force as she had the sword, flipping over and swiping at hands that dared touch her or subdue her. Surprised again at the fighting power of this woman, Bregus scowled.

Her shock was furthered by Bälas scream and her eyes ripped around to see what had precipitated it.

Surprised, she realized also it was Mattias at the side of this woman. An arrow was embedded in his shoulder, and pain marked his face. But there was more to his hurt than that of the physical kind. "Curtik?" he cried, looking into the face of the one who had shot him.

The younger man's eyes met his, widened with an expression of guilt and sorrow. But Bregus swiftly crowded into those thoughts, quelling his mind with praise and approval. His remorse was immediately swallowed and proud resolve replaced it, as if he had meted out justice.

Unexpectedly though, Gordash rushed the young brother, his burly presence overwhelming. His face was gaping in shock. He raised his fist and then he struck, knocking Curtik to the ground. "What have you done? What have you done? You have hurt, Mattias, you fool!"

Bregus tried to reach Gordashs mind to halt the attack, but he was riled, harried, and his thoughts were a jumble of conflicting ideals.

Curtik cried out in his own defense, "I aimed for the woman. He came in between!" And then as if needing more to explain this, he asserted, "She meant to kill Mother!"

In that instant, Éowyn saw a shift in the mood of the old woman. As if disgusted by her people's failure to hold the Rohan woman, Bregus appeared to take it upon herself to command the situation. Éowyn scrambled, reading the note of finality in the elder's face, and she raced to retrieve the blade that had been thrown. But the kindness of fate to give her power over the situation would not be offered. The Lady of Rohan would not win this battle. Bregus had been gifted with Éowyn's blade when it had been flung near her feet. Reaching down, the old woman capturing Éowyn's weapon.

Éowyn quickly turned about, trying to find Bregus' strategy. She surmised that Bregus would try to feign an attack, with hopes of distracting Éowyn enough that one of the others might take her, yet Éowyn had no intentions of falling for this ruse. She knew already, from words spoken in the fight that the old woman had reason's for keeping and taking her. What those reasons were, Éowyn could not say. She would strike first, thwarting Bregus' plan regardless.

However, this was not truly Bregus' scheme and the young woman would later be astounded by the simplicity of what Bregus did next. Sidestepping quickly, the old woman circled around. Éowyn expected this. In normal battle situations, the design would be to confuse the victim, to rip her attention between two sides of attack. Éowyn smiled. She knew better. Deciding she could counter any attacking motion faster than the old woman could make, she ignored Bregus for the most part, knowing nothing much would come of a flank attack. That did not mean she let Bregus leave her sights entirely. Even the meekest of assailants could be victorious if they held the art of surprise. Éowyn kept the eldest within her peripheral gaze. From the corner of her eye, she could track the old woman's moves, while her eyes remained focused on the men.

However, it seemed the men also had other ideas and they also separated, circling her as the old woman was doing. Without the dogs to guard her back, Éowyn was forced to flip her head evasively, her eyes snapping to catch all their actions. She lost, at this point, the place to which the elder moved, though she still did not really fear the old woman. She realized a minute later she should have.

The men began to step forward and Éowyn brought up her knife, ready for her defense. It was at her back, however, some few feet away that the young woman heard the voice, and it suddenly dawned on her that she had stepped away from her stance over Legolas in this battle of wills. The voice was the old woman's. She was laughing as she said, "You will surrender your weapon now, Éowyn of No Family or Homeland."

The threat sounded potent, and Éowyn swung her head to glance back. Her surprise forced her to do a double take, and on her second look she recognized she had truly underestimated the old woman.

Bregus was poised over the unconscious form of Legolas, the point of her sword pointed down, as if she might lance his heart. Éowyn's own heart recoiled in fear with the threat. Was it real or a ruse? She could not know. The tribe had been in pursuit of Legolas, but for reasons Éowyn had yet to know. Had it been in their plans to kill him? Like this? So idly cruel? And even if not, by stepping away, she felt she had let him down. "No!" she cried, more at the horror of her failing than as an answer to the old woman. She should have stayed closer to Legolas. She should have not charged.

Bregus sneered, her hatred palpable. "Aye, you will surrender! For if you do not, I shall slay the Elf now, and you may live with the knowledge that you might have prevented it."

"Later, after Erestor found Elladan bedecked in only my cloak, it turned out it had all been for naught. Pickerelweed, it seems, does not come to fruit until the autumn. Amusing it may be now, but at the time, we did not know and were quite angered by it. Of that journey, all we had to show was a nice salad from the leaves we had plucked and a delicate bouquet with the flowers we had harvested. It was a mighty quest for so meager a bounty, and certainly not worth the loss of a fine pair of boots," Arwen said. Here again it had come out. Silly prattle. Yet she knew why she did it, just as certainly as she knew Estel understood her need to do so. She was filling the void of silence.

The mood between them had definitely turned dark as the hours passed. Their original frivolity and merriment had slowly decayed as their march wore on, and though they tried to keep a meager conversation going, it was hopeless to contend with the squelching oppression that crept in this dark place.

Arwen felt herself tremble as her steps followed those of Estel's in the deep, dark caves. They had conceivably traveled for miles in this underground maze, in and out, up and down, through tunnels large and small, bumping almost always into dead ends. The course of several hours they had spanned these halls, two dim lights bobbing about in the ebony hold. They had found nothing to indicate an outward-leading route, and fear was beginning to dominate.

The Elf's hand brushed the wall as they squeezed through a narrow passage, the knuckles grating against stone. The light sound of the touch carried loudly to her ears as the brush of pain reminded her of other aches to her body. A shivering chill dug into her spine while the heavy weight of apprehension hindered her breath. She was frightened and there was little to chase away that fear. All around her were the reminders of their current predicament.

She looked to her husband walking just ahead of her. The dim light cast by his lamp and hers did little to illuminate their surroundings, and her focus was upon him. Aragorn had sufficient enough things on his mind, and she knew she need not add to it by acting a burden to him with her worries. Their troubles were enough and she sensed from him a fear of their situation as well.

Cursed blackness. My mood follows its path! Ai, but for a breath of air, a whisper of sunlight. Or starlight. Alas, but I know not even the passing of time. How I despair for this plight and wish it were past.

Such inward dialogs were becoming commonplace, and Arwen was having difficulty maintaining her optimism. The trek through the caves had been an introspective journey, and a pleasant series of discoveries had not been made. The silent void of the dark tunnels, pierced only by the dim shimmer of their lamps, was a harbinger of the pitch that pressed in on her mind. The dark seemed to encourage dismal thoughts and retrospective perusals of her own flaws. There was little else at which to look but one's own thoughts, and Arwen felt lost in the folds of darkness. She was trapped and pressed to do only one thing, and that was to look upon herself to find courage and stamina. There was little to be found. Cold echoes of water droplets falling to stone added to the stilling madness she heard in her mind.

The darkness was astounding for its depth, and without the lamp in Aragorn's upraised arm, she could see naught of him, even with her Elven eyes. Her own lamp did little to help, though the alternative of doing without it was far more terrifying. As it was, the meager light gave them little, and it took far greater time to move forward because they could hardly see. Every wall of a new cavern had to be examined to find what paths lay available, and were it not for the marks Aragorn systematically and methodically placed within the entrance and exit of every tunnel, she knew she would have no clue as to where to they might be in relationship to where they had started. She was fortunate to have him, for he seemed to have skills in charting and planning their direction. Unlike her paralyzing loss of all assertion he seemed to have motivation and drive.

Aragorn would have chuckled had she admitted as much to him. He might have pointed out the similarities between she and Legolas for this claustrophobic trait and no doubt would he have alluded it was one shared by all her kin. And she might have told him it was an apprehension not limited to Elves, for there were many mortals too who feared confined spaces. That they were not there to strengthen her argument was moot, for she refused to divulge her dread to her husband. Still, it was probably valid to argue a propensity toward fears of deep spaces among the Eldar. She had never really experienced it before, but in this place, in this dark, cold hollow, vacant of sun and light and nature, silent in its deep, looming blackness, she felt the shadow eating away at her composure. She was ever grateful that the veil of darkness hid her appearance from her husband so he might not see her trepidation. She was even more thankful that he was there with her, for were he not, surely she would curl in on herself, so great was her fright.

She was certain, though, that he knew of her terror, for she had given many clues since their first fall into this hole. Temper tantrums, rage, unprovoked screams. All of these were a mask to what truly bothered her: the cave. She was also sure that he would do his part to help hold her fears apart from her sanity, for he must have noticed the obvious shift in her personality. Even now, in the fourth or fifth hour of walking, she had not exhausted her seemingly bottomless supply of inane topics about which she chattered. Mindless was the reasoning to her dialog, simple tales used in party conversation were her weapons, and on and on she went.

Never before had she regarded her spouse's quiet nature as so . . . annoying. Prior to this situation, his disregard for noisemaking had gone largely, and she found, as if in new discovery, that he could go on for long stretches barely letting loose the sound of footfalls, let alone words. In the darkness, that solitude was deafening.

Yet the flaw was not his. It was conspicuous evidence of her failings again. Disgusted at her shortcomings, she scolded herself inwardly for her flaw. It was disturbing to discover another facet of herself in this, for it seemed she had developed a mortal tendency to fill empty air with sound. It was decidedly un-Elven of her. Yet the silence was unsettling and Arwen had continually felt a compelling need to fill it.

Even still, she could not carry on for hours on end, mustering word upon word, simply because the threat of groaning earth made her quail. Not without some sort of help. And Aragorn, knowingly or not, had complied, feeding her questions and comments enough to keep her dialog less a monologue, for she was certain she would have continued rambling in free-flowing verbal discourse had he not. Instead he provided her company, and she wondered if, in some small way, her companionship were aiding him somehow.

"I cannot believe Elladan's trousers were torn from his body by the suction," Aragorn said.

She jumped at the sudden hail of words. The sound of his voice startled her senses and she nearly cried out at the abruptness. A gasp of breath betrayed her astonishment, and she admonished herself for her reaction. Words should not have been so unexpected. Yet the empty blackness was unnerving.

She had to laugh though, for the story had been an amusing account of younger days, and Estel had not heard it. Arwen was happy to know her brothers' shame had prevented them from gracing their foster sibling with the tale. It was a gem that she could reveal in layers and it had filled their time in this travel. Further, she did enjoy pointing out the flaws in her siblings while in good company, and it was most delicious to reveal them to her spouse, especially when the sons of Elrond were not near enough to retaliate.

"At the time, I had almost wished Elladan had been sucked whole into that vortex, clothing and all. After all, he had initiated the situation," she answered. And then the conversation died for a time more.

What followed was silence. Long silence. Silence of the kind where every heartbeat seemed to reverberate from the walls and every footstep echoes loud and heavy. It was silence where anything said, sung, argued, breathed, was a welcome balm to frayed nerves and wary emotions. Silence. No song, no natural drifting of wind, no clue to the existence of anything of the world was found. Silence. It was daunting. Harmful. Penetrating. Leaden.

She visibly jumped and she wondered that her husband had not seen her reaction, or even how he maintained his composure. Yet, at the moment, the sound of his voice appeased her.

She pondered also how long she might go on this way, tethered to emotions she could barely contain. Yet she needed to go on, for her helplessness was doing little to sustain them. She was relying upon Aragorn in this darkness, and she could almost feel the weight she placed upon his bearing. This too was an affirmation of her failings. She was cowering in the shadows, content to merely follow his path. She had so little to offer in this place and she was almost hesitant to give more than her blind faith that he would somehow prevail. It was unfair, she realized, for she had already placed upon him guilt for his role in keeping her down in their outside life. Was that really true? A part of her cried for the validity of her part in her lesser post. As much as he tried to hold her back, she had done little to reproach him for it. In fact, she had likely allowed it.

Arwen was not a silent sheep. As a rule, she did not apathetically follow. She had long been graced with strengths that made her admired, even among her own kind. She was wise, considerate, compassionate and warm, but beyond that she had a talent with words, and the ability to see through puzzlements, to read the motivations of others. Yet when Aragorn had, in the past, softly pulled her back, delegating smaller tasks to her talents, assigning her projects that would keep her close to their home, she had not argued with him. She could understand what he did, but she kept her thoughts silently still. It was almost as if she agreed with him, so that she might better serve him at his side. And though it kept peace between them, it was a role that was not truly fitting for her. She was so much more than what she allowed herself to be, and she wondered if Estel had even been made aware of what she truly could do when allowed.

Mildly jealous, she had watched Faramir and Éowyn's marriage. It seemed founded on a basis of mutual faith and trust. Éowyn had been unafraid to offer counsel, sure enough in her opinions and thoughts to speak them aloud, undaunted whether they were rebuffed or embraced. She did not hold back anything of herself. If there was action she wished to pursue, she pursued it. Faramir did not protest. If anything, he offered her sage advice for success. As such, Éowyn flourished. She was respected among those lords who ruled these better lands. She was considered a peer and yet lady, and that had two-fold strength. With her skills she had admittance into nearly every council, every entreaty. No one questioned her presence in any of those places. She was treated as a man, but better, for she had also maintained her feminine guile, and she used that with deft skill as well.

Arwen, on the other hand, was treated as if she were made of porcelain. Praised for her beauty, she was admired from afar, but never was she allowed the rough and tumble of realistic encounter. This she had blamed on her spouse. His admiration of Arwen was blatantly obvious, and all the court and kingdom knew of their deep love. But never would it occur to Arwen to step into a council session uninvited. Never would she walk into a political discussion beyond the social course of action. Never would she venture away from Minas Tirith on any agenda beyond one of friendly campaign. Now, trapped in these dark halls forced to walk on with an end not to be seen, she felt the black depths whispering doubts into her head. She could blame Aragorn for her plight, but the truth was it had been of her own making.

She could have stood up to him far sooner. She should have done so. Perhaps then her unwillingness to be treated any longer as a treasured jewel would not have surprised him so. She really could not hold him responsible for this failing. The failing was hers.

And now she added to it. Hobbled by her silly fears of the dark, she was hesitant to act an aide to her spouse when she knew that role might now be appreciated, perhaps even wanted.

She realized she had not answered his question, and that fearful silence had been festering as the seconds ticked away. So locked was she in her thoughts, she had completely ignored it. Curse this darkness! Words to reply had not come to her, for she had nearly forgotten the conversational topic though less than a minute had probably passed. But then she remembered. He had asked of her fathers response to the journey in her tale.

It was a distraction he had offered, she knew. How kind was he to give her this, a means to chase away the shadows gloom. Therefore, it was only kind that she answer, for was she giving much the same to him in return? A mental picture to chase away the foul darkness? She greatly appreciated the effort, for it did what she supposed it was meant to do. It lightened her heart.

She did not want to think about her fear. She did not want to give it a place in her mind and so she thought about how she might answer his question.

Being an Elf, her memory of the event about which he had asked was fresh to her mind. There would be no struggle to recall the circumstances. She remembered everything of it. As one of the Firstborn, her mind was geared this way, gifted to recollect as if the event were current, not one that had taken place centuries before. Now she amused herself by pondering how she might sway his response when she did reply, by giving words that might pique his curiosity further. She desired to keep their dialog alive, for her own preservations sake if nothing else.

What a contradiction she was. Fearful of laying upon her husband the burden of her anxieties, yet attempting manipulation to have him carry it further. If not careful, such considerations would present her as an enigma. Well, she was that. Nay, not just her all Elves. Flittering amusements tangled with stoic consideration and emotional wariness. Those were indeed Elven traits. Given that Elves were an emotional folk, it was easy to see how these qualities might be misconstrued. The fact the Elves tried to mask their tendencies for emotional wrought was what confused outsiders. It was borne of necessity. To live eternally with ones heart exposed was tantamount to suicide. It was this weakness, their open spirits, that harmed Elves most, and therefore it was regarded by their kind as something that must be hidden. Long centuries helped hone it, and a young Elf was easy to identify given their zealous openness. Poor Legolas battled this difficulty often, though she was certain his friends were unaware of how youthful he was considered among his own people.

It was also a trait given to those who lived long lives: the ability to learn and anticipate through signs other than words. The propensity of Elves to cause others consternation with their glance or stare was a good example of how this quality was observed outside the family of the Eldar. Humans, Dwarves, Hobbits the reaction was identical. Under Elven scrutiny they grew uncomfortable. It was laughable, but they usually thought Elves could move moods with their gaze. Hardly. The truth was, if Elves were capable of anything, it was in reading mood through the study of body language, tone and carriage. It was a simple tool to use, given enough practice; certainly it was more useful than asking for and receiving deceptive answers, for mortals often said one thing and meant another. As such, humans were commonly bewildered by Elves and their ability to know much with a glance. Elves were superior only in that they read more than what was actually spoken.

Estel, however, was a challenge, for he had lived many years among Elves. And though he had not had centuries to learn this skill, he had certainly perfected it enough to mask his emotions, much like an Elf, and to read those of others with adequate ability. She knew he often fell into this neutral façade, even when alone in her company. Still, she could read him. So when her eyes traveled to gaze upon him, she realized his mood. It seemed her desire to maintain their conversational stance would not be granted. Whatever she might say in answer to his question would be lost to his ears. A heavy sigh of resigned defeat came deep from his throat, and she knew something was wrong.

Simultaneously she saw what troubled him. Taking steps ahead, she moved even to his side, no staying in his wake. The small circle of lantern light illuminated the dreadful scene before them. A great grey pool of water directly blocked their path. A familiar, great grey pool. In fact, the same great grey pool they had passed four times before.

She winced at the discovery, and at her side she could feel his deep disappointment. Sour anger and defeat marred his already scruffy appearance. His composure was downed, shot from existence by this hateful repetition.

She longed to console him then, a tear slipping from her eye as she turned. "Ai, Estel," she whispered.

"I will find it, Arwen. I will find our path out of here," he said in response, regret shaking his words and desperation tainting his countenance. Still, there was yet determination.

She felt remorse for his words. It seemed he was putting responsibility for their fate entirely upon his own shoulders once again. Though she may have allowed that before, she no longer wished it to pass. It was unfair to make this burden his entirely, and so she spoke. "I would help however I may. Tell me what I might do." It was not entirely a relinquishment of duty she offered, but she had nothing else to give. She was as lost in this system of caves as he was.

A small smile creased his lips then, a lightening of mood, and she felt heartened. But his words belied the softened mood he shared. "I know not else what you may do beyond what you have," he said in grave admission.

She sighed, frowning, asserting what she already knew of herself. "But I have done nothing beyond carry on mindless banter," she argued.

"It was not mindless, melleth-nin. It was charming. It was entertaining. It was distracting. Believe when I say, you have been a great help," he said, but his words did not help. She felt terrible disappointment that she had not given more.

"This is nothing. This is noise. Nothing more. I would rather I had something more to offer, some counsel I might give. I would provide that, if I could. I would give you what I know." Her words sounded weak, and she knew they were founded on little.

Aragorn seemed not to care. He carefully folded her into his arms, tucking his chin into the curve of her neck. "You smell wonderful," he said. "Immersed in mud, clothed in filth, and yet you emanate the odor of a fresh garden."

She laughed, appreciating the change in subject, though despite them she felt incredibly filthy. "I bathed the last time we passed this way, as youll recall," she chided.

"You splashed water on your face and neck. Unless you have changed the terminology, that would not be a bath," he chuckled.

"Perhaps not by definition, but it was a close as I would come. That water is chilly, even by my standards. I dared not immerse myself further," she admonished.

"And yet you are scented in lavender and pine," he said, his breath brushing her cheek. His arm slipped behind, his hand grazing her waist as the lamp was lowered.

She smiled softly, sadly, exposing her throat to his kisses. "Does it soothe you then? My scent? For it appears I have little else I might offer." She would give him this, if he asked it.

He leaned back, as if to absorb the vision of her. His eyes sparkled in the dim light. "You do not know then. You do not see. What you give is a bounty to a hungry soul." She shook her head, denying it, but he would not be persuaded otherwise. "Ai, but my dearest one, your presence alone is a comfort to me. Can you not know this? If I had not your companionship, I would be fretful and dangerous, fearful for you and apprehensive for what I would not know."

Arwen was not sure how she felt for that admission. One part of her thought it a wonderful testimonial for how deeply he loved her. But another recalled his possessive guardianship and knew it had been a source of trouble between them. She frowned, not knowing how to respond, but he saw it, and his answer came quickly. "I know your thoughts, and I will not hold you to me. I am merely saying it comforts me to know of your presence."

She breathed a sigh of relief. There was a great deal of difference between the two thoughts, and she was glad there was no backwards progress to be had in them. "Then let me offer it again. How might I help?"

He released her then, turning away, his eyes returning to the water. "We have at least made some progress in traveling this," he said, gesturing to the lake. "Not yet have we come out at the same place twice. That means we at least know there are multiple routes circulating this root cavern place."

Arwen squinted her eyes, using what little there was of light to read the markings they had made on the far walls in their previous passing. She also looked ahead so that she might see other entrances and exits into this hall they had not yet explored. If the other caverns led off this one in the same way the others had, they might be exploring for days to come. She sighed without meaning to do so. She felt tremendously discouraged.

It was Aragorn's turn to offer her encouragement. "You might help, if you think you are up for the task."

Small joy radiated from her heart. Indeed did she wish to aide him, for many reasons, but most of all to remove the worry creasing his brow. She nodded in answer and he gave her his thoughts.

"I thought perhaps we might split this path, each of us going in a different direction. It might quicken our progress."

Her worry was plainly written upon her features, and Aragorn spoke rapidly to alleviate her uncertainty for the wisdom of such a request. "We would tether ourselves with the rope, going only so far as the length would reach. You have seen how I've marked our way. You would do the same, so we would not repeat our paths, and hopefully between the two of us looking we might find the way out sooner."

His idea did make sense if they were to hurry their exit, but her fear held her locked in indecision. Then realizing just how much she would delay them by not conquering her frets, she pushed it back.

"How will I recognize a way out if I reach the end of my cord before I reach the end of a tunnel? How will I know if I have found the passage that leads to an exit?" she asked.

"Look for any outward changes. The stirring of air would be a very promising one. A temperature change is equally beneficial. And if not, even an alteration in the stone or the moisture or the texture of the ground are telltale signs."

She nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat as she took the end of the rope he offered her and tied it about her waist. He put his hands over hers when the knot was tied, and forced the rope into her fingers. Several hundred feet of the silvery Elven cord lay between them. "Keep the rope between us taut, even in walking. That is important. One hard yank if there is danger or need for me to come and I will be there instantly, I promise. Two short tugs if you have reached the end yet you wish more lead to go on. Three tugs if you have found nothing and are turning to another tunnel."

She nodded again, afraid to speak, knowing a tremor would mark her voice if she did. He handed her a marking stone which he drew from a pouch at his waist then pointed to the path. Her eyes followed. "I will take this tunnel. You take the next. Likely it is that we will find more dead ends, but mayhap Aulë will intervene and one of us will find our way through his direction. However . . ." His thought was finished in a motion as he reached to his boot and drew his hunting knife. He turned it over in his hand and held it out to her, hilt up. "Just in case you should need it."

Suddenly all fears came free and Arwen felt tears flood her eyes as she sobbed. She looked up to see he was studying her and his expression was compassionate as he pulled her to his breast. He knows of my fear, she thought.

"You can do this," he said, assuring her. "You are as strong in mind and body as any of us, Arwen. Any of us," he repeated. "Keep your eyes to the path and know I am only as far as this rope can take us. But do not be afraid of our separation. I will always be there to help you should you need me."

She gulped a shuddering breath. He was right. She would find it somehow within her to do this. Further, she was eager to prove to him something of herself. "And I shall always be here to help you," she said, convincing herself in the saying. "I can do this."

He smiled, and then took a small step away. The emptiness around her body, of not having him about her, was already keenly felt. But she steeled herself to it and gathered her courage. Then she too turned away, leaning to put the knife to her boot and to bend for the lamp that she had placed to the ground. She was ready. She started into the tunnel.

Without his lamp, the darkness was ever more mired and she found she used her hands to guide her almost as much as the light. She lowered the lantern, letting its circle dimly mark the floor so she might see if there were holes or dips she should note. It was tedious work as she progressed for the tunnel widened as she went, and after awhile she could not reach the opposite wall. She held up the light, willing it to shine brighter so that she might see better, but the light was little more than that of a candle. She would need only a dozen torches to illuminate her surroundings with the brightness she so desired. Still the far wall was not so far that she could not track it, and after going so far, the tunnel quickly narrowed again and she realized she had reached an end. It trailed off into nothing more than a few desperate cracks in the wall, and she worried that this was all they might ever find; small fissures at the end of every trail. It was not a means of escape for them.

She fretted. Water was in evident in the main area of this cave, for the underground lake most certainly existed. The walls and ceiling also showed signs of having been hewn by watery motion. Clearly there had once been a great deal more of the fluid here; an underground river it had been. Obviously, the new waterfalls they had been talking about had robbed these spaces of their prior table. But how had it escaped? Where had it all gone? Had it seeped through the cracks and spilled out somehow? Surely these fissures were not new, and likely they had been here all along, even when this had been a region covered in water. Surely all that water had not been lost through these small leaks.

She felt at her waist three small tugs, and she remembered the meaning of the message. Aragorn had found nothing, much like she, and she returned the signal to him. Proudly she smiled. She had been so caught up in her task she had forgotten her fear. Confidence straightened her spine, and she knew then she could do this. Aragorn had been right. It was within her to carry this out.

She began the trek back realizing as she walked she had only made one entrance mark as she had entered. There had not been any other tunnels to follow, none branching off this main vein. It was a relatively straight course back (straight in that the path meandered and curved, thickening and thinning in width as it had gone, but with no other limbs breaking off from it). That seemed to be the general pattern they had found in the other caves, and even when they had encountered paths that entangled the one they were on, eventually they all led back to the same place. The lake.

She came upon it again as she exited the tunnel. Its surface was like that of an unbroken sheet of glass, so smooth, so tranquil.

She walked past the next tunnel, seeing Aragorn's rope traveling that route. It was amusing, she realized now, how comfortable she felt outside of his vision. Just the rope alone was enough to ease her wary thoughts and allow her to focus on the task at hand. She was surprised at herself for how well she had adapted in such a short time, once she had set her mind to it. She was being of aid.

She moved to the next tunnel, marking the exit as she had before with the last tunnel. Then slowly, tenuously, she began to explore. Much like the other cave, she carried herself down this path without interruption of other courses. This one ventured downward. Eventually, another path cropped up, and she marked her entrance again before following that route to the end. It was the same as the other. Tugging thrice at her line, she followed the rope back, scooping it up as the traveled to keep alive her communication with Aragorn.

It bothered her. The familiarity of the path to all the others simply felt common to her, as if they were a clue to a greater solution. A puzzle. There was something in them. Something that felt . . . she could not place it. This perplexity over how to remove themselves from the caves was a mystery, and she began to suspect that the answer might not be in the tunnels. It might be. . . She gasped.

"Trees," she whispered, suddenly realizing what she had missed. Like the trees. How obvious!

She raced to the main hall, nearly tripping over a rut as she exited the tunnel where it widened. As it was, her balance was compromised, and she stood near the edge of the lake, barely maintaining her stance as she twisted to stay in place. The lamp dipped as she swung, flashing brightly on the water. She knelt, bringing it low over the water. She put her fingers into the icy coolness. It was likely the same temperature as the air, which was to say quite chilly, and not one that their bodies could take for long. Still, she lowered her hand, feeling for that thing she suspected was there. The crystal clarity hid the water's deceptive depth and she lowered her arm to her elbow before pulling free. It was there, though very small indeed. Yet further exploration was needed.

She frowned but she did not give up. She raised the lamp again, looking at tunnels leading off this main route. Her clue was there and she sought to know their direction, the angle of their path. There was something of consistency in their openings, from what she could tell in this light, and she smiled. She nearly laughed.

Picking up the rope she had dropped at her feet, she pulled it taut so that she might make her message clear to Aragorn. When the slack was little but she could still feel his slow progress with the pull of the rope, she yanked. One long hard pull on the cord she yanked, so hard in fact that she nearly fell backwards into the transparent pool. Had she fallen, however she might not have wailed, that great was her joy.

His footsteps were like thunder in the gloom and easily gave away his position. She made note in her mind that she must mention that fact to him at a better time. She knew Aragorn would want to improve on his stealth, but at the moment he was focused on reaching her with speed. A dim shimmer of light bobbed at the edges of one of the tunnels ahead, and she could tell he was coming. The rope was a channel of communication, and she could feel his panicked motions, picking it hand over hand so that it might lead him to her. At last he emerged, a second knife drawn, racing on hurried feet to where she knelt.

Vaguely she wondered where he had procured the second knife, for she did not recall seeing it in their possessions, but she easily brushed the thought away. Aragorn was a former Ranger, and had she within herself to strip him away of his outer clothing, she might be surprised at the wealth of goods she would find tucked into the folds of his undergarments and person.

Instead she rose, bringing the lamp up so she might see better his face and his expression as she delivered news of her find.

"I have found it, Estel," she answered happily, gently, her eyes seeking his with the light of her suddenly lifted spirit. "I have found it! I know the way out!"

Red tipped the edges of the clouds as the sun prepared to part the sky. Red. It had become the color of his pain. Throbbing, aching, pulsing like fire, tendrils of merciless agony ran the length of his torso and through his limbs and head; discomfort rode over his weary soul. The world was tainted by it, and he could feel it touching his body, scenting the air, flavoring his tongue. How very appropriate that this color would draw across his vision and cover the sky. Red. Like blood. Deep, rich, the essence of life, beautiful and terrifying for the worth of fears it embraced. The clouds, in their cottony form, were tinted in the essence of that hue. They were soiled by his agony.

A sob passed his lips, and he could not help its utterance. It seemed so much of him was involuntarily acting groaning, trembling, drifting away all done without the pleading of askance, and Legolas realized he had lost any semblance of control.

Éowyn neared him, bending low so she might make contact and offer comfort or aid. She cooed hushing words, but it did little to soothe him. The pain was beyond anything he could choke back, urged on by even the slightest of movements. He felt his face screw up in the misery of his hurt as coils of jabbing spikes rushed through his body like the prod of an exposed nerve being jarred again and again. He could not find himself free of the pain. It was everywhere at once.

Memory skirted his thoughts in a fuzzy whirlwind. He was living in the moment and he could do nothing to push his mind beyond it. He kept trying to find a dream of the past, a face, a friend, a memory, something to help him through this ordeal. But he could not venture beyond this event. He knew everything about him, everyone he should know among these people, yet small thoughts, such as trying to recall other injuries or who would have cared for him in those times were vague recollections, faded, remote, somehow unconnected to him.

"He is in shock." These were Éowyn's words. Was she speaking of him? He could not tell, for her attention was divided between the ministration of his wounds and that of Mattias. He had to consider for a moment before he could parse meaning from what she had said. She was indeed speaking of him.

Somehow, he knew that was not right. He was injured. Badly. But of the battle he had fought, or the felling blow he had taken, he could remember nothing. There was so much of his present location and condition about which he was unsure. He was lying on the ground, twisted to his side; that he knew. He remembered a fight, dogs snarling and yelping, swords clanging, and the whipping of the air as an arrow flew. But this occurrence was merely a condition of fancy. He could not remember the details or his place in the fight. So much was missing, and the nagging of what was lost made him feel great apprehension.

He could not tell the position of his legs, and were he to be queried, he might guess that they had been lobbed off, for he could not feel them. At the moment, however, that was secondary to the wary hold he had to consciousness and the horrible torment he was enduring. What he could feel was heinous for its agony, and that above all else was what anchored him to awareness. He wished it to end.

"Help me," he whispered to Éowyn, between gasped breaths. It was all he could say to express the depth of his hurt and his longing to end it. It was not too great a thing to ask, for those loathsome words seemed frivolously small compared to his need. End this! Please end this! His heart was racing, and his lungs seemed to be having difficulty taking in air. He could feel his body shivering as if he were dwelling in a place of great cold. And the pain continuously pounded at his skull, his shoulders, his neck, his chest, his fingers. Nothing was real to him except this agony.

He looked at the world from within his cocoon of suffering. He watched it apathetically, feeling nothing for the sounds and faces and movement around him. It was easiest to simply stay within this womb of discomfort, for it seemed to be a more sure place than the surreal stage about him. Had he wanted to escape, he was uncertain how such a thing could be accomplished, for he felt detached from all he saw and heard, numb to everything but his own torment.

Éowyn's eyes looked up, past where he could see, and her fear was visible upon her features. Pleading cries rang out. "Have you not anything we might give him to ease his pain? Please! He is in agony!"

The answering call made Legolas freeze in remembrance. Suddenly where he was and what had happened was centralized and rapidly becoming clear around the owner of that voice. He remembered with a sharpening focus to what had occurred.

Still, it was jumbled, the many parts of this story, and he still could not recall his own role. Like a dizzy whirlwind, his place was scattered and confused within the dream-like memory. Vacant words filled the void of his lost recollections.

Éowyn was again speaking. "You are a healer among your people. Surely you know the leaves and herbs of the forest. Can you not go now and procure something that would aid him, and your son as well?" A pause followed, and Legolas could see anger taking over Éowyn's features where fear had seconds before reigned. A moment after, she spat, "If you will not do so, then free me long enough that I might take this task!"

Her answer came a split second later from a wicked tongue. "You shall not! We should leave now! The day is nearly drawn to a close and the Protected Place has not yet been secured! Everyone move."

The Rohirric woman's face was taut with anger. "What?! NO! Of what are you speaking?! His back is broken! He cannot be moved!"

The other voice retorted, "He is a deceiver! His agony is a ploy that we might drop our guard!"

"HE WILL DIE if you move him! Would that be convincing enough? Would that make you see that his harm has been real?" Éowyn asked with a lashing tongue.

"But the sun . . . " It was almost a whimper, and the cry was poignantly clear. Though he could not see her, the old woman seemed lost in the sorrow of that plaintive plea.

The camp was silent in the wake of her words. Legolas could hear the chirp of the crickets begin their mating call for the night. It was the only interruption to the stirring silence.

The voice was not of the two women and Legolas could not place the direction of its speaker. However, Éowyn was kind enough to direct him by turning her own head. With the shift of her body, Legolas could see the form of Mattias as he leaned against a tree.

"Your magic will work tomorrow as well," he phrased again as he gazed up with a sense of certainty, meeting eyes Legolas could not see. He supposed the man was gazing at his mother.

A long silence followed, as if words were being weighed, and then the old woman said, "Tonight would be better. My power will be greater if I do it this night."

Mattias merely looked away in disgust, and then turned again to face her. Vexation painted his features as he snidely remarked, "Isn't it beautifully ironic then, Mother? You have long plotted and planned to procure what you need to make your spell work for this night. And it has not been easy simple, has it? All these real people with minds of their own. Not so easy to bend strangers, is it, Mother? They are not so gullible as your own kind, are they?" His voice was thick with hatred. "They keep twisting away. Luckily for you, though, for as one slips away, another keeps falling into place to substitute for the part lost. Is that not ideal? Yet you are missing one ingredient. One ingredient among them all that was never yours to claim, only to conquer. The cave. You need the Protected Place so the magic will truly come to life, don't you? Yet if we move to that place, that fortress to bear witness to probably the greatest of all magical feats you have contrived, one of the other components will be lost to you. Your Elf will have died in the transport. There is a great deal of irony to be found in the circumstances, don't you think?"

Legolas could tell by the returned stare of the man that Mattias faced Bregus' wrath. The old woman spoke with a terse voice. "You know not of which you speak."

"I know the truth, Mother. The truth as it was revealed to me by Kattica," he answered as he rose, wincing with the pain.

"Kattica is gone! Set free at my hand, as was Anborn!" Legolas could hear Éowyn's gasp as the name given to her husband was spoken.

"The only thing she did not tell me," Mattias continued, taking a step forward, "was that your plan would fall to me if Anborn was not available."

"It sickens me," he said in a disdainful voice, nearly spitting in her direction. "You sicken me."

"Do not say such words to her!" It was Curtik this time, charging into the scene and butting his fist into Mattias' harmed shoulder. Mattias groaned. Legolas tried to watch the scene but a cry crossed his lips instead. His eyes creased shut for the pain and he kept them sealed tight, though the words kept the scene alive in his mind. His ears rang, adding to the surreal quality of the event.

Éowyn barked out a repeat of her earlier request. The words sounded far too loud, unregulated by his senses. "This cannot wait! Find something to ease him! His pain is too great!"

Legolas then heard Mattias' taunt. "Perhaps the drug makes it worse. Eh, Mother, what say you? You know of the properties of the medicine to which you doused him."

Éowyn spoke again. "He should have slipped into unconsciousness of his own by now. He has not. Even now there is no ease to his mind. Old woman, I will tell you of what I know though I am certain you are already aware. Men can die from shock! It happens. The pain . . . they succumb. Is that to what you will subject to him?"

"He is NOT! If anything, he is more susceptible! He can choose to surrender his heart, if he should no longer wish to live, if his grief is too great. Can you not see? We need to ease his pain so such a choice is not availed him," Éowyn said.

"Tomorrow night will do for your plans. It will work then too," Mattias reminded in a soft voice.

Legolas could hear Bregus sigh, and he knew a battle had been won. The ringing ebbed and faded, but he had difficulty making out the words that followed. "I shall seek what I need of medicines to aid him. And Mattias. Curtik, watch them carefully. See that they remain where they are. Do not allow the Elf to fool you."

Immediately Legolas heard a rustle of motion and then Éowyn's voice. "Your shoulder! Let me help you."

Protested words met hers. "The wound is not so bad. My ill-fortune will not overwhelm me. What of Legolas? Let us tend to him first. Is there anything I might do?"

Legolas felt a cool hand to his brow and a whisper of comforting words. A moment later he felt heavy cloth draped over and about him, bolstering him, warming him. It was a small thing, but he felt his mind relax its taut grip to the soothe it offered. He gave in to the warmth and the comfort of having firm pressure holding him in place. The ringing sound in his ears took over his mind, and he melted away into it. In the back of his awareness, he could hear voices speaking, but they made little sense to him.

"She would not have killed him, would she? I should not have surrendered." It was a woman's voice that said this.

Whispered male words answered her. The answer was confused by other noises in the camp. ". . . schemes to rid his body of his heart. But not yet. Not until she has reached the Protected Place and the sun is aligned in the sky. We have that to use to our advantage."

Another exchange passed, but he could not make it out. Then he heard Mattias say, "She is afraid of the soldiers in your camp."

"There are no soldiers in our camp. They are positioned many miles downstream. I was going to them when I came across your party."

"We must use that against her then. We must try to keep her from fulfilling her plan."

Another buzzing flurry went by. The world faded to red. Time lost meaning to him and when he next came to awareness the two voices carried on, as if they had never stopped their discussion, though it felt like much had already passed.

"She would not be so adamant in trying to keep you alive were you not also a part of her plan. She will kill you when she kills Legolas."

"Mattias, should we build a fire? It grows dark. Will we camp here?" a voice from the surrounding group asked.

"No! Do not ask him! He is no longer our leader. He is a traitor to us, to Mother. Gordash and I will make the decision!" That was Curtik's voice again, though it was distant, as if many yards away.

Murmurs of confused voices echoed around him. Then the ringing again grew loud in his ears as the pain ebbed. Again, Legolas moaned. He felt Éowyn at his side once again. Her words were above him, spoken not directly to him. "Where might she be? He suffers."

"He does not. His eyes are closed. An Elf's eyes do not close in rest. He is in pain. See his brow. See his body. He is rigid in his agony. His pulse quickens because of it. His breathing is shallow and rushed. When he is at ease and no longer suffers, these things will normalize and we can know he is comfortable and his body may begin to heal."

A whisper tickled his ear as another body bent over him. He could feel the fleeting touch of hot breath against his skin as the words came into his mind, "You must survive this, Elf." And then the presence was gone and Legolas was unable to place the speaker.

Curiosity pried his eyes open. The voice was familiar to him. "Who . . . ?" he asked in a timid voice. In the dim light he could make out the shape of one he felt sure he knew. Just behind Mattias he stood and Legolas called out to him. "Faramir?"

Mattias leaned in to him, as did Éowyn. The shadow merely remained. "Legolas, it is I, Mattias. Do you recall? Faramir is gone. He is safe."

But Legolas ignored this, intent on the shadow behind Mattias. "Faramir?" he called again.

Mattias exchanged a glance with Éowyn, and the woman looked fretful. "I have an idea of what to do, but I dare not try. It could harm him more in the end."

The shape behind them moved, and somehow the shadows lifted. Remarkable was his appearance for it looked incredibly like that of Faramir. And almost of Mattias. "I am Bäla," the shadow spoke.

"Bäla?" Legolas asked. The name was familiar but he could not place it in his thoughts.

"He was my father. He is dead. He . . . Bregus believes in his return. She fosters the hope she may bring him back from the dead." He bent low to Legolas and spoke directly to the Elf, a light hand upon his shoulder. "Bäla is not here, Legolas."

"No!" Legolas cried, remembering who this character was meant to be and wincing with the pain this outburst caused him.

"You must try it!" Mattias was saying as he pulled away, staring at Éowyn. "Whatever it is, he cannot go on like this."

The shadow of Bäla stepped back, drawing away. "Rest well, Lord Elf. Your time is soon to come."

"No!" Legolas cried, squirming in what little way he could. He understood the implication of the message. He had to find a means to escape it.

"Oh, Legolas!" The woman cried. "I will do it! I will do it! Alas!" Éowyn bent closer, crying for Legolas' pain, stroking his brow, attempting to draw him away from his terror. "Legolas, please, look to me!"

"They will kill us," he managed to say, trying to warn her of Bäla's meaning. He gasped out, ". . . must go! She will . . . kill you . . . kill your baby."

Éowyn gasped. "How did you . . . " she began, then stopped herself, changing thoughts mid-stream. Shaking her head she said, "Legolas, I have a way to ease your pain. I I do not like using it, but I can think of no other way. You are dangerously ill, and we must find a way calm you enough so that the healing process may begin."

He shook her off, trying to remain focused on his thoughts of escape. This was real! No longer could he idly fall back into sorrow. No longer would red be the only thing washed over him. He tried to gain her attention. "There is a knife . . . Mattias' knife . . . in my boot . . . Cannot reach it. You . . . you must take it. Kill her!"

Éowyn paused, glancing down to his feet. She seemed to hear him at last. Frozen, she digested his words. "I " she stopped again. She stared solemnly into his eyes, the message of his fear passing to her. She nodded. "When I may manage it, I will do it," she vowed.

Legolas relaxed with her pledge only to find a rush of hurt coming freshly at him. He cried out to it, wishing it might pass without his notice.

Éowyn's face squared over his vision, and he knew in doing so that she had intentions to gather his attention. "Listen to me, Legolas. You must hear my words. I would call upon cuivëar* to aid us."

"No!" It was all he could say, for he had no desire to fight off the sea-longing too in this state.

"No," he sobbed, trying to find strength to tell her through the many ways of his unspoken mind why this was wrong.

"I know," she said, as if reading his thoughts, "But it calms you, I have seen it. It releases you from this world. You feel or know nothing of what is real when it is upon you. And for the moment, that is what you need."

"No," he said adamantly, trying to tell her. "I cannot . . . After . . ." he began.

"We will deal with it then, when we come to it. For now we have this. It may well save your life."

"Please," he asked, though from looking into her eyes he could see it was a senseless request. Her mind was made up.

"Can you hear their call, Legolas? They ride on the air. The flap of their wings is noiseless, effortless. They glide, like the wind. They hover with ease. They fly overhead. Can you hear their call?" Tears flowed from her eyes and her voice was jagged as she tried to utter these statements.

Legolas tried to push her from his thoughts, but his addled mind could not fathom a way to make the narrative cease.

"Salt flavors the air, and this is what the gulls seem to cry as they beckon you forward. A whipping wind tangles with your hair. Tendrils of golden fly across your vision. The wind stirs. It brings all of your senses to life. The air is like you. It is you. Can you see its play along the shore? Caressing the boundaries of all living things."

"And can you feel how the sea bursts with her joy at greeting you. The waves roll and thunder, inviting you to join them, to dodge and run in their rhythm."

"The waves carry thunder in their emerald-colored peace. And yet, they are peaceful and calm from the distance and above. Can you feel them carry you?" Legolas did not answer. His strength was waning, and he was unaware he was drifting into this vision.

No longer did words prod for his cooperation. He was carried away to that place of comfort on his own. He noticed nothing of pain, nothing of the harm done him. He was free of the witch and the infliction of her horror. Only the clap on the waves buffeting the shores, the cool press of the sand between his toes, and the frothy lick of tickling liquid bouncing over the edge where water and land united were companions to his mind.

This vision replaced all that he knew, and came into his heart where it firmly became lodged. Without asking, it filled an empty facet of a lonely part of his soul, and it coarsened him, shutting off the return path of denial by giving him a fruity taste of that elixir he so often pushed away. He was tarnished by it, drunk on the euphoria and wanting more of its intoxicating effects.

Free. Free. He was drifting away on the ease and comfort of something that, in the end, could only bring him more harm. But that was later, and Legolas' thoughts were only on the happiness he felt now as he slipped into a state of blissful forgetfulness. Floating, floating, lolling on a hapless somersault of ecstasy. The world, as he knew it, faded away, and was replaced, at last, by the soothing whisper of dreams. Arwen had the distinct impression she was being patronized

Things were not going so well for Gimli and he was disappointed, especially after he had done much to bolster himself with reasoning to drive past his discomforts. For all that he had convinced himself to keep moving forward, his body could not keep up with his minds staunch demand. His intentions were good, but that was not enough; the events of the day were catching up with him, and the normally fearsome strength and stamina of the Dwarf were beginning to flag.

That was not to say that Gimli had failed entirely. To an outside observer he persevered valiantly, hedging back his pain and continually moving even when it was apparent he should collapse with exhaustion. It was Gimli who perceived the letdown.

"They need me, and I fail them," he scolded in a weary voice, no longer caring that he was speaking aloud for no one else's ears but his own.

It was the pain and fatigue that were pulling him down, confounded by an ache in his skull that made him feel as if iron spikes were piercing it. At one point, when a wave of nausea had struck, he had actually ceased for the sole purpose of regaining himself. But only a brief minute later had he pushed on, refusing even that small bit of rest. It vexed him to think he was succumbing to weakness.

His foot throbbed mercilessly, and he had stopped attempting to put any weight upon it hours earlier. His makeshift crutch was crude and bothersome, and the chafing on the hollow of his arm and at his shoulder stung harshly despite all he did to pad them. It was his head, though, that was the most bothersome. The ache Gimli knew he could take, for he was a Dwarf of stern stuff; he had suffered blows to the head in the past and never had he let them overwhelm him. He also knew the signs of concussion and he thought he had passed well enough over that territory. He needed not dwell there. He had thought he merely suffered a minor trauma to the skull. But that was before the dizziness and nausea struck him. With their arrival he began to have doubts. They stymied his actions, and his thoughts were growing fuzzy with them. If this continued, he was not sure he could go much further.

But then hope shined upon him, and he found that he might survive. There was a new sound. It was. . .

A new round of dizziness hit him, but not due to the ache in his head. It was more for the ecstasy of hearing human noises than for the wavering madness his head was forcing upon him. A grin pulled upon the corners of the Dwarf's mouth as he turned his head from side to side to find the source of the spoken noise.

The sound was distant, as if some ways off, diminishing within the darkness like a vaporous cloud. Still it was encouragement, and he pressed on through the endless black, letting the small whispers guide him like a seeing friend. He nearly stumbled in his next steps, forgetting to adjust himself with the crutch. Righting his wobbling balance, he straightened, halberd in one hand and the crutch in the other. He awkwardly edged forward with very small shuffling steps followed by more very small shuffling steps. As he had gone on, the ground had been growing uneven, sloping, and rocky. This troubled him greatly, for his struggle was enough already to make progress a difficult thing. Yet the voices were sufficient inspiration to urge him onward, and Gimli thought momentarily that if he had needed to, he might crawl on hands and knees to reach them. It amused him to imagine it, but in truth it was only a passing thought, just fleeting enough to distract him from the painful tedium of moving. Because of this, he was paying little notice to his other senses, not heeding the change in pitch within the echoes.

Suddenly, his head collided with something hard. Fortunate it was that his steps had been small, for had he been moving with anything of speed, the contact might have rendered him unconscious. As it was, it only caused him pain, and he stumbled backwards with the suddenness of the blow. A loud groan emitted from his throat, and once released, he bit it back. He knew not if the voices were friendly. And so he sucked in the throbbing misery the clout had delivered, feeling a lump begin to swell at his brow. Accompanying the pain was a world gone topsy-turvy with the rise of new dizziness. He blinked his eyes incessantly, pushing it back. I will not have come so far only to lose my gain because I am a Dwarf without the sense to get through the dark!

Hunching forward with head bowed to quell the swirling madness, he glanced up. Until that moment, there would have been nothing to see, only pure blackness as light did not live in these buried spaces. But in this stooped position he saw it. There before him was the beckoning lure of a dim beacon.

Had he been standing this way before, he might have noticed the small contrast in the shadows. As he studied it, he began to see. A ledge jutted out, projecting into the main tunnel of his walkway. The heavy rock was directly at his sight line, and it acted as a support, a crossbeam of sorts to that of the tapering cavern. Had his senses been intact, his steps been firmer, he might have noticed the pending obstruction. But seeing that his pace had dwindled to inch-by-inch progress, with little noise being mustered from it, there were no echoes to pinpoint the narrowing of the hollow. This was sore news to the Dwarf. It proved to him just how miserable his condition really was.

Still, there was the light to consider, and the sound of voices was still there, and if anything, he could ignore for a time longer his own aches and shortcomings for the benefit of these positives. The end was ahead.

Sound was tinny and flat in the narrowing space, and from surveying what lay ahead, he could judge the reason. The passage beyond the lintel curved upward at a sharp incline and the path was littered with boulders and rocks of all shapes and sizes. The passage closed in on itself, like a chute, and it was perhaps a full length of thirty feet. It was not a far journey, but his assessment of the precarious path made Gimli feel trepidation for what lay ahead. The route looked tenuous and uncertain, as if it had been cleared by a seismic shift. It did not look stable. Further, it could only be traversed by climbing.

There was barely any light and that did not help the situation. He felt a stab of surprise in realizing the world had grown dark in his absence. No moonlight brightened the space beyond, and Gimli suspected the clearing past the cave's exit was shrouded by trees and more rock. But it was a way out. He could not help but see the positive in the situation.

By now, hunched down and looking up at the opening, the voices were as close as they could be before he attempted his climb. While small, he recognized them for their timbre to be that of a male and female. They seemed not to be aware of his nearness, for they were completely absorbed with themselves. He could hear now the words, and it seemed an argument was afoot.

"I care little for your ire. What concerns me is calling an end to this early affliction."

"They can be subtle. They were for my wife in the beginning. I would rather err on the side of caution."

"Why is it that all healers deny their own needs? Is it a requirement of the field? Or have I only been unlucky enough to be blessed with poor examples? It seems as a group you bear plentiful compassion for others but none for yourselves. Why is that? Is it spent by the time it is required for you?"

"If you drank sufficient amounts of water, as you are required, my tongue would not need quieting."

"Rubbish. My wife always drank herbal when she was with child. Her midwife said there were better properties to be found in the herbs. They told her she might as well drink nothing if she did not drink that or water!"

"I begin to hate your wife! And I have never even met her! And I hate her midwife more! Leaf tea is liquid!"

"It does nothing to help your body. Water. That is what you should be drinking."

It was enough for Gimli. He cared not for the argument, for it did not affect him. What he ascertained from his eavesdropping was that the words were mild scoffs, companionable jabs, easily said with a scowl and a grin, and Gimli surmised the speakers might be friendly.

A soft rumble followed. Pebbles and stones trickled down on from the path above him, and he hesitated, for his voice had seemed to perpetrate the shower of stone.

That was not a good turn for the conversation. Gimli had to do something, for he did not want the owners of the voices to desert him in his need. He tried again, this time his hands cupped to his mouth to guard the echoes. Knowing the others were wary of his presence, he also changed his tact. His cry became a plea. "Help me!"

The male voice was commanding, and the female seemed respectful of that authority, at least enough so as not to argue. Gimli felt assured by that, for with their bickering ways it could be different. But apparently they at least each held belief in one another. They were somewhat reminiscent of long-time companions. Surely a pair like this would try to help him. A small smile crept upon the Dwarf's face then, for he knew they reminded him of Legolas and himself. It was a fleeting moment of musing though, for nearly instantly he was gripped by his fears, a reminder of apprehensions left unresolved. The thought of the Elf and what he might be enduring brought an ache to the Dwarf's chest and he could not help but be flooded with a wave of new worries.

Yet Gimli's mind did not have long to dwell on that thought either, for excitement immediately rounded on him. He could hear footsteps approaching, and wary though he was by the precarious state of the entrance overhead, he knew that he did not wish to miss the opportunity for rescue. Further words might well endanger the opening. Minute reverberations stirred it enough to cause what could be collapse, but there appeared no other choice. No other resource for escape presented itself to Gimli, and it was either call or climb. Given that just standing was difficult, the idea of climbing a wall of rubble seemed nigh impossible to the Dwarf. Therefore, calling was the answer.

Despite his decision, Gimli felt great trepidation for the idea of speaking out. He had seen the effect of cave-ins before in his past, and he had no desire to be at the heart of one. No other options were offered however. Grimacing and hunching as if to compensate for a shower of boulders, meekly he found his voice.

"Here . . . Can you hear me?" he called quietly. He immediately followed his actions by ducking his head into his chest and raising his halberd and crutch to crisscross over his skull. He stood this way, cowering, yet insolent enough to remain upright, ready for the assaulting barrage of stone he felt sure might rush down. Yet to Gimli's surprise, nothing came. Not even a pebble.

Gimli harrumphed, pleased that he had succeeded in duping the wall. Of course the wall was an inanimate object and incapable of being duped, but still there was small pleasure to be had in holding the tumble of rocks at bay. However, Gimlis triumph was actually a small thing, for no one came to his call as he had hoped they would. The pleasant feeling of superiority was only a vague flirtation. And the situation was worsening. The footsteps from above, only moments before so near, were now moving away.

He grimaced, scowling at this bad turn. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, realization dawning on him that his call was not enough. And yet the thought of losing this contact was enough to allay his nervous fears. He would have to attempt the cry again, only louder.

However, Gimli was not a fool. A precautionary mind took command. This time he hobbled into what he considered a safer place, a corner if one could call it that. To his thinking, if he was to be swept away, at least the rocks would not collapse upon him directly. Assuring himself of his position, he prepared his body like he had before. Hands raised to mouth in order to clip his voice and direct it specifically to the opening, he called out, "Here! I am here! Please help me!"

This too had not been a demonstrative exclamation. It was more like the voice given in a speaking tone. It was louder than the previous call had been, however.

As before, there was no effect on the wall, and the Dwarf began to feel he might have a gauge on what was and what was not a compromising volume. Further there was progress, for the voices spoke again.

Ai! Gimli thought. They still have not heard my words. I must make my voice louder or else they will think I am nothing but a trapped animal.

Curses! Gimli thought. They have affirmed it! I must somehow let them know I am not raccoon. . .

. . . Or a mountain cat, Gimli thought as a small smile bent over his lips. The comment, misguided though it was, was at least flattering, even if the Dwarf would have preferred not to have been mistaken at all.

Very well then, he thought. He would try again, though he was certain he was tempting fate's ire by doing so.

It was not such a far thing, in Gimlis mind, to believe the rock could indeed have thoughts of its own. That it was toying with him was not such a preposterous notion, for Dwarves often spoke of stone as if it lived and breathed. This stone might be friendly or cruel; he did not know. Yet it had shown him nothing so far that could exclude malice from its intent. And for that the goal could very well be tto lure him into a state of comfort. Then, he conjectured, the rock would most certainly collapse in upon him. Clever rock!

Yet he would not act the mouse. A mountain cat was the picture he had of himself and he intended to model the ferocity of that beast.

Now practiced in the skill, he prepared his body once again for the call. Raising hands to lips he spoke again, this time only modestly louder. "Help me, please! I am not a trapped animal."

This time the rocks did not tease. A shower of small stones rained down on the Dwarf, and Gimli winced in anticipation of the onslaught. But that was all that came, and whether it was his voice or the noise of shifting earth that found him his rescuers, he could not say. All Gimli knew was that the two voices were coming. It had worked.

In that instant the Dwarf forgot himself. "Faramir?" he exclaimed, surprised to hear the name. Only he realized, after the fact, that he had said it aloud. Aloud and too loud. With immediate regret he cringed for the noise echoed profusely within the tunnel chamber.

Small pebbles began to tumble. Without conscious thought for the matter, Gimli began to hobble back, his terror of the danger whipping him. He stumbled out of his corner, thoughts of escape the only thing guiding him. Survival instinct kicked in, and he immediately relinquished the tender treatment he had been giving his injured foot in order that he may run. The world was about to come crashing down, and it mattered not that momentary pain might meet it. And so he turned to make his escape. Unfortunately, in the madness of the situation, he had forgotten the layout of his route. The shelf that marked entrance into this shaft had not moved. It was where it had been before, directly at a height with his brow. However, the light was still dim and a dust was gathering over his sight, so there was nothing visual that could aid him. And of course this time his movements were not slow and staggered. This time he was moving with all the speed his pained Dwarven body could muster. Better. He moved with all the speed of a fleeing mountain cat. Or raccoon. Or mouse. So when the blow came to his head, it was not a light tap to the brow as it had been before. This time he hit the wall full force.

Pain emanated from all his body, but most distinctly his head. Dizziness worked over him, his mind losing all perspective of up or down. Swirling chaos and sound erupted and sparkling lights exploded into his vision. And then everything ceased. The Dwarfs legs collapsed beneath him with a will not his own. Sound no longer carried on the air, becoming only a piercing ring in his ears. Dust permeated through his lungs. Rocks rolled past him. But it was all in slow motion as what he perceived the cataclysmic ending of his life came to be. One strange little thought entered his thoughts before oblivion took him. It was actually an amusing little thing to consider, especially when one might realize these could be his last thoughts.

Strange. That was not Éowyns voice. Then who was that speaking? Ai, Faramir had better be careful. Éowyn will grow jealous if she thinks he wanders the woods with another.

"She is coming," Éowyn whispered, gazing up from her ministrations to Mattias wound.

The Romany man turned his eyes in the direction of his mother, then looked away again, disgrace and disgust clearly painting his features. Éowyn felt a pang of sympathy for the man, though she truly could not understand what drove his actions. Surely the elder did not hold all these people in thrall, and clearly she did not hold Mattias.

The old woman drew near, her steps slow, each one seemingly considered for its place before the next one fell. The heavy walking stick in her hand made a soft thumping noise each time it met the ground. It marked the tedious pace of the womans tread. Éowyn knew there was nothing within Bregus urging her to hasten forward for the sake of the Elf (though Eowyn felt she had clearly explained the danger in the situation). Yet the old woman had also been sent on task to find remedy for her son. In that, the Rohirric woman could not understand Bregus slow steps.

"I see you have solved your problem without my aid," the old woman mocked as she nodded toward Legolas and his sleeping state. Chuckling softly, she dropped a satchel of leaves into Éowyns lap. Éowyn noted that there was nothing within them that could be construed as a healing agent for the Elf. There were herbs that could help Mattias, though.

"What of Legolas," Éowyn asked, ignoring the comment. "What can you offer him?"

"Chokecherry? The leaves of that plant contain cyanide. Are you planning on poisoning him?" Éowyn countered.

"You know your remedies," Bregus said, a mysterious smile turning her lips. "But not fully. Chokecherry bark, when used in proper amounts, may render one into a state of sleep."

"It is a remedy for colds," Éowyn said in a chiding voice. She was not pleased with the old womans solution. The elixir the elder would make was a weak offering to a severe injury. "And if not handled correctly it can be either a poison or a useless medicine. And even if you prepare it correctly, it will likely only make him drowsy."

The old womans eyes turned on Legolas. "He drowses already. I would judge him not in need of my medicine at all. You should not scoff at my solution."

Éowyn looked down upon the face of the Elf. His eyes were unfixed, lost, dull, yet there was a spark of life in them. He looked as he did in dreams, only somehow worsened, as if there was no rest in his present state. Yet it freed him from the anguish, for clearly the tears were gone and the symptoms of pain were no longer present. Still, small agony continued for the Elf, even as he was. Despite the evidence that there was a place in his mind where he roamed, she could see a haunted pain glimmer in his eye. But what he felt she was certain came from within him and not from the torment of his physical condition. Weighing the two, she was unsure which was worse. She did not want to harm Legolas further, and she assured herself again that the mental anguish of inflicting cuivëar was less than the pain of his bodys state. "He had it within himself to reach a meditative state. I only guided him to it. I know not how long it will last. He will need something else to dull the pain should he awaken," Éowyn explained, hoping to evoke some kind of sympathy from the elder.

"My medicine will soothe him should he need it and he will sleep. It has properties that exceed those you may know," Bregus answered, her tone kinder, as if dropping pretense and understanding for the moment Éowyns worries. "Do you need my aid to see to what I have provided for Mattias?"

Éowyns eyes dipped to the parcel of herbs, then up to Mattias face. His expression was also much changed in those brief moments, though he only made sidelong glances in his mother's direction. He appeared eager and yet saddened, as if finding something redeeming in his mothers turn to small sympathies while also hardened enough that he appeared not to believe the truth in it. Éowyn decided she could tend him on her own, so tenuous did his mood appear. "I can manage this," she said as she began to unwrap the loose bindings to Mattias wound.

The elder continued to stare, gazing hard upon the pair. Mattias eyes turned to the old womans face while Éowyn looked the other way, making a show of tending the wound. She noticed the silent passing of emotions between mother and son and felt embarrassed for her presence at the rather intimate exchange, like she was invading a private moment. It seemed to be guided by something of heartbreak and yet love. But it was fleeting for clearly, Mattias emotions had not softened, and if anything he appeared further angered by his mother. And confused as if he were horribly stalled by an indecision only he knew. Éowyn glanced back at the old woman and repeated, "I can manage this."

Bregus broke her solemn stare, and turned her attention elsewhere. She sauntered to a group of woman who were tending to the children, the ladies feeding and playing with them. The women and the witch spoke for a moment before a few in the gathering stepped over to a pile of provisions. Éowyn would have stopped watching then, certain the elder was preparing the medicine she would make for Legolas. However, she noticed something odd in the exchange. The old woman repeatedly touched the other women. At first it seemed merely a gesture of friendly conversation, but after a few minutes it became apparent the old woman intended to touch all of the women in some casual way. And even more odd was the reaction of the women, for they swayed slightly at the touch, even freezing slightly in their motions, before reviving themselves and returning to normal activity.

The man glanced in his mother's direction, then frowned. "She is casting her spell upon them. She does it nearly every night now."

"The one that binds them to her. It is in the touch that she does this," he shrugged.

"I am sorry then," she said, sensing his misery. Then, brightening slightly, she declared, "She does not hold you though."

Mattias shrugged. It appeared he did not wish to talk on the subject. "I do not know," he quietly confessed before turning his body away.

It was a sore subject, yet one that might help them. Taking a different tact, she pressed the topic, wary of his hurt. "Your wife is also free of your mother's spell, is she not?"

Éowyn frowned, irritated by his foul mood. "Yes I see that. It is also clear to me that you are a leader to these people. They look to you for guidance."

"Not all do," he said contritely, glancing to others in the crowd. She directed her eyes in the immediate direction his took and saw he was looking at his brothers.

The glance said so much about the source of his pain, and Éowyn wished there was something she might do to quell it. Then again she also knew she needed to find a means of escape. "Others would follow if you took command. Your brothers might too."

Mattias' eyes snapped with anger as he rounded on her. "Is this not enough to show you I have no control here?" he said indicating his wound. "What more would you have of me?"

Éowyn was not cowed by his foul temper, however. There was too much at stake for her to feel intimidation by one she perceived as an ally. Her nostrils flared as she gave her response. "I am sorry you were injured, and I feel wretched that such a grievous ill has befallen you for my sake. But if you should ask me, I would have you act your role."

Mattias bitterly turned away, sulkily saying. "I have no role. My mother has swept it away."

"Mother has threatened the lives of my people! Lady, do you not understand? She will destroy them all by turning them one upon another, just as she has my brothers and me. Perhaps there are some who are free from her, but they are just as much captive as am I. They see as well as I do. She will pit those loyal to her against those who are not. She maneuvers and controls everyone in this camp, even if they are not held in her spell. For years my wife had to deal with this blackmail and nearly failed. I now face the same. And fail. I fail. For the love of my people, my brothers, I dare not fight her."

"My wife's circumstances were different. Mother's plans have only just been revealed."

"I am sorry," Éowyn sighed. She could feel the regret within this Romany man and her heart was easily moved by his sorrow. But she thought too there was more to it than this. His pain came from something greater.

Bitterly Mattias muttered, "Is it any wonder then that Bregus wishes our passing? Is it any wonder that I have sent my wife away?"

This was the point of Éowyn's query, for she could not understand why Bregus could act as she did. "You are her son."

Mattias laughed then, but it was not with merry temperament with which he did so. "Clearly you have not considered the subject," Mattias chided. "Her intentions for me are worse than you might think."

Éowyn's face was a study of confusion. "I cannot imagine of what you might speak."

"I do not doubt that," he replied, his head lowering as if in shame. "Do not mistake her for a woman who cares for kin, my lady. She is not what you think. She does not put her children first. She does not care for her people's plight. Her concern is for herself alone and her intentions are vile."

Éowyn conceded his anguish but his words struck a chord. A pang of guilt laced through her for the parallel between herself and the old woman. Had not Éowyn only recently put her own well-being before the child she carried?

Yet that decision seemed a lifetime ago, and somehow she perceived Mattias was speaking of darker things than even the idea of aborting an unwanted child. "She seeks everlasting life and beauty. Her means of achieving this are through Legolas and myself. These are cruel intentions, I agree, but she has your position in control. Why would she want you dead?"

Mattias looked up then, and Éowyn could see the tears welling in his eyes. The corners of his mouth were torn down in anguish, and his voice was aquiver as he spoke. He said it in a whisper. "It is not my death she wants. It is my body."

"What?" This was a puzzlement to Éowyn. Stupefied by the admission, she could not understand what he meant. Surely he did not mean this in the way her mind tried to turn the information. "I I do not "

It appeared he could not stand to look at her further. Perhaps it was her innocence that turned his eyes away. Yet he interrupted her jagged reply, and when he did she realized how deeply his troubles went. "She would take me as her lover."

Just the words alone were enough to make Éowyn feel sickened. Expunged of moral thinking this was. Retracted into guileless shame the old woman must be. Repulsion shivered down her spine and the thought that there might be some parallel between the old woman and herself was immediately washed away. "H-how?"

One word was all he said. "Bäla." It was daunting enough to silence her for the moment as she thought on the situation. Legolas had called the same name.

Mattias continued. "It was to be your husband's fate, not mine. She had meant for him to take Bäla's place, but through my interference, he was allowed to escape. Unfortunately, I did not realize she had considered me his alternate. I stepped into Faramir's role without even realizing. I was a fool. I thought she might respect me. I thought I could control her. She is my mother, after all. What mother could . . . ?"

It was too much and she could see he was breaking. Suddenly she felt she must act. She gathered him into a wholesome embrace pulling him to her as if in effort to break the terrible hurt in his cry. The surprise of the gesture stunned him, but he did not fight it. In brief seconds he came to rest into her hold, his tears matching hers as they dropped onto one another's shoulder. Sadly she said, "You still can control her. We may still win." The words came with a small, desperate sob.

She could not say the words. It hardened her heart to even think it, but she knew it had to be. Pulling away from him but looking deeply into his eyes, she simply said, "Legolas knew." Then she drew her eyes down to the Elf's boot, hoping Mattias might see the hint of a knife's hilt hidden there.

Apparently he did for he visibly blanched. "I I could not!" he whispered fiercely.

"Did you not just tell me she is not as a normal mother would be? That her concerns are for herself alone, not her kin?"

Their words were hoarse utterances back and forth, barely said above a whisper, yet in her mind she was screaming her cause. "She would destroy everything you know and love. How can you give her your loyalty knowing that?"

"I do not know!" He collapsed. All his indecision seemed to pour out in that one desperate admission. "Despite all the harm she has wrought, I still love her! How can I help from feeling that? She is my mother!"

Confusing as it was, his voice was chock with emotion, and she could feel the heartbreak he felt in their utterance. Éowyn realized she could empathize, for his feelings they were the very things she had pondered in her own decision to keep her child. Her baby would love her. How could she not. Just as Éowyn could not help loving her child no matter how hard she might try to hold it back. There was a bond between a mother and her child, and no matter how dire the events or circumstances that guided their lives, the two could not be parted in their underlying commitment to one another. It was an unfathomable emotion. Love. Éowyn understood. Wretched as she might have been, Bregus somehow was still a mother to her sons. Tears reached Éowyn's eyes as the ache of the realization reached her heart. No matter how horrible the crimes, Mattias must love his mother. Were it Éowyn, would it not be the same? If her children stood accused of heinous acts, even if they were against her, she could never play executioner to them. Never! She understood Mattias plight. She could see his dilemma.

"I will do it alone then," she said, barely breathing but realizing this was what must be.

"She must be stopped. You need not aid me. I will find a way," Éowyn said with cold certainty, though she had no plan for how it might come to be.

"Stop who?" a male voice queried from behind her, and Mattias' head immediately shot around to catch sight of the speaker.

"You have heard of what we speak, Gordash. You have been listening in on our conversation," Mattias replied in a shaken voice, though he did not flinch from the accusatory way in which he delivered this statement. Behind the approaching man, Curtik also rose and drew near as Mattias continued. "And what you have not heard, that too you know. You too have seen the atrocities committed, my brother."

"I know nothing but that Mother tries to help us," Gordash said in a sniping voice.

Mattias scoffed. "Gordash! I know you are not so blind! Mother helps us? By killing a woman and an Elf? How will this help us?"

Curtik interjected, pushing ahead of Gordash and arguing, "She will be stronger for it. She can guard our fate better. She has the sight and has seen we would fail otherwise. We will be a more powerful tribe for what she does."

"She has swayed you then. You think not on your own. There is no proof of such things," Mattias said, dismissing both men with this assessment.

"No one sways me. I think on my own! She has not led us astray in the past," Gordash retorted, looking almost guilty.

Mattias then approached the large man, staring coldly. His voice was strong with conviction. "Oh? Then how is it I was shot by my brother with the urging of my mother?"

"And why is it my words do not rule this tribe when clearly I am the male elder?" Mattias countered.

Again the youngest son spoke and even Gordash blinked at the peculiarity of his abrupt reply. "You are not in your right mind," Curtik said defensively, nervously. "You are a danger in your current state. We had to hold you in check."

"How is it that I am still held hostage to her whims?" Mattias said, his eyes now traveling between his two brothers in search for answers.

"It is as I said," the youngest brother answered. "You are not sane at the moment."

"Or perhaps it is because she deigns another fate for me?" Mattias said distastefully, nearly spitting out the hideous nature of his meaning with the taint of his words.

"Why would she choose something different for you?" sneered Curtik while Gordash looked on with a quizzical expression.

"Her attentions are not moral, Brother," Mattias said in a pleading voice, now directed specifically at Gordash. His tone was seeking, sympathetic, kind. Éowyn could tell Mattias was trying to draw out the camaraderie of sibling love. And in observation she noted Mattias' resolve was becoming firm just as that of the older brother appeared to be falling apart. "She will sacrifice my soul, Gordash. She will take my body and make me into something depraved, not myself. Please. I only wish to be free. Do not let her do this to me."

"YOU ARE WRONG! IT WILL NOT BE! YOU CANNOT CONTINUE AS THE FAVORED ONE!" The words burst from Curtik, his rage explosive. Éowyn sprung back defensively, automatically falling into a crouch over Legolas, and suddenly very frightened by the younger brother's outburst.

Instantly, all the camp was about them and Bregus was stepping to the forefront. "That will be enough!" she exclaimed.

"DO NOT LET IT BE! DO NOT CHOOSE HIM! IT IS NOT FAIR! I HAVE WORKED SO HARD, MOTHER!" Curtik cried hysterically.

"That will be enough, Curtik!" Bregus screamed, and the words snapped the youngest back to something of reality. Shock was visible on his face for the rebuke, but almost immediately he blinked it back. His eyes were dazed, and whimpering sounds seemed to be emanating from him, but he appeared simultaneously to be attempting composure.

The old woman turned, her expression dark with anger. There was silence for a moment as she breathed, no one moving or speaking. Only the chirping of crickets was to be heard from the pitch of the forest. The fire crackled and popped, a log tumbling, and then she spoke with a calm that was frightening. "You have had too much freedom," she said. Éowyn felt dread rising up within herself as the old woman's attention went directly to her. "You inspire riot. I cannot have it. I will not allow it."

Then the elder turned to the men in the group, directing their actions almost without words. "Tie them up. Gag them. I will tolerate no more outbursts for what they stir."

The reaction was quick, and Éowyn thought perhaps the moment had grown suddenly desperate enough that she might act. In that she considered it might well be her last chance to do anything. She knew she needed to take command, though she was ill-prepared for confrontation. Yet . . .

So sudden did it all come. Her eyes told her actions and she knew Mattias saw it. He countered with his part. She dove for the knife in Legolas' boot while Mattias flung himself bodily at the nearest man. But the other Romanies saw their actions too and in the end Éowyn was simply not fast enough for their counter movements and Mattias was too weak. A set of strong hands grabbed her and yanked her back, tugging at her hair and snapping her head back before she could reach her goal. She cried out for the pain, but more so for the disappointment.

At the same moment, Gordash stooped down and retrieved the weapon, watching her with wary eyes as if he'd known all along the knife's presence, while Curtik turned on Mattias and struck him for little or no reason that Éowyn could perceive. Gordash tucked the blade into his sash as he watched her, his face a mask for what he truly felt, like that of so many others about her. Though she struggled, her arms were brutally held. Seconds later she was tied and a gag was shoved into her mouth.

She was helpless and spent, feeling tremendous weakness for the gloom of her situation, and for the first time she could not think of anything she might do to amend it. It bolstered her however to watch Mattias continue his fight and the absolute solidity of his resolve. It seemed he understood both their situation and what would be required for it to change. And though there was nothing within him that implied he would commit the act of betrayal against his mother, neither was there anything that said he would stop it. Further, it appeared he would actively make attempts to recruit others to their cause. His actions in aid had proven exactly that and it gave Éowyn a small thrill to see him fortified in his decision. His words were calmly biting as he said to Gordash, "Do you think still that it is I who struggles with sanity?"

The larger man merely looked down, refusing to make contact with the eyes of his brother, and Mattias smiled at Éowyn for the small victory he had struck. She smiled in answer, showing she was pleased. And then a gag was fitted to his mouth and he was silenced. Yet his words lingered.

Time had passed and it was not any easy thing to grip. For Faramir, it had been a struggle to keep his thoughts together and he was not content knowing he was still off-balance in his thinking. He had strayed from time to time in the course of their flight, and though hours had gone by since their escape, he realized that even now a small remnant of the drug remained with him. At least, this was the explanation he contrived, for he could not recall ever having had as much difficulty staying focused as he had in the last few hours. He had been boggled, his thoughts wandering. Fortunately, he could also see that Kattica had been attempting to help him through it.

For the moment he watched as Kattica tended Gimli, and he knew as he did this that he was nearly himself again. Everything seemed clear and focused. That was a relief and he knew he had her to thank for it. Much of his present awareness was Kattica's doing.

Of course, some of it might have been the rush of adrenaline her false labor had driven. His heart certainly had raced through their situation when it had landed. But he was also fairly certain the small affronts she had started were responsible for his recovery.

Her solution was brilliant. She engaged him with words, and though he was unaware at the time that it had been intentionally done, he had rallied to the challenge nonetheless, sparring verbally in retaliation to her jibes. It kept Faramir much on his toes, forcing him to think rather than dream. That had done it, pulling him through. It was now, as he watched her that he saw just how clever she had been. She had cured him of his wayward thinking, and he hadn't even noticed she had done it.

How she had read him so well, he was uncertain. Perhaps it was the delving into his mind that had pulled him past his vagueness. Or perhaps it was that she was a keen study of human frailties. Or perhaps it was a sense of self-preservation that made her speak out. He did not care. Whatever it was, she seemed to know all his trigger points. Now he could see that he had been goaded into the route she chose. It had been easy to oblige her, following her into a round of banter; it was far easier in fact than facing the fright into which their situation had nearly fallen. After all, when Kattica had appeared to be showing early signs of labor, Faramir had begun to fall apart.

All Faramir knew was, at the time, he felt certain he might collapse into a ball of withering male ineptitude if they did not find a solution to her problem other than giving birth, that is. Like a cold slap in the face, her jabs roused him. For that he was grateful. A vague, dreamy-eyed man could not have done much for anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of giving birth.

"I know not what I might do," he had lamented, seriously coming close to wringing his hands as he fretted.

"Ease me back that I might rest a moment. Perhaps the pains will stop!" she said with a grimace.

Faramir was immediately there at her side. "Yes! Yes! Perhaps the pains will stop," he had repeated in a mumble like a gibbering idiot. He began to lift her legs once she was in an inclined position.

Faramir looked at the legs he cradled. Somehow he had remembered that one was supposed to elevate the feet above the head in situations like these. Or was that for dizziness? Suddenly, he blushed, realizing he had touched her inappropriately, and for no apparent reason. He stammered, "I I "

"Please put my legs down now, Faramir. Ah, but are you always like this when in the presence of a woman baring child? Gods, I have been graced this day," she replied more to herself than him as she shook her head, negating the silliness of his actions.

"I am no fool!" Faramir mildly protested, though he was uncertain why he even attempted to save his ego. In his own estimation he had been acting the role of a bumbler, so he could not blame her the disparaging remarks. "In fact, I have fathered three children," he bragged, as if that somehow made a difference.

"Chance accidents, I presume," she said rolling her eyes as her hand rounded her belly in a gentle massage. A smile half-crossed her lips when she had remarked this, and Faramir had noted it.

Still, he blustered as a run of thoughts came pouring out, none of them complete, "Why I How You "

"Ah, I see. It was mercy then that did it. Your wife must have bedded you out of pity," she said, laughing, and he almost choked on the insult. It was such an intimate thing to say, something normally begot from years of friendship, and more often with a friend of the same sex. Their relationship had neither of these features. The acquaintance between them was new, barely formed. How dare she fall into such insulting banter when they were nearly strangers to one another? Yet something within Faramir made him turn, immediately forgiving the comment as he grappled with it. It was well met, in his opinion, a clever jab for his prior improper behavior, and he had to appreciate her quick tongue for countering him so well. He realized then that instead of lauding her with insults (how could he lob insults at a woman in labor?) he would do better to simply laughed. And so he did. Loud and uproarious it sounded and it brought his mind back to attention. He knew then that they would truly be good friends.

In the end, the gods had indeed graced her. Kattica had not gone into full labor and the pains had been stopped. Faramir breathed a sigh of relief that that part of this nightmare was over. Furthermore, the riddance of the labor pains had been of his doing. He was glad for that. Had Kattica's labor continued, he was not so sure he truly could have done anything to help her beyond giving her reason to mock him. Faramir sighed at the recollection of his weak handling of Kattica's situation. His vanity was stung in his own self-appraisal, but he decided he might as well face it. He would have been useless if Kattica had gone into full labor.

He scowled. He knew he should not feel guilty for being befuddled in this arena. When it came to delivering babies, he had witnessed very little. At the same time though, he was living with a reputation as a man who actually had children. He had even bragged as much. As such, one would think he had a vague idea of what should happen in birthing situations. And true to that, he could boast that he had actually been in the room when Éowyn had delivered their children. . . Or at least he had been there with the third one . . . though he counted the second child as well . . . even though he had only seen the last moments of it. But with the third, now there he could say he had some definite experience. Still . . . that birth had not gone well, and he was not sure it even counted in preparing him to direct an actual normal delivery. Faramir sighed deeply. If anything, he had a good perspective of what to do should a birthing go wrong, and that he would wish upon no one. Unfortunately, it was about all he did know, and it was the reason all memories of his experience with Éowyn and the birth of their third son's raked his composure.

The recollection deepened and his thoughts grew somber. If only he had been present for his first child's birth. Faramir slowly smiled a slight grin. He did not realized then that he could alter rules that were considered sacrosanct. Back then he had humbly gone along with the birthing ritual prescribed by all his male companions. It was pretty much understood that Faramir, like all men of his era, would be content to bide his time through the long hours of delivery by waiting calmly and patiently. This was something he found very difficult to do, for he did not like the idea of leaving his wifes well-being to that of virtual strangers. Still, if he could not be at Éowyn's side, he at least had determined he would remain nearby. Even that was difficult though. In fact, it was excruciating, for he heard every moan, cry, and scream that she uttered. And through it all, he had nearly lurched through the walls with each one. He was not sure in the end who endured the worst of it: he or she (though his sense of duty told him he had better give her full credit and not even consider looking for sympathy for his own plight lest he wish to sleep in a guest bed for the rest of their conjugal lives).

He tried to follow the same ritual when the second child and labor came. Only he did not. He could take the screams without knowing their outcome for only so long. In the end, he broke down. Tradition might stand for others, but he loved his wife too much to allow her to suffer without availing himself to her. So it was done. He was the Prince of Ithilien after all, and if he decided he would be present at his child's birth, then there would be a mighty confrontation for any midwife who said he would not. Fortunately none had discouraged him, and actually, when he had barged in on that stressful moment, the chief lady merely blinked at him. Then she proceeded to cut the cord attaching the child to his wife as if he were not there, only muttering, "Do not bother to raise him should he fall. He will be out of harm's way regardless." This of course gave Faramir the strength to hold back the sway of dizziness that was threatening him. But that was all he had really seen of a normal birth.

Yet it was enough to make him realize what he had missed with the first. Had he known . . . Alas! he sighed. Had he known what she endured, he would have been there holding her hand, soothing her cries, doing his part to ease her pain. Had he known what it was to touch a baby fresh from the womb, skin warm and wet, writhing in his arms, as it went from a bluish tint to the full blush of scarlet in mere seconds, he would have demanded he be there. Had he known exactly how miraculous the actual birth process could be, the suffering and pain endured only to shed such extreme tears of joy, he would have questioned without end why he should not be present for the first, as well as the second and the third. If he could do it again, he would, for the intimacy of the time shared and memories gained were those about which they might speak to their dying days. If he had only known. He had missed so much.

And he had seen so much. The third child did not come into the world for him with the fierce reckoning of pride that the other two had. He had been there for his last son's birth, and while the baby had come through well, his wife had not. It was a horrible ordeal, the turning of the child within her womb, and nothing but prayers and herbal remedies stayed her cries. He feared Éowyn's death that day, and for the first time, he pondered whether he would want to live if his life should be without her. In the shuttered silence that followed, he had remained. All had departed the midwife, her aides, the head housekeeper cleaning up all evidence of their presence as they took the baby to the nursery. They left only her. Éowyn lay so pale against the sheets. The blood loss had been great, and it seemed hardly possible she could have strength to even breathe. He had stayed by her side, holding her limp hand in his own, daring not to shed tears for fear that they might some how perpetuate his fears. The sun had shone through the slits in the drawn curtains, brightly casting a glow that showcased a palette of late afternoon color. Dust particles flitted in the rays, and all was silent save the quiet rustle of the nurse who sat patiently in the corner, waiting should she be needed. The air was stifling and still, and normally Faramir would have wanted to open the window to let some freshness enter. But not on that day. He could not. He would not! Superstitiously he felt that the essence of her soul might drift away should he allow anything more enter the room. And so he had remained, quietly, patiently, painfully waiting for a sign, any sign, that she might live. It was long in coming.

Days later, she stirred. It was only a change in the course of her breath, a small turn of her hand, but he knew that was the moment he had been awaiting. In all that time, he had barely moved from his spot, praying for her return, willing all of his strength into her. When he saw it, the quiet indications that she might be waking, he cried out. Some might think he had gone mad then but he knew what he should do. He was on his feet in seconds and moving fast. With fleetest of foot he ran, his heart pounding, his mind racing ahead of where his body carried him. In an instant he was there in the nursery, and his arms swooped in to take that of his youngest son from the protesting nurse. He cared not that she felt he might wake the babe. Let the baby cry. Perhaps it might help. With more careful steps he hurried back to the room where he had left Éowyn only moments before. He met with disappointment. She had not awakened. She had lapsed again into dreams, her sunken features looking ever the more ghostly.

Tears spilled from his eyes but he willed them to stop. He would not be daunted! It might happen again, he reasoned, and then he would be there with reason enough that she might fight. In his arms the baby squirmed, crying out in that squelching call that was unique only to newborns. He rocked the child, seeing the shadow of the nursemaid in the hall, peering in, ready to take his son should Faramir pose a threat. Yet his son's cries served the goal Faramir had set forth. Éowyn shifted in her sleep. Renewed excitement stirred in him as her eyes squeezed lightly within the waking of dreams. He looked down on his youngest, wishing the wails to continue that he might wake her, and when he next looked to her face her eyes were open.

With a gasp of joy he was there, placing soft kisses upon her fingers and caressing her cheek. She was horribly weak, barely able to even lift her hand, but he lowered his son to her, helping to cradle the screaming child in her arms so that she might hold for the first time her new child. And what happened next gave him hope that their future might remain together. She smiled. His heart nearly burst for he feared he might never see the light of her smile again. He realized then her remedy was her family, and come what may, he held onto that, for he knew so long as they remained, she would yearn to live.

It was not easy to hold onto such hope, for Éowyn's recovery was arduous and she was laid to near ruin by the fever that followed days later, but he promised his heart he would not concede to death. He stayed with her, bringing the children near whenever he thought she might have strength enough for it. So long as they were near, she tried. He could see that her heart was tied to them, and that she did not want to be parted from them so long as she might struggle. And so she did, and in the end they won.

Still, this was not the kind of memory one shared over afternoon tea. This was one laid to the back of one's mind as the darkest of moments. It was a recollection left best uncalled, and Faramir would much rather it stayed where it had been than chased to the present. Éowyn lived. They had survived the ordeal, and the Valar had gifted them with another child still to come. He was steadfast in his belief then that he would relish his wife's presence whenever he may. He knew she was pivotal in all that he did, felt, and saw. So the fear of the machinations of a body ripe with child sent him to terror. He needed not Kattica to remind him of the terror those days wrought upon him.

He blinked his fears away, knowing it did not rule him and that the situation had not come to this. They had managed Kattica's pains, getting through the falseness of her labor by a very simple means. And Kattica's merry teasing had been of aid. In the present it was easy to see where they had gone. He was here, at Kattica's side, watching as she slid her fingers to Gimli's neck, checking for a pulse, looking into the Dawarf's eyes. How orderly she was in her task. Yet at the time of her labor, she had not been so cool. Neither had he been, for that matter, but his sense had prevailed. Somehow.

Like a hare being chased by a fox his mind had bounded over the hurdle of their dilemma. Vainly he had searched for an answer to overcoming her pains, panicked by the onset of them. He was not prepared to see to her delivery of a child born before its time, words of mockery and mirth not withstanding. His eyes searched, running absently over her form, across rock and soil, combing plant and tree. And then he had it. Old words, but those he recalled well for the debate they had once stimulated. Water. Most likely it was the fact that they sat in a shelter along the sandy shore of the river that reminded him. It was simple to believe that the case. But had he not experienced something similar in the events with his own wife, he might not have known. Frantically he took a stab at nothing, but somehow he remembered the midwife's words. And they applied to this scenario. It was an order for more fluids.

At the time he had laughed as he thought on it, and he did again now. Éowyn's reaction had been startling. It was late in her third pregnancy when she had been ordered to bed because of early contractions, much like Kattica was experiencing. Beyond the forced rest, the midwife had demanded the increase in water. Éowyn had balked, just as Kattica ended up doing. He understood. Being rather intimate with Éowyn on the details of such a request, he recalled her anger in following the demand. "I am burdened enough with the discomforts of my lower regions. Anyone who questions that deserves my ire. Yet you act as if this request is nothing! Already the need for relief to my bladder comes too frequently. 'More fluids!' Thank the Valar I no longer have a corset with which to fuss. These forsaken pantaloons are vexing enough, and in times like these I have half a mind to discard them completely." Faramir remembered he had blushed then at her directness. But Éowyn was hardly one to refrain from giving her opinion when she was riled.

It did not surprise him then when the Romany woman looked at him with an expression that could be compared to one she might have offered had he befriended an Orc. "Water?" she had responded with disdain. Yet, like Éowyn, he could see that deep down Kattica knew him to be right.

As he pondered it more, he recalled all the high points that followed for he and Kattica. At first Faramir thought they might have had difficulty finding a vessel from which to drink. They had left the camp in such a rush and he thought they had taken nothing with them. However, going through Kattica's belongings, he realized he was wrong. She emptied her pouch and the very deep pockets of her dress, and she revealed to him all she currently owned. Aside from a small satchel of various herbs and wrappings, she had with her eating utensils that were tied into a towel, a small wooden mortar and pestle for mixing healing agents, three apples, a tinderbox and flax, her sharply curved knife, grooming tools, and an odd assortment of string and shiny stones. An abundant shawl she untied from about her wide waist. The only things missing were an axe, a bedroll and some cookware, and he considered asking if she had those stowed away on her person as well. Without gawking, Faramir had to admit he was quite amazed, and he wondered, had the woman actually packed, what might she have hauled?

Immediately he had risen and dipped the bowl in the river, demanding she drink. The river had a rock bottom, and he knew the water to be pure and so he felt it safe enough to imbibe. She willingly complied, and one cup after another, she met with his demand. However, by the fourth or fifth refill she began to protest.

"Your pacing is wearying. I grow exhausted watching you. Sit down, my lord. Let the fluids have their effect," she said. It was a distraction he realized, but he also could see he must be growing tedious for her, for he noticed in that moment just how frantic he might have seemed. He allowed what he thought to be another quarter hour to pass while he slowly ate every morsel of one of the apples (he had not realized he had been so hungry). And then he pressed her again to drink more.

"Aye," she sighed, "in a moment." She rose for the privacy of what he believed might be a retreat to relieve herself.

Time wore on, and darkness followed. By the fourth time she got up to do the same duty, an hour had passed. She was rising. Again. Faramir came to see why she was frustrated, though he hardly understood the medical reasoning behind it. The volumes of liquid her body was expelling in comparison to how small the quantity she drank was incongruous. He could not fathom from where all the fluids came.

She shot him a harried look in answer to the querulous expression he posed with a raised brow. Sniping in answer she said, "It is not the amount, only the added pressure that does it! Truth told there is very little to show for my troubles!"

To that Faramir thought, Why even bother if you know there will be nothing? Why not wait until you are sure? but thought it better not to ask. Based on the tone of Kattica's voice, he felt sure he might be throttled if he spoke such a thought.

Of note though was the fact that she had drunk only a small amount in comparison to where he thought she should. The bowl that he filled and refilled with water was not large, nearly only the size of a small teacup and he thought that hardly a healthy amount. He felt it not truly uncalled for then, to ask that she drink at least twenty of these small bowls to make up what he thought might be an appropriate quantity, like the volume of what a good sized tankard might hold. Yet between trips to her private relief place and the sips she had taken thus far, no more than eight bowls had been drunk. Faramir was frustrated. This was taking some time, and Kattica no longer seemed willing to go along with his requests.

The good news was that the compressions upon her abdomen had seemed to abate, and he suspected the effects of the water were indeed taking hold. Still, he would be hard pressed to move forward given his fears of what could come and he had been prepared to be adamant in his refusal to do otherwise. Not until she had drunk the full twenty did he determine he was going to continue. Appointed meeting place or not, Mattias would have to wait. And if he was so impatient, he could just come find them.

Faramir frowned as he thought of it now. It was while he was musing these thoughts and trying to coerce Kattica to drink more that he they had heard sounds. It was not so great a noise, and truthfully, he had known not at the time what it could be. Recalling it all, he immediately felt guilt for the moment when he suggested it might be a voice. It had been, and now with hindsight, he wished he had acted sooner. At the same time, what he had said had caused fright for Kattica, and that was the last thing he had wanted. To make up for it he had felt it important to try to soothe her. He did not know if fear could prompt the induction of further birthing labor, but he did not want to find out either. He mouthed to her that it might be Mattias, and she brightened immediately. Still, to rule out anything dire, he took her knife and had begun to explore the area surrounding their holding place.

By this time night had thoroughly fallen. As a precaution, Faramir had refused to build a fire in case they were being pursued. If it was Mattias, he surely would not have seen them, hence the call. As one who had captained the Ranger squadrons, for safetys sake Faramir knew it to be a prudent strategy. Thus, his eyes were well adjusted to the darkness. Even still, he could make nothing of the noise for he saw no motion in the wilds.

He recalled his surprise then when Kattica had come up behind him. He had angered quickly because of it, for had he not realized her identity, he might have attacked her. She was a stubborn girl, it seemed, undaunted when her mind was made. He found her difficult to control, a spirit all her own.

She turned him to the opposite path from whence he had thought the noise had come. Even in this direction there was nothing, and he felt smug for that. Had it been just an animal? He suggested it and began to believe so. Of course, she would think it a mountain cat. A fearful observation, he thought, putting it together with everything else he knew of her. However, the notion that the sound came from an animal did not last and this was the part that pained Faramir's conscious most. With the call of his name and then the rumbling sound of earth, he realized how terribly wrong he had been. Quickly he came about and the location of the voice was detected. The noise came from a small gap where the base of a tree had been eroded away at the river's edge.

His decision to go without light had immediately changed as he looked into the pitch of the space. He had recognized the voice. It was unmistakably Gimli's. They lit torches then, using them to bring light into the tunnel, and Faramir began the task of finding a way down. Those had been trying moments. The earth's quaking tumble had dispelled an onslaught of rock that could have easily crushed even a stout and hardy character such as the Dwarf. Mercifully, the light showed them that that had not happened. Instead, a shower had fallen all about the form of the Dwarf and Faramir could make him out in light made dimmer by dust.

However, it had taken several heart-pounding minutes to ascertain this fact. Gimli was unmoving, and Faramir was certain he could age years in the time it might take to reach his friend. How guilty his soul felt now for the delay spent in aimlessly roaming the circumference of their hiding place when it was the Dwarf's voice he had heard. How dare he and Kattica toss about silly banter when Gimli was so near and yet in such terrible danger?

When all the dust had cleared and Faramir had come to his senses enough to beg Kattica's shawl and one of her many petticoats, he fashioned a crude rope and was able to snake his way into the hole. From there, with help from the torch, he was able to ascertain the condition of Gimli. There was a tablet of rock pressing down on the dwarf's lower body, nearly half the size of a door, though only a few inches thick. Even still, it was heavy enough to crush. Yet there had been a miracle. It appeared smaller rocks had gathered about the form of the dwarf in the cascade before this one had fallen. They had made a threshold, a wall of sorts, around the Dwarf's supine form, and the stone had not harmed. Had Gimli been conscious, he might have even been able to wiggle his way out, but as it was, Faramir was left with the task of releasing the Dwarf.

Fortune was most definitely shining upon Faramir then, for as he pondered this worry, the sheen of a knife's edge reached his eye, and he realized that beneath the Dwarf lay the mischievous weapon of which his diminutive friend had boasted. The halberd was still to be had, and Faramir gasped with joy as he pulled it free. It appeared duller than it had when he had seen it in their camp, chinked in a few places and quite dirty, but it was not the knife end that Faramir wished to utilize. It was the shaft.

In short work, Faramir had managed to lever the long rod beneath the stone and lift. He only needed an inch or two with which to pull the Dwarf free, and it was given. Still, it was a panicky few moments, for if the slab slipped past the rock ledge, it could slide free, unrestrained to crush the Dwarf. In addition, Gimli showed no signs of cognizance, and this worried Faramir. What if the Dwarf were damaged in ways they could not help? Their lives were already in serious danger. To have one amongst them who was seriously hurt . . .

Faramir had realized his fears were taking over then, and he had admonished himself. He needed to act on the immediate events, not fictional ones. And from there his faculties prevailed. Gimli would be free of this hole and Faramir would make it so. After a brief exam to make sure all limbs were intact and basically unharmed, the Lord of Emyn Arnen, with all simplicity, tied a harness from the rope and knotted it about the torso of the Dwarf. Then scampering back up the rope, which Kattica had tied to a tree as an anchor, from the top he literally dragged the Dwarf out of the hole. It was a clumsy set up, Gimli limply dangling from a rope, while he and Kattica pulled. The going was not so easy, and there was a point when Faramir looped the slack of the rope under a boulder, showed Kattica how to use her legs to maintain this grip, and then dipped into the hole with the length of the halberd he had carried back with him. Amusingly, he snatched the Dwarf like a fish on a hook while Kattica took up the slack on the rope.

In an awkward display of jutting arms, lopsided stances, and uncoordinated actions, somehow they managed to clear the Dwarf from the hole, and once free, Faramir quickly carried him back to the security of their hiding place and placed him on the ledge that Kattica had used before as her resting spot.

Kattica was immediately at Gimli's side examining the Dwarf while Faramir hovered with worry. His thoughts no longer strayed to the past. He was completely focused upon the moment.

But how had the Dwarf come to be there? And where was Aragorn? His thoughts strayed, and he attempted to reigned them back. He struggled for control as dreadful fear rode over him. In all honesty, the fate of Aragorn and Gimli had never passed far from Faramir's thoughts. Self-preservation had had to come first, but now that he and Kattica and Legolas appeared to be free, the old worry for his friends was given its ample chance for return. The elder woman had confessed that she had them hidden away and cared nothing for their fate. "They can rot where they land for all I care," she had said, and at the time he had not known what that meant, only that they were not under the witch's current guard. Yet he had had faith. He could imagine Gimli and Aragorn to be clever enough to evade the old woman, wherever she had imprisoned them. He and Legolas had escaped after all, and they had indeed been under the witch's scrutinizing watch. Surely the King and the Dwarf would do the same.

Still, he feared for them. In his mind, they all needed to flee this place. So long as Bregus roamed, the woods would not be safe. There was no telling how the old woman might retaliate. He was thankful then that Gimli was now with him. He was also grateful that the witch had not discovered their identities. Had Bregus realized 'Strider' was actually a great king, the havoc she could have wrought would have been undeniably fearsome. His friend was safe from that at least, for at the moment she considered him an average man. Aragorn's identity was likely secret and the same held true for himself. Had the old woman made the discovery, they would have been valuable hostages.

He had to be found! Mayhap he is already free, Faramir hopefully thought, trying not to consider the alternatives. Like he and Legolas, it could have been that, through the circumstances of his predicament, Aragorn had somehow been separated from Gimli. And if that were the case, likely it was that Aragorn would do as Faramir considered. Make way to the soldier's camp.

His first thoughts for their survival had been these. He hoped Aragorn would follow the same course. With stealth, they could reconnoiter with any loved ones who had made their way back or were still present at Henneth-Annün, and then make the march to the safety of the soldier's camp. That was his plan. With a clarity not previously found, he could now envision it. If only they could achieve it in their motley state.

Yet, with all this pondering and recalling, he realized he still was not quite right. There was something he had forgotten. Something apparent, obvious. He shook his head, angered with himself that he could not think of it. He sighed. At least he realized that foremost on his mind should be Gimli, and for that he offered a small prayer. Dear Valar, please make Gimli well, he whispered. He then turned the full of his attention to Kattica as she continued to survey the unconscious Dwarf.

"He is hurt," Faramir heard himself say, surprised at the calm of his voice but finding it silly he should state the obvious. Dear gods, he thought, am I back to this?

Kattica glanced up and raised a brow to the remark. Her mouth tugged to a wry smile as she commented with sarcasm biting her words. "I had not noticed. Now, help me to raise his head that I might remove this bandage," she said, pulling free the now-filthy rag.

Faramir blushed in embarrassment, but that lasted but a moment. He grimaced as he looked upon what was unveiled. "Dear Valar! Look at that lump." A huge knot appeared raised on the Dwarf's forehead.

"I see it. Gather a wet cloth for me that we might rcool it and reduce its size," she said, giving it little heed beyond a touch and a glance before continuing her exam.

"You will do nothing else? But there is a bump the size of a goose egg on his brow!" How could she act as if something so ugly and obvious was of such little worry? He could not fathom it.

"In the morning it will be barely a bruise if we chill it now with cool cloths. I daresay it smarts, but my concern is more for this." She pursed her lips as she looked at the bloody gash to Gimli's temple.

"How does he fare?" Faramir asked solemnly, looking also at the wound, and fully engaged in her examination.

"He suffers a concussion, but it might be minor. If he was walking about and calling to us, I cannot think it to be too bad."

Still, his worries were hampered by the absence of Aragorn, and he wished the Dwarf to recover that he might question it.

Beside him, Kattica sighed deeply, and he wondered about her reason as she had just assured him that the Dwarf would be well enough.

"His foot," she said softly, nodding toward the limbs. "This one is broken," she said, nodding to the damaged appendage. And while there was makeshift splint work to show for the injury Faramir wondered how she knew with such certainty it was broken. Outwardly, there was nothing he could see that marked the damage she claimed. But then she pointed out, "See the swelling." Faramir noted the tight fit of trousers at the boot cuff of one foot and that it did not exist in the other. The boot had much give in it though, even if the trousers did not.

"Should we remove this?" Faramir asked, his hand grasping the heel of the boot on the injured foot.

"Nay! Have you no knowledge of treating field wounds?" Kattica scowled, her brow creasing though a smile pressed her lips.

Faramir watched her with a critical eye, feeling she might be egging him on again. He could see now this might be a pattern they would follow, rancorous words spoken only as a means to calm and amuse. He had needed them, and again he realized how great her abilities as a healer. The unspoken message was passed. He came to realize her meaning. Nothing was meant by the barb. It simply told him she would not joke so if the Dwarf were more critically ill. And so he gave her an equally snide remark. "I treated you, did I not?" he replied in a mockery of defensive speaking.

"Only because I was too frightened at the moment to treat myself. Besides, that was labor, not a wound," she said as she continued examining the Dwarf, her voice dismissing him.

"And more frightening than a wound it was," he retorted in an attempt to one-up her.

She smiled, and then looked up at him impishly. "Bravery is not your strength, is it?"

Faramir took the role of one offended. "Lady! I will have you know I am reckoned by many to be a very valiant warrior. There are even songs sung of my part in the battle of Osgiliath!"

She clucked her tongue as she rolled her eyes mockingly. "Apparently I know not of what I speak. It seems your bravery fails you then only when it comes to treating females."

"I came through well enough," Faramir said while puffing out his chest, forgetting all about his worries for Gimli.

"Bah! You were as frightened as a hen when a tom draws near! I thought, after all your talk of your wife, you might have some knowledge of the female body. With your ineptitude though, I wonder, mercy bedding or not, how you ever managed to father children," Kattica said, nearly laughing as the words spilled out.

"Gimli!" Faramir exclaimed, suddenly surprised and overjoyed by the Dwarf's recovery.

"Would it not be better if I just allowed my eyes to stay sealed. I could drift back to sleep this way." One eye squinted open at Faramir. "That is if you will stop bickering."

"Who speaks to me?" Gimli asked, his eyes opening as an apprehensive expression took his face.

The stern expression of the Dwarf immediately melted away as Gimli's smile matched Kattica's and his voice softened several decibels. "Aye, you are the girl. Er . . . "

Gimli barely seemed to notice Faramir then. "Yes, yes, Kattica. I fetched water for you."

The smile faded a bit as Gimli remembered something, though his voice remained kind. "May I have some?"

"Yes, please." Then leaping back to the former topic, he said, "You are feeling better then?" while she helped raise his head a few inches that he might drink from the freshly filled cup Faramir presented.

Kattica blushed. "You inquire of me? I would inquire of you, friend Gimli. Aye, I am well." Faramir snorted. He was met by Kattica's sharp glare of reproach.

She quickly turned away from him as Gimli's charm kicked in. "I am glad. A delicate thing like you must guard your health, especially now." Then he held the cup up, scrutinizing it for the first time. "But this is hardly a sip. More please, Faramir. I shall raise a new thirst before I quench the one I have at this rate."

Faramir snorted. "Is there something caught in your throat, Faramir? You seem to be making an unearthly noise," Gimli noted.

Faramir was. His glee that the girl was being admonished for her refusal to drink by the Dwarf in such an unknowing fashion was clearly visible.

"Ignore him. It has been a long day," Kattica said, scowling at Faramir before gentle eyes smiled again at the Dwarf.

"And a long journey as well. My water skin ran dry some time ago," Gimli said in converse.

Gimli frowned, turning his eyes then upon the Prince. "What? Water? Of course I remember water. I just asked for it, did I not?"

Faramir growled. "Not water. Your journey. How did you come to be within that hollow?"

Apparently Gimli's thoughts were the same as his head jerked with the sudden reminder. "Aragorn!" Gimli's head shot up quickly though apparently that was not a good thing to do. He immediately winced then sank back down, eyes shutting. Speaking from this position, Gimli softly answered. "Aragorn . . . do you know of him, Faramir?"

"I? I was hoping you did," Faramir answered, anxiety now clearly showing on his face.

"Nay. I wished he may have sent you out in quest for me." Opening his eyes, Gimli queried, fear showing on his stout face. "And if not, how do you come to be here? And with Kattica no less? Where is Legolas?" His questions picked up velocity as he went on.

Faramir grimaced, squeezing eyes shut before he raised a hand to gently stop the Dwarf. His face showed concern and confusion. "Halt in your questions please, my friend. My head reels, for I have many of my own. Something has happened, Gimli, and I will explain my part of it to you if you will explain your part to me. Aragorn is not with you. Then where did he go?"

"I know not, nor will I be contented to tell you the little I know until you tell me Legolas is safe." Gimli's voice said that he meant these words. Stubborn Dwarf! Faramir accused in his mind, mildly amused that his thoughts echoed words he had often heard Legolas use.

"That is hardly the assurance I ask!" Gimli said tersely, raising his head a few inches to assert himself to the man of Gondor.

Faramir quickly explained, "I fear it is all I can give you at the moment. We escaped separately. I assume he took to the trees and slipped past seeking eyes "

"Please, Gimli, all in due time! I will relay all to you, but tell me first what you know of Aragorn!" Faramir tried to calm, but truthfully he was growing riled himself.

The Dwarf lay back, taking a heavy breath before saying, "I know nothing. I apparently fell, but I found no sign of him. I thought perhaps he sought help, and so I waited for him, but he never came." Making eye contact with the man, he said, "If things are as dire as you lead me to believe, I fear for what might have occurred, Faramir."

From Gimli's other side, Kattica, who had been strangely silent, spoke. "The vision," she whispered.

"What?" Faramir asked, confused by her small interjection into the conversation.

She looked as if she might cry. "In the spell Bregus and I cast. We made the earth open by setting traps. And we made Aragorn see the buck. He was distracted and did not see Gimli fall. Then later, he was running. I did not see him any more after that, as the serpentine spell wore off, but the traps were set all about in that area. He too must have fallen."

Faramir gritted his teeth, realizing his earlier fears were indeed a reality. He bowed his head, thinking about the course of their actions. "We must find him," he said, though he knew nothing really had changed. They would still have to reach the soldier's camp first.

"What of Legolas? Mayhap he returned to Henneth-Annün and is doing just that," Gimli offered and Faramir noted it was said without knowing any of what Faramir might know.

"More likely he would have gone to the soldiers' camp," Faramir replied, laying a hand upon the Dwarf's shoulder. "There is much I would tell you."

Gimli muttered, "The women are well at least. So long as they sat by, though I venture they must be frantic by now."

Faramir gasped. A wrenching thought rang through his head and he choked on the air in his lungs for how startled he was. "Oh no!" he whispered. So violent was the idea that he stepped backward, away from the Dwarf. His heart raced as he considered the dark thoughts, his breath hitching in his throat. Why had he not thought it before? How could he forget? "The women!" he exclaimed. "Dear Valar! Gimli, you do not suppose . . ." He turned then back to the Dwarf but he needed not look there for answer. His mind already confirmed what he thought to be true. "I must go!"

Gimli, startled, propped himself up on his elbows and not without pain. Clearly he struggled to sit and Faramir's fright seemed to propel him, despite the pain. "Nay, Faramir! Where would you go?"

"Éowyn will not be content to sit quietly! Ah, what a fool I am that I did not see! She will set out for the soldier's camp! She may have already done so!" His legs were shaking, and he felt he must move as his heart thundered wildly in his ears.

The Dwarf's words rang out. "She would not be alone in doing this! Arwen would go with her! They would have each other," Gimli said, this time seemingly attempting the reassurances as he sat himself more fully upright.

Faramir swung around, eyes fearful and fierce with determination. "That is worse, Gimli! An Elf and an unborn child! These are what the witch wants! Bregus will find them. I know she will!" Turning, he cast eyes on Kattica, gripping her by the shoulders he exclaimed, "I must get to them before she does!"

Kattica's face turned angry then, and stern. "And then Bregus will have everything she needs to succeed! Forget not what she had planned for you, Faramir!"

The man turned away, his gaze fixed on nothing, gesturing with his hands as if he were physically pushing her away. "It cannot be helped! The women know not that which she may do to them. They must be warned away!"

"And who would go in my steed? You? Your situation is no better than mine," he said in answer, anger making his tone chiding.

"Then let us go together!" she offered brightening the moment with some small hope.

"Aye! A fine idea, and I am ready!" the Dwarf announced, sliding off the stone bench only to immediately crumble in a dead faint.

"Gimli!" Both Kattica and Faramir ran to his fallen form, Kattica's hand finding a pulse.

Seeing Gimli still breathed and surmising he would survive, Faramir rose. "Stay with him, Kattica," he ordered. His fears would not be allayed in this delay. He could not wait.

Faramir tried to take a breath before speaking though a fire ran through his veins. He felt panic and staying in one place was an agony to him. His voice shook as he spoke and the tempo of his speech increased as he did. "I am going to go down river to where our hold is. If I am lucky I will meet up with Mattias. If I do I will send him back to you. But I must reach Henneth-Annün before the women part! With all good graces I will return here with them in short order. Wish luck to me, Kattica!"

She shook her head. "I cannot! I feel this is wrong. Let us wait until Gimli has his strength and then we all might " she offered, pleading.

"Too much time has already passed! Do you not see!" he interrupted. "I fear . . . I fear . . ." His sorrow then rose to the surface and he could no longer bury it. "How did I miss it? How could I not know what she would do?" His expression was one of heartbreak and suffering for his own failing, and he raised a shaking hand to bow his head.

"You have not been yourself . . ." Kattica began by excusing him, stepping forward as if to console him, but then she stopped. He knew his glare must be fierce for he attempted to smite her good intentions with the rage enflaming him. To Faramir, no excuse for his failure would ever suffice. To think he had forgotten to count his wife in their numbers. Unforgivable. Especially after devoting so much contemplation to her. It was inconceivable that any reasoning was a viable excuse.

Faramir could see that Kattica saw whet he felt. She pulled his hand away, and squeezed his strong fingers within her own. Her eyes locked with his as she silently passed him her assurances. She spoke, fear stripped from her voice. "Then go! Go with luck! And hurry your return!"

He nodded gratefully and then he ran. He ran faster than he could remember running. He ran with the speed he had when used when he knew his son's cries could save his wife's life. Faramir ran as if Éowyn's life depended upon him.

Bregus flinched. The chill of his breath caused a shiver to race up her spine. It had been many hours since Bäla had spoken to her, and so beguiled was she in her magical incantations that she had barely noticed anything, let alone Bäla's absence. She had been caught off guard.

"We are safe for the moment," she whispered, trying to ignore his presence. "The Elf may be harmed if we attempt to move him sooner than when he might be needed."

Bregus sighed. She had expected words of the like from Bäla when she had decided to stay in their temporary camp for the night. For the moment, she was intent on brewing this potion, and she really did not care to bandy words about it. Furthermore, his reaction was predictable, especially as the hour drew nearer to what had been appointed his transformation time. She knew he would not be contentedly stalled for another night when his desires were so near. Yet only she could bring them to fruition and she was not about to grant him his greatest wish until she had succeeded in attaining her own quest. Though chagrined he may be, Bäla would have to wait, for accomplishing this task meant slowing her pace. Too much had occurred and at too rapid a rate. She needed to account for the changes in circumstance.

She could not ignore the fact that she was frustrated too. This night had not transpired as she had intended. Nor had the day. In fact, so much had gone astray from her original intentions that all her aspirations had nearly toppled her many times over. She was not about to evoke more complications by acting hasty.

Her mind ruminated over the deeds that had turned her scheme dour. She had thought it so simple. It should have been. Everything had been laid so nicely in place. With very little effort, the Elf and Man had become hers. In her prior planning, this had been the hardest part to conceive, yet they had nearly been delivered to her door, a neat little package contributed by the predictions of Bäla. All she needed do from then was march into the Protected Place and cast her spell. It was a very easy scheme. Uncomplicated and simple. In the planning, it seemed as though nothing could go wrong.

It had, though. With hindsight, Bregus recognized her flaw. It had nearly cost her many times over this day, and truthfully she was surprised she still maintained any control given the slippery path she had traveled because of this weakness. It pained her to think on it, but her failing was this: she did not have it in her to truly imagine all the counter actions of those who opposed her.

No doubt Bäla had intervened on her behalf from the spirit world. Either that or luck was on her side. Although Bregus considered herself a wily foe, circumstances had played to her benefit more times than not this day, and certainly more than she could herself maneuver. Whether luck or Bäla's intervention turned the situation to her favor, she was grateful. Had this fortune not come, she might well be facing the fates tonight.

In the past, she realized, Kattica had been her only real challenge when it came to confrontations. All others she encountered were simple transgressions she might easily control. Kattica, perhaps, was even easier to manipulate, for the mere supposition that harm could be done to any of the tribe usually kept the girl in line. Thus, for Bregus, the difficulties of looking ahead, guessing actions, or reading intentions were never really much of a problem. Her people were malleable and followed Bregus' commands and whims with little question.

But these others . . . ! These strangers had derailed her plans so many times that she could hardly fathom it. She had pulled so many feats to keep them under control, and her efforts ever seemed to fail. What was it with the strangers that gave them such advantage? When the serpentine spell had failed she had thought by relinquishing the four hunters she might have simplified her task. By focusing solely on snaring just the Elf and the Man she thought it might be easier to achieve her plan. There was much less with which to contend when she locked away the Dwarf and the dark-haired stranger. Yet when the Elf and the Man fought her, she had not anticipated their moves. At least not to the extent that she faced. They were not simple hostages. Further they played on Bregus' fears. Soldiers! she thought, frowning with the consideration. The strangers had alluded military force might be about, or had it been her own imagining that brought that revelation? Either way, the thought of armed militia made her stomach turn with apprehension.

It would be difficult, however, to turn back from her goal, even with the threat of real harm. She stood on the precipice of a very magical feat, and it excited her no small amount. The outcome was everything she had ever dreamed and the act would elevate her to a point that no other shuvani had ever achieved. If she succeeded, her power would be supreme, greater than any living mortal, and her beauty too would be unrivaled. Her life would be infinite and all these things combined would be hers. The thought was grand! What an amazing gift. As such, she knew she was poised for either phenomenal success or incomprehensible failure. There was nothing in between. And for that she knew she need act with some caution.

"I know why you speak this way, Bäla. You hope that I might act on your behalf and move at a quicker pace. You cannot fool me," she whispered into the dark.

There was a long silence that followed and she thought perhaps she might have humbled him enough to chase him away for a time. Her focus went back to her brew as she steeped the flower heads into the powdered bark mixture that she had been slowly simmering. She reached into her mind and uttered the words for the potion. "Du' dera i tru-pos svapati. Kesh e lus me hum taibhi tuv'am sov." Then as a froth began to rise to the top of the liquid, she ladled it into a smaller tin. When she collected all there was of the foamy gray concoction, she blew on it and swirled it about in the bowl until it settled into a muddy liquid at the bottom. Crushing the berries of the plant between her fingers, she dribbled the juice into the mixture. Immediately its coloring went from a milky gray to a crystal liquid tinted an earthy red. With this final addition complete, she carefully poured the liquid into a long vial and stopped the top with a piece of cork. She dropped it then into her pouch.

"Do not tease me, Bregus. I speak of haste for reasons!" There was urgency in the voice and Bregus took note of it.

"What is it that frightens you, Bäla?" she asked aloud, though with annoyance, for she felt sure his answer would be a contrived thing created to work her into an agitated state.

"It wearies me. You know this. Tell me and be done with this game," she answered.

"Close your eyes then and I will show you what is to be seen," he said, and Bregus could feel the pull of the spirit world upon her. It seemed Bäla would not leave her be until she relinquished herself to his whims. She only hoped it would be attained quickly so she might not be too fatigued by it.

She did as he said and immediately she could feel a gust of wind lace around her. A chill ran up her spine as she felt his cold fingers come to her brow. And then she saw what he intended to show her as clouds parted and the visions became clear. In her mind she could see the Dwarf being freed from the chasm, and then she saw the dark-haired man and another whose face remained in the shadows working their way down a stony path. There was a quickness in the steps, and it appeared that he knew what direction he was to take, never hesitating in his pace. Lastly, she saw the Dwarf and Man free, conferring, weapons drawn, a host of soldiers running to meet them, all done within the brightness of day.

And then the vision faded and Bäla again spoke. "They are being freed from their holds, even as you make this pitiful elixir. It will not take long before they come for you with their league of soldiers."

There was no denying that, as much as she felt she could predict Bäla, he had the power to catapult her into a state of fear when he truly desired it. Just by mentioning the idea of armed warriors, she felt her heart race. Bregus' fear of failure was strong, but so too was her fear of hurt at the soldiers' hands. Bregus did not like their kind. Not many of her people did, for they had seen too often the brutality militant might leveraged. In fact, the fate of her immediate family mother, father, brothers had fallen victim to the accusations laid upon them by soldiers. It had been shortly after she and Bäla had wed that the ferocity of policed guardsmen was turned upon them. All of them had died under the iron gauntlet of those soldiers' fists. The accused crime had been one of theft, or more likely for simply being gypsies. Bregus shuddered to think her fate might have been the same as theirs had she not left when she had. And even after that, there was evidence enough for her heart to strike a cord of wariness whenever she met or saw a soldier pass. She has witnessed many lands and many armies, and always the torment of these guards was the same. There were many of her people who suffered and whether innocent or not, if one were Romany they could expect to feel the brunt of steel-fisted blows if captured by military like. A term of imprisonment was almost certain with every encounter, and sometimes it came without ever being given freedom again.

"I can help you, but you must act!" Bäla said, interrupting these thoughts. Bregus gulped at the words. "If you go now to the Protected Place and you act on my behalf, I can hold them off. I can keep them away until your turn comes. And then we can live!"

A burst of laughter suddenly emerged from Bregus like the rustle of leaves on a gusty day. She could not help her amusement, for it was more at the trepidation she had felt than at what he offered that she chortled. The preposterous nature of Bäla's proposal was a given, yet she had nearly been duped. It was the twist of having her restore him first that had given him away however. "Brilliant you are, my love! I should enjoy seeing how your mind works when we meet again. But it shan't be tonight. You must learn to be patient."

"You will do it, though?" he asked, and Bregus was startled by the abruptness of the question. He had never before asked if she would do it. It was always a given, or so she thought. It was a matter of fact, and she had never even considered she had a choice in the matter. Her belief was not entirely true, for though she knew the decision was hers, it was not a choice she could easily deny. Bäla wanted a physical body so desperately, and if it was not given to him, he would find a way, from the spirit world, to give her grief and misery forever. He would make every breathing moment a hell. He too was eternal in his present guise, and if he stayed in that form after having given her the secret that would return her to beauty and long life, he would ever be nagging and prying and tormenting her until it could be done in return, and he could be human again. She indeed had a choice, but she had never taken in the possibility of employing it.

"Of course I will," she said, but she was not really thinking that she would. It was titillating to consider that she might go against him. How thrilling to know that she ruled the event, and what she chose would be what drove their actions.

On the other hand, so much of her desire was exacted upon Bäla's being with her. In a way, it was how she sought revenge upon him for all the cruel moments he had derived when he had truly breathed life. Furthermore, this time, she would be the more powerful between them. A gleeful smile lit her lips at that thought before turning to melancholy again. Far more true, though, and sincere, she realized with an earnest heart that she would not want to live in solitude. That thought gave her pause and made her fully recognize her unhappiness. She was alone now, and she found no joy in it. Though he was wicked and spiteful, Bäla was a greater companion than no companion at all. Of note to the matter was the additional knowledge that Bäla, in his moments of good, was very capable of passion and empathy and kindness. It was therefore foreign to her mind to think that he might not be there. In all her scheming and planning it was assumed he would be. It almost gave her physical pain to think he might not.

But there were conflicts in this argument. The decision was not so much black and white. Her thoughts strayed. The face of her eldest son, Mattias, came to the fore of her thinking and with that fleet moment all her doubts laid before her. What if she failed? With desperate fear, she realized just how difficult it would be to do as Bäla wanted.

Her eyes searched for Mattias across the camp, his face lit up by the fire. Her long memory reached out for his features, picking them at just a glance. He was easily spotted for the familiarity of his face. Since his birth she had memorized every nuance of his form. Were she blind she could know him by touch and sound. Her son was so much a thing of awe to her. Merely looking upon him inspired her for the gift that he was. She shook her head. For the gift all her children were. And in her correction she realized this was true, for there were traits in all her sons that she loved. But for the moment her gaze was fixed on Mattias as she pondered the fate she weighed out for him.

He looked pitiable with his arms wrestled away and tied back, his mouth gagged. A part of her yearned to simply free him and beg his forgiveness, while another part of her knew she could not. He could never forgive. As if casting her own guilt, she projected her self-loathing into his glance, his demeanor. He could not love a demon such as I, she sadly thought, knowing that he could only see her as a monster. Yet he had been hers. Faithful and loving. Why did he stray? Before he had turned, when he was still under her control, she thought it certain that she could never hurt him, even for all the torment Bäla would inflict. At the time though, the feelings needed no exploration. She had Anborn. There was no need to do harm to Mattias. Threats to Kattica she may have made, but she had not really considered Mattias might take Anborn's place. Cursing her fate, she saw the turn of events had occurred when Mattias had been swayed. The look of hate that had filled his eyes when she had confronted him told her more than enough. He had betrayed her. It was then that she knew she could never have her son back. He was torn from her, and she could see that displeasure and deceit filled his heart. He could not love her. Not as he had. Such remorse twisted her heart with anguish. Cold spikes of pain drove down upon her soul with the realization. She was sick at the loss.

Yet somehow, in a twisted way, she thought she might still show him her love if she did as Bäla wished. In the coiled hollow of her despair, she somehow knew that despite any possession by Bäla, a part of Mattias might live on in his body. If he could see how she loved him then . . . If she could hold him in her arms evermore, he might realize . . . He might see then her adoration and maternal compassion still lived if she could only demonstrate her heart to him.

It was a very convoluted ploy, and a part of her recognized that. She knew a mother's love should not come in such a tightly sealed container. It would be difficult to discern a difference in the feelings she might show as a mother and as a lover. Yet she felt desperately lost, knowing her son was no longer one she could count as her own. She was willing to believe anything should she win his affections back. He had been a faithful follower for so long. Bitter tears parted her eyes as she looked upon him. In that instant he glanced up, as if feeling her stare, and fearful shock for the open emotions she displayed made her realize this weakness was exposed. She immediately turned away. She would not allow him to see. The feelings of heartbreak were too brittle, too raw. He had hurt her by denying his love, by shunning her and casting her aside. She could act cold too. She would not allow the bare ache to be exposed. He would not know her pain.

Deep down, though, her heart pounded its agonizing thrum. Could she really do this? The thought occurred to her and she tried to answer it. When it came to the imagining of what life after the completion of the spells might be, she really could not visualize it. So much else could she see, but not the taking of Mattias' soul. With the man, Anborn, it had been clear. So much did that one look as Bäla that it was easy to place her husband's persona upon him and have him speak and act as Bäla would. Those thoughts came easily. But with Mattias, in her mind he ever remained her son, even when she knew he could not be.

"I felt you might turn against me," Bäla said, speaking softly, then adding, "for Mattias' sake."

She realized it was frustration that chained her to her fears, frustration which lead to disappointment. Things were not as they were intended to be. She was meant to be in control of the situation as it stood before her. Had things gone as planned, she should have been, at this very moment, youthful, powerful and indomitable. But she was not. She was not! That plan had somehow fallen astray, and all the cursing, vexation and blame could not change the situation. She was as she had been, and she wondered if this were not truly what she was meant to be. Her resolve sank, and she began to doubt seriously the power of her conviction.

Was she wrong in her desire to rule? To win? Was this not the nature of all mankind? To fight? To strive? To bully and cow and maneuver until one came out on top? She thought she was not so wrong, even for the sacrifices she must make to achieve the pinnacle of her goals.

But what of the sacrifices? Mattias would suffer, this was true, and up until this moment, her regrets on his behalf had been there, but understood as necessary. He would be painful to lose, for he was, after all, her son. She could not ignore that she felt love for him, yet losing him was one of the risks she had faced in her quest. Or so she had thought. But now, as she faced the reality of her failures and the inevitability of them should she lose one more time, she wondered if she had not taken the wrong path. She had so blindly followed behind her desperation, she had not truly seen the damage she wrought. Nor had she cared for it before this moment. Yet on the edge of failure or success, she knew she was playing dangerous games with the people and lives that fed her ego. The question came, and it whispered to her soul. What if she was wrong?

It was the fault of these strangers, these brief regrets. Seldom before had she had such consideration of her failures. She supposed it was because so much rode upon controlling them that she had to worry about her access to good fortune. Yet they had proven again and again in such a short span of time that they might gain the better of her. It sent her reeling in self-doubt. It made her wary of her ability for triumph.

She looked up, trying to make out Bäla's form in the shadows. He knew of her doubts and frustrations. Her eyes were filled with tears as she sought him out. She said, "And if I choose not to follow as you deem?"

He spoke in a voice bereft of anger, as if he knew threats would do little to persuade her in this emotional state. "You know what I should do. You know of the demons I will press upon you."

Bregus sighed, "Aye. I do." However, there was no fight in her answer, only something of resignation. Bäla would be merciless. He would not forgive her should she fail. Then her head lifted in thought as she said, "But you you should know. Tell me, how do I resolve this? Tell me the outcome. You must foresee it. Do you know what will happen?"

He was behind her then, his voice whispering into her ear, sadly lamenting, "I know not what will come."

Her brow furrowed with confusion at this, for Bäla was in the spirit world and his vision went far beyond that of mortal beings. "How can this be? You should know. Always do you."

"Not from the Protected Place. I cannot see there, and I will not until you open the door for me. When you speak the incantation, I may come, but until then I cannot see into that hold," he said.

Again Bregus nodded, as if understanding. "You do not know then of the soldiers or if any barricade themselves there?"

"I do not. I can only assure you that if there were soldiers in that cave you might have seen them by now."

She sighed again. Of course, this was logical, and he was likely to be right. It was her fear that had guided her.

She felt suddenly exhausted then, her limbs heavy and limp. The whole of her soul was listless, bereft of her strength. Not knowing the outcome seemed to take away her will to pursue and she thought for that moment she just might surrender her plans. What was there for which to fight if she were only going to face defeat again? She did not think she had it in her to muster strength against the unknown.

Yet there was one more question to ask. She watched the small fire she had been using, letting its warmth soften the pain in her soul. "Why Mattias?" she asked, for she still had not decided what she might do, weighing her heart to see if she had the desire to venture forth despite the odds. She thought it might help her to hear his thoughts on this action.

"You wonder why I am not opposed to doing him harm," Bäla stated. It was not a question, for it seemed he anticipated it.

"He is nothing to me. I no longer feel of him as one does a son. I no longer feel anything from your world. What I see from where I live is that you are but shadows that hover about the bodies of reality. I see nothing of whom you are nor do I know anything to love within you. You are spirits that wait to pass and those in passing are the ones for whom I may attach myself. They are the ones I can see, to whom I may speak."

"I have," he said, and Bregus came to see what he meant. She had little to hold her in this world. In its present state, her life was passing. She knew this to be true.

Bäla continued, "Mattias is a tool. He simply looks of me, and that is all I require. I have no other reason for choosing him."

"You loved him once," she said, hoping he might recall. Yet it was her mind where the memories of earlier times stirred. She could remember happier days with all three of her sons, days when the miasma from such poisoning thoughts had not penetrated the body of their lives. When she recalled them, touched them with her mind, she felt then her heart might break for all the love she could lathe upon them. Blankly she wondered what had become of those times. She had relinquished so much of her feelings for her boys since their early days. She had acted the role of mother once, just as any other woman of the camp might do. Somehow, though, that spring of emotional bond had dissipated into something taken more for granted. Putting it together in her mind, tracing back the history of when everything had changed, she realized it had not been them who had committed to other ventures. It had been her. She still loved them all; it was that they had just grown up. Their dependence upon her had shifted. When that had happened, she had begun to focus more and more on herself, thinking they no longer needed her. This pained her, for she realized she blamed them for straying when it had been she. They had only done what they were supposed to do. Yet she knew she had it in her to love them just as they had been when they were but small children, open to attention and very needy for it. She would grant them that place in her heart again if they would only allow her.

Desperately she sought out each with her eyes, assessing the damage there might be in her children because of her negligence. Gordash was nearest and she could see he was tormented by something. Mattias had said something to him and though she knew not the words, she suspected their meaning. His eye caught hers as she gazed upon him. He quickly turned away, face reddening, as if she had found him pondering impure thoughts. He needs to know I will love him, even if he doubts me, for I know that is what stirs his discontent. Yet she could also see his loyalty was with her, though blind loyalty was only one thing she desired of him. How she might muster the courage to tell him she loved him no matter his torn heart she did not know, and she contented herself for the moment by believing his loyalty was enough.

She turned to Curtik who had his knees drawn up and his head bowed into the fold of his arms. Curtik, my child, she thought as she smiled over his weary position. He seemed so forlorn and haunted in these days, ever more so since their return from the fens and their failure to catch an Elf then. Despite his withdrawal, she did not doubt his love. If anything, she realized his concern for her was greater, and she thought she might reciprocate his love by offering him more of herself. At the same time she knew this son was much like her. He had an insatiable thirst, and no amount of time with him would ever be enough. Still, he loves me, and he remains loyal, and I should want the same of all my people. She decided her gratitude might be enough for her to give.

But then her eyes turned to Mattias, and all her prior heartbreak returned. Fond memories of childhood days sprang back at her. She remembered him running and tumbling and playing with his brothers, their laughter lifting her heart. Even in those days she had been distracted with her art black magic had a very strong pull on those who practiced it yet somehow she had found it in herself to give them something of her heart, to share in the mysteries of the world with them, and to love them for their innocence and unrelenting affection. Those had been much happier days. It had been so easy then.

She took him in, digesting his gloom with hungry, yearning eyes. There was nothing of hope in his bearing onto which she might latch. His desolate appearance showed her that he had given up any remainder of his love and he would linger in his despair, not wanting her comfort or absolution. He cannot forgive me! He will never love me again! I have nothing of him. Nothing! she raged. What more may I lose in sacrificing him? He is already lost to me now.

With that summation, her querulous journey found an end. The decision was made. She would steel her heart, and try not to look too far beyond her own healing. The hardship she would face would be hers, and the guilt she knew she evinced would be scathing to her soul alone. She swallowed her resolve. She would do what Bäla wanted come the next eve. She would make the transformation and exorcise Mattias' soul from his body. She would try to see Bäla in her son's face. And she would try to look upon him no more as her kin. She would try. She would try . . .

"Act quickly before you change your mind," Bäla advised, as if knowing the anguish with which she fought in her heart.

Rising she answered, her voice choked with her suffering, "I will set our people about task. We shall leave momentarily." With that, both men and women rose about her as if they heard her silent command.

That action gave her small confidence. It was a minute thing in the course of her goals, yet it was not so easy a contrivance as to be commonplace. She ruled their minds. She told them how to act, and just that little pleasure point was enough to give her impetus to take the next step.

"They will follow you no matter the course, Bregus. They are loyal to you. Your fears are groundless. You need not doubt. If you should show confidence, should you remain unfaltering, it should all come to be as you had hoped."

"Will it, Bäla?" she asked with a whisper. "Will I have everything then? Even you?"

A pause followed and then, "Yes," he answered from a place within her soul, and she contented herself that it might come to pass. She turned her eyes back on her people.

In unison they mustered themselves, and then went about the activities she assigned to them each. She smiled as she watched them. His words were true. Her plans could come to be if she so willed it. She made it her choice.

No further words were spoken, for Bregus had wont of none. The silence was an aid to her. It helped her to shut out the crying misery of her heart and to focus only on her goals, for there she could fall into the trance of her greed and see everything she longed to attain if she only focused enough upon it. She would ignore her frustration, her guilt, and her thwarted attempts at desperate success. She would live despite her sacrifices of kin and blood and sorrow. No doubt reigned in that quietude and she knew that what souls sacrificed now would be regained in this other place for her heart. She was queen to her goals in the solemn calm and her future was more clearly visible in the realm of her mind in that silence. There she could imagine herself as she longed to be: impetuous and beautiful and powerful. And loved. And at her side she saw the man who had always been the one she had desired. His name was Bäla, and though he had the face of Mattias, it was Bäla who walked beside her, taking her hand and ultimately adoring her. Just as she had always wanted it to be. Just as she had hitherto been denied.

"Du' dera i tru-pos svapati. Kesh e lus me hum taibhi tuv'am sov." Comfort the body with sleep. With this drink I will see thee rest." Éowyn was tired, and hungry

Éowyn was tired, and hungry. Her body ached with the tension and stress forced upon her by the physical battle she had fought. Fought and lost. The outcome had been discouraging. As a result, she was frightened and angered and uncertain of what she might do. But she was also determined. There was fight left in her, and she intended not to relinquish it. She surveyed her mind, searching for resources, for clever retreats. She would not be so easily extinguished as to lay down her determination when so much was at stake.

However, it could not be helped that frustration abounded. There was nothing they might call upon for their rescue, nothing to free her of her bonds. She had no weapon, no knife, no bow. Her eyes moved about to find something that might offer her an advantage, but she found nothing. All about her were raw implements, each on its own innocuous and plain. None were readily of hazard save the weapons these people carried upon their persons. But she knew not to let what was physically apparent sway her heart. Memory of her old weapons masters and the hard lessons they had taught prevailed. Time and time again they had hammered into her head to think as a warrior. "Be resourceful," they had said. "Keep a clever mind," they had intoned. And the fundamental drill was laid. "Never allow surrender to be your final step in the warring process." With these countless recitations so smoothed by rote recall, she had seen learned the core of military thinking. In combat one might utilize nearly anything as a weapon if the situation were dire enough.

There was so much she might do, though she could do nothing in her present state. Bound and gagged and held under the tight scrutiny of a dozen or more pairs of eyes, she was bereft of any form of freedom. If only her hands could be untied.

She assessed her own form while she struggled to loosen the ropes that held her hands. Though she was not a large woman, Éowyn was stronger than one might thing. Long years of training had given her the advantage of deceptive strength, speed and maneuverability. That she was with child seemed hardly relevant when compared to the muscle memory and uncanny skills achieved in the training halls at Edoras. Judging herself, she knew was capable. Her pregnancy was in its beginning stages, and while she felt the telltale symptoms of her gravid state, they bore no outward hindrance to her activities. She had to be wary though. She knew a wrong blow could do harm. But she also knew actions not taken would garner only death.

Refocused, she found herself surrounded with a wealth of potential tools. Rocks, branches, sticks, rope, blankets, fire, logs, boiling water. All could be employed to her advantage. There were also tools in abundance that might be used against the heart. She glanced about the gathering at the clusters of small family units congregating about various fires. Many drowsed, embraced in each others arms, comforted by the companionship of loved ones nearby. They had no idea how vulnerable they were.

With her own strength alone, she knew she easily had the skills necessary to apprehend one of the boys or a woman. And yes, if need be, she could even call upon the abduction of one of the small children if she had to. Though she was repulsed by the thought, she knew desperation bred terrifying ramifications. She could not hold qualms in her need to find freedom. She only regretted she had not fought with the same savage disregard earlier. However, she knew why she had not. It was not within her nature to think it. Such thoughts would not normally be a part of her make. Now, given the cold heart and blatant cruelty she found within the true leader of these people, she decided no measure taken toward her safety could be wrong.

Ultimately what she desired was freedom. To get away would be the simplest solution, though she deemed it the hardest thing to achieve. As much as she watched the camp, she too saw they watched her. No adult eye had refrained from matching her stare as she had roamed the camp with her own secreted glances. It was as if they all stood guard over her, spelling one another from time to time with sleep. And that made it impossible to do anything, either to free herself, defend herself, or to wreak harm of any sort. However she refused to believe that the end of her opportunities was before her. Mistakes would be made, even with witchery afoot. And yet should the opportunity arise, Éowyn wondered if she truly could take it. Could she run? There was Legolas to consider and she could not just desert him to the witch's madness. And knowing that, she thought that if escape could not be found for them both, and Mattias too, this would be a fight to the death.

As if she were assessing her strengths and weaknesses, Éowyn studied everything, including her companions. Mattias sat on the opposite side of the fire, his head bowed to his chest and his knees drawn forward. His arms were fastened behind him, just as hers were, and a gag was tied harshly about his mouth. But his posture is what she noticed. Like one wounded and drawing back from the pain, his repose, appearing like a tight ball, seemed to comfort him in the personal embrace the position drew. He gently rocked himself, and she was saddened by the motion. She could see he was struck with grief, the burden of emotional pain weighing heavily upon him. Éowyn would console him if she could. However gagged and bound herself, there was little she could readily offer.

He looked up, and their eyes met. Briefly she saw the misery of his soul. The anguish was deep. He tried to smile, a small change in his eyes reflecting that gesture, and she thought it a brave front, admirable that he should be trying to raise her spirits.

They shared the same plight, though in some ways she thought his worse. For her, she could excuse away the villainy as some perverted corruption perpetrated by strangers. They knew naught of her, and she knew little more of them, and so it was easy to hate them without apology. But for Mattias it was different. He had believed in these people, and now he found them to be betrayers. Worse still, his trust had been bankrupted by something so base as desire.

She returned the gesture of friendliness to him with a nod of her head. It was all she could give him, though she thought more might be needed for consolation. And yet in studying him what she read in his posture, his demeanor, his expression, told her he might be served better with some personal introspection. The wound he had suffered to his soul had been a cold blow, dealt by the hand of those he had felt his most intimate companions. Recovery would not come easily and trust would be a difficult thing for him to regain. Given this knowledge, that he had allowed Éowyn into his confidence at all was miraculous.

He looked away a second later, as if he recognized the scrutiny with which she placed upon him and he had decided that he no longer wished her to pry. It helped their situation none that he was also physically handicapped by an arrow wound to the shoulder. He was torn in both body and soul, and though he bravely held a strong front, Éowyn knew he was shattered by the betrayal his mother and brothers had laid upon him. She could only imagine that his heart must be shredded.

New motion in the camp caught Éowyn's attention. Simultaneous activity made her head flip from side to side. Men were up, tools were drawn, several stepped into the forest swallowed up by the shadows beyond the ring of campfires. Many of the women leapt into activity. They began folding their bedrolls, returning their shawls to their wastes. Foodstuffs were re-wrapped and shoved into pockets. Cooking tools were nested and secreted into their packs. The tapping of axes could be heard. Vaguely she thought she might know what was happening, and it was a worrisome discovery.

The woman quickly dipped her eyes, gazing down on the still form of Legolas. He had made no attempt at movement since the cuivëar had been induced, and the sudden motion did nothing to draw him from his daze. She thought that a good thing though in truth his appearance was disquieting. In reality he appeared to be teetering toward death. Subtle changes had taken place in his physical form as he lay before her, and they were telling to her of the seriousness of his injury. His complexion was paler than before while dark circles beneath his eyes were beginning to grow visible. His coloring was ghostly, even with the glow of the fire radiating nearby. She was frightened by the prospect that he might grow more grave, for there was little she could do to quell the tide of his illness. Even in the Houses of Healing, at this point, vigil would be the only thing she could offer, for beyond medicating the Elf, there was nothing else anyone could do but wait. Yet what worried her most was her part in his condition. Had her administering of cuivëar induced this turn in his health?

Her heart mourned as her inspection followed more closely the subtle rise and fall of Legolas' chest in slow, deep breaths, the subtle movement of his eyes fixedly staring at a distant point in space, and the infinitely small curves of both smiles and frowns that took possession of his facial features in the depth of his dreams. Even with these clues pointing to encouraging healthfulness, he looked ill. Deathly even, and were he mortal, Éowyn would know immediately from his appearance that he were in a critical state.

Looking at the sudden activity before her, a panicky tremor sent her body into small shudders with the realization that came. Legolas was in no condition to be moved. Yet her mind told her this was exactly what was intended of them to move onward toward that place the old woman deemed their sanctuary. It was a refuge that, for the last several days, had served as Éowyn's rugged home.

Her mind turned to the haven where she found comfort. Henneth-Annün was a strategic hold. Faramir had regaled her with tales of its benefits and key points toward the cause of his people. Many years had it stood as one of Gondor's hidden treasures. It was a clever fortress, a clandestine citadel where operatives could maintain control over lands that were ripped from their authority. Many a hard battle had been plotted within those stone walls, their success due in part to the virtue of anonymity that Henneth-Annün maintained. Never had the identities of those in concealment there been revealed. They were safely hidden. Further, this cave, their hold, served as a cache for military might. Though small, it could hold a score or more of men within its hidden chamber, even greater numbers still when the tunnels were combined. It was a residence of pride, and one of the things that stirred Éowyn most was the knowledge that it had served as place of history. A tingle of excitement coursed through her whenever she neared it, for it was a reminder to her that so many great men, her husband among them, had conceived and won battles from that secret locale. Never had it been infiltrated or discovered by enemy scouts in the past. Never! Yet somehow the old woman knew of it. How? How?

Still, like the weapons she was mentally tallying, she counted the old woman's limited knowledge as a positive point. So it seemed, there were some things even Bregus did not know. Among them was the fact that no ranger forces currently resided in Henneth-Annün. How the old woman's foresight could know one thing but not another was beyond Éowyn, just as the Romany's firsthand knowledge of the very existence of their cave was a mystery. Still, it gave her an advantage if she could wield it, for the old woman feared the idea of soldiers. That had been revealed to her by Mattias. How she might use this, there was no telling. But, like the branches, sticks, rope and blankets, it was an instrument in which Éowyn might find power, and in her mind she would hoard it away for later employ.

Since becoming a prisoner much of her time had been spent watching the old woman. In between her observations of the Romany people and what might be roaming in Mattias' thoughts, Éowyn's attentions had not been idle. She had seen much of Bregus' actions. They were disturbing. Outside of the continuous touch of her people, she saw the old woman coveted their actions carefully. Bregus' hawk-like observance of her people was likened in Éowyn's mind to that of a bird watching over her eggs. The old woman seemed determined to scrutinize their activities carefully, as if she was uncertain the validity of her touch still held. It was a small victory Éowyn felt Mattias had scored, for if the old woman doubted her power, this too might be a weapon.

Éowyn watched as the old woman brewed the serum. A whole ritual was borne of it, like something of religious purpose. A circle had been drawn around her ring of fire with the base of the highly carved and inscribed walking stick Bregus used. Then brief stops were made at each quadrant of the circle while some kind of prayer was muttered. When complete, the process of brewing began, but even then there was the calling of incantations as the pot began to smolder. Fascinated, Éowyn had wondered at the potion being brewed. It changed much over the time of its making, and with each addition of an ingredient or each utterance of words, the state of the liquid changed again. It had gone from a muddy water color to one of cream, to one of bubbling madness and steam suddenly elicited, to the color of burgundy. It was frightening in fact. While Éowyn had made a small practice of herb study and healing, never before had she seen such manipulation. And never had she seen such results. That the witch intended to feed this concoction to Legolas made Éowyn all the more nervous. Bregus had said it would be a sleeping potion. She did not say it was so tedious to create. The exercise of the medicine's preparation made Éowyn wonder at its benefits. Surely there were easier brews to make that could give the same results. That is, if the results sought were ones of narcotic effect.

But this was not the thing that garnered Éowyn's full focus. Bregus' attributes were varied. She obviously had skills as an apothecary. But more than that, she was sharp and clever when she spoke, always wary and fixed in her goal. She proved herself of sound mind whenever she came near the Rohirric woman. However, it was Éowyn's observance of Bregus that told her, when the old woman was alone, this consideration of sanity might be false. Then she did not act like one caught in thought. Instead the old woman had appeared as if she were holding private conversation with herself. Madness, Éowyn had originally thought. Delusions. On further observance, however, she wondered if perhaps there was something else compelling the old woman's mind.

Éowyn, in her time, had come across more than a few people whose minds had been bent. War was heinous upon innocents. It was a pathetic deliverer of unwitting harm, and a layer of doom that paves a path of death wherever it travels. There had been many who did not hold up well to the pressures such a deed could rile. After the War of the Ring and the calm of restoration had begun, her time in the House of Healing had not been idle. There were those who had been injured in the war and Éowyn had done her part to try to heal their ills. But physical wounds and wounds to the psyche were far different in the ways they were cured. Long after the ward had been cleared of those whose bodies had been harmed, those patients whose minds had been damaged remained. She had observed then the directions some of these pitiful folk had displayed in their mental battles. Conversations with the self were not uncommon with them. Often it was as if they played two sides to their own argument. They would fight with themselves, whispering arguments and counter arguments to their own claim. Or they would babble incoherently. Or they would speak not at all. But never would they converse as Bregus did.

Bregus' madness, if that is what it was, was unique from anything Éowyn had ever seen. The old woman conversed with herself, but not like those in the ward at the House of Healing. Bregus spoke as if she truly were answering a question, or responding to a comment. Unlike the mentally crippled fellows in the city whose thoughts buzzed by them mindlessly, Bregus' conversation seemed calm, controlled andthoughtful. It was as if the old woman were truly holding a real conversation. Further, her eyes held steady on the space before her, as if she were making eye contact with a companion. Not so with the madmen Éowyn had observed. That lot had eyes that danced and darted about, as though their speech were directed to an ever-moving tormentor. Bregus resembled nothing of this.

Footsteps approached. The old woman neared, and a man Éowyn did not know followed in her tracks. She knelt on the other side of Legolas and the man came about where Éowyn sat and nudged her to move aside that he might squat. Hands tied behind her back, her balance was off and she nearly toppled. Yet Éowyn managed to scoot around, shuffling back so she held place directly near Legolas' head. She could see everything from this perspective.

The old woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial. A jewel-colored elixir glowed within the bottle as she held it up to catch the reflection of the flames in the firelight. A small cork stopper held the potion within the jar and with a deft shrug, Bregus pulled it free with her teeth. She nodded to the man who then lightly lifted the Elf's head that she might force the liquid down Legolas' throat. Éowyn immediately protested, not wishing Legolas harm either from the motion created or the medicine being dosed. Her muffled voice could only call out a stop. Yet it was done. The reaction was sudden. Bregus dribbled only a few drops into the Elf's mouth before Legolas' consciousness was restored. A gag reaction came and he coughed in a sputter of choking spasms that must have wreaked agonizing pain for the jarring they carried. Éowyn cried out again as Legolas winced through his sputtering, though Bregus ignored both of them and their disruption. Running crooked fingers down the Elf's face, her fingertips brushed eyelids suddenly alive and creased with his hurt. Instantly, however, with the utterance of words, the golden-haired Elf ceased his hacking convulsion.

"Sov tu numatari," she whispered. Legolas paused, a slow moan escaping him as if it were a remnant of his previous agony. Then he sighed and immediately his eyes closed with smoothly shuttered lids while the old woman's fingers continued their downward trail over his face.

Éowyn's eyes widened in amazement, shock and fear. Never had she seen a medicine take effect so quickly. But her fright was not limited to the action of the Romany's motion over the Elf. Bregus looked up, and her gaze was caught by Éowyn's eye. The old woman smiled malevolently, stirring a tremor of fear in the Rohirric woman. Bregus glanced at the man who was acting as her aide, and without words he turned then, rising and taking three long strides only to then crouch next to Mattias.

The old woman's son glowered dangerously at this tribal member, eyeing him warily while attempting to shift away. Immediately the old woman was there, the stopper again released. It was clear her intentions, though Mattias showed equal purpose to fight the ministration. No words were said, only actions taken. Mattias kicked out, bucking his legs and rolling his body, but tied as he was, there was little he could do to overwhelm the force upon him. The aide pressed his forearm to Mattias' body, quashing him into the dirt while his other hand came up and crushed his head to lay still. And then the gag was yanked aside though Mattias lips became resolutely sealed, refusing entrance to the vial. Bregus' hand over his nose forced his lips to part, though cleverly Mattias tried to release only a mere fraction of his mouth. Bregus anticipated as much and with the slit entrance she pried the bottle into the opening and poured the liquid contents into his mouth. All the while he fought, his head shaking from side to side, his legs kicking at nothing. It was a useless objection. The jewel-colored concentrate made its target. Most drizzled down his cheek but some landed in his throat, and like the Elf he sputtered a fit of coughing when it came into contact with his gullet.

A bellow of rage poured from his lungs, and he cried out a piteous wails, "No, Mother! Please! Do not do this!"

The fighting did not cease and Bregus' voice came louder as she uttered the remainder of the spell. "Sov tu numatari."

The resistance was gone. Mattias' body went limp and he laid back into the ground, his legs falling slowly to one side as his arched back sagged into the earth. The aide rose, stepping back, and Bregus was left for the moment to sit alone at her son's side.

The old woman's back was to Éowyn, but the young woman would not dare dodge her eyes from the sight of Bregus. Bregus' head bowed as a small shuddering movement shook the old woman's shoulders. A tentative hand reached out as if to touch her son, and then it drew back. A moment more passed, quiet but for the beating of Éowyn's heart and the sniffling sighs of the old woman bent over her prey.

The solitude dragged on, choking from Éowyn the repressed sobs that swelled in her own throat. She sat, squirming, left with nothing but fear for what was to come. Her heart was pounding recklessly in her chest, and a scream of terror lodged itself in her throat waiting for the opportunity to peal. In her mind she knew she was next, and she knew she dared not succumb to this evil drink. Her only means of escape depended upon it, and her head raced to find a means to overcome the danger. The mental tally of implements she had been subjectively collecting flashed before her as she gulped in her fears, her breathing suddenly rushed. Branches, sticks, rope, blankets, water, rocks. At the moment, none of these things were accessible to her as her freedom was limited to the small motion she could make with her body. She had nothing with which to fight. But her body had been in this list as well, as were witch's fears and short knowledge.

And then Bregus turned. Wet eyes blinked back tears in the old eyes, and then the menace returned. Cold apathy came into black eyes, and the old woman stood. The vial again she held up.

Éowyn's eyes widened. She began to push herself back, squirming away from Legolas so she might have room to fight. Within an instant, the man was on her, his hand pressing into her sternum, pinning her in place. Like a repeat of Mattias' actions, the fight ensued. She twisted and writhed beneath him, kicking and butting him with all of her body. The blows came hard and her flexibility was good. Her range of motion landed swift kicks time and time again. But he did not waver and his strength was greater. He crawled upon her, his weight pressed into hers, and the rage and fear became too much, the feeling of violation too great to bear. She screamed out her terror, her fury, her hate. It was a bleary vocalization of her rage, wordlessly expressed, though loud and unrelenting. The night absorbed the sound and then it swallowed it again as the cloth was ripped away from Éowyn's face. Fast and furious came the vial, the dark liquid drained in that single plunge, and through her venomous cry the taste of the rich medicine bathed her tongue. Tears fell from her eyes as she fought, coughing on the bitter taste and the gag reflex it employed. Looking up she saw the cool and cruelly stoic features of the witch, watching her.

A cragged hand reached up to rake fingers over her face, and Éowyn knew with the next words her ability to fight would be gone. Her breath came in pants, moans of terror balanced on the edge of each gasp. She reached into her mind to find solution. The void wrought by her nemesis lay exposed before her. The fingers came closer. The warmth at the tips radiated lightly above her skin. Words were all that need be said to make it complete. The simple exhale of sound and it was done. A burning tenderness where callused fingertips kissed her fair skin made her shiver for the discomfort it suddenly brought, and then the incantation began.

The old woman stopped. Frozen. Words fixed to her lips. Nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. Her hand remained paused over Éowyn's face.

"There are no soldiers," the old woman hissed, her head cocked, eyes sharp as if registering every nuance of Éowyn's response by the abruptness of this retort.

Éowyn's panting breath came in quick gasps. Her eyes never left the hand balanced above her. Her reply was said in a gulp without any hesitance. Words spilled from her lips like an exodus, believability brought on by her panic which made it seem all the more real. It was real, her fear, and she knew it qualified her to say nearly anything if it would halt the process before her. "There are! They wait in the hold! They will attack when the password is not uttered at the entrance per the schedule!"

The old woman's head tilted again, as if unable to believe. Then she narrowed her eyes and sniped out, "Lies! There is no reason for me to believe you!" The hand resumed its place, the pressure of its touch burning Éowyn's skin. The beginnings of the incantation formed on the elder's lips.

Éowyn shrieked out, shaking her head to jerk the hand away before magical words could be uttered, "I speak not lies! The soldiers are there and they await my return! You will die before you have taken three paces into that structure."

The hand was pulled away, and instead Éowyn felt strong fingers squeeze her jaw, pinching her mouth and forcing her to look into the sneering face of Bregus. "Tell me why I should believe you!"

Éowyn cried, her eyes searching the face above her, hoping to find something of compassion, "I I " she began, words failing her. The face of the witch was cold and ugly. She darted her eyes away, letting them fall briefly on her companion. She tried again. "Legolas he will be jarred in the skirmish. I do not want to see him harmed even further. . . And " She returned her eyes to the elder, seeing she was having no effect on the elder with this plea. It dawned on her then that the old woman would not believe anything so selfless. "I thought they might have come to my rescue by now. I can only guess that they have not realized my disappearance yet. But on your entry they will discover . . . Please! I do not want to fall unconscious! I may not be able to stop the harm! I might be mistaken . . . For the sake of my baby I wish not this harm!" Then her eyes flooded with tears, new worry overwhelming her. The words were her own, the fear hers. "What of my baby? The drug! What harm have you done to her with this dosing? What will become her?"

Bregus was slow to release her hand, the fingers opening one by one with the bruising sting left behind on traumatized flesh. The old woman laughed, mocking. "Why fear, child? I would do nothing to hurt your baby. I need it too desperately. It is but a simple remedy for illness, remember?"

"Tell me the password!" Bregus demanded, snapping Éowyn's head back again to gaze into that face.

Eye to eye they met, and this time Éowyn would not flinch. White fury raced her pulse, and bile burned in her chest while hatred smoldered in her eyes. "It is my voice for which they listen," she spat, the utterance a contrivance just as all the other words had been. But the lie had been convincing.

"So it will be then," she said, releasing Éowyn from her grip, her eyes hard upon the younger woman.

Immediately Éowyn turned her head away, letting her eyes fall upon Legolas and his still form. Hot tears poured from her eyes and her rage and fear blinded her while a soft sob was stifled within her chest. Her body shook with the repression of the emotions, but she had no other means of releasing her stresses. She would not acknowledge them to the old woman. Her tears flowed. She could not quell them. Their escape came of volition all their own. Yet, Éowyn would not give the elder the joy of watching them come. She refused to let Bregus observe the stain of those tears and so she kept her head turned as she resolutely willed them to stop.

The old woman spoke again. Bregus was not oblivious to her reaction, yet the elder did not press to see Éowyn's face then. "I will let the incantation pass," Bregus said, "though I may speak it later if you do not cooperate. You will guide us into the cave. That will be your task. I had thought before to use you as a hostage to get past the soldiers. You are much trouble when you are awake and I have had enough of your poisoning words. Yet I will spare you whilst the password is yet unsaid. However, know this: any trickery on your part and the Elf will be hurt. I will make him cry out in pain."

She was hauled upright then by the man who had held her down, and then dragged to lean against a tree. The gag was not refitted, though her bonds were rechecked. And then the man was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts.

She watched then as two other men came near bearing thick branches, sticks, rope and blankets. They carefully laid them aside Legolas' supine form and began to construct an object. It took but a minute for Éowyn to recognize the instrument to complete the transport of the injured body. They crafted a litter.

Relieved that at least they would carry Legolas properly, she sighed. Were it she, she would not move him at all, not only because she did not want to see him further exposed to the witch's vile craft, but also because she could not ascertain the full extent of his injuries. Éowyn was not a healer. She did not have faith enough in her skills to know if there were other injuries to the Elf. Yet it seemed she had little choice. Legolas was to be moved, and so she watched as the carrier was constructed, careful to note its sturdiness and padding.

Yet her thoughts raced ahead while she knew she was being watched. She had bought herself reprieve, though it was but a momentary thing. She must not hesitate to use it while she could. It broke her spirited soul to think on it, for she was torn by the thought all the while recognizing the truth that lay before her. She must flee. Without Legolas. Without Mattias. She must find a way to run. She knew this, though she could not know when the opportunity might present itself. Her heart ached with the thought, knowing she would be leaving Legolas behind in the act. He was helpless without her, and she despaired for that injustice. Further, she could not predict the old woman's reaction should she disappear. It might very well be that she would wreak harm upon the poor Elf, punishing him for Éowyn's betrayal. But she knew at least that the spell the elder planned, the one that would most likely take her life as well as the Elf's, could not be complete if Éowyn were not there. With her flight, she might save him. And her baby would live. And perhaps Mattias too. She saw quite clearly that she was the lynchpin to the old woman's plans.

And then Éowyn's attention was drawn away again. She realized the sudden reappearance of the old woman from behind, off to her side. She was not touched. Instead the old woman balanced just above her, inches away, the brush of an errant and brittle strand of hair falling to Éowyn's cheek. Whispered words came to her ears, the smell of Bregus' breath trailing the sound. "Have I made my actions clear to you? Do you understand that I would hurt him?"

Without turning her head, Éowyn nodded. Then more abrupt than the old woman's appearance, a woozy wave of unbalance suddenly washed over her. She began to speak, but her lips felt thick and her jaw seemed to be slowed by a sluggish languor. Warmth spread over her body like a heavy blanket, and her rigid muscles felt to go limp. Her head became very heavy in that moment, and her eyes grew unfocused, the lids drawing closed. She fought back, snapping her head aright, while she tried to find words to fit her discomfiture. "What is . . .?"

The old woman moved around to face her, laughing, and the sound of her cackling voice seemed to come from far away. "The potion takes effect. But have no fear for your child, my lady. As you said, it is but a simple remedy, made all the more potent with my use of herbs. That is all it is though, Lady Éowyn. Lady. That is who you are, are you not, dear Éowyn of no land? A mistress with soldiers at her call? Someone noble? I would have administered this medicine to you no matter what your words, but knowing you wield some power gives me ever more reason to do so. It will keep you from running, I think. Aren't I clever though? And it will keep you ever that much more vulnerable as a hostage should anyone endeavor your rescue. You are mine, and I intend very much to keep you with me. Your soldiers shall not make their rescue."

She was gone then, and Éowyn's head fell back, her body slumping over. The 'medicine', as Bregus called it, was indeed a potent thing.

It seemed but an instant passed when next she looked up to see Legolas being carefully lifted into the carrier, the old woman supervising the move. Blankets were bolstered about his body so that he was tightly secured to the frame and would not be jarred.

Seconds later, it seemed, she was hauled to her feet, her eyes opening when she had not realized they had closed. Strong hands held her up as her legs seemed incapable of the task on their own. Legolas was no longer in her sight, though by cocking her head she could see the movement of his litter being carried ahead in the wavering light of the moon in a cloudy sky overhead. A long line of people were before her, though she could not locate Mattias as her sight grew hazy again.

Her head rolled forward, weakness overwhelming her. Desperate tears flowed forth. She felt helpless sluggishness as her feet were dragged beneath her as they moved through the forest back along the path Éowyn had followed to get this far in her journey. Presumptively she realized they were traveling to Henneth-Annün. She also came to know that her hands had been untied and were slung over the shoulders of the men carrying her. Weakly she smirked. Was this not the wish she had had earlier? To be free that she might utilize those weapons her mind had fashioned? Now unfettered, she was helpless. Still, she made a mental note of this liberation that she might use it in her escape. In her heart though she despaired. She did not know how she might run if her faculties were so hugely impaired. She fought to regain sense of her body, plugging her heavy limbs beneath her, taking steps forward in hopes that the motion might burn the potion out of her system. Yet limply she hung, her head unable to raise from her chest and her spine listlessly dragging down to clamor disobediently into legs that staggered, then wobbled, then dragged across the trail. As her body withdrew, so did her mind.

Desolate despair drifted into her dreams as she fought passionately to remain sober and awake. I must not succumb. I must escape. No sleep. No sleep. . . Yet she could not keep the weariness from coming and taking her away to its void.

In hindsight he would realize it was a fleeting thought, a mere minute of short-lived doubt. But at the time, it made his heart clutch with an agony that stirred in his chest and time had no reckoning to what he placed upon it.

When he had parted her company last she was wary, shy of the darkness, and only willing to go on due to his insistence and assurance that all might be well. Yet when he came to her now at a near run, stumbling through the unlit void, he found her jubilant and invigorated. And yes, giddy. Such behavior for his wife was . . . peculiar. Aragorn could no longer ignore the inconsistency of it. Am I witnessing the deliverance of madness? he asked himself in the next instant of thought. No answer was forthcoming to his encumbered mind, for he knew not how to tell the tale of such an unusual ailment.

He was terribly perplexed by her words. "I have found it!" she had said. "I have found the way out!" He was thrilled by this announcement for he felt sure in her enthusiasm that she had discovered a clue. But then she had gone on, and his heart fell with the continuation of her thoughts. "Why did I not see it? Do you see it? Can you see it? It is like a tree," she had said, and the sound hung in the air, lingering for him to ponder.

And though the words were disturbing for the contrite shortness and seeming disconnect, it was her actions that made him ponder her sanity most. Arwen laughed as the words echoed around her. She was nearly bouncing with joy and her triumphant dance made her seem all that much more victorious for her discovery, though it was quite at odds with their situation. No more did she speak mindless prattle. It was worse. Instead she was almost mumbling to herself, announcing the assumptions she had made, and nodding to herself her about her affirmations and suppositions. Nonetheless, she appeared to be quite pleased with herself, and the whole of it seemed rather odd to the mood she had previously taken.

A bump on the head, Aragorn thought, trying to find reason for the sudden change. So many times in this day had they followed an up and down pattern of emotion. It was exhausting him and he watched her now with the scrutiny he might use as a Healer, trying to discern the exact cause of her malady without alerting her to his concerns.

Clearly she had been teetering on the edge of uncertainty. It was my prodding that pushed her! This is my fault! Aragorn scolded himself. Yet Arwen seemed not the least bit upset with him, or anything else for that matter. In fact she was clearly pleased, self-possessed and even confident in her glee. If only her words would follow suit.

Aragorn was not sure if he should find delight in his wife's newfound pleasure or if he should fear it. The better part of this journey had been spent in bickering, disagreement and dangerous pursuits. All of this had delivered them naught of their original quest. But in that time, Aragorn had gained much of an understanding of his wife. Among these advances, he had come to appreciate far greater Arwen's abilities to bend, assess and compensate. For that, his admiration for her had grown immensely, even if it had meant he had been on the receiving end of her consternation. But now he wondered if any of his prior assessments were really true. He did not think he could take another crescendo of emotional highs, though she seemed to be yet on the brink of one. He felt horrible for his conclusion, and yet he could not deem her well if she could not stay true to the person he had known her to be.

In her right mind she was an amazing creature, he knew, and he was reminded again how deeply his love delved. Therefore, as someone who loved her with the full of his soul, Aragorn thought it perhaps best that he be the one to tell her that she was acting somewhat . . . crazed. Yet words to that effect did not seem well-placed. He was not looking forward to what she might say were he to point out how oddly her thoughts seemed to run, especially if he said the words in a haphazard way. But he knew he must say it somehow, for even now he could not make heads or tails of the rambling dialog she softly kept.

"Aye, this way it would be. And see how even the trail runs up until this crest and then down again. More evidence this is that my theory is right. The stone must be denser here," she said as she stomped the pathway. "Oh, but I am making no sense at all! Poor Estel! You must wonder at me. Stop me if it seems out of sorts for I cannot help myself. My mind is leaping in so many directions at once. Yet I am certain! I am certain! See the direction of the tunnels? They are pointing the way."

He sighed in exasperation, unable to diagnose her manic ailment from observation. Yet she said he should question her, and so he timidly put forth the statement, "But you had said it held reminder of trees."

She blinked a moment, and then stabbed the air with a jabbing finger as if a point had been made. "Exactly! Oh yes, the ups and downs too, like the twists and the bends! I was thinking more of a flat surface like a drawing, but you are right. How astute of you to add another dimension to the allusion!" she exclaimed triumphantly beaming at him as if he had grasped the significance of this allegorical connection.

Perhaps the condition is temporary. A blow to the head can sometimes make one act as such. There is no other explanation of which I can think for she simply did not act this way prior to our fall, Aragorn decided. He shook his head in bewilderment, unable to grasp her meaning.

But she did not notice and she simply went on in her dialog. "I viewed it once when I rode on the back of an eagle. It was one of Gwaithir's young who took me, and he flew me so high that I truly could see. It is something one cannot identify from the ground, yet in the air it is so amazingly clear. And lovely." She gave him a cheery smile as she said, "It was like a tree."

Still, I must ask of the household staff. There may have been signs that I had not earlier seen, Aragorn told himself.

Arwen proceeded to walk forward, as if to lead them, but when after a few steps he did not follow, she glanced around. "Why do you halt?"

"Does your head ache in any way? Did you take on any bumps of which I should know?" he asked, trying to make the question seem innocent as he prodded her skull.

"Oh, Estel, stop playing games. Let us go before the fuel in the lamps give out."

Aragorn looked to the lanterns. She was right. The fuel reserves were dwindling and soon would be gone. Already the lamp in his hand was beginning to wink and dim slightly.

"All the more reason for us to go back to our starting place and wait for help to arrive," he said with the kindest of tones, trying to turn her with a gentle hand to her elbow.

"But Arwen, you would lead us in circles. This path simply goes around a lake," he said, attempting to make her see her foolish venture.

She cocked her head at him then, granting him a curious stare. Yet unlike a mad woman, she seemed even in temperament, more like that of the Elven make he had grown accustomed to over the years. The corners of her mouth crept up ever so slightly as she said, "Do you think I am mad?" She appeared quite sane when she said this.

Instantly he doubted himself, and wondered again at the change. Was he wrong? But the words about trees and eagles and up and down paths were far too recent for him to ignore. His eyes fell into the darkness. The realization of how dire their situation remained struck him. This was not a time for idle foolishness. He had seen others of madness pull such a feat as to seem sane for moments at a time. He would not be fooled. Their lives and the lives of their friends depended upon them making lucid decisions. And he was not certain she was in possession of such a thought at the moment. "Arwen, please listen to my words and hear me out," he said, speaking quite slowly. "I understand that should we follow this path," he stomped his foot on the ground to make it clear to her he spoke of this path, "we shall eventually end where we started, at the tunnel that originated this journey," he said, his voice edgy. Then to disguise his concern, he said, "Not that there is not merit to that goal, but I fear we will not reach it before the well of oil in the lanterns is spent." He wryly thought that he sounded as if he were speaking to Faramir's youngest child.

She held her breath, blinking at him before her reaction came, and he found himself holding his breath as well.

And then her breath was released and her response came, Aragorn wincing as the onslaught of it broached her lips as she . . .

Laughed. She laughed and the sound was a beautiful thing, light and fluid as the noise crisscrossed the space about them with their echo. "Oh, Aragorn, my love, what is it you think has become of me? A bump on the head perhaps?" He could feel his face reddening but dared not speak his suspicions. "Allow me to explain, my dearest one, for I am hardly a child, or even a madwoman. I do have logic to guide my silliness." Aragorn flinched for he felt still he was about to be rebuked for what seemed to clearly obvious. However, her furor did not rise. She did not rant. Softly sighing, she said, "I apologize for my erratic behavior. I was excited, and clearly I did not make myself clear. But once you know, perhaps you will join me in my jubilation. Try to see it, if you will." Then she paused and breathed deeply before saying, "We follow not a lake, Aragorn, but a river."

Aragorn's brow creased. "A river?" He glanced about to make sense of the body of water before them. A river? The better of him regained itself then, and he shook away her certain answer, knowing better than she. "But it is so wide for an underground resource. In this light, we can barely make out the opposing shore. It seems quite vast."

"Perhaps your eyes do not see it, but as mine have grown accustomed to the dark, I do see. Dimly it is there and I know of its make. The opposite shore is some twenty yards away though the distance is misleading without a point of reference. It is not such a wide body as you might think. Though we have walked over this path," she said, stomping her foot to make clear she was talking about this path, "for some time, there is no sign that we have yet walked there. However, to our right we have already walked and to our left, I dare say even I can see no end," she said, squinting into the dark as if to demonstrate.

"It could be a very long and narrow lake," Aragorn pointed out, acting the wary Ranger, still doubting and not knowing if he dare trust her sober mood and assessment.

"It could be. But it is not. It is a river," she responded with surety, even and untroubled as she turned back to the task of leading.

"But you said something of trees," he went on, trying to make sense still of her words and the situation. He still did not have faith that she was all together right, though he was beginning to find merit in the idea of a river.

"You have seen the likes of an uprooted tree, have you not? Then you know of the tapered roots and the patterns they make as they crisscross one another. That is what the side tunnels of this cavern do. They are like the smaller roots of a tree bending around through the soil, veering when they meet hard rock, but all leading to the main of the tap root. This river is the tap root, Estel. If we follow it, it shall lead us to an even greater source of water, like the roots leading to the trunk," she said.

"Look at the tunnels. We have been in and out of many of them, and always they are the same. They pretty much follow a single path, and always do they narrow into nothing but small fissures. Now think of the tunnels as small streams. In the beginning they start as a little trickle and build and build. Always they lead to greater and greater bodies of water. They seldom start and stop without going that way. Together they form greater rivers until they finally come to the sea. This river will lead us to a greater river the river above ground that runs to Henneth-Annün. It will lead us out, my love. I know it will."

"Again, I am sorry. I forgot you did not have such a celebration to mark your first century. The eagle is another story in itself that I will tell at a later time. The point is from the air when you look down on the path of a river and all its tributaries, it looks much like a tree. That is what I was saying." Then she looked ahead at their path, and seemed to steel herself to the darkness. Again she started to move in that direction.

Still, he remained where he stood, staring at the water and ignoring her steps. If it is a river it does not act with the normal temperament of one, he thought. "There is no motion on the surface of the water. Would we not see ripples, or something that might tell us it flows?" he asked. After all, this was one of the reasons he had concluded it a lake.

Her voice came to him, rich in timbre, assuring to him that the confident Elf he had wed stood before him. She had no doubt, and she spoke as if he too should have little reason to doubt. He was beginning to wonder at his assumption of madness. Could he have been wrong? This appeared to be Arwen as he knew her, and blinking he looked hard into her gaze. No stranger was present behind those eyes. "I had assumed that as well, but then I put my other senses to the test. On the surface there is nothing. But if you feel to the depth of the water, you might sense the current."

He stepped to the water's edge and dipped his fingers into the crystal clear liquid to test this. It was icy cold, almost numbing to the touch, and he pulled his hand away immediately.

He looked up to see her watching him, the smallest hint of a smile slipping across her lips. But with the patience of an Elf, she said nothing, merely waiting for him to complete his examination, as if she fully expected he would concur her assessment. Not only did she appear sure of herself, she also appeared sure of him and he felt suddenly . . . flattered . . . by her confidence in him.

It was an aching reminder to him of earlier times, when they had first met, when they had wed, the early years of their marriage. Often her eyes had appraised him this way, and he realized that he missed that ready trust they had once shared. It seemed such a long time since he had looked to her thus, hoping, expecting she might look at him this way. He knew not why she granted it now, but he appreciated its appearance, even if it were brought on by mental ailment. At least it gave him something for which to strive. He smiled at her gaze, and her eyes sparkled in kind, as if she were pleased that he noticed.

And then he saw it, the light in her eyes and the faith in her gaze and he paused, gaping at the obviousness of it. Why had he not noticed before? Like a flash of lightning, he saw it. The familiarity struck him, and he nearly fell over in his appraisal of it. Of her. Her eyes. Her trust. Her silent homage and respect. She did not doubt him. She did not scorn him and his whims. Nor had she ever! She believed in him with the whole of her being, and blind though that faith might be, it was her surety that gave him strength. He had witnessed that expression before, not only from her but from others. His people and his officers. They believed in him where he had not, and he realized all along he had been looking at outward signs to make him question and doubt himself. Such a handicap it had been, to doubt.

But she did not. She was like . . . like the buck. And had he realized it before, he might have noticed the intimacy of it. Her expression was her own. It was one he had seen many times before, but now as he met her, eye to eye, he recognized her gestures and eyes were exactly as they had always been. This was no stranger! This was no madwoman! This was a vital, creative Elf, poised and fully confident. Confident in him. Knowing with certainty what he should do, how he should react, and expecting it, as if one expected breath to follow breath. Inhale after exhale. Like the buck, that awe-inspiring creature hallowed for its poise and confident grace, she stood before him, and the moment was as powerful now as it had been when that noble creature had looked upon him. He realized it all. She had never stopped looking at him this way. It had been he who had stopped looking to her. It was his flaw in falling into the trap of blaming outwardly. His! Her assuring expression told him the full tale of her faith, and with it he found restored a complete trust for himself. And for her.

He wondered that he had not noticed before, for her eyes conveyed it all. Then he thought that perhaps he had been so guarded in his private pursuits and journeys and listening to other counsel that he had not taken the time or the effort to return to what was so naturally their normal grace. When he looked into her face, he could see the cognizant expression of one who implicitly believed and did not blame. And with that devotion, he knew he could return the favor.

This was what founded their love, their troth of mutual respect. Now he saw how foolish he had been. He realized yet again he had been letting his own faith slip away simply because of his desperation and a fear for their plight. For his plight. How long had this doubt been his? Much longer he realized than that of their fall into this cave. It was a slow decay that had been eating at him, but now he recognized it for what it had been. She was as she always had been. It had been he who had been constructing walls, forcing her into a tightly confined space, when her nature was to be free. I have been trying to pen a wild animal, he mused, Holding it hostage to my desires, my expectations, my longings. He felt chiding anger at his own blindness tug at his soul. He wanted to beg her forgiveness for ever holding forth doubts. Arwen was who she was, who she had always been, and her reactions and temperament were quite normal given the circumstances. In all he could see beyond what they now faced and he recognized how far adrift he had come from who he had been. He had been holding her back. He had been pushing her to conform. That he might see this as madness was unreasonable and cruel. Granted, it was the protective nature in him that made him wish to confine her, but that gave little excuse for his ready blindness and said even less to what was making him push away what was so obvious. Truly she was as much an equal in what made them great, and it was not his entirely to dominate and rule them. Yet he had.

She stood there and waited, and he felt nothing of pressure from her. There never had been. He saw she was as he had known her to be and he felt whole in recognizing what felt so much a part of his fulfillment as a person. They were together a team, complementing and completing each other, while separately they were so much less. But for the foolishness of his ill-conceived notions, they might well have fallen into a failing state. It made him ache to believe he might have destroyed his marriage, simply by following a course that was not naturally theirs, just as he would have killed that great deer out of the prying vanity of competition and rivalry. So many expectations and demands were put upon him, though none of it was at his own whim. Somehow though, he had seen it, and he felt renewed for having recognized his failing before it was too late, while there was still a chance to resume what was theirs together.

He saw through her eyes, and he knew what she thought. She saw him as an equal, a partner, her completion. She did not doubt him, nor did she think he would doubt her. Her trust in him was immeasurable, and if he told her then he found her theories wrong, her eyes would have dipped in hurt, but she would have believed him and followed him whatever their course.

No need was there for that. He would not betray her trust or her love. He believed so entirely in her that it made his heart thrum a sturdy rumble in his chest, and he thought he might explode with the fierceness of his emotions.

He did not need to continue his test of the water to know. She was right. Whatever doubt he might have had, he put aside, wondering that he had ever let it foster in the first place. Of course she was right in her assessment, and he would follow her guidance as if it were his own.

He snuffed the light in his lamp so as to reserve the fuel in this lamp, planning ahead, and then rising with confidence, he stepped forward to her. He kissed her lightly on the brow, and then took the lamp from her hand, stepping around her. With that he began marching in the direction she had begun to tread.

Silently, she followed, and he was not required to look back to know she was there. No need for words was there either, for he knew what to do, as did she. With a stern expression of steely determination, he led them on into the darkness, but now he was certain he knew of their direction. They were on the path, and they were heading out of the cave.

Kattica pushed a tear away, refusing the desire to release her sorrow and fright. Tears would not help her now, and she knew that she needed to remain calm if her situation were to grow for the good. Too much had been done on impulse on this day, and she would not fall into the trappings of mindless actions again. It was time now that she planned out her next steps if only she knew what those steps might be. A concise direction alluded her.

She looked at the resting figure of the Dwarf as she touched his brow. The slumbering figure stirred slightly with the caress, murmuring words under his breath, and she found that comforting, for the sleep seemed to be real, not induced by illness. His skin was warm to the touch, though not burning, and she was satisfied. A slight elevation in temperature would be normal for such a battery of injuries, while a fever would be frightening. She looked to the bandage at his brow and saw it remained unstained. He was healing. Then she looked to his foot. In the passing of time she had tended this injury, doing her utmost to assure there was no further damage to this appendage. She felt confident there was no blood within the boot, nor was there protruding bone. She assessed further the break to be near the ankle, and figuring that, she set forth to bind it. Using one of her underskirts to supplement her supply of bandages, she shredded the fabric into strips, the bright material playing prettily in the flickering light of the fire as she did. Red was its hue, and she laughed softly to herself as she coiled the linens over and around the Dwarfs foot. When complete, his boot was completely hidden beneath the scarlet wrappings and she felt sure that, though it might feel better to be set and held firmly in place, Gimli would protest his newest piece of attire. He looked to be dressed in a red boot.

Before the mirth passed, though, a joyous sensation interrupted her examination of the Dwarf and her own self-scrutiny. Her hand reached down and caressed the belly that protruded across her form. The flutter of tiny kicks pressed her abdomen, and she sighed with contentment at the feeling. It had not been so long ago this evening that she had thought with terror she might be meeting this small wonder. It was too soon for that, and Kattica, in counting, felt sure there were at least five or six more weeks before this child might make her way into the world as she should. Still, the false labor was enough to frighten Kattica.

Recalling Faramir's lecturing ways, she reached over and raised the bowl that had been used earlier to sate the Dwarf's thirst. It sat next to his form just as it had before, liquid flickering within it as highlights caught in the fiery light. Her stomach revolted as she looked upon it, the feeling of fastness already true to her belly. She had no desire to drink another drop. She hated the thought of adding more liquids to her already burgeoning body. A huge lobbing creature she already felt, but she drank from the bowl all the same. It contradicted everything of common sense to her, to add water where water appeared to be in abundance. Yet the fluids had earlier helped, and there was no doubt that water had healing properties. Further, if another Healer had recommended it to slow the labor signs, then perhaps it had merit. It seemed Kattica still had much to learn as a Healer. Further study of the arts might benefit her and her people, and not for the first time did she consider settling in these lands for a time, once her child was born. It might do good to mingle among those who lived of these lands and especially of those learned in medicine. To learn through the knowledge they had gained could only benefit her for obviously they knew of more than she did in this case. She smiled then. If water were enough to hold off the baby's arrival for another few weeks, then she would immerse herself in it.

Looking out to the rapid flow of the river, she took a step forward so that she might refill the bowl, and the thought occurred to her that she would have to do something to gather food for them as well, for the apples that had remained when Faramir had parted she had devoured. She did not feel guilty for that, She had been very hungry, and she needed to feed her baby as well as herself. More so, she felt certain the Dwarf would sleep until the morning. However, once awakened, she knew it would be best if there were food available.

As she pondered this thought, the brightness of the moon rose over the trees on the opposite shore, and the scene was blanketed in pale light. It reminded her again of Bregus' plans, and her former joy that the witch's scheming had gone astray. That was until Faramir had run off only to make himself vulnerable again. She knew his intentions were good, but in her mind he was only thrusting himself into further danger. Yet she could not blame him. Were it Mattias in trouble, well she might do the same thing.

Once more she felt the tears come, and now, though she still attempted to push them back, they fell. She cursed herself, knowing this emotional plundering to be partly the fault of her bodily condition; she had attended many pregnant women that were overwhelmed by tears at the smallest of issues. She was certain her emotions had much to do with her exhaustion as well. Nonetheless, all rational thinking fell aside as her misery manifested itself in the hot droplets. She cried for her fear. Faramir had not returned, nor had Mattias come, and her mind played a panicky game of living all the potential harms either of them might have taken. She had been staving off the warring emotions, but now they came unburdened.

She sat on the nearest rock and let her worries flow. She went at it for long moments, her small whimpered cries and the convulsive rocking of hiccuping sighs echoed in the space of the cave. And then slowly the feelings drained off her, and the mysteries of her imaginative visions, fearful though unfounded, began to slow and just be. She could not find tears for the ache, though the trouble remained in her breast. She sniffled back the remaining flow, allowing her eyes to clear and to stare out at the handsomely growing night.

The moon's white face lit up the space surrounding her abode as the campfire dimmed down, and she let her mind wander as her fears settled into her soul, taking residence in the recesses of her thoughts. Though she had no evidence, somehow she realized that her worry was real, and she had the right to feel fear. It gave her something for which to plan. And then it dulled and she found her thoughts drifting away, moving over the scenery as she settled into exhausted apathy.

The drapery of long grasses that swept over the cliff above, sheltering this inset on the shore, swayed lightly on a breeze. Rock was strewn across the floor and water lapped the stony edges where the river met it. The stirring of crickets in the background forest ceased with the push of the light wind through the hollow, and Kattica watched the flames of her campfire flicker and crest with the soft breath of the wind.

She glanced about, her mind growing numb. Though her fears had consumed her before, it now seemed her brain turned off the onslaught of worrisome possibilities, almost as a defense against the ache in her heart. She stared vacantly ahead, almost mindless to the escape her thoughts took from that tormenting path. She was too weary to pay it much heed, and to do much more would mean to act. She could not. Her body at last felt the aching exhaustion she had been pushing away all that day. The rush of adrenaline that had carried her forward through all the prior drama seemed to have waned, and her fatigue tied to her fears made her stoic as the tears ceased to rain down from her eyes. She did not have it in her to fall completely into her woe, and she realized this was probably a godsend. She felt certain, had she absorbed everything that she knew she should lament, she might go mad with the agony of such heartache. Instead all she could do was stare outward, the pain of her heart still vividly felt, but no longer reaching the recesses of her cares. And as that curious place in her mind began an aimless wandering, the thought occurred to her that this small shelter was almost like that of a Protected Place.

She blinked, for though her mind was drifting, she had given it no inclination to fall back to thoughts of magic. But then she supposed, witch that she was, it was only inherent that her brain would stray in that direction. Yet was she a clever enough witch to be creatively thinking such thoughts, even when she had not set out to do so? She had never considered herself this and the suddenness of the idea startled her. Still, the thought had emerged. A Protected Place. It was true. This hollow resembled, to a degree, almost that which Bregus desired. Almost.

Earth, wind, fire and water, she recited in her mind. Those were the elements used to create a Protected Place, which Kattica knew to be the strongest of those used in the performance of magic. She put them together, playing with the thoughts, finding the connections to where she stood now. These were musings only, she decided. They were the lost circles of pondering one took before falling to dream.

Not many true Protected Places existed, though every witch knew how to contrive one when they concocted their magical circles for incantations. However, she knew Bregus had somehow uncovered a real Protected Place, and she knew what one could do there was a marvel. Though Kattica had never borne witness to such an event herself, she had heard tale at the Gatherings. A true Protected Place had no need for other means of sealing it off. The elements themselves made up the walls, the ceiling and the floor. Whereas in her camp, Kattica's attempts at any magical spells would be limited to the area she might draw with her kosh, or the perimeter she might walk while reciting a chant, or even the circle in which she might contain herself created with a line of salt. A real Protected Place was already contained, and all one needed to do was step into it and claim it.

This space was not of that make. It was false for it was not fully contained in the elements. True, earth made up a portion of its walls and ceiling, but the open air and the dried grass that encased it on one side undid what the other element did. Air was not a magical element. Wind was. A gale would need to be present outside this den to call that an enclosure. And while water was present, it only lapped at the floor. It did not seal off an entrance. And fire. Campfire was also a falsity. It was not what the shuv'nis had meant when she had learned of the lessons of Protected Places. Fire meant calling upon the heat and light found only by natural cause. Molten rock, or the blaze of the sun among those enlisted. A campfire sufficed for a construed and weak hold, and it was what most witches used, for they could not harness the sun.

How Kattica wished she might have a hold of such strength, for if she did, she might have it in her to do battle with Bregus and fight off what was to come. But such a possibility could not be. Once established in that cavern, Kattica knew Bregus' magic would grow tenfold. Though Kattica was beginning to have faith in her own skills and to see the lines where magic came clearly into the realities of her life, she knew there was nothing to give her power over Bregus when magic within the Protected Place was wielded.

Bregus would not be given her full strength until the true light of fire came into the den of that space. Kattica had seen into Bregus' vision. She knew the element of fire in this hold came with the setting sun. Until that time, any magic performed might be of the contrived kind a normal witch might make, not of a natural aura. There was still time and Kattica felt she might do something to hold off the elder's attempts to gain power, even if the magic were not strong. She might purchase an advantage. Kattica knew of Bregus' plans for Faramir, and the threat the old woman had made to possess Mattias in his stead. If the old witch did indeed have either of them, and if indeed she had made her way to the cave that was the keep of the strangers, little was there to keep Bregus from completing at least a portion of her plans. If she were desperate enough, Bregus might well return her beloved Bäla to her side. Kattica also knew Bregus feared giving Bäla any power. But if she were convinced that she needed him now, then all would turn ill. If Bäla were back . . . She shuddered at the thought. By rumor, she knew too that Bäla had also been a powerful shuv'ni. Reincarnated while in that hold, there would be no stopping the horrors that the pair of witches might create.

The space in which she stood, this hollow, might well be adapted for her needs. She had no salt to close off the room, but she knew well enough the chants she might use to seal it. She set about the task, stoking up the fire again, so as to bring in that element, and praying that the breeze might hold while she worked. She stared into the fire, cooing the sounds of the awkward chant she had been taught while still a young girl. The tempo of it rang loud in her ears though no accompaniment was there except those of her memory. And then she rose, and she walked over the ground, both inside and outside her concealed cave. She did her best to create a circle, her rhythm uninterrupted by the terrain as she traveled uphill and down. When she reached her starting place, she stepped inside, vowing not to step out lest the spell fail.

Her hand reached up and touched the amulet she kept at her throat, and then soundlessly the words filled her head as a new spell came. It was an entirely different rhythm that caught her up, but she grew lost in her thoughts, and she paid little attention to anything beyond the thrumming sound in her head and the texture of the amulet stroked by her fingers.

Words came aloud, and they slowly, consistently filled the space with their pattern. "Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. . . " She repeated the words over and over again until she felt the Other World touching her. It was mysterious and wonderful. Her strength returned while under the trance of that possession, and she felt the familiar power she had played to Bregus' advantage welling up in her heart. The surge recharged her, invigorating aching muscles, and at the same time, the taunt of the darkness whispered in her ears.

The amulet tugged on her neck and a breeze pulled her from her reverie. She stood still, her breath inhaled and held as she reached out with her mind for the one who might help her, fighting against the allure of the magical enticement. And then another sensation came, and she felt refreshed for the kinship in what had been her sought contact. Like the caress of a familiar touch, she found it. Like the whisper of a known voice in her ear, she heard it. She smiled, tears pulling at her eyes as she realized she now had something of good on her side. She spoke into the darkness, her eyes lifting to the full of the moon, and she said, "Ah, Puromämus, you have come. Thank you! Thank you! Blessed is your arrival, for I need your help. Please aid me, old wise one. Please help me to stop her."

He pulled the knife he had earlier borrowed from Kattica from his boot as his eyes ran ahead. The moon dipped behind a cloud, and it cast the path that Faramir watched ever deeper into shadows. He had thought he heard voices, and he dashed away from this route to become a furtive observer, patrolling the course to the lair with the watchfulness of the Ranger he had learned to be. Wary observation was the least he could give considering all he knew, and he prayed his careful eyes might see into the dark, somehow catching sight of the fearful fate he had unleashed. Hope lay upon the fringes of his fears, and with a desperate glimmer in his heart, he wished his darkest trepidation might pass as a nightmare flees upon wakefulness.

May reprieve be granted for my sin! he eagerly yearned in his mind. May Éowyn be safe!

He had tried with his desperate mind to compensate for his earlier foolishness. Ineptly he found himself at a loss for how he had overlooked something that was so apparent. The safety of his wife should have been foremost in his mind, yet somehow it had slipped away from him, and he wondered that he could ever forgive himself this failure.

If there be harm to Éowyn, how might I ever live with the knowledge it was through my negligence that it happened? he questioned.

In his memory though, he heard her laughter, and he knew it came from the mindful tongue he long had come to know as his wifes when she was ever doubted. She was not one to stand down, and he knew well her fiery disposition. She would not allow him to think he must be responsible for protecting her, for long had she learned to protect herself. And there lay the crux of his guilt.

The problem was that he had far too much faith in his wife and her ability to maneuver and resolve issues on her own. She was a shieldmaiden at heart, and though she rarely wielded weapons any longer, there was no doubt that she had the ability to make use of nearly anything to aid her, her mind was that clever. As such, his trust in her skills was great, and he gave her the freedom to act as she would, just as he gave Legolas or Gimli leave to their own causes. He had no rule over them. He could have no rule over Éowyn. And never did he doubt her.

Despite this, he could not get past his worry. His senses were taut with edgy anxiety, and he knew he would not feel complete and unguarded until he knew of his wife's safety and condition. The anxiety wore on him, grinding like a weight. His chest felt thick with pain. Never had he feared so greatly for her.

It was not a first though. Many a time he had put a jealous watchfulness over her actions, wariness guiding him when common sense would not. He had fretted most terribly over her steps in their earliest years, and as is common in most marriages, this became a time of turbulent arguments and standoffs. Éowyn did not like to be ordered about, and she did not like to be told of her limits. Fearful for her safety or not, Faramir had to learn to let go and know she would come back to him, despite how grave the odds. The progression of this trust was slow, for it was in Faramir's nature to be a protector long had he been. But he recognized too that so had she served, at least as much as she would be allowed, and a tether would not keep Éowyn from her innate vigor. He learned that he must allow her her freedom if she were to remain as he so adored. He could not change her, nor would he will her to be changed.

That was all fine, but for the moment it did not allay his fears. He felt certain he might find calm if only he knew her state.

Already he had been to and exited the cave of Henneth-Annün, slipping in and out with the stealthy steps he had learned in his youth of exploring and playing there. The tunnel was simply laid out. An entrance from the far side of the cliff some many steps from the water lay hidden in camouflage behind a wall of rock and scrub. From there, the tunnel twisted and turned, making all but a straight path to the hold. Further in, the path split, and this is where the route to the high turreted stairs forked off. From that ledge, the full of the gorge-cut river could be viewed, and though the platform was accessible via the forest, the ground was craggy and inhospitable to easy steps and reach. Few went there as a result, and none, to his knowledge, even knew of that entry. Beyond the split was the cave, its window visible only from the anteroom. The main room was shielded by a heavily curtained wall so that campfire light would not give away the inhabitants placed within the cave.

Éowyn had not been there, though the felted curtain remained open, as it would be in the daylight hours, and he concluded she must have deserted that space while the sun was still full. Happily he had raced through there, checking every hidden nook and concealing spot of which he knew. It gladdened his heart that she and Arwen had escaped the hold before the witch and her party could make their way there, though that did nothing to quell his worry that the women had not somehow encountered the Romany in the woods. Yet without broaching the gypsy camp and putting himself in danger of recapture, he knew he could not go now with certainty until he could make way to the soldier's camp.

Thus he was returning to Kattica and Gimli, pacified for the moment, yet no less eased for the knowing. It would have to serve. In the morning they would head for the safety the soldiers afforded them. With this plan in mind, he heard the noise.

He slid beneath the shadows of the trees, his stomach coiling with his dread as he heard again the sound. Footfalls and voices. They were coming!

A tinny taste filled his mouth, indicative he knew of his fretful worries, though he knew he had yet the edge over his enemy. He knew of them while they did not realize his presence. Backtracking he stepped into the path from which he had come, hoping he might see them before the road twisted back to the cave's entrance. Still, the moon was not cooperating this night, hiding behind clouds where it had earlier threatened clear skies for the eve. Of course, that aided Faramir's stealth, but it did naught for his eyes.

There they stand, he exclaimed in the shaky recesses of his soul, his mind quailing for the fear of the very presence the Romany people invoked in him. Dimly they were lit, walking in near single fashion, and he was impressed with the greatness of their number. Several dozen there were of them, walking in soft steps, obviously well trained in the ways of keeping silent in the forest. And then he saw something that disturbed him and he attempted to bring his eyes to search deep in the shadow to make it out.

He had much the lead on the path, and therefore, slipping the knife back into his boot, he ran back to the cave's entrance, knowing the route veered closest at this point. He was certain still, despite their approach, that there was room enough for him to duck away from their sight, and so long as they had not the hounds to alert them of his presence which they appeared to have not he was safe.

He found his hiding place, sinking low into the shrubbery. Before him lay a low gorge , and he could clearly see the path on the opposite side. Even crouched low, he was at eye level to those passing, so he could observe well with what light he had the full of that group. That was the moment the moon decided to grace him, and like a lamp lit in the darkness, the light illuminated everything he had imagined in the shadows.

His imagination had not been a wild thing. There before him he saw a fearful vision. A travois was being carried, its length framing the frail form of a body that the witch accompanied, walking to the side of it. Innocently at first he thought it meant one of their kind was injured. But the thought was swift in its flight, and seconds later he came to recognize the figure within the litter. The wind whispered around a lock of hair, and he could see the flaxen strands drift about the pale features of the one being carried.

New dread filled him, and he felt hopeless guilt for the Elf's plight. Somehow he felt the fault his. Had he not allowed Legolas his leave and their separate partings, this vile scene would not be! His eyes did not waver as he studied his friend. Though the moon was not the best source for judging detail, his estimation by comparison to the others told him Legolas' color was dreadfully ashen. Further, the Elf's eyes were tightly sealed, which told Faramir that his friend was either hurt and driven to unconsciousness, or that Legolas was heavily sedated. It could also mean Legolas was dead, though his form was not completely covered as in death, so the notion was pushed aside in Faramir's mind. Either way, with the witch keeping guard over the Elf's figure, there was little chance Legolas would have opportunity for freedom from her grasp.

Faramir gulped in his sorrow as those carrying the litter passed and with that emotion, the prince found he could not move. He knew he had but minutes before the line of people would reach him, but he remained for the moment where he was, stunned and shattered at his loss for what to do.

The situation compounded itself. Within seconds, he saw Mattias being dragged along, his face seen only because his head lay back, neck craned to the side. Again, the figure was pitiful, for the man appeared thoroughly bereft of consciousness. Such a horror he imagined, knowing Bregus' deft skill with her medicines. The image cloyed at Faramir's mind.

A sinking feeling fell over him, and his heart beat a panicky thrum within his chest. His legs trembled weakly and he reached a shaking hand to his face. He could not help but to take blame for the predicament he saw clearly before him. They are captives yet again, and all due to their aid given me! A crushing weight thrust itself upon Faramir's chest and throat. He felt the urge to cry aloud his heartache and fears though he stifled the wailing lament. Instead, a soft moan of agonized woe began to emit in small breaths from his throat. But he cut the sound off before it ever had the chance to part his lips. His sight checked him and his heart faltered for what came next.

All the ache he had felt prior shattered into sliver-like particles that pierced him, his shaky countenance made weak by the realization of what had happened in his absence. And though his guilt and anguish were great, they were nothing compared to the vexing shards that raked his heart at that given moment. The world grew silent, the incessant beating in his chest and the shaky breath that escaped his throat being the only sounds he could hear. Air was painfully swallowed. It tasted of blood and he choked on his cry, unconsciously rising to his feet as he watched her pass.

She was hauled between the two brothers, Curtik and Gordash, and he could see her awkward steps as they pulled her along Her head was weakly raised, bouncing with their pace but held with some small portion of strength that told him she remained cognizant of her surroundings.

He felt sick as he watched her, her obvious discomposure telling a tale of abuse from a source he could name with his glare. The witch's evil craft was at play, no doubt, and it was all he could do to repress the shuddering memory of the foul act Bregus had placed upon him in his earlier confinement. Tears dampened his eyes to consider Éowyn undergoing anything as vile as that offense, and the calling that dreadful thought laid upon him made him step forward as if to comfort her.

For whatever reason, his wife looked up at that very moment and he realized as she did that he could be seen. Her eyes lit upon him immediately, as if she had expected him to be standing exactly there, and though she was obviously not wholly herself, he could tell that her eyes came alive with her recognition. With the slightest of motion to her head, she shook it, the subtle indication for him to flee.

He could not take his eyes from her, and it was the strangest of feelings for while he watched her, he was also watching the entirety of people before him. Across the gorge, his eyes met hers, and between them he could read exactly her fears and her thoughts. He knew she sought an escape for he could see her struggles and resolve. She was stumbling and apparently troubled in her movements and he saw the difficulty she had in holding her head up to meet his. He concluded she had somehow been hurt. Rage burned in him with that thought. He could also tell that she was terribly frightened. That was obvious to see through the strained expression that furrowed across her brow and pinched her mouth. He could not blame her this fright, for he knew the reason Kattica had run. He had to assume Éowyn now served her replacement, though he prayed it was a mistake and that Bregus did not know of his wife's pregnancy. Somehow though, that seemed an impossibility. The irony of the exchange in bodies did not escape him though he gave it little more thought. The thing that struck him as most amazing was the thoughts that passed wordlessly between them, as if they could see into the minds of each other. Her eyes betrayed her, for he could see that she feared for him as her tear-stained face turned quickly to that of Mattias and then back to Faramir. He could easily read her meaning in convincing him he and Mattias would trade places where he to get close enough for capture.

She seemed also to read his thoughts. She shook her head, eyes widening as she came to realize his next actions. It was a stunning thing, for the scheme only occurred to him as he gazed upon her, but she saw it as if she could decipher the machinations of his thoughts. He had to help her escape. Now. While he still was an unknown to these people. And that is what he would do.

The entirety of this exchange was only seconds long, though with clear thought returning, he needed no more. Immediately he dropped back into the shadows, disappearing from the visible location he had just held to fade again into the darkness, just as she was hustled onward around the coiling path away again from Faramir's eyesight. None among the Romany seemed to have noticed him.

A cool breeze drifted past him, a stirring wind, and he felt a shift in temperature as the wind circulated the rolling gorge before the cliff side. He glanced up to see clouds rolling over the firmament, the moon suddenly hidden with a permanence told to him by the density of that skyward coverage. It felt of rain.

The wind grew stronger then, and he could see evidence of it swirl about the line of people, pulling at their hair and clothing. He used the distraction to run ahead on the path, certain now that he knew what he might do. He stood before the entrance of their cave, and then he darted into the shadows within, quickly negotiating his steps in the hold that he knew so very well.

It was intimately his, this cavern. He and his elder brother had long been acquainted with every detail of this hold since early in their days, and there were secrets within those tunnel walls that he had absorbed as a lad through the intrigue of play. His fingers led him, dragging softly over the rough stone surface in the walls until he reached the place he and Boromir had used for assorted games. Without benefit of light, he found the footholds he knew to be there and scaled the wall upward as it narrowed to the high peak of the ceiling. Various points in this path through the cave showed open sky above. However, there were other parts in the cavern where the walls met to form a roof, and this is where Faramir had hidden himself. So high up was this peak that even in the light of day one could hide and not be seen. From this perch he waited, his feet bracing his body again the opposing wall.

With the dismal light of the failing moon he watched them, his eyes already fairly adjusted to the dark. The touches of light color among their garb gave away their positions, for without these features, he might not know their places. However, the cottony hair of the witch was clearly visible to him, as was Legolas for the pale sheen of his skin. He could also make out the glimmer of something held in the old woman's hand, and a few seconds passed before he realized she held a knife. His eyes moved backward down the line as he saw another pushing, or being pushed forward. The golden tresses of his beloved flickered in and out of the light as she stepped the path, her form highlighted by the wan comings and goings of the failing moon. She stepped with more grace than she had a few minutes prior, though when she came to a stand, she swayed forcing the brute hands of her escorts to steady her uneven stance.

Bregus spoke, and though her tone was low, he could hear every utterance of her speech. Her words were directed to Éowyn and she said, "You can see where I hold my knife, can you not?" As Faramir looked, he indeed could see the knife, for his eyes were adjusting further to the dark. Now instead of just a glimmer, he could see her curved knife pointed at Legolas' side, her hand over the Elf's hand and laying on his chest as if hiding the weapon from other observers. "It is time you met your end of the bargain. Gain us admittance as you promised."

Apparently Éowyn saw the knife too, for her eyes went wide as she nodded. She glanced about her, as if warily looking for something that might intervene, as if she were expecting a soldier to jump out at them at any second, but knowing her deception, it did not fully convince him. He concluded, though, that he was the only one, for the witch's eyes darted about as if she expected military intervention too. While he knew it to be an act, but it did not keep him from preparing himself. Above her, Faramir withdrew Kattica's knife from his boot again, ready to leap upon the old woman if she attempted anything at all.

The whisper of the shieldmaiden's voice belied the warrior he knew her to be. She spoke almost timidly, and this worried Faramir. Her voice radiated softly in his ears and she looked uneasy. "No one of the guard has called out as they might normally do. The guard may not be posted tonight. I think we should continue our progress into the cave. The keep is where we will likely meet the captain of the guards."

Bregus' face distorted with anger. "You said there was a password! You said there would be trouble to meet without it. I will not step forward until I know the way is clear before us, for I will tolerate no garnering of attack further down the path!" Bregus said, hostility decorating her words.

"Since none has asked so far, I have to presume no sentry has been posted. I think we might do better to walk on to the first checkpoint," Éowyn said as Faramir tried to discern what she might have had planned. Sentry? Checkpoints? Passwords? What game is she playing?

But Bregus was not budging, the volume of her voice rising with her frustration. "Nay! It is a trick! Make it right, girl, or pay the consequences!" she said, nudging closer to Legolas.

Éowyn cried out a soft gasp with the motion, for she obviously had not intended the old woman's reaction to be this. She pleaded in a soft voice. "No! Please! There is nothing to speak if the guard is not at his post! If we move on, I know we will meet the captain and I can make my case."

However, it appeared Bregus was buying into none of Éowyn's false words. With a nod, Gordash was at Éowyn's back, her hands twisted back harshly while a knife held by Curtik was suddenly at her throat. Faramir choked back his own gasp as the move quickly exposed his wife for her vulnerability. Wisely, Éowyn froze, not daring to even draw a breath.

It was then that Faramir assessed the absolute danger of the moment. The light did not reach him, but it was not this that he feared. It was the vulnerability of Éowyn's position that made him quake. Bregus seemed quite prepared for this entrance, and it was certain that she had thought her way through a myriad of conceivable possibilities for admission. Surely she believed sentries were posted. Yet he wondered. Had the old woman considered what might happen if she found no one there? While he considered speaking out, to act the part of a guard, and perhaps putting new fear in the elderly woman, a part of him relinquished this idea. Though he was physically concealed, if he spoke now, he would unveil to all another presence in the caves. This he knew had not been Éowyn's intent when she had lured the witch here, no matter what her act. Surely she could not have known Faramir would be about, and surely she would not want them to seek him out. He stirred slightly, uncertain what he should do.

"The password," Éowyn repeated sluggishly. Then she glanced up, and somehow her gaze broke the void, the light of the newly lit torch aiding her with its dim light. He knew that she saw him. Slowly she shook her head as she had before, as if she were negating him. Then blinking her eyes, she did so again, only shaking her head faster as if she were attempting to revive herself. It seemed to work, for her eyes came brighter and she turned back to the old woman. "The words for entrance are 'fools travel safer trails.'"

The words surprised him as they did Bregus. He realized the password leveled was for his sake, the pinch of their intended meaning telling him much. She wished better plans for him, and in turn she did not wish his participation in this action. Still, Faramir was there, and little was there for him to do but act in accompaniment to her actions. He certainly could not stand by and watch as Bregus took out her wrath on Éowyn's slight form.

He knew Bregus' plan. If she had realized his wife's pregnancy, it would require that Éowyn remain unharmed until the appointed time came. The same was true for Legolas, and seeing that he was hurt, it would appear the main object at the moment would be to keep the Elf alive. Faramir saw clearly now that Bregus was gathering her tools. His wife, the Elf, Mattias, and now this cave they were all a part of an ugly plan, and the old woman surely was mad if she were to do anything to forfeit her goal. He was encouraged by this assessment, for he knew, as he had learned earlier, to remove one element from the formula could save them all.

However, Éowyn was also correct in assessing the odds he faced. It was impossible to take on all the Romany and this was a horribly dangerous game he was playing. There were too many of them, and he would be vulnerable if he jumped into the thick of them now. He gazed at the limp form of Mattias and realized that body could still be replaced. 'Safer trails,' she had said. She meant the way to the soldier's camp, as that would be the wiser course. He tended to agree. But he knew the reason why he had not turned that way. He could not bear to know she might suffer in his absence.

But what he faced if he acted was insurmountable. Not only was he outnumbered by the men, but he somehow suspected the women too might be able to account for themselves if forced. Yet there were too many innocents about. Children! he scolded, hating Bregus with greater vehemence for using such innocents in her plans. He could not imagine an attempt to free Éowyn in these halls without someone coming to harm.

"The words for admittance are foolish. What is their meaning?" Bregus inquired, her suspicious curiosity getting the best of her.

Éowyn shook her head, keeping up the deception. "I know not if there is meaning to them. They are just words." Her delivery gave no hint of the lie.

Éowyn seemed to slouch forward slightly, her speech minutely slurring in answer, and Faramir's worry for her came anew. "I suspect the guard left his post or fell asleep. If it is Enkirth who was posted here tonight, then that would be a very likely guess." Enkirth? Faramir thought. But the ruse seemed to work, and the knife hovering around Éowyn's face slipped away.

While he felt relief for his wife's reprieve, Faramir pondered the act being played. For whatever reason, Éowyn felt it wiser to get them inside. But why? Why? Surely she saw Bregus would not truly harm any of them, even if the threat had been made. Why had she not attempted her own freedom earlier? Her arms were not bound then or now, merely restrained by Gordash. But then he saw her slump with all her weight, and the man grunted slightly at the suddenness of it.

Faramir's anxiety increased, and he involuntarily shifted as he surmised her helplessness. It was a hard task, watching with terrified eyes upon the scene. But he also began to see the logic of going into the cave. The hold was dark in the further reaches and the heavy curtain that separated the two spaces he had already found to be pulled away as it always was in the daytime hours. If they knew not the lay of the cavern, they might be convinced to go into that darkened hollow, for the anteroom where the window stood was not vastly large. Further, the moon was not shining as it had seemed to earlier, and its light did not spill in as it had. The interior cave would be very dark at the moment. Perhaps it was Éowyn's intent to lure them there. And then . . .

Bregus nodded, as if satisfied with the idea that a guardsman might be slack in his duties. "Proceed then," she ordered Éowyn.

Faramir watched carefully as awe filled him for his wife's mastery of deception. "I should walk freely, should I not? If you wish me to fool the captain, my arms must not be restrained," the fair lady said though she barely lifted her head.

"Nay," said Bregus, suspicion lacing her voice once again. "We will gain access with you as a hostage. My skill with magic is great, and it matters not what the guards might think."

Éowyn seemed to resign herself to this, though the greatest of her ruse was about to be played. A small smile crept over her lips as a gleeful snort escaped her nostrils and she said, "So you say. I see 'tis your decision to challenge the soldiers then." She laughed softly to herself, her smile growing larger with the brightening of her eyes. "I shall enjoy watching this."

She mocks, Faramir gasped. She taunts the old woman with phantom protectors!

The elderly woman's eyes glared furiously at Éowyn, as if gauging the reality of these words. Watching her, Faramir saw that one waver, as if self-doubt and fear were driving her cockiness away. It seemed oddly in contrast to the old woman's bravura, and he almost chuckled to see the new slip in Bregus' demeanor. After a long minute's pause though, Bregus nodded, her eyes glancing to her middle son. Éowyn's hands were released.

Clever! Clever! Faramir crooned in his mind. But he had no more time to relish Éowyn's astute planning. The old woman shoved Éowyn forward, and his wife nearly fell. Were it not for the large hand of Gordash reaching out to pull her upright, she well might have collapsed. But the lady pushed off from the giant's support and she began leading their way. Her steps hardly took a straight line, and she swayed time and time again into the walls that made up the narrow coiling halls leading to the cave, though her poise never wavered. He feared for her plan, for he could see she barely had it in her to make this short journey, let alone flee for her life with a swift run. Yet Faramir reminded himself not to underestimate his wife. So he watched as she lead and the Romany followed, and when they had passed, he dropped to the ground, his feet silently landing in the sandy path. He followed. He knew Éowyn wished it not, but he would not leave her behind. Not if he could help her. She was right, thought. The path to the soldier's camp was by far the safest course, but he knew of himself. Following the safe path was not always his best attribute. Éowyn would need him, and at the moment there was nothing else that weighed heavier upon him than that.

Kosh - a walking stick in appearance, but also a staff used in magical incantations.

Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. - Earth, wind, fire, water. Your path leads to me."

Their steps became unsteady as the last of their trail ended in a rock-littered path. The striking presence of a craggy shale wall loomed before them. Aragorn steered them up and over the path, while Arwen prayed a silent plea to the Valar that this was not the end, that there was more beyond the bend they might take. Their light fell dimly about them, illuminating only the tiniest part of what was beginning to feel like an immensely large space. With the little she could see, she found the ceiling suddenly cresting into a very steep point, like those found in the great halls back in their citadel home. At the same time, the walls on either side were narrowing inward, coming together in the shape of a tapering wedge. The ledge they had followed seemed to have diminished away from an easy trail nestled by the water into these rocky steps that seemed to climb higher and higher, as if their intent was to reach the height of the ceiling. But even this was misleading, for the trail did not appear complete. The steps dissolved into the sheer face of stone before them, as if they had been created by an incomplete thought. She stared hard into the dark of the cavern, doing her utmost to see if they had missed another way, if there was by some chance a different road. But there was nothing that showed an alternative route to follow.

Looking over the cliff side, she could see the shimmer of the water reflecting some many odd feet below, the soft glow of the lamplight casting winking reflective light above to the ceiling. She looked up and saw raggedy rock on high. It looked as if it had been formed there by the collapse of the stone, unlike the ceilings they had noticed in the earlier parts of the tunnels, which were smooth and worn through. The water below seemed far deeper in the pooled basin than anywhere else in the river, and she could see large rocks littering the bottom as if they had come from the steep peaks above. Still nothing of even a ripple could she see. It was disturbing to find that the surface of the water did not break, even now at what seemed to be an end.

It was heartbreaking, this discovery, for it was nothing as she had imagined it. Their exit, in her mind, should have followed a growing waterway that would have led them out to an embankment along the familiar river of their Henneth-Annün home. It should have been simple, for she thought her conclusion logical. However, there was nothing that resembled this dream, and the crush of reality and her failure to predict their direction collapsed upon her. There was no escape from this direction. She had been wrong.

She sat down on the perch of rocks that cantilevered like a small balcony over the pool. She was exhausted and hungry, weary of walking and climbing and fighting against mud and rock and filth. Yet it was her mind that made her crumble, for she felt all her confident assertions of before had been dashed as if she had been thrown to that wall. Aragorn had been right. This was nothing more than a long and narrow lake. Perhaps, as huge as this cave system was, it was merely a room with but a single threshold.

She sighed a silent breath of despair, the weight of her failure pressing heavily on her. Fate seemed not to care. As if laughing at her thoughts that the matter could not grow worse, it proved it could. The lamp gave its last flicker of light, and failing in quick order, the wick ran dry. Their flame was squelched. Darkness took control and leapt upon their helpless state as she and Aragorn were plunged into the darkest of nights. Pitch blackness overwhelmed them without mercy.

A thought ran through her mind, Is this too much for my fractured soul to take? She felt her heart sink though she forced her mind not to take notice. She grit her teeth while she fought back her fear. She was determined not to let the misery that seemed to taunt her from the shadows take possession of her soul. She felt rigid in her fight to hold back the sorrowful cry that welled deep in her chest.

His hand touched her shoulder, and she felt Aragorn settle in beside her, wrapping an arm about her in comfort. It was startling almost to find him there, for long had their silence gone on, and in it she had fallen into her own personal perspectives. Yet his touch was of assurance, a quiet telling of his understanding. There was no blame in it, and despite her failure and the guilt and remorse she wove into it, in the last many wordless minutes there had been nothing from him that seemed to place doubt upon her. It was relieving to feel his consolation without accusation, and with the comfort of motion, every instinct in her changed. Unlike her desire to hold taut against the pull of acid tears, she could feel the dam break and she wept with the sudden shuddering of a sob breaking free. He pulled her to him when her lament poured forth, and without question or quip she cried into his arms, her anguish ripping her open and purging her of her loss of faith in herself.

After the wealth of her tears had been spent, she felt his arm loosen from about her, and a series of small movements were made. He spoke then and his voice surprised her for the depth of its volume. She nearly jumped at the sudden boom of words. "I think we should rest for a time."

She would not argue this, for the weight of the darkness was heavy on her heart and she felt nothing of valiant order to fight it. She was spent by her grief, but not so wearied that she could not also be curious at his movements. She could not see them, and she had to rely only upon the subtle twists of his body and the sound of ruffled garments. The actions seemed to be directed at prodding and reaching for something hidden on his person. "Eat this," he said, surprising her again as she felt him prod her with the back of his hand. "It appears still to be good, despite our earlier bath in the mud pit."

Her fingers wrapped over and around his hand to take the small ragged object that he offered. She played over it with her fingertips, wondering at the oddity of it as it came into her hand, and then lifting the light object to her nose, she sniffed it. Dried venison. She had no idea he had any food on his person, but then again, she knew he was resourceful. Quietly she bit into the scrap, knowing it would quench the rumble in her stomach little. Still she was grateful, for it would give her strength when they resumed their travel.

But how would they travel? The darkness was penetrating. So dense was it that she felt as if it stymied even the air. How would they find it in themselves to discover a way out when there was no light as their guide? Despite the ache of this thought, Aragorn seemed to have an answer. As if surmising her dread, he said, "We will sleep for a time before lighting the other lamp and heading back to our starting place."

Her mind stepped backwards, jostled by this thought, and then she remembered his earlier actions. He had doused the light in one of the lamps before they had begun the final steps of their journey. Her sadness lifted minutely knowing they need not search for alternatives to wandering lost in the ebony darkness. She wondered however about the amount of fuel contained within that last lantern. Would there be enough to get them back to the slippery chute from which they had fallen? Most likely not, and she shuddered, repressing the thoughts of what lay ahead. Apparently he did not wish to think on it either, for he quickly changed the topic of their converse. She supposed here would be time after their rest that they might speak on their strategies for combating the dark, and in that respite perhaps she or he might come up with something to stall off the glum prospects she saw ahead.

"I wonder of the others," she heard him say, and her heart turned away from the perplexity of their travels for the moment. He said nothing more and the silence lingered on, that thought hanging, though she longed to hear his words.

"Have you fears?" she asked. She knew in her heart that she did but she wondered what was Aragorn's state of confidence in these matters.

"We have spoken already of Gimli. I place blame on myself for what harm may have come to him. I never should have left him." She could hear remorse in his voice, trembling in the wavering echoes of the dark.

"I should have seen it, after what happened in the Romany camp," he chastised. "But I was so blind, neatly caught up in the competition of our sport."

"Yet I bear blame. I was not thinking of the dangers and I curse myself for not seeing more clearly." Then she heard him shift and turn as if confessing something terrible. "My fears do not stop with Gimli. I suppose in a way I did know the danger was there though I discounted it. I warned Legolas and Faramir away from that camp."

"You did what you could," Arwen whispered encouragingly. "Do not forget that they have powers of observation too."

"I hope my alert was enough. I will be happy if we escape this to find they have been free of that gypsy woman's foul arts all along. She is dangerous, Arwen, I have no evidence to prove it, but I fear even what we endure is a manipulation of hers. And I fear our friends suffer even worse."

It was not as if Arwen hadn't considered this. In fact her heart had been locked in dread with the thoughts of exactly the same thing. Yet she had not dared speak it, her fear for each of them was great. She held her breath as she whispered, "What of Éowyn? Do you think she suffers too?"

He did not answer though she was certain he had heard her. His shifting turn, as if to look away, confirmed his thoughts to her. In a shaky breath she asked the question "Why could this not have been the way?"

"It was my path that led us into this hole. It was my doing that has brought this to come. While you . . . From the first you have sought nothing but to aid and escape, Arwen. You have shown tremendous fortitude and courage. If there is a way to find and help our friends, it will have been through your efforts, I am certain."

Yet Arwen did not understand. He manifested guilt yet there was little she might blame on Aragorn of their situation. In her opinion he had made valiant and courageous efforts to free them as well. "You have nothing for which to feel shame. I have held you only in admiration," she said in equally soft tones.

Then his voice hardened slightly. "Yet you carry your own regrets, and those will not aid us, Arwen." Again she blinked in surprise for it seemed even in the dark he could read her and know of the guilt that plagued her. He had turned the tables on her and made her forgive him for the sins she placed on herself. He had been deceptively fast in tending this ache before she had time to let it fester. "There is naught we can do to go backwards, and despite the slight missteps, our intentions have been for reasons of good. True, this road led us to nothing. But there are routes we have passed that we might take still. We will find our way out. I know we will."

It stung, this admission of flaw, but once said, it was not as painful as she might have expected. She could live with the knowledge that she had not succeeded to find their exit as she had confidently directed. So long as he did not hang it over her, she might bear it. "Do you think the soldiers might come yet?" she asked, thinking this might be a possibility.

"They will," he answered, but almost apologetically he added, "though they are loyal and would not dare interrupt us ahead of their appointed time. I am afraid they are trained too well. I only wish I had done a better job of fostering their kinship, and recruiting on my own for a private guard."

Arwen would have demonstrated the amusing sight of an Elven double-take had there been light to see, but since there was not she could only ask, "What is this you say? You have regrets about taking your safety more seriously? You have fought against it ever since your ministers foisted that responsibility upon you. Why, only a few hours ago did you resolve your actions from hereon would go without their interference."

"So I did. And my first resolution shall be to form a core group to act as my protectors. I regret to admit that I have been wrong and my ministers have been correct."

She could not help mocking him then, if only for the lift it gave her mood. "It must be a blow to your ego to admit such a thing."

She could hear the smile in his voice and she knew he too took her chiding with a light heart. "Indeed. Imagine my surprise when I came to realize my life is too valuable to regard it so blithely."

"Still," he went on, his tone becoming more serious, "I might find remedy if I embrace the notion of my worth. I think if I were to choose my escorts to be more of companions than guards, it might help me respect what the counsel of my ministers makes so ingratiatingly irritating." There was a pause and then he went on in his confession. "I was thinking those chosen might act less with the formality of guardsmen, and walk more in our presence as peers. As stealth protectors, if you will. They would appear to be friends. Family. I did not think I could allow such a thing before, but adding others into the circle of our companionship should not be construed a bad thing. I have been greedy this way, thinking only those we have closest might be of our protectors."

"Family." She whispered, the word pausing on her lips, as if she were measuring it.

"Our friendships are dear, I think. They are as brethren, our friends. We have no others, save your brothers and grandfather," he softly stated. "Yet there is room for more in our companionship, do you not agree?"

"Nay, it is not that for which I qualify the word. It is that . . . " Her voice revealed the harsh sadness she felt at this exposure to an intimacy that oft plagued her. Family. She deemed so much weight upon that word. It was not a light subject in her heart, though she knew he had not used it in the way she was thinking.

He winced and she could hear it in the dark. His voice grew soft, apologetic. "I understand. I did not mean to . . . add trouble to your thoughts."

In light of our barren state, she completed the thought. "I am sorry," she whispered, almost crying.

He laughed, the sound inviting and sweet. A teasing voice played then to her ears, as if to chase away her wayward emotions. "The darkness of this cavern seems to bring apologies forth unprompted. Do you think this is an Elven trait or some magic within the cave? If so, I must drag Legolas down here that I might procure his remorse for ruining my best hunting knife last winter."

His voice seemed to refuse sober tones, as if not wishing to delve deep into her pain. "I know you belittle yourself because we have yet to produce children."

"I have yet to produce children!" she accused both him and herself, though she knew such an outburst was uncalled.

He seemed then to quiet and his voice grew sad, as if she had hurt him. She immediately regretted having said anything that might rip away his spirited responses. "Do not foist blame on your shoulders alone, my love. You have proven to me well that I have done much to cause you strife."

I make him suffer guilt, she thought. That is not my intent, for the guilt is mine alone. "It is not your making. I should have fought harder for my own freedoms. You would have given them, I know, had I made them apparent to you," she said, defending both his actions and her words in one fell answer.

Now it was her turn to laugh. "Had I sent you the full of my wrath prior to today, do you think you might be questioning me now?"

"The point is proven then," she said firmly, her mood somewhat lifted, though the pain of the subject had not fallen away.

A long silence followed before it was broken, and the penetrating reality of what was left unspoken seemed to make the air thick. Her throat constricted on the aching twist of her misery. She felt as a failure, and no banishment of her responsibility by him could make her feel any better for it. She had ultimately failed in what was her female duty, and though there might be remedy, she could not know if there would be time allotted to make it right in the end.

"Time will heal this, you know," he said. "It is not an ailment of the body that flags you."

"It is time that vexes me," she said scornfully, the source of her bile drawing near.

"Never have you yet, though I feel it all the same." The silence lingered between them, whispering all her remorse for her failure to meet the desires of his kingdom. "I hear the secreted words, Aragorn. I see the watchful eyes. There is blame cast upon me because I cannot do this simple thing. I would have children for you. I want them. That should be enough for my kind that I might conceive them. It is the way of an Elf, and believe me when I say that every time we make love I think what a blessing it might be, the prospect of children in our lives! I want it, Aragorn. A real family, not one constructed of peers. We have both sacrificed so much that we might have such a reward. And yet, I fail, and I know not why it is so, save for the make of my soul!"

And there it was, exposed, the core of her hurt. Though it pertained little to their circumstances, it had led them regardless to this very moment, one step after another. Like stacked chips that tumble, the actions to this point cascaded, slipping down to fall into a heap of simple failure. Their doom was of her make, though she was as innocent as he in bringing it about.

Had she not sought this reprieve of the wild, to be away from the shunning eyes of the people of Gondor, they might never have made this journey. That she sensed Aragorn needed this holiday as much as she did made it better all the same for the respite that she needed. That all the friends wanted a measure of removal from their stresses as well made it better, for she could hide away her reasons behind their enjoyments. But in the end, it was her selfish desire to be free of blame for a time that drove this retreat into being. But for the people of Gondor and their scathing glances at her whenever she appeared before them as a woman laden of barren figure, she could be fine. But for their measured words and hints that she should be of fruitful years, she might live happily. But for their scorn, she might find some peace. This was what tore at her night and day. This pervading inadequacy and inability ate away at her soul, making her heart cry that she was helpless to fulfill her duty as a queen.

"The people do not blame you, Arwen. I do not blame you," he said as if he could read her thoughts. "Bearing young is not a simple act." The words were softly said and she knew Aragorn did not hold her in contempt.

"There is nothing that physically prevents it," she answered. He might not hold her at fault, but she did.

She had heard this excuse from him before. He seemed to understand much of what she was dealing with, though in her mind it did not give reprieve. "It should be easier than what human women face. I do not have sickness to attribute to an empty womb." She felt tears welling up where she had thought all had passed. "It weighs on me so. As I have witnessed it of my race, Elves often bear young in the early years of their marriage. But tell me Estel, what is early in the span of forever? By the reckoning of time for my people, 'early' may be centuries! I have chosen mortality. My life wanes with yours. I do not have the indulgence of vast centuries beyond before I find comfort enough in our pairing that my soul will relinquish and bring forth children!"

"In a mortal world that would be an eternity!" she cried, her heart breaking with the hopelessness of her station.

Then her voice entered in a small sound, like a whisper in the wind. "How can you not when it rips at my heart? How can you not blame me for my innate failing? For me time is so pointlessly skewed. I never had to think of it as I do now. I feel my retarded senses just hinder our opportunities more."

"You have had naught else as an example to follow but an Elven one! What other pairings do you know that might rival ours save those few told to us in ancient lore. I would not expect your body to relinquish to mortal actions when you are just learning what mortality means." Then he pulled her close and she could feel the heat of his breath whispering to her ear. "Arwen, did you not assure me that I must banish outward expectations and follow my own path? Does that advise not also apply to you?"

"Yes, and would it that I could follow my own words!" she cried, giving in again to her frustration. She was surprised at how easily the tears came.

He shook his head, the bristle of his beard scratching her cheeks. "I too hear the words whispered. I too know what they would say, but childless or engaged in a raucous brood, I care little. My life is complete because of you. I have want for little else."

She pulled away from him then, her hand firmly placed at his chest. "But your lineage! Your name! All the ages spent to restore you to your rightful place only to bring it to an end with no heir? I could not bear knowing I was a party to such heartbreak!"

She heard rather than saw the understanding that came over his face. "Then bear it not. My ego is not so large that I need an heir to prove my worth. Faramir's line remains unbroken. Perhaps it was destined that the Stewards would rule on evermore. Such a thought does not sadden me, Arwen. I think Denethor's heirs to be fair and kind and certainly deserving of this. To rule is not my goal. Finding peace has been. Happiness with you at my side has always been all I ever wanted. Nay, Arwen, do not hold yourself to me for scrutiny. My only desire is your companionship."

The thrumming beat in his chest was regular and smooth and she felt comfortable leaning against him. There was truth in his words.

"And what of your people? What do you say to them when their voices and accusations grow louder. I doubt they would desire much of a queen who cannot bear their next lord."

"You are loved by our people, Arwen. The presence of hateful remarks is small, and always pushed aside by those who love beyond their own goals. The majority feel as I do, though I wish it could be all. But you know, as do I, that it is impossible to please everyone. We shall always be under someone's scrutinizing glare. Yet that number is small. The vast majority of our people love you as I do, no matter the circumstances," he assured her, his voice confident and without reproach.

"That is not the answer I would expect of you," she said, remembering many a longing glance he had given her in passing, especially at times when Faramir's young had been in the company of their friends.

"I would want children with you, Arwen," Aragorn said, his lips brushing her brow, "for the expression of love in that pairing surely speaks loudly of our feelings for one another. But I will not deny that I can think of other reasons as well. Is it wrong of me to think that the gifting of children would benefit many others, not just ourselves?"

"It does not even come close. But you must admit it would make a merry sight to see your brothers as uncles."

She giggled in relief, delighted it would not be an act simply for the people of Gondor. "That stirs a great many images to my mind, Estel! I wonder how the twins might sit with that sort of responsibility."

"So they would! I imagine too that they would be of the doting, spoiling nature," she said, still chuckling at how they might act.

"More so than Celeborn?" Aragorn asked, and a new image came to mind of her grandfather trumping the twins when it came to doling out tokens of their affection.

"Eagle rides on the Century Mark Conception Day would be only the start!" she told him.

"What more could they offer?" he asked, obviously having not witnessed such an event.

"Mearas? Really?" She detected the merest hint of a jealous twang with the surprise registered in his voice.

"And for Legolas' one hundredth, Thranduil invited Mithrandir to preside over the festivities," she added.

"Hmph," was his answer and she could not help but let a smile work its way over her lips.

"Do not pout! Indeed you did have a Century Mark Celebration, just earlier this year. And as I recall, the festivities were quite regal indeed. Gifts abounded from all the lands. Kings and Lords were practically coming out of the pictures on the walls. You have no reason to complain," she scolded teasingly.

"No one gifted me with mearas racing," he answered, and she could tell now he was playing into this juvenile retort.

"Save it for your first born then. You can dote as much as Celeborn," she laughed.

He perked up, cheerily asking, "Would it be wrong of me then to want such a thing for the first decade rather than the first century?"

"You have found yet another reason to want children then, have you?" she goaded.

"Only for the joy they would bring us!" he said, snuggling her closer, and she believed him. It felt good to laugh and to be loved and to share a dream, and his affection did much to heal her.

"I think I might find mirth in these reasons myself. Mortal time being what it is, I think a first decade mark might make more sense for celebration of any child that we might bear," she said, considering the possibilities.

"Too bad that Gandalf has gone on to the Blessed Realm. I would have loved to see what magic he might create for such a celebration," Aragorn wistfully remarked.

"Radagast roams these lands still, I am told. He might be employed for an engagement as the court's wizard perhaps," she considered.

"Such a lovely picture it is, Arwen. Do you not think?" She could feel the contentment in him, imagining it then.

"I do think so, my love. I think so indeed," she answered, her thoughts influenced by the greatness of his love as she pushed aside regrets and tried to look only ahead. It was difficult not to feel the pain of yet more potential failure, but knowing that his feelings were indiscriminate helped, and it gave her hope that happiness still could be theirs.

She felt him raise her hands to his lips, as he blew warm breath on her fingers, the tips gently grazing his lips. He planted a light whisper of kisses upon them as he pulled her head to his shoulder.

Yet as he released her hands, she did not let them fall into the folds of her skirt as he might have expected. Instead, she slid them over his chest, caressing his skin as she slid one hand beneath the fabric of his tunic and rubbed it across the firm muscles of his breast. Her other hand grazed the column of his neck, and she used light pressure to guide him down to meet her mouth. Instinctively his lips parted, and she could feel the heat of his mouth meeting hers. She moaned softly into the kiss, dizzyingly lost in the solitude of black but caring none at all. She wanted his touch, his caress as their bodies pressed together tighter. She lost thoughts for anything else at the moment but the joyously arousing feeling that stirred deep within her as he held her. She could have let the moment go on forever, such promise did it offer, and she drank in the feeling of his kisses while the lavender scent of her flesh perfumed the air around them. There was no light to reflect their actions next, but light was not needed to fulfill such an endeavor. Love and understanding were all they needed now, and those were two things with which they had in bounty.

She did her best to master her fumbling steps. She felt sluggish and feeble-minded and only half-aware of her actions. It was a most difficult thing to do, to fight off the effects of the potion, and with her attempts she saw the blurry vision of a twisted smile hatch from the mouth of the witch. It was mocking, that smile, but it was also given as if an impetus. Its effect was like that of a whip, for it forced Éowyn to grit her teeth and persevere. She knew she must act the guileless prisoner, humbled into submission, and trying with vigor to save that of her friend. She also knew she needed to keep her wits about her, and her misbegotten steps, exaggerated by only the smallest amount, gained strength as she took in that mockery. She raged in anger at the old woman and it aided in keeping herself quick and focused. Done for show or for real, it was all moot. Her posture straightened. Her wits grew sharp. This was no game that she played. It was succeed or die. There was no room for slovenly execution. If she did nothing else, she would do this well. Nothing moderate would be allowed.

She felt them following. Felt, not saw. It would be too great an effort to swing her head back and check their progress behind her. She knew they were there, the mass of them, following with silent steps, a dutiful army of men and women taking the path that she laid. However, it was the staring gaze of the elder that penetrated her, attempting to rattle her composure. It placed weight on her conscious mind. Bregus' eyes bored holes through her flesh, the intensity made for the purpose of guarding Éowyn's movements all too apparent. Yet Éowyn stiffened her back even further in response, as if protesting the witch's small act of control, as if she were proving to the old one that she was not so incapable of mustering herself still, even with the cursed potion coursing through her body.

It was a false show, that bravado, the design of which was to allow the old woman's mind to race ahead, every step done as a hint that something sinister lay ahead. It was a teetering hold on just a slip of the elder's psyche, and Éowyn could not be sure it was working. Better though that she act the part of helpless, yet brave, captive. She almost laughed at the irony. The act was nearly true.

Her fingers trailed the wall, her hands rocking softly down the corridor to paw the stone that seemingly swayed like the hull of a ship. Doubt slipped over her. How am I to do this? she asked herself. I can barely stand, let alone walk. How do I dare run when I know I may fall with my first steps? But she also knew she had no other choice. Few opportunities availed themselves to her, and now that she had mastered the freedom of her hands, she could not forsake the advantage that emancipation gave.

She felt her mind waver again. Her thoughts grew unfocused. Vacantly she led, forgetting for only the slightest moment what she was doing and where she was going. A stumbled footfall drew her attention back to her actions, the jarring misstep driving her mind to regain her dizzy hold over her actions. She blinked her eyes open, not realizing that they had closed for those few seconds, and momentarily she felt as if she were lost.

And then she regained her composure. She knew doubt was the surest way to failure, and she banished the thoughts of defeat from her beleaguered mind. Instead, she hurried her brain to race ahead into the cavern, to remember all she could of the details she might find there. As she had done before, she had to assess her opportunities, find her weapons in what there might be in the smallest of items, and then act. In the brief moment she found in this respite of clear thinking, she allowed her mind to plot and plan, to add to what she had already devised. There would be no other chances.

The air moved around her, gaining swells of small gusts as she came to the cavern's threshold. The walls were growing wider, and in a few dozen steps she knew the greatness of that first view into the cave would come clear. She prayed for the moon to show itself, though bleakly she recalled its decline behind ambling clouds. The result of its brightness just now would do her plan much good, as the sight of it in the blurring tapestry of falling water usually had a hypnotic effect over new visitors. But then even no moon might avail her, she realized. While the light was greatly attractive in the moonlit hours, the curtain wall of water was impressive even without, and as she began to register the darkness in the shadows ahead, she came to see this alternative might come to be. She would have to act without the light. She hoped without it, her scheme might still work.

Vaguely her thoughts went to Faramir as she groped the passageway, staying to the shorter wall of the curved path. She thought certain his actions would be to her disapproval. She knew him too well, for though she would choose not his involvement, she was certain that at the trail's end he followed. Very well then! she thought. If he is to offer his aid, I shall take it, but his thoughts best be wary, I have nothing to offer but instinct and action to clarify my plan. And then, as if there was no more she could do to prepare herself for what she knew would be split second reacting, her journey came to an end.

She could hear it before seeing it, though its sound had been growing, and no doubt could there be to any who followed her that the rippling tide of water was very much a part of the construction of this cave. The entrance to the cave was opposite that of the actual waterfall, and despite the roar of sound, unless one knew of the fountain that fell at the next bend in the path, one might never have expected that cascade to appear. Thus, the sound of the water spraying often was bewildering and wondrous, just because it was so unexpected.

Beyond sound, the wind hit her next as she took those last steps. Always it circulated in this confined space, as if the washing of water at the far wall were a device for its mechanics. The tug of it billowed her skirts slightly, and the effect was usually a merry one, as if the air were a greeting to all who would come here. Tonight, its motion seemed twice as strong, and in her rusty mind she thought the foul weather ahead was blowing itself inward to their abode. This was not the first time she had experienced the matter that weather played upon the cave, and in the weak retrieval of her memories she thought it to have a very positive effect in that it made her feel as if this cave were more outdoors than in. It had benefit of enclosure while allowing the freshness of the elements entry. Thus the wind met her, and immediately she knew the turn of the weather though in the next breath, that mattered little.

It stood before her, the great Window on the West, and though the light was dim in that massive spray of cascading water, there was still enough of it available to let all those who followed in quiet steps gulp in the mystery of this view as they entered the cavern. Warping and molding was the image beyond the pane, and she remembered her intrigue at her own first passing. Silently she prayed they might all have this same reaction as she worked her way around to the far wall to give the front of the line admittance. With the quickest of glances she surveyed the room and its annex, realizing it was exactly as she had recalled.

They followed, eyes sweeping over the watery wall as they entered. All but Bregus kept this fixed gaze. The witch alone seemed to keep her guard. It was exactly as Éowyn hoped.

"Captain! Help me now please! Seize them! Seize them!" she screamed. The sound of her voice pieced the falling water's noise and she startled even herself with the suddenness of it.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins with that planned cry, and as she sang it out, she ran. Her feet fell firmly against stone floors and her legs felt sure and right as she dodged into the crowd and the recesses of the cave. As she did so, she slammed into the man who carried the torch. Its flame had struggled against the brisk wind, but with her awkward blow he toppled off balance and the light dropped to the floor with a spattering of sparks. Éowyn didn't bother to look to see if the flame would blow out. She was too busy acting out her escape to the back side of the cave. There was no door at this end, but she was certain the Romany did not know this fact.

Chaos, as expected, immediately ensued. Act or no act, she thought certain Bregus would perceive such a ploy. She had no intentions of disappointing. Éowyn was horribly outnumbered, and she certainly held no weapon. Yet the woman of Rohan had the advantage. She had but one thing to control, herself, whereas the Romany witch had to maintain the masses. Surely that must not be an easy thing, seizing dominance over so many personalities. Further Éowyn knew her locale. Small as the space might have been with all these bodies pressing in, it was adequate for Éowyn to run freely enough without necessarily being confined. She attempted to use fear and panic as her weapons, feeding upon what she saw as the ultimate flaw in Bregus' plan. Éowyn doubted Bregus capable of controlling her people's panic that might be derived from a direct attack, even if the old woman could master her own.

It seemed to work. Cries and shrieks erupted around her, and bodies collided into one another as the pandemonium of activity followed. Women reached for children who cried with confused tears. Some of the men began the act of following her, while others turned to flee the cave, and still more bodies, unsuspecting, poured into the cavern, surprised by the confusion and turmoil. And in her mad dash through the cave, Éowyn ran to those spaces that held the effects of her companions, knocking into them as she pressed on, making as loud a commotion as she went that she could, the goal to cause even more distraction.

Yet they were in pursuit. The cry of the old woman mingled with the rest of the voices, but she could hear the instructions given. "Get her! Get her before they arrive!" It urged Éowyn on. The old woman believed Éowyn's ruse.

The Romany came following her just as they had before, this loyal army. She could hear their footsteps echo in the cave. No longer were their footfalls silent. They were coming, obediently following orders, and she knew she must hurry. Yet she had no intentions of standing in the darkness with them. They were a thoughtless band of followers and they would pour in as Bregus ordered. But Bregus did not know there was nothing else. She thought Éowyn led them on to a maze of vast tunnels. Let them search the folds of darkness for a way further. There was none, but Éowyn had no intention of being there to reveal it. She must slip around. She must find her way to the opening. She must flee.

She ran to the very deepest part of the cave then doubled back on herself, her form still invisible to those racing in to follow. The room was pitch black and only the faint silhouette in the window's light told her more and more of the Romany piled into the cave. She heard wailing cries from the women and children, and men calling direction in the thick sound of their tongue. She hugged the wall in her motion, scurrying quickly to catch up to the entrance again, remaining in the shadows and hidden in the folds of the curtain. She still had no weapon, as the chest holding their armory was buried deep in that darkness. She considered going back for she knew the general location of the box. But she also knew with the chaos that expediency would serve her better. Instead, knowing it was there, her fingers reached out and touched the cordwood stacked against the wall. She gripped one of the pieces as she would a cudgel, weighing the generous measure in her palm. And then she drew back and waited.

It took mere seconds. One of the Romany moved into the doorframe, his figure vaguely illuminated in the threshold opening. Éowyn could see the slight shimmer of a knife in his hand. His eyes were wide as he tried to make out what lie in the thick darkness before him. Screams pierced the shadows, all hysteria set loose there, but nothing was available for him to see. The cries pulled him in. He stepped forward and as he did, she reached out and landed a quick blow at the base of his neck. He fell in a soft heap and she noted with satisfaction that he had landed in a way that would best trip up any returning in this direction. In one swift move she swept in, grabbing the knife, and in the next instance she was whirling around, taking steps forward and grabbing the heavy wool drapery. She pulled, dragging it shut across the entrance, her strength somewhat diminished by the exertion. The curtain was very heavy, and it suffocated the sounds of the screams and tears behind her. She stood now with the bulk of these people behind her, and she could only hope it might take them longer to regain their composure than it would for her to find escape.

Dodging around again, she stepped back into the shadows again. The front room of the cave was not empty, but enough action there was in that loud and frenzied space that she escaped notice. Her chest was heaving with panted breath and a cold sweat broke out over her brow causing her to shiver as the wind touched it. She could faintly hear the screams of fear from within the keep, but around her much more was occurring. She saw the shadows of other bodies moving in a flurry. There was a fight going on, and she turned at the grunted striking noise that accompanied a falling body.

The action surprised her. She jumped back as the foe fell near. At the same moment, a brilliant flash of light filled the water-filled window, and Éowyn saw then that Faramir had revealed himself. He was fighting off yet three of the Romany men and she could see the dim form of a body beyond him, someone who had lost an earlier battle. They all had short knives drawn and she gritted her teeth as she watched her husband spin and evade the nearest foe.

Yet they had not noticed her. She could have fled then, the entry standing open, but feeling her own sweaty grip on her blade, she knew she could not leave Faramir to this fight alone. She stepped forward to join her husband in battle knowing if she did not the prospects of a win were unbalanced. She charged.

Only she was halted. Her movement thrust her forward, before she had really begun her dash into the fray, though her momentum was enough to bend her over with the tug that held her back. A steely arm wrapped about her torso, gripping her with tight fingers that were bruising and fierce. She gasped at the suddenness of the unseen inhibitor, and she put her weight into pulling away, kicking and striking as she did. Her knife was still in her hand, and she tried to swing it into the flesh of the one holding her. However, her opponent seemed wary of the knife, and he pinned the weapon-bearing hand behind her back. The grappling hands held tighter with her fight, and she cried an angry gulp of sound as she fought the restraining hold. She tried to maneuver herself around, to tangle her legs beneath the others, to fix her steps that she might throw the one who had her. But her assailant was a versatile fighter and he dodged her parried moves, out-wrestling her with weight and strength to his advantage despite her agility and speed.

And then unexpectedly she was thrown, dashed against the wall. The loosening of the hold was so surprising, so unexpected, she had not time to compensate and catch herself.

Her shoulder collided hard into the stone, and she cried out a wail of pain as daggers of torment lanced her upper arm. She crumbled where she landed, uncertain for a moment what had happened that she found herself laying upon the ground. The knife she had won so easily now skittered away, careening carelessly out of her sight. Spots flickered on the periphery of her vision but she would not give in to their dizzying effect. She shook her disorientation away, reminding herself again that she could not give in to any failing. She could not falter.

She pushed herself up, wincing at the racking pain in her arm, shaky fingers of but one limb finding purchase against the hard walls. Her assailant seemed to have left her though her confusion and weakness did little to give her more clues. Chaos continued around her and her aching body and exhausted mind could do little but allow her to right herself.

Again the room was lit with a winking flash, white light flitting and blinding in a stir of blinking brilliance over everything about her. Lightening that was highlighting the night and she nearly jumped in surprise at what lay about her. The discarded bodies of both Legolas and Mattias were there, cast aside and haphazardly still. Legolas' palette was awkwardly placed, unbalanced on the ledge of a stone, tilting at an angle. At a glimpse she could read the ragged breath from his lightly parted lips, his furrowed brow marking the discomfort he must feel, even in a dream-state. Mattias was dumped in a darker recess along the wall, his arms askew as if he had been dropped, and had landed in just this pattern. There was no movement from him but she had not strength or time to investigate.

The sound of Faramir's battle drew her attention and she darted her eyes in his direction while she fought against her own pain. It was now just he and Gordash that battled, those two alone circling one another with eyes sharply fixed and weapons raised. She pulled herself straighter. She had nothing left for a fight. It was time to run.

As if sensing the same, Faramir's eyes ripped away and met hers, his words calling out to her. "Run! Run! Ai! Éowyn, NO!" His eyes went wide, and she read it as a warning before his was brought back into his own circumstances.

And then a closed fist struck her, landing squarely at her jaw, and the pummeling blow again threw her to the floor. Her eyes opened wide as a body landed upon her, strong hands pushing her own into the ground. A cry of pain was released as her shoulder again was jammed with the effort, and she nearly withdrew into unconsciousness with the agony that met her. She could taste blood in her mouth, numbly reaching her senses as the stinging ache in her jaw added but one more hurt to her already wearied body. Her blurry eyes tried to make out the features of the one straddling her form, and dazed though she was, it was more through sound than actual sight that she could tell this was the youngest of Mattias' brothers.

"Kill him! Kill him!" he shouted, looking up to the skirmish which Éowyn could no longer see.

A shrill scream was rent, and only then did Éowyn recognize that this voice had been wailing all along. Vexing curses were released as the pitch of that voice went ever higher and it was this that Éowyn's attention was drawn back to a precarious cognizant hold. It was Bregus' voice that called, though the words sounded strange, their meaning bewildering. "No! Do not kill him! Stop, Gordash! No!"

It was all chaos then as shadows and motion dodged about her. She heard Faramir's voice call to her, "Éowyn!" as another flash of light filled the room.

Light and sound blurred. Desperation and fear. Helplessness melted into a quagmire of blurry thoughts. Tears and surrender mixed with groundless effort. Surrender, the turmoil seemed to beckon to her. Surrender.

Distant fears reached her. Her struggle remained. Somehow she relinquished none to her fevered confusion. It would not be. It should not be. Not without the last vestige of fight expunged from her soul would she give in. Not yet. Not yet!

Éowyn's voice joined the cacophony, the subtlety of it emerging with the surrounding madness. Her eyes looked to where she had known him to be, and though she could not see, she heard grunting and sparring still ensuing in that space. Weakly she called, "Faramir run! Run! Get away!" She sang out as the rumbling sound of thunder faintly echoed through the hall, and though her voice was mild, it was distinct enough to be heard above the others and in her mind she thought, not all should die. And then she turned her thoughts back to herself.

Behind her, the screams in the darkness filled her mind and they melded with her own as she fought in madness against her assailant. Screaming her own curses, biting and clawing and kicking where she could she did not give in. She fought. She fought for the only thought allowed to her now was to do this or to die! The sound emitting from her throat was a bleating wail of pent rage screaming forth. Pure furor and fight coursed her veins. She would not give in weakly. Her disturbing wrath urged on her actions to combat ever harder her enemy's detainment.

And then a clubbing hand came out and struck her, another surprise in the near dark. She barely registered the clouting blow as the world fell weakly away from her conscious notice. Shadows and light and sound all emerged into some nameless thing and the words yet taunted her again. Surrender. A void filled her mind and slowly she was lifted away to lay hostage within it. Simultaneously sorrow filled her heart with the desperate plea of her aching soul. Anguish stayed with her drifting mind. Though it would seem she was unaware, she knew yet as she fell into halfway dreams that the situation was wrong, that she should have done more. Vaguely she found herself thinking that she had failed. Somehow, though she could not quite recall how, she had lost. And now, there was nothing that could recall the future from this chain of events. Somehow her life would be forfeit because of that failure, and though it was her nature to fight against such a fate, all she could do was fall back and enter into dream.

The tumult of wicked weather struck him as his feet took the quick pace of one hunted.

Faramir bolted from the cave and into the confusion of night. Crashes of thunder shook the earth around him as air stirred over his fleeing form. Strands of hair flew into his eyes and particles of dust and leaves whipped circles about him. He was free of the cave now, but he could hear the heavy tread of feet in pursuit.

He swallowed hard on his panic, trying to cut the gasp of fear that threatened to make itself known. His pursuer was mere yards behind and showed no signs of faltering or slowing, and though Faramir knew he might do battle with a single foe and win, the one in chase was so close as to not even give Faramir the opportunity to stand his ground. It would be difficult to fight someone thus, like fighting in a space too narrow. It could be done, but given the weight and girth of the one who followed, Faramir would prefer to wait for a better opportunity to present itself before he unleashed himself in final battle.

A hard wind brushed him, blowing into his back as if to give him more speed. It was abrupt and assuming, moving him with a tug that seemed almost contrived. Actually, the whole of the oncoming storm was a surprise to him, and he blinked at the madness its blustering force caused to swell around him. Only minutes before, when he had been prowling in the dark, scouting for signs of his wife's presence, had the clouds come. It had been still then, the climate calm, unremarkable. His veteran senses told him the night would be clear. Yet now, in the aftermath of his clash in the caves, reckless wind threatened to rake over him and he could not help but feel perplexed at the swift change in the weather.

His legs raced over broken ground, and his lungs filled with shaky breath. Leaping off the open path and into the shadow of the trees, he crashed over and under fallen branches and limbs. His pursuer did the same. It was difficult to see in the clouded darkness, but he kept his steps light, balancing on his toes, treading as a dancer over unsteady terrain. The land was uneven, hilly and gutted, and he knew he must make cautious progress, lest he step into a small gulch or trip over a tree root. At the same time, he knew he dare not slow. And all the while the wind whipped him as he ran, urging him to go with due speed.

Light flashed in the sky, and almost instantaneously the powerful boom of thunder followed. The heart of the tempest seemed centered around him, following him, and all that was missing was the pummeling of rain to make the effect complete.

He had no choice. Run. That was all there was left. Yet Éowyn had been left behind, and he could feel pain build in his chest for having deserted her. He felt desperately anguished at his decision, but he had seen there had been no hope when she had last fallen. A wailed protest of his forced expulsion threatened to rasp out of his lungs. Anguish prodded his guilt but he also knew it was the right choice, for with escape he still stood the chance of finding rescue for those trapped. He knew time still worked for them, and that he might save them yet even if he must now leave them to accomplish this goal. And having witnessed the harm done to his wife and his companions, he knew that if he lingered his own death would soon follow. Thus he pushed aside his heartache for the sake of their preservation. Faramir still possessed his wits. His brain, like his steps, was running rapid pace over what he might do in the moments ahead.

He had a knife. It was the one he had borrowed from Kattica in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He had slipped it into his boot when he had sought out the sound at the river, and in his actions to save Gimli followed by his own sudden departure, the knife had not been returned. It's curved blade tucked neatly against the flesh of his forearm, it was balanced well and with a twist of his hand Faramir could have it poised for a fight. There was assurance in holding a weapon, and he felt empowered for having it, giving the briefest of glances over his shoulder as he considered this advantage. His pursuer might be keeping pace with his long strides, but Faramir still stood the chance of fighting for his life, and fighting well, if he were forced into battle.

The footsteps reverberated behind him, the grunt from a small slip telling him just how close the hunter was. But the sound was accompanied by a faltering sound, a jarred grumble, and then what could only be a crash of body and limb to the branch-littered ground. Various snaps and cracks followed with the bellow of curses, and he could imagine the fall that had occurred in the wake of his steps. It was the opportunity for which he had been waiting. He knew this gave him an advantage over his pursuer, a chance to turn and make his stand.

In the darkness ahead, he could make out the edges of a clearing. Seconds later, he halted within it, spiraling, realizing that he stood in the remnants of a quickly raised camp. He could see the charred bits of what looked to be singed debris strewn about dusty fire pits. Wind whipped the ash in tiny cyclone-like whirls. A flash of light brought his attention around. Something caught the corner of his eye. His head whipped to see it, his eyes daring but to dart to that place before they returned to where he knew the man would follow. In the winking contrast of white to black, the flickering lightning revealed to him what he thought was a small figure, an animal form. It was there and then gone, an apparition in the violent light. He took a step towards it. Fear played at the edges of his senses as his brows furrowed. It looked as had the buck, great and tall and regal, but then it had changed and suddenly the form was a wolfhound. And then it had been gone completely. He tried to put reason to what he had seen, but he had to dismiss it as he heard the approaching steps of the other man.

A flickering spray of raindrops met him as he turned. Wind breezed lightly over him, cooling his heated skin but doing little for his starved lungs. He heaved in gulping breaths as his heart pounded thunder in tempo with the increasing rain. A chill pushed its way over his body, the temperature inversion as abrupt as the storm. Lightening flashed, and thunder boomed and the thrumming vibration of its sound suddenly spurred him. Move! Move! he thought. Be ready!

He pivoted, prepared to dash into the woods, but in the seconds spent pondering the unknown creature, he had lost his opportunity. As he turned, there stood his assailant.

In the flash of light created by the threat of storm, red-rimmed eyes met his as he and Gordash stared at one another. Agents of war they were, and they summed up one another with their glances. The larger man appeared agitated and wary, saddled with the mysteries of an unspoken anguish. Sobs racked the massive body as the Romany man unloosed his misery. He looked conflicted, torn between the fight and his own horrible regrets.

Faramir felt a moment of compassion for the bereft appearance of the man, and he could not keep silent his thoughts. He judged that he might console with his words and perhaps quiet the battle in which they were about to engage. "Let it be known, I would not choose to fight you, Gordash! I would halt this madness now!"

He held his hands out in a gesture of peace, yet despite this, Faramir found himself circling to counter the moves of the other, his feet stepping lightly as if in a dance. The blade in the Romany's hand was grasped in the practiced hold of one accomplished with fighting in this manner. He was swaying lightly as if trying to judge the right moment for attack. Gordash snarled, "It will not end until she has all her dreams fulfilled."

Agitation made Faramir speak, his anxieties and fears getting the better of him. "Tell me then what would my death would solve."

Despite his stance, Gordash sobbed. He truly looked anguished over what he must do. "'Tis an impossible task! Her goals can never be fully reached! There will always be something more! I cannot allow this to be!"

Faramir could not hold back the curiosity that emerged with Gordash's words. It was disturbing to see such a tumult of emotions and he came to assess from the tearful cry that the attempt on his life was Gordash's doing. Not Bregus'. After all that had occurred, it seemed strangely out of place for one of the Romany to be acting of his own volition. Further, when he had followed Éowyn into the cave, he had done so with the confidence of knowing Bregus would not wish him dead. The cry for his killing had come as a great surprise. All expectation had turned tail, and now he was set to wonder, "Yet you have not answered my query. How does my death halt the whim of her satisfaction?" Faramir's eyes locked on Gordash's as he endeavored to reach the truth. "She will take Mattias in my stead, will she not?"

The large man shook his head, venom spilling into his words as his mood settled on hate. "Mattias will be spared. I will kill the Elf in order to stop her. My brother will not succumb!"

Faramir could not see for he knew not of the argument. He gave a questioning glance at the man for his perplexing response. Madness stormed through bulging eyes as the Romany man then suddenly charged. A conundrum of words raged all the while as the man sprang forward, wrestling moves apparently his tactic. "I have been trying to stop her, trying to hinder her plans! But you and your friends would not heed the warning from the danger presented to you. Have you no sense? A spell befalls you and yet you journey into the woods? For a hunting trip? Are you so gullible to her wooing as that?"

Faramir, light-footed and sure in such a manner of defense, easily dodged the attempt to gain hold. But he was thrown by the accusation. He darted away from a tangle of reaching arms as he tried to understand why the gypsy would voice such thoughts. "We - We did not -"

"You had to come near! You had to enter our camp and entice her again!" Gordash said, circling again. Vindictive malice flared in his eyes. "Though my brother killed two of the Elves, I freed a third one that he might go free! It failed but I tried. That their blood was spilled was not my doing! That she might not achieve her goals was! I tried as much and she appeared defeated to learn of her loss. I thought we might have won! But then you put one directly in her path to give her renewed hope!"

"Fools! All of you! And now I can do nothing to stop her! The whisper of lust and greed beckons her forward!"

"I do not understand," Faramir said, his voice flattened by conflicting waves of emotions, anger at hearing of the Elves' deaths and confusion still over Gordash's words.

"You know not our strife! How would you? The tribe was surviving as best we could before Mother's dreams came. Then everything changed! She became consumed by her desire, as if it might protect her from meeting the realities of fate. But I know the course of her life. I know she has done much harm and that she has done so to many people. In the Other World she will pay, just as my father has paid though he tries to escape it. That is the way of my people, our beliefs. There is another life we must face after. We all meet our judgment. But she has tried to trick doom, to slip past the inevitable. It is painful for I love her, yet I know she is wrong. Her goals ultimately hurt my people. And me. Thus, I have tried to prevent anything more she might do to the tribe. You came among us. There was nothing I could do to stop that turn. And now you leave me no choice. I must kill you and the Elf if we are to survive. None will then know of the tribe's part in what has happened here."

Gordash was ranting, his eyes wide and wild. Faramir knew he would be hard-pressed to stop him of his speech. "At least Kattica had sense enough to flee when she saw the danger. But then your woman appeared . . . is there nothing about your folk that will keep you at safe bounds? Aye, but Bäla has a role in this! I can see that now. I would not choose to have him return. Better that he suffer in the Other World. Yet your presence only makes her resolve firmer. She was not meant to live an eternal life, and I cannot bear the idea of her leading us beyond her given years. She has done us such harm!"

The man looked torn, as if uncertain he should believe this. "They are not," he said weakly, "for you would see her dead, and I will not kill my own kin!" Then, as if mustering up his will, he said, "I will kill you and all of yours before I would let one of my own die! You will die because you carelessly wandered too close to the flames! The insanity of her dream will be squelched with your deaths."

"You think I fear you? I have fought a greater power than you! For years I have done battle with the compulsions she continuously delivers upon me. I know of her conversations with him, and I have heard her speak in her dreams. Sometimes I comply with her whims when they are harmless. But this. . . What she plans to do to Mattias . . it is a vulgar desire!"

"Others fight!" Faramir pointed out desperately. "Mattias fights! Kattica fights!"

"There are no more!" Gordash interrupted. "I have tested the binds often enough to know they hold true. Bregus' power is strong. Her sway is not easily broken!"

The words hung in the air and Faramir blinked at them. He stared deeply into the eyes of the man, unsure what the statement meant. A twisted smile crept over the face of the giant and then Gordash added in a softer voice, "Can you be sure even these words are not somehow a fabrication of her desires? I cannot. I know not where her yearnings end and mine begin. Too long has she ruled my actions. That is why I must end it."

Faramir saw the piteous conclusion. He could see the man's torn soul. But he could not feel complete compassion. For Gordash to wish death upon others to end his own torment was twisted logic. Faramir could have debated the point to reveal all the misconstrued absurdities of the man's convictions, but the harm really lay in the prejudice put in place by years of misunderstanding between their peoples.. It was the crux of their problem, for the prejudice went both ways. The Romanies viewed anyone outside their world as merely a thing to be maneuvered and used. Yet the Romany suffered because they did not fit in with the perceptions held by the rest of mankind? In Faramir's mind, there was guilt on both sides.

"You know too much!" Gordash suddenly screamed. And with that statement, the fight resumed.

An order was bellowed in the Romany tongue, "Jukuri! Mà-nus keléka!" Faramir did not understand the words, but with their utterance he suddenly realized he was being observed from the shadows. Animal eyes glared red, the dark shadows of their bodies nearly indistinguishable from the forest backdrop from which they watched. Low growls emanated from trembling jaws. The vicious hounds Faramir had seen in the Romany camp slunk forward. Their number had dwindled considerably, as there were only now three of them when before, in the camp, there had been twice that number. Still, they posed a frightening visage.

In that second, with a suddenness that jolted Faramir , the large man lunged. Faramir dodged as Gordash came forth, wincing as he caught the skimming touch of a streaking blade. Hands twisted into the folds of Faramir's tunic. He found himself thrown back and off balance. Both men wrestled in the brief contact, twisting legs into legs to knock the other off balance. Yet they did no real damage Their knives were ineffectual, too closely pressed in the embrace of their bodies to be effective. Despite this, Faramir was not about to dodge away if he could use their proximity to his betterment. In the confined movements, Faramir swiveled his blade, daring to raise it the few inches he could find free. He plunged the knife, feeling it make contact with the well-muscled arm before him. A gasp followed. The blow had been dealt. He shoved off, heaving mightily on the tugging mass as he regained his balance with the release of the giant.

Recovering quickly, the Romany lunged again, the pain of his bleeding wound apparently not disabling him. The knife again was poised outward in the large man's hand, and Faramir cursed that he now faced the deadly weapon. As expected, the charge came, and with barely a hair's breath of time Faramir jumped away. It was with practiced agility that Faramir curled beneath reaching arms, and then dodging away from yet another swing of glistening steel, he spiraled and stepped back. His balance was poised on the balls of his feet and his moves became deft as he continued to dart away from Gordash's lunges. And then taking an offensive stance, he brought up the knife in his own hand and leapt forward in a move designed to send the other stumbling. But the other man danced away with swift steps as well and had retreated by a quick move, missing the glance of the blade as he did.

However, the charge had merit. The menacing man was thrown by the counter motion of the action. In the struggle to reposition his legs to a more offensive stance, Gordash lunged forward, his balance being compromised. He seemed as if were attempting to catch himself, not so much as to harm. Yet his knife was still drawn. The blade was still angled in such a way as to slit Faramir's gut open if his steps brought him close.

Spinning around, Faramir's knife-wielding arm shot ahead into the void between their bodies. While he dodged his body around the barreling frame, he did not watch to see if his blow landed, for his pivot drew his eyes away. He could only eye his presumed target before stepping back. It was a matter of timing and projection that would answer the success of this move, and Faramir was practiced in both.

Gordash fell forward, and as he did, Faramir looked deeply into the dark eyes of the tormented soul. What he saw put surprise in his own heart as he saw similar emotion in the face of the Romany man. That, and fear.

Immediate regret slid over Faramir's mindset, and he did his utmost to draw back his offense. He read something of anguish in the gypsy's eyes, and it stirred Faramir into granting mercy if it could be attained. As Gordash slipped on awkward legs, his feet losing tenure, his hands reached out to pull at the Steward's tunic. Muscle memory had already countered Faramir's balance but he fought the action to drive as deeply as he might were his goal to kill.

"No!" Faramir cried, already knowing it was too late to check his swing. The knife lashed outward, and the large man stepped into it, his torso falling into the splaying curve of the blade's arc. With one shorn cut, the man's midsection was torn open.

Faramir rolled away, immediately recoiling from the bounding motion he expected of the animals. He braced himself for their attack, but surprisingly, they appeared uninterested in him. Instead they eyed their master warily, fangs gleaming. Faramir's chest heaved his exhausted breaths as he acknowledged what remained of the moment. In three quick vaults, the animals were upon the fallen body. Screams punctuated the air and he grimaced at the sight of the large man being devoured alive by the feral hounds. Though only the few remained, their behavior was the mindset of a pack. They tore at the injured body, moving in to finish the work Faramir's borrowed knife had done.

But Faramir would not have it. Springing to his feet, he came down hard upon the animals, lashing back with fists and kicking feet. Gordash might have been guilty of wishing Faramir's death, but Faramir could not foist such cruelty back. Watching the dogs kill with inbred ferocity was a sight too repulsive for even the Steward to contemplate and behold.

Unable to see or to make sense of any of the shadowy madness, he crowded the mass of bodies, leaping and twisting as they did. Fumbling with panic, he nearly lost his grip on his knife, but sweat-slicked fingers somehow managed to turn it outward, and as abruptly as the bites had come, with rapid-response thrusts, his blows landed into canine flesh. Screeching yelps erupted from the animals' throats, and the hounds jumped away. Faramir immediately stepped back, retrieving slick footing as the animals turned their eyes upon him. But he remained upright, and dodging aside with the grace of an acrobat, he stood before them, unyielding in his goal to take a guarded position for his own protection and the Romany's .

The rain continued to fall in tapering drops, and a thin river of blood was washed into a slow path near the downed body. Despite the lack of light, Faramir could see the crimson glory spilling into water-washed earth, Gordash's sobs echoed in the space of the clearing, echoing into the treetops, as the dogs eyed Faramir with a lusty desire. The depleting soul was being swept away and the skies wept mournful tears. Sick grief washed over Faramir for his role in its passing.

Feral eyes stared at him out of the darkened shadows. They shimmered red in the absence of direct light and they were accompanied by a low droning rumble of snarling canine voices. Faramir dared not make another move, though he knew he could not stand complacent either.

One of the creatures crept forward, crouching legs touching tentatively into the merest of light. Its fangs were bared in case there was any doubt of the threat. Instinctively Faramir dipped his eyes so as not to challenge, but never quite gazing away either. Watching from the corner of his eyes, he saw the animal sniff at the air, licking its chops, its eyes directed hungrily at Faramir's torso.

The steward's eye followed the gaze. Reaching down to find what the animal saw, Faramir realized he was bleeding. Bringing his hand out to see, he found his fingers covered in sticky gore. At first he thought it must be remnants of the battle, Gordash's blood, that he wore. But a moment later he realized it was his own, as he suddenly felt the sting of pain at his side. He wondered at the profuse wound, for he had not realized it was so deep and he had barely noticed it prior. But the animal had sensed its severity, and that made Faramir's situation far graver than it had been before. Growling again with fangs ever more pronounced, the dog again sniffed the air, taking another step closer, drawn to the scent of blood.

A stumbled step took him backwards as the animal advanced. Yet the dog ceased in his progress after Faramir took but another step. The hound was looking at him, then at his companions. This was the leader, Faramir could sense, and the beast could rile the others into attack if he so chose. But the dog again was gazing at Faramir as if assessing him and deciding what it might do. And then the dog turned, silently giving command to the other two dogs to follow. In a split second, the animals bounded out of sight.

The dogs departure was confusing at first, and Faramir stood in wonder, fear, and awe. From a distance, the leader halted, turned and gazed. It was almost as if a message were passed. The dog would give Faramir the leeway needed for survival. But it would give only that. Truce was made, though the prince knew not why. Yet Faramir was also sure that despite the momentary reprieve, any attempt to route around the dogs would be met with an encounter for which he was not prepared. Guarding this way would be the beasts' last duty to their people. Or perhaps it was their own preservation the dogs guarded. Faramir only knew it was a question he could not answer, and pondering it would not bring him or his friends salvation.

Weakly he stepped back, sickened by the sight of the fallen foe. No longer did he observe the beasts in their retreat. The treatment of Gordashs injury lay before him, and he feared he had not the skills to make it right. He knelt before the large man curled on the ground, a bloody sight of pockmarked bites and gaping wounds. Warily, he took the man's knife and tucked it into his belt. Then undressing the man enough to see the wound, he stripped Gordash of his waist sash and fashioned a bandage from the brightly colored fabric. The wound was deep, sheering across the waistline at the mid-torso point. However, despite the gruesome appearance, it could have been worse. Had Faramir not checked his strike, the man would have been eviscerated. Given the choice between that or a debilitating wound, Faramir knew which prevailed. Mercifully, unconsciousness had fallen over the form as Faramir had ministered to the wounds..

Knowing no more could be done until he found them aid or shelter or fire, Faramir turned his attention to his own wound. It was bleeding profusely at the moment, and his garments, though sodden with rain, also clung to him blossoming a red stain that was blood. He felt light-headed and weak as he drew off his tunic to inspect the wound. Rain helped wash away the smear of blood, and he was able to clean the area enough to reveal a long gash in his side that was at least the length of his hand. The wound did not appear deep, at least not deep enough to hew through muscle and reach organs, but neither shallow enough to call it a mere scratch. This too would need attendance, for though there was not danger of internal damage, Faramir knew he might well bleed outright from the wound. He tore his tunic into strips and bound his own wound..

Gordash stirred, and Faramir pushed back his worry and distrust long enough that he might speak to the man. "Can you stand?" Faramir asked. The rain continued to shower lightly over their bloodied bodies, and Faramir wondered if the same question could be asked of himself. Dizziness worked over him, and he realized blood loss likely responsible for the change.

"You will allow me to live?" Gordash asked dazedly, blinking. His eyes carried the look of shock, as if he expected Faramir to deliver him unto death.

"I do not seek your end. Come," Faramir urged, pulling the man upright as he tried to gather his own weight beneath slipping feet.

Gordash put a hand to the prince's shoulder, as if he were asking for a moment of pause. "But where are we to go?"

Faramir looked back in the direction the dogs had taken, then sighed. He knew where he and Gordash must go, but it was not by choice that he went there. "I do not think the dogs will let us pass this way again, but we must travel in this direction if we are to reach the soldiers' camp."

"Soldiers' camp? No, say it is not true," the Romany said, both awed and apparently frightened.

Faramir stared at the man, weighing what he might reveal to one who had, up until this moment, been acting with enmity. Having Gordash with him was not something Faramir had aspired to, yet he could not desert the man when he was obviously incapable of fending for himself. Gordash's skin showed wanly under the dim light of the hooded moon. The fingers grasping Faramir's arm had little power within them, and he decided he had little choice but to share something of himself. Telling of their destination sacrificed little toward building trust.

"There is much you do not know of us. Your mother chose her victims with poor judgment." Then he swallowed, gazing off into the direction he would take them. "Aye, there is a soldiers' camp, but at the moment, with this rain, we cannot ford the river to reach it, nor do I think you have the strength should we take a wider berth to avoid the dogs' path. I would be a fool were I to deliver you back to your people, yet without attention you may die from the loss of blood you suffer. And I will not kill you to rid myself of your company. I see very little choice but to return us both to my place of origin ere I came to the cave."

Gordash gawked for a moment, disbelief clearly written over his features. Gulping, he seemed to be trying to accept this fate. At last he nodded and attempted to sit up. Once done, the large man allowed himself to be raised, and the pair of them made an awkward attempt at standing. Faramir could not believe his own weakness. He knew he would be shouldering a great burden in this undertaking, and he was not sure how he might do this given his own dwindling state. Yet he also dared not mention his own weakened state, for he did not feel confident in trusting the man.

Throwing the arm of the other over his shoulder, together they took their first step as a team. The Romany flinched, and then he appeared to find focus as he turned to Faramir and stared. In a whispering voice he asked, "Will there be soldiers at this camp?"

Faramir grimaced as the weight of the man fell heavily upon him, but he wrapped an arm firmly around Gordash, careful not to brush his hand near the wound. His own wound stung with the exertion and he clamped a hand tightly to his side in order to staunch the pain that began to throb there. Blood was dripping from his bandage, but it did not gush, and so Faramir regarded it as something minor. He thought now of what he might do upon his return to the secret hold he had shared with Kattica. For the moment, they would be safe in that place, and perhaps with a small amount of rest and aid, they might find their way to escape to the soldier's camp in the morn. And from there they would muster forces to bring freedom to Éowyn, Mattias and Legolas. They must.

He turned to the Romany man, their steps together slow and troubled. Yet Faramir knew he would not foresake the man. In his gaze, he saw that Gordash also wore a determined expression, resolute and grim with a strength of will. With a returned sidelong glance, the man nodded his assurance. Then raising a brow, as if it was a prod, Faramir realized the other's question still hung in the air. Faramir shook his head, as if to negate his worries, and he chose a new resolve. He smiled slightly in answer as he realized that truth could be made from the words. "Nay," he said, looking again into the eyes of Gordash, compassion rising for the others fears. "There are no soldiers where I will take you now. There are only friends."

And with that, the Romany nodded in understanding, and an unspoken agreement was held between them. The large man eased off from Faramir's shoulder, carrying a bit more of his own weight than he had prior, and Faramir could feel the large man offer balance to Faramir's own wobbling steps. No more words need be said between them. There was an alliance that had sprung up there. Together they would fight the evil of Bregus' sorcery. Together they would find a solution that all his people might too be saved.

Bregus choked on Curtik's words, silently wondering how he might know of her promises to Bäla. "Curtik . . . " she began, her head shaking her refusal.

He pushed away from her, an air of scorn about him. Reaching down, he retrieved the extinguished flame of the dead torch. He held it out to her, as if in the utmost of demands, and his voice was loud over the tumult of the roaring falls and the cries in the adjoining cave. "We are in the Protected Place. All the elements are present save this one: fire. Light the fire that we might be fully protected, Mother. Light the fire that we might now bring him back to us."

Bregus could feel her jaw tightening. The gall he showed in making his voice over as a demand sent her thoughts into furious revolt. Yet she had to wonder at the source of this order: was it Curtik who gave it or Bäla? Nay, not Bäla, she thought, for the spell of possession had not been cast, and he had said he could not reach her in this Protected Place without her granted admission. So why would Curtik make such a request? It was not in the interest of the tribe that Bäla be returned at this moment. In her estimation, only Bäla would charge such a directive. She searched the dark eyes of her son to find what stirred his mind, why he hastened to command her, but the depths of his soul could not be found in her glance.

However, he was right. She must seal off the cave from further intruders, and proceed to fight those within the shadowy places. A shiver shuddered her form as she realized she must fight her worst fears. The soldiers would not be easy with which to deal. But with this space wholly theirs, she would have magic to wield to the advantage of her people in fighting them. Fire would achieve this goal . Brushing aside her ire at her son's petty demand, she reasserted her control. With a whoosh, the torch self-ignited as her thoughts sparked the flame.

She pulled her eyes away. A jolt of magnificent ecstasy filled her. She had sparked fire with her mind. The cave reflected the light, and to her it was if all the forces of nature came together with more vitality than she could ever have imagined. The cave captured mystic energies and made her feel more keen within herself. She felt powerful here. She felt more alive. The cave instilled her with composure.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, her power was put to use. Instantly, she felt her grip on the tribe restored. The whirlwind of crying in the adjoining cave came to an abrupt end. It was miraculously strong, her gain over them, as if all her power had somehow been doubled in the instant since the flare had been lit.

Blinking back the overwhelming sensation, she glanced again at her son. Curtik barely turned his eyes to acknowledge the light held at his arms length. His eyes coldly remained fixed upon hers. There was a strange brooding from within them, something of envy and glee, though she did not recognize the expression of something her son might bear. Everything about his current demeanor was foreign. This person before her reminded her nothing of Curtik. He was a stranger. He was dangerous. His demeanor should have changed once she had asserted herself, her control over his actions regained. Yet his eyes remained poised, not averted as she would expect, and it seemed there was nothing of awe to behold within him. He held nothing for her but cold apathy.

Fury edged over her thoughts, but she ignored it, realizing other actions remained to be done first.This madness of her son could be dealt with when other hazards had been removed. She might need to focus her attentions and her magic on him more fully. But the moment was not his. It was the tribes'. It had been only a minute since the battle had ceased and her son had overcome the female. But a minute locked in battle could be a long while, and she feared for her people, held, she was sure, as prisoners in the next room over. The guards would have arrived by now, and the shrieks she had quelled were no doubt evidence of the prison status that had befallen them. She must act.

As Curtik rose, she glanced upon the unconscious woman lying on the stone floor, golden hair halloed about the ethereal face. The screams for aid this woman had cried still reverberated in Bregus' mind and a small tremble shook her before she steadied her nerves. She had to act for her people now, thanks to this woman's charge. That one would be heartily punished in the end. She shed no pity for the woman's plight.

Without looking again at Curtik, she snatched away the torch and abruptly turned, only sparing a quick glance at the other fallen forms. Satisfied by their lack of motion, she moved away to the curtained wall. Earlier, she had not noticed the woman pulling it shut. The disorder had been great at that time. However, now that she had her skills honed, there was no reason to allow such chaos to live further. Flashes of lightening again pierced the space, but with the newly lit torch, they only added to the light of the room. An errant breeze traveled the cave and a chill ran through the witch's body as she reached out her hand to the folds of the curtain. The battle with the soldiers in the next room was about to transpire.

The premonition filled her mind as she pulled back on the curtain and entered. Her eyes went wide as she surveyed what had been complete pitch. She wondered for a moment at the gasped reactions of her people as she entered, but then realized they turned away, because they did not know the mystery of the one who held the torch. Blind in the dark, she realized they had only seen her silhouette and the flame. They had thought her a stranger. They had thought her a threat. Her mind reached out to console them, to assure them, and she felt their tensions slip away as she moved among them, strengthened in their presence.

Indeed, there were no soldiers here. She had not trusted her instinct for the premonition, but now seeing it fulfilled, she realized her touch upon the face of the Other World gave quick answer to her queries. She recognized too that the woman's lure had all been a falsehood. There were no soldiers here, and the cavern was comprised solely of this hold and the anteroom. No tunnels snaked ahead. No barracks lay in keeping beyond the flickering light of her torch. This room, with its blanket walls, and tussled bedrolls and cots, its strewn finery and personal effects of merely a few people was all that might be found. The captive woman had used Bregus' fears to set all into disruption. It had been a trick.

Black hatred filled her for the deception. She had expected some kind of ruse, but this had been too grand. Bregus scowled, angered at how easily she had been conquered by her fears. Bäla had been right. There had been nothing worthy of her terror in the space of the cave.

The words stung, their taunt freshly undoing the control she kept over her wrath. Her nostrils flared and anger bit at her thoughts. She whipped her head about, finding the source of the speaking voice and settled her eyes again upon her son. His eyes did not look at her now. Instead they stared into the fringes of darkness that landed beyond the circle of light. His glances revealed nothing of his thoughts.

She answered, her voice edgy with her own defense, her attempt at calm failing miserably, though she had enough control to wonder that he should even know of the conversation she had shared with Bäla. She felt heat mixed with her words, and said with a biting tongue, "He did not know for certain. He said he could not see ahead into this space."

There was no pause in Curtik's words. It was as if he were purposely trying to agitate her. His tone was snide. "He suspected there was little to fear."

Her jaw tightened as her vexation grew. Her words were as scathingly said as his. "How could you know?"

He turned and walked away, his silhouette becoming dark as he reached the front room and the faint light of the window. He turned at the frame of the threshold, his face in shadows as he said, "It is time, Mother. Bäla awaits you."

He baited her. His words were a taunt. Her steps moved her quickly, racing to meet him. His goal was met in that she gave him her attention. But it was not a simple game he played. She would be done with his disrespect and snipes. Her desire to reassert herself into his mind was as great as the compulsion she felt to strike out. He would not speak this way to her again. She would see to it that he was compliant with her demands that he would never act the upstart to her. Behind her she set the others to task, her mind instructing them into cleaning the mess, settling themselves into the hold, and lighting further lamps that they might see. They scurried in answer, which pleased her. They, at least, acted with compliance.

She did not like this malevolent show. She warned him with the flinching snap of her eyes, sizing him up with a fire he could not have missed upon seeing her. "Be careful how you speak to me, boy! You may not be under the sway of my magic, but that does not mean I cannot still find ways of controlling you."

His smirk dropped minutely and his countenance faltered, the smug demeanor failing at last. This was more to her liking, the hope of gaining some power to control him having merit. His expression turned neutral and his eyes dipped when he next spoke. His voice was suddenly soft as he said, "He speaks to me at times, Mother. He comes to me in my dreams." Curtik gazed up at her then, the spark of the torchlight filling his eyes. "He wishes to live again, Mother, and I would wish it too."

This startled her for she did not know Curtik had been gifted in vision that he might speak to the Spirit World. Her emotions brewed swiftly past her hateful resentments. She felt pity for him then, for he looked as a lost child. No wonder his troubled actions. He does not understand, she thought, calming herself. He longs for his father without knowing what it is I will get if I allow Bäla's return before my own change. Alas, it is too soon to appease him, but can I make him understand my motivations? She could not give in, grieved though she was by his sad heart. Perhaps, she thought, I can give him the excuse that I would deem in other truths. The timing is not right. "It cannot happen tonight," she answered with soft words, her gaze growing kind. "The moonlight must be cast through the shower of water. It came to me that way in the vision. Did you not see it in yours?"

"Nay," said Curtik, his brow creased in the memories relived. "That was not how it was in my dream. The moon need only be ripe. That is all that is required."

"Who told you this, young one?" she asked, curious now as to what Bäla had said to coerce Curtik to battle.

"But seeing that I am shuv'ni, the interpretation of the vision should follow my own dreams," she laughed without humor. "You may have interpreted your vision wrong. For that matter, you are wrong. Though the moon is in the sky in its ripest of states, it must fall into the cave as it was foreseen in my dreams. The summoning event may go astray if it is not so," she said, but she had difficulty finding reason to believe her own words. The fact that Bäla had visited Curtik in his dreams was telling of deception of the shade's motives. How long had he been speaking inside Curtik's head, she wondered.

"You fear the magic will not take effect?" Curtik asked her, hurt riding over his words. "What harm is there in trying?"

Her pity grew even greater in that moment, for she felt as if she were speaking to a child. He obviously was speaking from his heart, and not from knowledge, and she found herself relaxing, frightening as his confessions were. She realized he did not understand the full breadth of his query, but she dared not espouse to him the significance of holding Bäla at bay for yet another day. She only gave her son her half-truth answer. She did not know this for fact, and it was merely a guess. "His guise may falter if the spell is performed under the wrong circumstances."

His answer was quick, the response was not nearly as innocent as she had thought it might be. "What difference does it make if he appears in a different form?" he sneered, his sinister demeanor returned. "Given your plans to possess Mattias, I would think it mattered little who hosted Bäla's mind!"

Bregus gasped. The sudden appearance of a scowl on Curtik's face threw Bregus into confusion.

"No, Curtik, no!" She put out her hand to dissuade him, to comfort, but he dodged her, as if afraid of her touch. She noted his fear but went on all the same. "You do not understand. The host body has always been at Bäla's request, not mine. Bäla chose Mattias. Further, it is the powers for which I speak. Were I to restore Bäla now, with the moon hidden, his powers would be chaotic at best. Unstable. I might not know of the full of his abilities until they were gained, if ever. It would not be as he would wish it." This was truth that she spoke now. Bäla had chosen Mattias and the female witch did not know with certainty if Bäla would have powers with the moon as it was. It seemed only Curtik had seen the spell performed with the white orb obscured, and it frightened her that he was insistent the time must be now.

He looked away, eyes focused on the wall of water. She could see his jaw clenching as he considered this information. Then he turned back and regret filled his eyes. His voice was sad and lonely again, and she wondered that he was manipulating her with his mercurial emotions. "But why Mattias? Why was he chosen?"

She read something in Curtik that she did not like. Her brow furrowed in her attempt to detect it and her mouth went dry as she digested the meaning of his question. Flatly she spoke the truth, hoping it might dissuade Curtik of the desires she read. She sensed what was coming and she felt it best she contain it while she still could. "He looks as his father did. That is what Bäla wanted."

"Do I not look as my father did?" The words were piteously sad but she would not cater to them.

"He did not choose you. He chose Mattias," she answered coldly. She dreaded what came next, for this too she could see coming.

"Why why would you hold me back from this? Have I not been loyal to you? Have I not proven my faith?"

Tears spilled from his eyes in his rage. "He does not want it! Why should he be rewarded with this gift when it is I who has made all your plans succeed to this point? Only I have been loyal! It is not fair that I am passed over for this task. I want this!"

Fierce fingers grasped her arms, the tips of his fingers digging into her flesh. He pulled her forward, her head jerking back with the exertion of the move. His eyes were inches from hers, his breath rasping against her cheek. A lascivious smile crept over his mouth though she almost could not see it for the nearness of him. His voice was husky as he said in a slow drawl, "Do you think I would not make a fair lover? Is that what it is, Mother?"

She gasped in shock as his head lowered into the crook of her neck. Hot breath caressed her withered skin with the brush of his lips. She shrugged him away, repulsed. "No! Stop!"

But he did not cease. The resonance of his voice tickled against her ear. "Mattias would never want this of you. He would never willingly give. But I . . . I would love you, Mother. I would love you as Bäla would want to love you."

"NO!" She shoved him away, her eyes wide with horror. The leering smile did not leave his face.

The smile fell away. His menacing eyes beat upon her again, the threat in them indecipherable. "Then Bäla be damned! I CHOOSE ME! I WILL HAVE THIS!"

The air was drawing in and out of her nostrils in quick successions of breath. Her lips were pressed tight and she felt fear riding over her body as she trembled before him. She was torn in answer to his demand, but she knew she could not give in to him. She looked upon Mattias, still sprawled on the ground. He had not moved from his place in the entirety of the din shouts. She found voice, but it was small in comparison to the boom of his howling command. "Mattias is the one he selected. I will honor that."

She had read so much of what he would do or say in the last many minutes. Were it the power of the cave that did it, she could not say. But some powers are beyond the whims of magic and the touch of the Other World. Some things cannot be predicted, especially those that are governed by madness. She did not expect his next actions, for had she, she might have done something to stop them.

The singing note of a blade rent the air, and in a blur she saw his figure turn. In the fleeting blink of an eye he was at his brother's side, and within a heartbeat more he had struck. He was stepping away, blood dripping from the knife, as a cry of pain burgeoned her heart, and then she saw Mattias' eyes wide with agony. He curled in upon himself, blood spilling from his side. Without thought, she was there, at his side, hands pressed to the wound in order to stop the endless blood. Blood. Blood. It was everywhere. "No!" she whispered, crying. "No!"

Her jaw fell open. She could not think. The rivers off blood spilling from Mattias' body were flowing away with the tilt of the floor. All she could think was that she must stop it before there was nothing left to be saved. She saw it drifting to the lip of the cliff, droplets of water mixing with the garnet-colored liquid as it spilled over the ledgeShe saw blood flow over her fingers with each weakening beat of her sons chest. She looked into Mattias' face, wincing as he gazed at her with pleading eyes. "Mattias . . . " she whispered, unable to comprehend anything beyond her need to protect him against the coming of death. She looked up at Curtik with tear-filled eyes. "Help me!" she sobbed.

"I must save him somehow . . . " she cried, twisting her shawl from her waist, pressing it into the wound.

"No more will I wait!" She glanced up to see Curtik's bloody knife poised over the Elf's chest. "Complete the spell, Mother, or the Elf will be next! Say nay to me once more, and I swear this knife will fall! Will you transform me, Mother? Will you do it? The moon is ripe and it is time, and I will not ask again!" he demanded. The slack face of the Eldar creature never moved under the dangerous proximity of the weapon There would be no resistance that might buy her a moment of thought. The sudden reality of what he would do was more certain to her than ever before. He would kill the Elf and destroy everything she had planned. The price of beauty, power, and immortality would be lost forever because of her refusal to bring Bäla forth at a time she did not deem right. Curtik would strike, and no doubt would he kill. All for the sake of giving rescue to Mattias first. Would she choose her eldest child over all that she now stood poised to lose? Or would she relinquish the small bit of her dream that required Bäla to wait, and Mattias to play host to her desires? Her eyes turned to the blade. The knife quivered over the Elf's fallen figure as a droplet of blood beaded at the tip of the point.

She looked deeply into the eyes of her youngest child and she saw joy dance in those orbs as the word left her lips. "Yes," she said with a whisper.

Then in the reverie of his moment, the knife quivered again in his hand. The droplet of blood that had precariously balanced on the thread of its own weight fell free. She watched as it meshed into the fabric of the immortal creature's garment, spreading like a ripple over water. Her eyes fixed on the crimson blossom, amused by the irony of the action. The scarlet circle was created in the place where she knew the Elf's heart to be. And it was laid there with the sanguine fluid of her first born child. Mattias' blood marked her target, and posed the focus of the Elf's final doom. Despite her misery, she could not help laughing for the irony of the moment.

A/N: If you followed my lure here from FanFiction.net, WELCOME! I truly hope you will have a good time at this new site. When done here, take a peek around. Lots of excellent work will be found in your wanderings, that I can promise you.

My most sincere thanks to Nilmandra for betaing this chapter for me! You're a doll, and a smart cookie to boot, and you have my everlasting gratitude for your help!

Gimli and Thranduil were speaking venomous words. At least that is how Legolas' scattered mind read the conversation.

In the meandering course of his drugged and fevered brain, this was the conclusion his head had made. A voice, stern and abrupt was charging accusations while another was pleading piteously for something the Elf could not discern. Had Legolas been coherent, he might have questioned why he cast his father and his dearest friend in these respective roles with no evidence to substantiate their presence, but his state was far from coherent, and given the harm razed upon him, it was rather amazing that his mind grasped even the oddly wayward path of this concept. He was in pain. His thoughts were muddied. Reality and dream became co-mingled into a whirlpool mass of twisted logic and he was incapable of fashioning anything beyond this. Sluggish aches pulled him into the half-world of Elven dreams.

In the twilight madness, nightmarish threats loomed. The words of his father and friend were but hints of the agonizing depths his hurt traveled. He moaned, attempting to make them stop, but found his strength lacking so that he might utter real words. He opened his eyes instead in the effort to gaze at them, but his vision was blurred and thus he was left with only the sound of their voices.

"Yes, yes, I will do it! But the blood! Oh, the blood. I must stop it somehow!" Gimli cried over a fallen form. Pitiful was the Dwarf's lament, and Legolas tried to see over whom his friend was bent. The blood was a curiosity and the Elf wondered why it was there.

The Dwarf's face was obscured but Legolas was moved irregardless. The sorrow in the Dwarf's voice mixed with his own agony. Somehow, everything that had been flagging him merged. The anxieties for his people were tied to his fears for his own survival while the agonies of his bodily hurts were enveloped with the traumatic confusions lobbed on his mind. Together they melded into the single mournful wail of his friend. Separate though they were, they combined in Legolas' reality to become the figure unnamed over whom the Dwarf cried. There was no other explanation in the Elf's mind for the tears or the blood, and as he realized this, it dawned upon him that it might be his body for whom the Dwarf cried.

"Have you no sense? Do you not realize where you are?" Thranduil's figure bellowed. Legolas stirred at those words. He did not like the disdain in his father's voice or to whom the words were directed. The Elf King's mood was dark, and Legolas thought likely it was due to the presence of a Dwarf. Thinking that somehow he needed to play a part in this drama, he tried to comply so that he might answer for the Dwarf were his aid needed. It was then that he sensed himself to be in some kind of cavern. Dully he thought that perhaps they were back in Eryn Lasgalen and that Gimli had brought him here to plead for Legolas' people. In the confused logic that rattled him, this made sense to the younger Elf. After all, was his bloody body not enough to show how his people suffered? Pain raked over him, though he could not reason from where it emanated. He only knew these two beings were conversing about what might solve his ills, thus curing him and his ailing colony. He hoped their answer might come soon, for his agony was exceptional.

Thranduil's voice continued, and Legolas grew confused, for the words again made no sense in his tormented mind. "This place has powers you have yet to wield. Use them and he might be healed." Legolas' mind roiled furiously trying to put order to that thought. Was Gimli somehow the means by which the Elf would find healing? It seemed to him when put this way that his father was rejecting him, casting him aside, and putting it upon Gimli alone to find aid for the ailing friend and the Elves that he ruled. Legolas moaned without meaning to, his bruised soul stinging at yet another hurt laid there.

And then the scene quieted. He drifted away lost in his misery. He was trapped between blossoming aches and the calm of nothing. When he found himself again, in the expanse of unmeasured time, it was Aragorn and Faramir who were speaking. Somehow he realized that the conversation continued as it had left off, and strangely the shift in speakers did not bother him. They began to work into the nonsensical order of words and thoughts. The shadows shifted, giving Legolas the impression there were others lurking behind curtains and off in the distance where he could not see. He realized then that the scene too had changed, and he was now in the King's court.

"I cannot . . . my healing powers are not strong enough to stop this endless trauma . . ." Aragorn wailed, his hands covered in blood.

Legolas tried to move closer, so that he might console his friend's agony, but he realized he could not. Yet it fit within this reality. It was part of his illness and the cause of the blood he had seen with Gimli. It had transferred to Aragorn and it became the King's worry now to solve.

Faramir gave an exasperated cry readily appearing to be in a foul mood. "Must I show you everything in which you must act? Your powers are there before you. You need only look." Arwen stepped forward from the shadows then, nodding knowingly at her king as if siding with Faramir. She took one bloody hand into hers and placed it at her womb, which was, Legolas noted, swollen with child. Then she moved the other to the fallen form that lay before the king. The steward scowled, barking out to Aragorn with a dismissive wave, "Heal him, then get on with the task I set before you! I shall not hesitate again to make my presence known and my ability to usurp you take precedence!"

"But . . . " Aragorn's face showed his struggle to find an answer to the dilemma placed before him, and Legolas found himself seeking also to find the answer that might alleviate his friend's sorrow. Might Aragorn save him? That must be what was happening and he rejoiced that there might be a cure. Legolas felt certain he could not survive, damaged as he was. Too much blood was being lost. Yet Aragorn offered him a chance. The man's face lit up in surprise and wonder, as if he had been thinking the same thing and had come to find his answer. "These walls give me the power, do they not? They bolster my strength that I might do this, that I might heal him. Might I? Can I?" The son of Arathorn was taking in rapid breaths, excitement running over his features as he realized his strength.

"Yes, yes, yes," Faramir barked out, his exasperation getting the better of him as his voice rang with anger. "You will not be stilled otherwise! Now do it and be quick!"

Legolas released a small sigh, his happiness buoying him lightly away from his pain. There would be a resolution. There would be relief from his ills and he would be healed. His people would live. But the pleasure was not long-lasting. Silence grew between them, and in the solitude of that peace, Legolas realized the sound of rushing water was about them. Suddenly, he knew not where he lay. He was not in Minas Tirith's halls any longer and the suddenness in his change of venue stirred anxieties. Worse, there was something else present, and it stripped away his joy. A growing worry began to take over, for the sound had the effect of rendering upon him another lost thought.

Abruptly he was sundered from his frail grip on his thoughts. The interrupting force made him cry out. In that moment the sea-longing assaulted him like a wave crashing down onto an unsuspecting shore. Never had the effect come upon him like this before. He nearly gasped as he attempted to foist it back, the sound penetrating his dreams. The reality of the attack awakened him, and he found memory and pain choking him as he tried to hold back what was taking his mind. The effort to fight off the affects of the sea compelled him to take notice of external reality, and he forced himself forward into the present. It was as if he were swimming to the surface of a turbulent sea, fighting against a current that was far too strong. Legolas knew he had not the strength to push it away for long. He recalled then the harm Éowyn had inflicted on him by calling it forth in his mind, and the creeping lament of the gull's cry riddled him again with the memory. And all the while his body was racked in sharp jabs of pain.

"No!" he cried out. He wheezed out an utterance of surprise for the jarring of his mind. Fingers grazed his skin, and he flinched at the surprise of it.

"What is it, Elf?" a male voice said. No longer was the voice like that of his friend, and he shot eyes open though he had not realized before they had been closed. He hissed in a breath, trying to put order to the new speaker in the wayward journey back to consciousness. It did not make sense. Aragorn, Gimli, Faramir, his father. Had they not been with him? Unless. . . unless it was part of his sickness?

Blearily blinking, Legolas could make out the warping features of a man, one of an early age. A snarl painted the mortal's appearance, and he seemed unmoved by Legolas' confusion. Dawning realization struck the Elf. Though he would never admit it, the appearance of the Romany frightened him. Those strange utterances of his dream were the mingled dialogue of the people now about him. He grasped for the truth, no longer quite able to remember the words said, and knowing even if he could, what they had meant to his confused mind and to those who spoke them were two completely different things. He suddenly felt the reality before him and it was more frightening than the hazy dreams he had mistaken for truth. Curtik glanced over his shoulder and spat out, "This one too seems to need your touch, Mother, though I doubt you would really wish to see him healed. I care not," he said, rising and stepping away, "so long as you perform my task first."

The old woman's voice reached Legolas' ears, and it seemed to have taken on a lightened quality, as if the speaker were feeling something profound and moving and barely noticing what was before her. He saw her as Curtik moved away, the man rounding on a crumpled form before her. The old woman's hands were covered in blood and they ran over the length of the unmoving body. Her eyes were shut as she performed this action, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Yes, Curtik," the old woman answered in a whispering voice, "you are next, and I am almost done here. The bleeding is nearly stopped, and I feel his body begin to heal."

Her eyes flickered open a few seconds later and almost immediately came to settle on Legolas, the serene smile never leaving her lips. Her focus sharpened and her full attention was suddenly on him. "Perhaps I should find a way to slip him into a deeper sleep. My potion does not seen to have a lasting effect on Elves. This should require but a touch to reach his mind . . ." Her bloody hand reached out to Legolas and she began to rise. Legolas felt his heart race in his chest, the fear of her touch and how she might read his thoughts telling to him of the torment Kattica had once inflicted.

Curtik's words were like a slap in the face to the Elf, but he felt relieved all the same, for the man stepped before her, shaking her shoulder to draw her attention away. Despite his interference, there was a somnolent quality to the way she stared at Legolas. Curtik's tight grip on her arm did not seem to change this, though her motion was halted.

Bregus' head slowly turned to her son. The serene smile remained as she touched the man's cheek. "Patience. You may not see it in the sky, but the moon is still there and it will remain so for the next few hours. Peace, Curtik, I will comply. Mattias will be well, and it is your turn. Come to me now that I might finish my work."

They were distracted, and Legolas knew he would have little other chance. He had to make the attempt to move, the idea that he might free himself while they were turned away tearing through his mind. With his elbows levering him, he shifted in the litter. It was not a huge move, a nudge in another direction, but rather than finding motion, he was instead greeted with searing pain. He cried aloud for the agonizing hurt, and then fell back to his palette, the pain quashing his efforts and seducing him to acquiesce and lay still. His eyes were sealed shut, his agony pushing him to relinquish all else while he awaited its passing. Blood pumped forcibly through his temples and his breathing grew constricted. He felt dizzy and sick as a loud ringing filled his ears.

In his mind he heard words being uttered distantly in a foreign tongue. For a moment they sounded as if they came from the throat of Aragorn and Gimli simultaneously. Activity commenced about him, something of light and shadow and a voice rising in pitch and tempo. Legolas struggled to open his eyes, hoping that indeed it was his friends who called out. Help me! Please help me! his mind pleaded to them. Noise whipped over him, like the heart of a storm, with the wind screaming a torrential cry. The world suddenly went quite bright, and he groaned, turning away, squinting his eyes to shut out the intensity of the overload to his senses. A blur of two figures huddled before him, and he could make out that this is where the voice and sound originated. Star trails led off from the highlights outlining their bodies, making it difficult to decipher who it was that spoke. But alas, they did not appear as his friends. He watched the light and color and sound unfold before him, but it wasn't a fog-filled mind that prevented him from making sense of what was there. Nothing was solid in this world. Confusion streamed around him and it seemed all the earth's powers were living at once in the two joined mortal forms.

Wind blasted him. Light blinded him. The ground shook him. And water misted him with its spray and droplets as it bellowed out a crashing noise.

And then, suddenly, it stopped. The room fell dark, the dim light of a small fire the only source of illumination. The two forms were collapsed on the floor and nothing else but the rippling noise of the waterfall was witness to the tale of what had happened in this room. He grimaced, unsure himself what had happened though he was certain he did not wish to look upon his captors for answers, and he hoped they might forget his presence if he might remain still enough. He closed his eyes, easing back into the pain.

The watery tower cascaded as all other noises remained mute. The echoing rhythm of beating water pulsated its own sinewy beat. And then it was there, the calm evoked by the surf caressing the shore. The soft rippling of the sea's voice was a harmonious whisper of cool comfort. It had soothed his beleaguered body before, and it was tempting to let it give him relief once again. He had fallen into it so easily then, the balm of it easing his pain and leaving the tainting aftermath of his agony behind. How simple it would be to follow that path, to ride on the pleasure of calm waters. It gave the promise to ease him where rescue and salvation could not. The sea called him, the echo of its resonating voice beseeching his heart. To Valinor it sang. It was the answer to all his worries, to the ache of his body, and the frightening paralysis that filled him with fear. He could go this way and never come back. It was a temptation, the allure of that dreamy escape . . .

Only vaguely did he feel the touch of a hand on his heated skin or the whisper of a voice in his ear. Only vaguely did he realize the words said and how they encouraged him to merge with this longing. The voice bid his mind to accept the peace offered it. His eyes rolled back in his head and he let the clouds and the sky ride over him as the sea buoyed him away. "I see," the voice said, though he no longer heard it. "So this is what they mean by sea-longing. It is . . . interesting."

Arwen snuggled into the warmth of Aragorn's arms, her body spooned in the curve of his body. His form matched hers, and she felt a sense of completeness in the secure hollow of his draped arm as her dreams faded away and a new day broke her reverie. A smile of pleasure creased the corners of her mouth upward as he nuzzled his chin into hers, the heat of his breath tickling the lobe of her ear. She pressed into the caress, the comfort of his musky scent and his muscled limbs bringing joyous pleasure to her very soul. Feeling his bristly beard grazing her cheek, she nearly purred her waking pleasure at finding him by her side. Her eyes remained closed as she drew her hand up, feeling the coarse texture of his facial hair with her feathery touch. Her hand brushed his cheek, and he stirred. Her fingers pressed to his lips as he greeted them in dreams with the whisper of a kiss as she felt a small smile working along the rim of his mouth. She reached down then and pulled the large hand of his bent arm up to her lips. She too brushed the tips of them against her lips, her tongue just grazing them enough to taste the salty essence of his flesh. Her scent perfumed his stilled digits, and she brushed his strong fingers along her cheek, sighing contentedly for the fulfillment of his touch.

She used the comforting moment to reminisce the hard pull of her feelings for the man who had become her mate. It had been considered an oddity by her kind when she had made known her feelings for Estel. Unique. Odd. Those were the words she had heard phrased again and again as slowly they had unveiled their tender feelings for one another. She knew the reasons her people were hard-pressed to relinquish their hesitance. He was nothing like the Elven males to which she had been drawn at a younger age. Aragorn was unique to everything she might have found attractive in a mate. By Elven standards he was ugly! He did not bathe frequently enough. His hair was often in need of combing. When left to his own devices, he would wear the same garments day in and day out. And his hands -- this was a bone of contention even Arwen had trouble overlooking. It seemed no matter how frequently he washed them, they were never quite free of dirt, an embarrassment, Arwen felt, when etiquette and state diplomacy were required. Yet here in his arms, it mattered not at all these nuances to his appearance. She cared not for what her people or even representing governors from far lands might think. She felt intoxicated with joy over the sheer magnificence of his bearing. He was rugged and masculine and incredibly exciting as a lover, and all the nuances that had once made Elven males attractive to her seemed petty in comparison to the enticement he offered. She had no regrets whatsoever over the decision she had made in marrying him and scoffed at those of her kind who might find her choice a scandalous one. Arwen snuggled in closer, enjoying the last of their rest before she knew they must rise.

Aragorn moved even closer then, pulling her tightly into an embrace. He was awake now and his head was bowed as his lips caressed the base of her throat. Arwen rejoiced. After a dozen years of marriage the physical pleasures of marriage remained as pure and rewarding as their earliest encounters. She could never grow bored with the infinite variety of games and experiments that they played in those coital moments, and she expected their life might always be such. Ticklish glee rode over her as she realized his revived desires in the tight confines of their hug. It seemed apparent with his kisses and licks growing strong with awakened passion that he also did not tire of these intimacies. His stamina was great and she smiled at this, for there had been times, when mood struck them and their duties would allow, that their yearnings had strung out for countless hours on end, and even days of intermittent lovemaking sessions had been made a part of their most secret of games. Of course, that would not be the case on this day as they did have other stresses yet to face. Still, they might have time for one more quick dalliance before rising for the challenges that lay ahead of them.

She pulled his dexterous fingers to her mouth again as he nibbled at her neck. His aggressive attentions were not lost on her, and she decided to reciprocate by exercising a little stimulation of her own. In anticipation for the tease of the trickery she might wield elsewhere, she opened her eyes and gazed at the faint outline of his long, muscular hand. She smiled as she saw his hands were in need of a good scrubbing, and thought it better that she ply his digits touch rather than oral stimulus. She smiled as she rubbed the length of his fingers with her own, tangling them seductively with her suggestive caress. And then she stopped.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" he responded as his tongue flicked the tip of her ear and he ran his hand over the curves of her body.

"No," she said, then gasped again as he touched her in a way most enticing, "I mean yes! But . . . Ai, Estel!"

He brought his head up now, his eyes too also open, and she could see the shadowy features of his face as he said, "Have I done something wrong?"

She could not help but kiss him then, for her joy was nearly uncontainable. Pulling away she grasped his face in her two hands and dared meet his eyes. "Look at me," she demanded. "Can you see me?"

It took him a moment to realize the same thing that she had, but when he did, he shot up from his reclined position, turning his head abruptly to find the light source. "I can see," he murmured. "Barely, but -- Ah, Arwen, there is light!"

A jubilant smile burst upon her face as she drew up to his side. Her eyes also scoured the space, seeking out the origin of the illumination. It took but a moment to find it, for the light was rather dim. In comparison to the pitch that surrounded them, it was the beckoning call of the sun on a fresh summer's day.

The pool below them had turned a dim shade of blue, and it appeared as if a section of water actually glowed. The lightsource grew from the solid wall that had ended their journey, blocking their passage. Yet apparently it did not. "It comes from below," she said, for indeed it appeared as if the light came from an underwater passage.

They were on their feet instantly, running down the slope of the trail, fingers grazing the wall to gauge their way, to meet up with the shoreline of the underground river. Despite the appearance of light, the cavern was nearly as densely black as before and they had not clearly seen where their steps had taken them. They splashed into the newly flooded pathway. Aragorn, thrown by the sudden change in his footing, nearly fell upon entering, but Arwen was quick to aid him in recouping his lost balance. As he regained his feet, Arwen noticed the water was just high enough to cover the tops of their feet. It was enough though to saturate her bootleather, and the trickle of water was incredibly cold to the touch, even by Arwen's standards.

Glancing about, she could make out that the water quaked and rjppled from the impact of their steps, and with it a shimmer of light danced about the room, as if in greeting to them. It gave them enough that they might see the path was not just flooded in this spot, it was flooded in all the low places where the path trekked away. The water table appeared to have been broken. Arwen's keen ears recognized the sound of water dripping further back in the caves, and decided this was likely one of the reasons for the rising river.

She turned her eyes back to the river. From this new angle it appeared that the light drifted in from somewhere beneath the water. Where the towering wall met the rippling surface, the new light revealed an etched recess carved from the solid rock below. She had been mistaken to believe this wall had been the end, for clearly the water tunneled out at its lower depths. It was difficult to know the distance of the resource, for the light was indirect and surrounded by shadow, but in her judgment, considering the overhang and the length of the light's reach, she anticipated the entrance might be but a few meters back.

However, she was disturbed as she gazed into the liquid. Dim as it was, she could see particles of dirt flurrying within the murky confines of the pool and the water was no longer still as it had been the night before. Now the surface was shifting and turning. The liquid within was hazy while the floor of the pool was no longer visible. Something was causing the water to move and Arwen had the ominous feeling that despite the soft murmur the surface gave as it lapped at the walls and shore, there was danger below.

At her side, Aragorn was muttering thoughts of his own. "The passage looks narrow. From here I cannot tell if it is large enough to let us through." He knelt down, as if to get a better perspective, cocking his head to the side and craning his neck to look at the flickering light. Then reaching deep into the cool surface of the pool, he hissed at the chill of the water as his arm slipped into the deep, past his elbow. "The current is strong," he said, glancing up at her before rising. Then he stepped away, not pausing to tell her his thoughts, only walking away, nearly lost in the dark. However, she did not wonder at this for she knew he had gone to their sleeping spot as though to gather their goods. She heard the sound of flint striking steel, and then watched as a small flax string was cupped and then raised to the kerosene lamp. The yellow glow of the light fell upon Aragorn's face, and she smiled at his completely disheveled appearance. He gathered their meager goods before returning to her side. From there, the rope that he had untied from his waist the night before was returned to that favored spot. He handed her the other end as he said, "Use it to pull me back if I do not return on my own."

She had expected as much, and though she took the offered cord, she did not grasp it. She held it out as if she had no intentions of accepting it"No," she said. His head shot up, his eyes pulling away from the act of securing another knot.

He gave an exasperated sigh though his face looked grim. "It is the way out, Arwen; the one you had predicted."

"Aye, it is, but that passage is narrow and the current is strong. You are not the one who should be attempting this escape."

"And you are?" There was no smile on his face as he snapped this. She narrowed her eyes, giving him a warning glance but she new it was not his over-protective nature now speaking. He too seemed to sense a danger in the water. Yet he appeared perceptive enough to see she might read his intentions otherwise. He took a deep, calming breath, and then said in his most diplomatic voice, "Tell me your thoughts."

She smiled. He is learning! she thought. Then she glanced down, noting the numbing feeling in her toes as she stood in the hazy grey water. She said, "I can tolerate the temperature better than you would."

He stared at her, as if digesting the merit of such a comment, but then he shook his head and said, "I do not think it matters much. I shall not be in the water long."

"I am slighter than you as well. It might be easier for me to pass. And if it is not, I am the better swimmer between us. Further, if there is trouble, I would be easier to pull back as my weight is not as great as yours." His eyes turned away, looking into the pool as if weighing these arguments. She took the opportunity to push her point through. "The water is like ice, Estel. For those of mortal blood, even a minute in that could be a debilitating period. I am of Elven blood. I am not nearly as affected as you would be. I am more qualified to withstand the chill and I am more qualified to take on this risk."

His brow furrowed as he pondered this, and she could see he was battling his protective nature to hear her reasoning. At last he sighed and then approached her. Fingers trailed down her arms and laced into her hands. "I do not wish it to be, but you are right," he said as he lightly took the proffered rope and began to tie it about her waist. He secured it with a tight knot.

She laid her fingers over his, feeling a tiny tremble as he stilled his fumbling fingers. His eyes roamed up from her hands to her face. She greeted him with a smile that reached her dark eyes. "It will be well," she whispered, softly cooing her assurances. "We shall be free, I know it. This will work."

He nodded only slightly. No words did he say. The yellow light of the lamp showed the moisture building in his eyes. Then he turned his eyes back to his task, his hands fumbling with the rope again, tightening his knots. When he was satisfied they were secure and would hold, he sighed, standing more erect as he did. Simultaneously, spontaneously, they wrapped their arms about each other. Their kiss came unbidden, the sign of their intimacy locked together with hope. When they broke away, he said to her, "Two minutes. If you have not made it through in that time, I am pulling you back."

He looked so frightened, and she could think of nothing that might vanquish those fears. However, a thought to lessen his burden came to her then. She smiled, teasing him then. "One hard yank if there is danger or if I need for you to come," she said, reciting the words in the instructional voice he had used when he had loosed her in the tunnels alone just the day before. "Two short tugs if I have reached the end yet I wish more lead to go on. Three tugs if --"

"Have faith," she cooed softly, her words nearly lost, "and know I am only as far as this rope can take me. Do not be afraid of our separation. I will never leave you."

He smiled, seeing the parallel between her words and his mood as they had been the day before. "Remember to keep the rope between us taut. That is important," he said, joking still with yet another reiteration of his prior words.

She turned then and took her first steps, sinking quickly into water that rose to her waist. As anticipated, the water was frigid, and though it was uncommon among Elves, she could feel gooseflesh rise on her arms and neck. "It is very cold," she announced though she knew he had earlier proclaimed this. She began to walk towards the light, feeling the tug of a current dragging at her feet as she lowered further. She was in water up to her neck and there was still another twenty feet or so to go before she would reach the great wall. The current was so strong that her feet were barely skimming the loamy bottom of the pool. Where her feet did touch, great clouds of silt-like sand billowed up around her, muddying the water and decreasing visibility even further. The water deepened in the next few feet so that she could no longer stand, and she was forced to relinquish herself to the tide that tugged her steadily forward. She glided in the water, her head just above the surface, but the current was fast, and she was quickly pulled to the rift in the walls base.

Too fast it came up, and luckily she was facing forward as to see the wall coming. Had she not, she would have crashed head-on into the wall. As it was her speed was swift, and she heard Aragorn gasping in astonished fear as he watched her reach out and catch herself before she was dashed into the rock face.

"Daro!" she responded, resorting to her Sindarin tongue to call his stop. He was forever her rescuer and she would not have it. The water made sound, like the drain of a basin where she dragged along the surface near the wall and it threatened, siphoning her body as if trying to drag her down. Still, she would not be deterred. She saw a bloody trail snake down her arm, a confirmation of the cuts on her hand from the jarring blow against the wall. It was nothing to her, minor cuts suffered for the sake of their escape. It gave her shivers of fear though as she sensed this incident to be warning of looming danger ahead, but she pushed back her anxieties and refused to let it stop her. She switched back to the common tongue, clinging to the jagged wall as she said to him in the calmest voice she could muster. "I am well. It is -- the current is very strong here."

"The current will drag you under," he said. "You will not be able to bring yourself back up!"

"Is that not why you affixed the rope?" she asked, shivering slightly. Her patience was short and she perceived his to be as well. She did not await his response. With a quick gulp of air she purposefully swam under, expecting him to immediately yank back on the rope. But she felt nothing that would indicate he was dragging her away, and she had to assume he was allowing her the opportunity she was promised.

With the circulation of water now evident around her, she could feel the mixture of warm mingling with the cold. But she hardly had time to register anything but the most outward of sensations. The rip of the current was great, and she found herself plummeting forward. The underground river traveled on several dozen more feet before opening into the greater world. The tunnels height and width were nearly the same, and they formed into a funneled tube as they progressed. The end revealed an opening that she could swim through and it was coming up fast. She could see rays of sunlight beckoning to her from the other side of the opening. Excitement rippled through her and she kicked her feet that she might reach it even sooner.

The cord wrenched at her waist as the air nearly burst from her lungs. Her progress slowed and the water that had been pulling her dragged against her body as she came to a dull stop. Water gushed around, sweeping past her and toward her simultaneously. Only a few feet more and she would reach the entrance. Surely Aragorn was not yet attempting to pull her back? Although her lungs were feeling constricted, she knew she was not yet at her final moments of air. Time was not up, so why was she not granted further access? She could not have reached the end of her rope so soon. Or could she. Glimpsing back she could see very little in the darkness, and she suspected that perhaps the rope was at an end. She had come further than she had expected she would.

Panicked because she knew the tunnels length was too long to pull her back in safe time to beat the current's strength, she struggled to kick ahead. This near to the entrance, the water was in a strange state of motion. Both in and out it seemed to go, and she felt herself eddied both ways as she struggled to make free. Just three more feet and she might find a handhold to pull herself up. Two more feet. But then, there was no more. Struggling, struggling, she could feel her lungs begin to scream. Her time was drawing to an end, and she was caught in an impossible place. She must find more rope.

She looked down, gazing at the knots holding her to the tether. Argaorn's strong fingers had done well. In fact, in his instinctive desire to protect her, he had done too well. There was nothing she could do to break out of the knots. Her fingers cloyed at the tight fibers but there was not an ounce of give within them. From this end, she would never be able to cut loose from the bonds. Yet from the other end . . .

Her heart was racing a thunderous pounding within her head. Her lungs began to cry silent agony for the air she could not breathe. And yet her brain was ticking away a strategic method to find escape. She would die in but minutes if she did not act.

Wrapping both hands around the thickness of rope, she used her own weight to rudder her down. She girded both feet beneath her and pulled. Not once did she yank at the steely tether, but twice, telling Aragorn, she hoped, that she needed more line to find her way free.

The change was quick to come. She lurched yet another several feet, and she flipped about, scrambling to find the hold she had nearly had before. Hands reached the torn edge in the rock, and she dragged herself out, relief so very near. Sunlight sparkled down on her as she used every inch of cord released to her to make herself free of the tunnel. And though it seemed clear Aragorn had not released the rope, it did seem apparent that he had found more to give her. Hand over hand she pulled, and then finally she arose, clearing her way from the tunnel.

The water around her jostled merrily, bubbles and foam playing on the surface while churning sounds of great volume greeted her in muffled voices. Here too, the water swirled furiously and quick, but somehow, with the rediscovery of the sun's glimmer, she felt capable of fighting it yet so that she might rise. More rope was released to her, and she used her handhold and the extra length of freedom to rise. She was not in deep. Quickly, soundly through those nine or ten feet of the water she went, surprised to find suddenly so much rope now availed her.

She broke the surface, gulping hungrily on the sweet, clean air, barely noticing the roaring sound of pouring water echoing loudly in the air. The craggy wall in which she hung gave her good handholds, but they were slick with the slimy residue of plant life. She gasped great breaths of air, coughing on the uptake as small waves of water hit her squarely in the face. Yet she was free. She was free!

Remembering immediately the one she had left behind, she reached down to take the rope. Seeing that he understood her last message, she thought it only right to let him know it was safe now to join her. Her free hand wrapped about the cord while the other still held to the wall. As it had been all along, she expected to find the rope taut when she set out to greet him with her outcome. But to her surprise, it was not. Instead, the rope drifted freely, laying slack in the water.

"Estel--?" she whispered, pulling the rope up and up and up in order to reach the point where it gained her leverage again, or at least the one on the other end of it. And then rapidly, suddenly, like a coiling serpent set free, the rope gained new life. She realized too late what was happening, and even if she had there might be little for her to do. Perhaps if she had considered it sooner, she might have tried to climb out of the water, to go to dry land so that a tree or heavy rock might have anchored her to her place. But she did not, and with nothing more than a short breath of air to fortify her, she was dragged back in and torn into the raging current.

A/N: And now it is time for me to make my own little promotional plea. As you may know, I have no shame, and since reviews are what feed me, this is where I ask that you nickel up some thoughts. Here at SOA (Stories of Arda) my review count is nil. I hate that! So won't you please help by offering a review. Constructive criticism is always welcomed, as is praise. But flames are hard to digest so I ask that you keep those to yourselves. I'd rather get nothing. See, nothing subtle in that. JUST FEED ME!

I had a little extra time this week and so I was able to compose my Response to Reviewers for a change. I've tried to accommodate those that sent in reviews to chapter 38 too. Let me know if I missed you. Fanfiction.net has been playing games with giving me my reviews, and I have faith that now that I am positioned at Stories of Arda, many of those problems will go away.

BlueTigerCat - See, the thing is, I really want to get done. So if it takes 18 page chapters to do it, then that's what I will write. The end is so close. I am dreaming it now. But I have people I need to line up and places to yet go, and, gosh, Gordash and Curtik came at me from out of the blue with these last several chapters. It frightened me so to have some of the details missing when I began this fic, but now I am thrilled with how they've made their own lives. Thank you for your review.

Bryn bnw - I like this new monicker on you. Eldarion conceived in a cave? . . . Hmm, I have answers to this query but I won't be speaking on it until the Epilogue. The buck, oh yes, he keeps creeping in. I won't let that creature out of this story. He does nothing directly, but he is sort of the watcher in this tale. And yes, Kattica will only do white magic for the rest of the story. Except where black magic suits her purposes. (I love giving evil hints.) J

Cheryl Ann Alexis Christopher - Not finding the exit was a little dip in the ride. It seems they needed daylight to make their way out. But that route is another vortex of trouble. Gosh, I hope they make it! Hey, wait a minute, I'm the writer! I can make anything happen. Ooo, such power! Eowyn won't make an appearance again for another chapter or two. She isfeeling a little injured.

Chris - I'm glad to know you are still out there. I truly do know the effects of reality in conjunction to this little fantasy world. I don't mind if you need to lurk for a while, but of course, I always appreciate reviews too. I hope life is being kind. Come back when you can.

Daw the Minstrel - I like dogs too. Dogs are our friends. Don't give up on them yet. They showed compassion to Faramir. Perhaps they might yet be redeemable. Faramir really had no choice you know. His capture would have brought him nothing toward saving his wife. Sensibility is what will bring rescue. The question here is, is Faramir capable of acting sensibly when it comes to Éowyn?

E - So what do you think of their escape method? It was there all along. They just didn't see it. And now, well I'm betting they wish they had found the exit before the river had risen. Curtik is an oddity. His motives are his own, and he only tells me what he thinks I should know. Just as he does with Bregus. Creepy character.

Fliewatuet - Poor you! But I'm hoping life has gotten better since your last post. I say this of course for selfish reasons. I would love to see an update to your story. Oh well, I guess I will have to remain satisfied by working on my own. Oh, but you guessed right about the river rising due to the rain and the effect it has on Aragorn and Arwen's escape. It might have been better had they made it out earlier. However, had they, their little dalliance might not have occurred.

French Pony - [blushing] Thank you so very much. I can't possibly compare, but I'm honored all the same. The Romany speech is as accurate as I could get. I have two separate glossaries of Romany terms, but like dialects, the language changes according to regions of the world. So there is not one Romany language but more likely 20, or more, depending on whether you count the offshoots spoken within the tribes as languages too. Then there would be literally hundreds of versions of Romany. Besides that, it is a spoken language, and really not meant to be written, so the resources I have might have four or five different ways to spell the same words, or relatively the same words. As a result of gathering few resources for the language, I have had a hard time getting consistency with regional uses and have had to resort to mixing Arabic phrases with Slavic, Welsh, and Hindi phrases. I've butchered the language badly, you see, and at times I have had to make up words when the one I wanted simply did not exist. But 95% of the words are true, even if they would not normally be said in the context given. Homogenized Romany, let's say.

Gwyn - Length is not my problem. Shortening is my problem. I wish I could spill out what I need to say with an economy of words. It would make writing fanfic so much easier and faster. As it is, I average 1000 words a day, which really isn't all that much. But since this is a hobby, I must take that. The hard part is the editing, which is tedious and grueling. My ultimate goal is to either find peace with myself and know that I must rewrite and revise numerous times to get the words right, or else get my skills honed to the point where they need little polish (that's the one I am shooting for, but I fear the former is the reality I will be forced to face).

IceAngel7 - Now I know you must be loving all the Faramir action that has been going about here. He didn't make it to this chapter, but he will be in the next. You'll have to stay content for the moment with more Legolas torment and Arwen danger. Sick me. I love writing that stuff.

JastaElf - My, you are a talented one, aren't you? And I am blushing. I'm really delighted you liked that last chapter. I'm glad you are seeing the parallels between the characters too. It has been a slow build to bring it all to this head, but symbolism and contrasts and parallels will be raining in sheets from here on (I hope I don't forget anything). This is the point where I simultaneously grin like an idiot and sweat like a fiend. The end is drawing nearer, and it is really critical I get this right. Fingers crossed, but knowing you're rooting this story on really helps. Well, no, actually it adds pressure, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Thanks for your review!

Jedimasterteo - Your reviews really amuse me. A hearty greeting to your brother. I'm glad he is enjoying this as much as you are, especially the fight sequence. As for Adam, he is obviously missing something, but you can't make him go there if he doesn't want to. Hope camp went well and that you managed to get more socks in time. Thanks for reviewing!

Lamiel - Gosh, thanks for the great review. You are very right on all marks. I was rather eager to get that last chapter done as it was wearing me out. The odd use of that word? I tend to do that at times. It's makes it difficult for me to re-read my old stuff because I find weird words like that spicing things up just enough to make me cringe. So any help you can offer is greatly appreciated. Thanks once again. And a new chapter from you would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and by the by, I loved what you said about "The Release" and I may go in and 'play with it' a little more to implement your comments. Thank you for that too.

Le Rouret - Wow! I am flattered. Doro Lanthiron is the name I gave to Legolas' colony, and if youd like to use it, you may, though I'd be most pleased if you cited me as the source for it. The words mean Land of (Many) Waterfalls, which is one of the features Ithilien is noted for. While I have your attention drawn there, please make note of that as the next chapter centers around a waterfall.

Littlefish - Thank you. Sometimes it seems when we really struggle, we are the only ones who see the errors. The action will stay tense from this point forward. We've been working our way up to a spiral release for some time. I'm really happy to be letting it out at last. Next chapter we will see how the others fare, and perhaps a reunion, though I can't promise it will be happy.

Luinthien - The titles are always a give away if you study them. Then again, "Rivers of Blood" does sound rather obvious. I think I stunned everybody with the Curtik twist. Talk about out of the blue! But every once in a while I have to throw something at the audience that blindsides them. There is already so much in this story revealed. The little tricks I have plotted I must spring with a vengeance when the timing is right.

Nightwing6 - Gosh, thank you so much! I hope you put away that candy bar before coming here. Maybe I need to add that to my warnings. For your sake (though I think you are not alone) I asked the customer service booth to stock defibrillators and paddles should anyone need to be shocked back to life while in the process of reading this story. I hope this chapter didn't require their usage. Bregus' Choice? LOL! I feel sorry for her too. A little. Not enough to forgive her though. Have no fears. She is bad and she will see an ending fit to match her evil.

Nikara - I hope the confusion has been cleared up for you. How many chapters left? UmmmFour? Five? And an epilogue. Don't cite me. My outline from a month ago has already been mucked with (I tell you, these characters do what they want and they seem to care little that I have a Plan).

Nilmandra - See, you've got the inside track. You know a little of what is coming up, but only that. Even you, my friend, must be subjected to the surprise attack I am laying out in this fic. I'm so delighted though with all the help you gave me. Have you seen the reviews? People think the last chapter was great. My eternal gratitude to you!

Sigil Galen - Thank you so much. There are still twists in the road ahead, and answering your questions regarding Curtik gives too much away. He is a skeevy character, and truthfully, he has only just revealed his desires to me, but trust me when I say there is more here than just surface level skeevies.

Space Vixen X - Still enjoying the ride? Lots more turns to come. I'm betting you don't even see them coming until you are in the thick of them. Hmm, maybe I should have chosen fun park engineering as my profession. I have a knack for turning people on their sides and making their heads spin.

*~SuGaR~* - That blood thing? . . . yeah, a proud moment for me. I love imagery like that. It gives me goosebumps when the words flow like that. Thanks for the reminder of the amulet. It should appear again in, um, [checks notes] two chapters. It has not been forsaken, because every object has a job in this story. Watch for the halberd. It will do a job too. BTW, I tried to email that pdf to you by responding to your email, and it bounced back to me. The Fates are against us, it seems.

Tapetum Lucidum - Me? Happy? Not until this story is done. But I am having fun! So you think the whole lot is bonkers? Maybe. Probably. As for Faramir, remember everything he's been through this day. You must admit, it has been a very long one for him so being worn out is a good excuse. And Eowyn? She got a dose of that medicine. I'm surprised she fought as hard as she did considering her drugged state. She'll still fight, but a lot has been taken out of her with this last battle.

Thundera Tiger - I almost made it to 18 pages again for this chapter, but the overflow was going longer and longer, and so I decided to carry it to the next chapter. Thank you for the kind words. Perhaps rewriting umpteen times is the trick to getting solidly good chapters. I'll have to remember that someday when I write a real book. You are on the right track with your thinking of Aragorn and Arwen's whereabouts. And your word, "culmination" is very apropos. Kinda like "congeal" I guess. We will see lots of loose ends getting tied in the coming chapters, and many parallels drawn. This is the part I've been looking forward to all along. I hope I don't forget anything.

TigerLily 713 - Double review. I love it! It may have appeared death was looming, but it is not yet here. I pulled out the stops on Mattias' death. I couldn't do it and leave Kattica's baby without a father. Thanks for your comments! I hope you like this chapter as well.

TreeHugger - So I am tormenting you, eh? But truthfully, it was you who gave me the idea to make both Gordash and Curtik bigger roles in this story. Curtik is mad beyond reason, and his actions can't be predicted because of it. You will notice how often madness is bandied about in this story. The word is usually directed at Bregus, but the fact is, she is as sane as the rest of us, just far more driven by her greed. Curtik, on the other hand, is just insane, insane, insane. Now, what should I do with Gordash? Hmm.

A/N: To all fans of this story, I demand this of you: get down on your knees and thank Nilmandra for betaing this chapter. No, really! Do it! You have no idea what a mess it was when I handed it off to her *shudder*! She performed a miracle here, and I have to say, without her, I would still be sitting at my desk, beating my head in frustration. Betaing is such a small word to encompass all she did. Just count yourselves lucky you only see this side of the story, because backstage we are holding it together with popsickle sticks, bubblegum and coat wire. It is not pretty! *Throwing self at Nilmandra's feet for one last round of displaying my sheer gratitude* Thank you so much, Nilmandra!

With barely contained frustration, Faramir turned from his companions and watched the wending waters snake their way past the grass-curtained wall of their cave hideaway. The blades of green, made heavy with the weight of the night's rain, dragged listlessly at the water's edge, streaming trails as the river rolled past. Further out in the stream, the waters swirled about rocks, mirroring the tracings in the shallower depths but with greater force, and the meandering current they created caused the water to stir in bubbling response. Deeper still, boulders and heavy rocks cut the surface, and here the action was not so sedate. Eddies and swirling curlicues of rippling water twisted over and around these large stone guardians. Time and time again, fallen branches would float over the water's surface, carried there from places upstream, caught in the motions of transport and either sent to drift in the stiller waters near the shore, or pushed into the swirling flow at the river's depths. It was difficult to predict which way a branch might go as trajectory and weight had as much to do with its wayward path as did the river's course. Faramir played witness as a thick broken limb worried its way to the center of the river. It was spun and tossed lazily in the hidden menace of the rocks, but it continued its onward path, lightly battered but still whole. Like us all, the steward thought, as he turned his gaze back to the tired faces and worried expressions of his companions. A night's rest had been of aid to them, but it could not suppress the rising panic the group was feeling. I should have told them what happened at Henneth-Annun in a better way. I have only worsened their fears for our loved ones with my words. Since awakening, he had been forced to tell and retell all that had befallen in the night's battle. Many blanks were missing from the story, but those he could not fill. All he knew for certain was that Éowyn, Legolas and Mattias were injured, being held against their will, and that he had failed to free them.

"Sitting here is furthering us none! How much more must we wait before we may try something to rescue our friends?" Gimli growled, interrupting Faramir's contemplation. Urgency was readily apparent in the Dwarf's stern voice, if not in his frantic pacing, and Faramir turned his attention to face his friend.

"Peace, Gimli. A few minutes pause and then we will move. We are not all ready yet," the steward replied, glancing at Gordash, who had just been tended and given a restorative that Kattica had concocted. The large man reclined back, head against the cave wall with his eyes closed for a moment's rest. The wound to his belly was much improved, but was still a serious wound, and the man was clearly weakened by the great loss of blood he had suffered.

But Faramir spoke also for himself, for he did not feel ready to move with any surety quite yet.

For his part, Gimli ignored all indications of illness, not seeming to notice or care. Anxiety wore at the Dwarf's features and Faramir grimaced in response to the pelting scorn that radiated there. Had he thought on it, he could have predicted such a response from the Dwarf. Almost he regretted having told his stout companion anything of what had occurred the night before. But they needed to know, he told himself, and we do need to act, for I do not know how much time we have.

Faramir closed his eyes, tuning out the rumblings from the dwarf. He was weary, his body ached and a gash still remained across his torso though it no longer bled, but he was in far better shape than he had expected. There was no denying a miracle had transpired, or something close to it, but how he had come to this, he did not know. Faramir could remember little if anything of his arrival into their camp the night before. He had no recollection of either spell, incantation or potion being used to perform the miracle that was his and Gordash's cure, though Kattica had told him she had indeed used magic for this. He recalled Kattica meeting them, as if expecting them, when he and Gordash had found their way back to the camp. it The next thing that he remembered was finding himself in their keep, the fire burning brightly, the sound of light rain bouncing on the river's surface, and the utterance of words being spoken in Kattica's voice, but in a language Faramir could not understand. He must have drowsed for what came next could only be a dream. A kind faced old woman stood over him then, her large brown eyes showing both wisdom and compassion. And while he detected great age in them, he also had a sense of eternal youth living there. There was something familiar about her, about her stance, the way she lifted her chin, as if there were something regal in her bearing. But at the same time, Faramir was quite certain he had never seen the woman's face before. The dream ended there, for the next that he knew, Kattica was working over him, washing his wounds, humming a strange little tune as she did. And then he had awoken to the morning light and many frantic questions.

At present, he felt nothing close to being wholly well as his shaky hands reached up to smooth knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders, but he knew he must muster his strength. The lives of his friends depended on it.

He pressed a hand to his brow and rubbed at the ache that was building there. The sounds of the argument invaded his mind, and, gazing up, he turned tired eyes upon the Dwarf. The conversation was no longer directed at him, and for this Faramir was grateful. Gimlis need for action had been turned on Kattica in his attempt to understand what kind of enemy they faced. Kattica had told them about her creation of a magic circle, but Gimli, having never witnessed such a thing, did not understand that of which she spoke. Further, he could not understand why Bregus was at an advantage.

"Can you not just jinx her or put a hex on her or some such nonsense? You imply she is nigh impossible to fight, yet you managed to do just that. Why do you fear her when obviously she can be broken?"

Kattica breathed out a deep sigh then answered, "The joining of worlds comes together in the Henneth-Annün cavern. Bregus controls much of everything around her there."

"Ha! But apparently you can too! Last night you healed us," the Dwarf pointed out, scoffing while standing on a leg that had been hobbled the day before. "We are fit now, and without benefit of having a Protected Place like Bregus. Does that not prove you a powerful enough witch that you could fight her?"

"This is not a true Protected Place but I made it into something that resembled one. Still, the elements I used are depleted now and my healing powers become meager here," she stated flatly, as if that were an answer. She turned to her medicine bowl then and began to mix ingredients together.

Gimli shook his head, not understanding. "But why?" he asked in a terse voice, the sound risen in frustration.

"A true Protected Place is composed entirely of the base elements in a natural setting." Kattica's face turned to Faramir to give him an annoyed expression. He could see fatigue lining her eyes, and he realized Gimli's constant prodding tried her as well as it did him. "Earth. Wind. Fire. Water. Your Henneth-Annün has all of these elements. At least it does when the sun is properly in the sky. When that time comes and a shuv'ni is present within that cave, she or he might wield great magic. Our camp," she gestured around them, "is a mere imitation. Water laps at our feet but it does not make up the walls. Wind sweeps us on its own whim but it is not a constant breeze. Our fire is manufactured. It is not the fire of the earth or the sky that makes it fully the gods' gift. The mark of a real Protected Place has all these things naturally."

However, Faramir could sympathize with Gimli's confusion, and trying to understand the source of the power that had been in their cave as well, Faramir commented, "It rained last night. The wind was blowing. Would those not make the hold stronger?"

A twitch at Kattica's mouth told Faramir it was so. Brown eyes penetrated his. A spark of memory flashed before him. He could remember seeing her calling to the skies. He fixed his eyes on hers, and they told him this truth. Kattica had indeed used these elements to her benefit. Perhaps she had even created them, though he could not fathom her doing such a thing. Yet she seemed hesitant to speak on it, her eyes warning him. As he watched her answer, she seemed to be indicating her fears. Her eyes kept darting to Gordash and her answers remained humble.

"They were temporary. Gifts of nature. They were given and I used them to heal your injuries." She nodded at the bandages she had used to wrap Faramir's waist.

Faramir's face blushed crimson as he gazed at the dressings. At the moment he was glad there were not more eyes to witness his humiliation, but he decided it might do to lighten her mood, and so he teased, "Pah! You used them to further your feminine ambitions. Gifts, you say. I look as a pretty package all decorated for the giving."

"Be glad you yet breathe and never mind the dressing," Kattica admonished with the first hint of a smile he had yet seen this day.

Gimli gave a small snort then, overhearing this bit of lightened amusement, but the mock-scathing look Faramir gave in answer cut the Dwarf short. Gimli blushed when he realized Faramirs eyes had settled on his own bandages, and with a huff indicating the joke was not taken, he resumed his pacing. Faramir inwardly laughed though. Take that! he thought affectionately, gaining relief from this briefest of light moments as a smile flickered on his face. When it came to their bindings, his diminutive friend had little ground on which to stand. In fact, Faramir thought, with the thickness of the bandage wrapped around the Dwarf's leg, he stands not on ground at all, but cloth. Yards and yards of cloth by Faramir's estimation, and all of it cast in a loud shade of red. Apparently it was an offering from an earlier underskirt sacrificed on Kattica's part. Faramir, upon seeing it, had nearly laughed at what he came to term in his mind as 'Gimli's Red Boot.' He suspected the Dwarf had every right to snort at Faramir in return.

"You will concede at least that I look as a target," the steward continued his complaint, using it to urge Kattica into a larger smile in answer to his empty gripes. His ploy failed.

"You would be a target were you to go after Bregus regardless of how your wounds are bound," Kattica retorted, her voice growing grim. She turned then and handed him the cup, and he could see tears pooled in her eyes. The moment of quiet laughter was again chased away.

Faramir did not wait to hear her command to drink, for he had heard her insistence when she had given the order to Gordash earlier. Looking at the large man, who seemed better for having ingested it, Faramir decided this too was a part of his healing. He grimaced as he smelled the concoction, and then nearly gagged as he drank down what tasted like a combination of thick, muddy water and grass, and was nearly the same consistency.

"You shall eat this as well," Kattica instructed, tears now streaming down her face, stepping up and offering Gimli a skewered piece of fish, then one to Faramir. She hesitated before stopping next to Gordash, then sighed heavily and nudged him awake.

Despite her tearful moments and somewhat obvious prejudicial feelings toward her brother-in-law, Faramir had to admit his admiration for this girl. Ailing as they had all been, she had taken it upon herself to accomplish much in one night. Somehow, beyond the magic performed, she had managed to net, clean and cook a handful of fish in addition to tending their wounds and stocking the fire. Such accomplishments were ill-proportioned to her physical bearing. Mythological in fact. Faramir smiled to himself. To accomplish this much, he mused, she could be none other than Marius Suenor. Thinking this, he felt a fanfare of trumpets might play in her tribute. But he brushed that thought aside for that infamous female character of lore, Marius Suenor, infiltrated inane tales of little imagination. Usually given over to youthful storytelling sessions among adolescent girls, Faramir rarely let such stories gain his attention. Yet he had heard of this creation of a superior female heroine. He supposed the girls who partook of such nonsense could empathize with Marius Suenor's character, but Faramir found her trite, and endlessly predictable. No one could be as gifted as that character in reality. Still, he could not help looking at Kattica with appreciative eyes placing her in a Marius Suenor role.Nay, she was not that, for her flaws were as apparent as were her talents. Still, she moved with vigor and he could not help being amazed that she could have accomplished so much with so little.

He pushed these playful thoughts aside and turned his focus upon himself. He suddenly realized that he was feeling better if he were making mental jests. The fish seemed suddenly appealing, and Faramir began to feed on the steaming flesh. It was a tasty feast, and he devoured it quickly, realizing he had little to eat the day before and it was only right that he should find his appetite again. Almost immediately he found renewed strength. Whether it was brought on by the meager meal, or the ministration that had been tended him, Faramir could not say. He just knew he was better for them.

But Gimli stared down at the offering he had been given as if he had never seen the likes of food before. He shook his head lightly. "I am not hungry,"

Kattica seemed to take this as an affront, and Faramir reminded himself that they all suffered under the strain of their worries. She spoke almost as if through gritted teeth.

"You have suffered injury and serious trauma in the day since last, and you must replenish your strength if you are to do ought for your friends."

Gimli sighed. "It might give me strength I suppose," he answered begrudgingly. He fidgeted, poking at the food with his knife before setting it aside and looking hampered again by his desperation to move. It did not take long before eagerness made him pace again. At any moment Faramir expected the Dwarf to begin prodding them with urgings for movement. As if on cue, the Dwarf spoke.

"What if we were to launch a surprise attack?" Gimlis eyes brightened and he exclaimed this as if he had heard none of what had been said only moments before, "I can work a knife, Faramir. The odds are in our favor. By my count, their number is down by two at least. Besides," the Dwarf went on directing his thoughts toward Faramir and not noticing Kattica's discomfiture for the dismissal of her husband in his numbering, "surely they suffer damages as a result of last night."

Such were not the words to calm any of them, least of all Kattica. A grunt escaped her, and she threw her hands up in the air.

"Nay, Master Dwarf," she said with barely suppressed rage, "Our chances grow only worse! Such a plan would be folly! Do you not see? Bregus is in the Protected Place where her powers only grow stronger! Likely none of my people are injured, and likelier still they are hale! Her control will be heightened and they shall be more willing to do battle for her than ever before! Do not underestimate her!"

With that her eyes glanced to Gordash as if to read his reaction to her words, daring him to speak. Faramir looked that way as well, but he saw nothing suspicious in the man, who merely blinked in surprise at the outburst.

There was nothing of a soothing calm in these charges however, and Faramir felt the Dwarf's ire burning as fiercely as Kattica's.

"Yet we cannot idly sit by. At least an attack now would be unexpected!" Gimli exploded.

"Unexpected by you, perhaps!" Kattica answered in a cold voice, her eyes focused entirely on Gordash as she spoke, nostrils flaring. Faramir could see her anger rising, and felt the dread of her argument before it was spoken. "But for Bregus it would verily be expected, would it not, Gordash?"

"You are sorry? Not nearly enough, I should think!" Kattica cried. "Not enough when your brother is sacrificed to her cause! Not enough when you aid her in resurrecting a ghost as our leader! Not enough when innocents are harmed or killed in your longing to comply. You brought this upon us! You!" Her cries echoed around them and the man blinked his guilty conscience with each accusation.

"Kattica, Cease this!" Faramir snapped, his voice sounding out his own rage. "We are getting nowhere and time races on!"

She then turned on Faramir. "And you! Why did you bring him here? What foolishness directed you? Can you not see he should be left behind? He is Bregus' agent and he will give us away!" the girl cried, rage spitting the words at him.

Had he considered it, Faramir knew he might have predicted this outburst from Kattica as much as he had expected the one from Gimli. He retorted with equal vehemence. "And you healed him despite knowing what you do of him! Do not blame me that I felt compassion when you apparently felt likewise!" he accused in return.

"I did what I must as a shuv'ni! But Gordash is not the same! His crimes have been cruel! He is not an innocent accomplice!"

Faramir felt nausea twist his stomach. He knew well the cruelty of his words. He watched the young woman's face collapse, her eyes widening as she swallowed reflexively. It was a low blow, but it was delivered in the intentions of helping her regain herself. Faramir's guilt lashed at him, but he told himself it was the right thing to do. Her apprehensions were getting the better of her, and like Gimli she was nearly hysterical with her fright. He felt dreadful for the words, yet Faramir had to remind her that she was not beyond the crimes that she pinned upon her husband's brother

A vanquished sob was relinquished from her throat, and Faramir caught her as her legs collapsed beneath her. He pulled her up, hugging her into him, hot breath beating on his chest as she sobbed in anguish. He said in a soft voice, "He is trying to break from her. Would you hold it against him for trying?"

She did not finish the thought, but Faramir knew what she might say had she continued. He felt equal in his anxieties, his regrets and his terror. Éowyn, he thought, yea that I might hold you again. Wistfully, he thought of his wife's golden tendrils of hair and her graceful figure as he held the crying girl. He found solace in the tears.

Several minutes passed in silence, but they were broken when the Romany man took it upon himself to speak. He looked hesitant to vocalize his thoughts, but after a moment of pondering he did.

Protests gathered on Faramir's lips but he did not speak them, choosing instead to let the Romany say what he would.

"I told you last night I know not my own thoughts. She is correct. I still cannot say I am true. This however I can tell you. Should you fight my people, I shall not. Should you march to the soldiers camp, I will march with you and surrender myself. Should you wish to be rid of me, I would walk away and be gone. It is all I can do to show my aid. But whatever you decide, I think it would be best if I were not present as you discussed it." And with that, he stood and walked away from their cave, strolling upstream to a place that was out of earshot but within their eyesight.

Red rimmed, Kattica's eyes followed him, eyelashes sticking in star points. "That was . . . noble. I should not have . . . " she said with shame, never completing the thought as she looked down. Faramir felt a laugh spill out of him.

"You had every right to doubt him," Faramir corrected her with soft words, feeling a bit of mirth for the flip-flop her guilt put upon her. And then finding a little more of his strength, he released her and stood erect. "Thanks to your outburst and his given nobility, we might now speak freely." Growing suddenly serious, he said, "We need a plan, and we have made little of one so far. What say you, Gimli?"

Throughout the lament, Gimli had seemed locked in his own remorse. As he gazed up, dark eyes showed his hurt. "Would that Aragorn were here," he sadly muttered.

It was like the burst of a bubble. Mirth depleted in full and the steward's face sagged into a frown. The Dwarf's eyes dipped in misery. Would that he were, Faramir thought, and for not the first time, he considered Aragorn and worried for his condition. So too for Arwen. But, he realized, such thoughts could also stir up hope, and Faramir turned the sad tidings into ones of possible encouragement. "And were he here, what might he do?" Faramir asked the Dwarf.

"He might have chosen a less emotional course than we would, surely," the Dwarf chuckled.

The laughter, though woeful, was a nice music in the steward's ears, and he wondered when or if they might ever truly feel happiness again. But what Gimli said had merit.

"Then let us think on our choices and decide what might best serve us," Faramir offered. "There are the soldiers."

"They would give us strength in numbers that we do not currently have," Gimli conceded.

"But enough to overtake Bregus?" Faramir asked, knowing the number of soldiers as compared to Romany.

"They use women and children in their ranks," Gimli scoffed. "That is no contest."

"Do not underestimate what those women and children might do, Master Dwarf," Kattica answered. "They will make you wary to strike, while they will show no hesitation in striking you."

"Granted," Faramir nodded. "Despite the soldiers, their number is greater. Should we send then to the Elven colony for aid?"

Antagonism emoted from Gimli with this comment. "Thus sacrificing more Elves to the witch's cause? I think not," he murmured.

Faramir huffed on the words. His frayed emotions had too reached a near end. Bringing harm to others was the last thing he wanted at that moment and Gimli's gripes were only flagging his energies. His head pounded yet again as he considered this. He was seeking help. That the Dwarf could not see this. . . "A simple aye or nay would suffice, Master Dwarf," he responded in clipped words. Any ease between them seemed to pass. Tension returned. Etched lines of worry reached the steward's brow as the mounting impatience met him in the Dwarf's stiff figure. Faramir's own worries were enough to set the prince on a path of dark misery. Anger ventured forth in his words, and he barely restrained the lashing he wished to deliver. "What would you have then?"

Gimli answered in a far calmer voice than Faramir used, though he was terse in his reply. "I would have us work to find a way that would breech their hold and rescue our loved ones. You speak of means of might, but what else do we have in our favor?"

"Obtaining the soldiers' help seems a fair bit of advantage!" Faramir countered, realizing too late as he said this that the animosity that was brewing between them was coming from himself.

"You give up on our skills too easily, Faramir! You would use might to force our way in when that might do even greater harm to our friends! Have you not considered that the witch might kill them if she cannot reach her goal? If we attack and break through, what will she do next? Have you even begun to ask these questions?" Gimli lashed back.

Silence fell between them as the echo of their voices faded away and the sounds of the raging river filled the emptiness.

But it was not the sudden temper unleashed that made Faramir pause, for he felt he might choke on the silence. Gimlis accusations resounded in his brain, and Faramir noted each one. Indeed he had considered them, but not with any surety of thought. He leaned back, feeling weak again, his head pounding as he searched for answers.

Kattica looked away as he turned his gaze to her. She sighed, silently stroking her belly as if in contemplation of these thoughts herself. No answers would be given in studying her, and Faramir turned his eyes to the river, still too shocked to react.

He watched the muddy water as his mind went over the words. Of course the witch would kill the ones she held. She may well kill everyone in that cave if she could not succeed. A mass homicide was not beyond her doing, especially in knowing she had few qualms about killing even her own kin. Gimli was right, though such an admission stung Faramir's ego. Venturing far into the twisted mind of Bregus' was painful, and he was resistant to do so. Bregus was a mystery to him and, truthfully, he feared her. He could not forget what torment she had rained upon him simply with a touch and for little cause that he could discern. She was cruel and quite selfish, and the combination of those two qualities could lead her to do most anything.

Faramir knew that Bregus had fears though too. They needed to consider anything that might break her, although he would relish a plan that would avoid a face-to-face confrontation. Yet he also knew this was likely not going to happen, and Gimli was probably correct. Such a sickening madness would have to be met head-on. Faramir's head pounded with his fears. He could not predict the response a direct assault might bring. All he could think was that he needed to get his loved ones free of her. His knowledge of their cave was for naught in devising any other means of offense. Force seemed to be their only option.

His voice sounded in surrender when at last he spoke. He felt spent for ideas that might aid their progress. "What is it that makes you change, Gimli? But a minute ago you wished us to attack without thinking. And now . . . " he sighed, shrugging miserably, not knowing what else he could say.

The Dwarf blinked and looked away, as if he too had decided he would not partake in further vehemence. Almost as if surrendering something, he said, "I have not given up on the fight. But perhaps I am not so convinced Henneth-Annün is as impervious as you would have it, Faramir. There must be a way to get in that the witch will not have considered."

There was gravity yet in the Dwarf's voice, but Faramir could tell he was trying to find common ground on which they both might stand.

Softened as they were, Faramir considered the words, but his anger was not stilled. He knew everything there was to know about Henneth-Annün, and the Dwarf's insistence that there was another means of entry was slighting the wisdom he had already given. "You think there is another way to enter?" he asked, not guessing what the Dwarf wanted. His voice was still angry but at least he kept it at a quieter volume.

"I think there are means we are not exploring," the Dwarf answered more sedately, his eyes daring to look then to Kattica.

Faramir was perplexed. Another means? He could not understand what Gimli might be indicating. He furrowed his brow, fighting off a wave of lightheadedness, sinking to sit on the stone behind him in answer. He took a deep breath in order to rid himself of the tension that had burned itself into anger. He recognized his own fright, and he wished to rid himself of it. He was eager to come to a plan, and he supposed Gimli was vying for the same. Perhaps the Dwarf was right and there was more to consider than just physical might in taking on this force. Releasing his held breath, he said in a voice that was uttered in a far calmer tone than any prior words, "You obviously have a query. Ask it please. I cannot guess your meaning, and I weary of trying."

The Dwarf met Kattica's eyes. "The question remains. What shall we do to free our friends?" he asked solemnly.

Faramir rose again, this time on better ground. He glanced about them, looking for answers. The comment was well-intended. What should they do? There was no doubt the soldiers would be of aid, but what else might there be that could be of aid to them. They needed a plan. "We will enlist the soldiers' skills in the battle. It is not that far to journey and we are not so injured that we shall be hindered by the difficulty. We should reach them in but short time. Once there we will have access to our horses and can make the return trip in half the time or less. But I would want to know more of what we might face with Bregus before we make that assault."

He looked at Kattica then, and she stood taller, as if realizing only she could give them what they needed. They seemed to be asking it of her and she nodded her acquiescence.

Faramir spoke. "You implied that Henneth-Annün is not always true as a Protected Place. The elements are not entirely natural to the environment."

"They are not native at all given times," Kattica corrected quietly. "But at sunset the place is true."

"Yet in the day. . . ?" Faramir asked, leaving off to give Kattica the opening to complete the thought.

"It is a manufactured safe hold. Bregus must use a camp fire to give herself the strength to use it, just as I used one to complete our circle of elements last night," she answered unemotionally.

Faramir's voice was low. "Still, as a result of the elements that are present, the witch's powers are stronger than they might be otherwise?"

"Yes. Even with the fire her space is stronger than ours because we no longer have the rain and wind to contain us."

"But she is currently not so strong as she would be when the site is true, at sunset?" he asked, pausing before speaking the last phrase.

"And when you made our camp a Protected Place, it was as strong as you could make it too?" Gimli asked this.

The question seemed redundant, but Faramir perceived the Dwarf was coming to the same conclusions that he was.

Faramir grappled with his thoughts. Urgency suddenly was a keening wail in his mind and he could see a solution, or at least some possibility of a solution. Foregoing all others, he leapt ahead with the question he truly wished to know. "What could have broken it?"

Kattica turned her gaze on Faramir, giving him a querying look. "What do you mean?"

Faramir clarified the question by rephrasing it. "What could have wrestled the power you held away from you?"

Kattica frowned, and then the twisted expression softened and the light of realization came over her face as she looked up to meet his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but just as she did so, a cry came from beyond their cave.

"What is that?" Gordash exclaimed, pointing to the river and running up to meet them.

Gimli stepped ahead, taking several steps down the path to follow the progress of something in the water. It was racing past. "Is that --?" the Dwarf began.

Faramir caught the sight. "Arwen!" he answered for the Dwarf, gasping in startled breath as he saw her pulled in the stream.

Faramir gulped back his shock and immediately sprang into the chase. Gimli was at his side. For someone so small in stature, especially considering the Dwarf had a cast leg, Gimli was moving with great speed.

The water raged about the couple, and all Faramir could really make out was the bobbing heads being tossed up and down, in and out of the growing waves of water.

"They are being pulled into the harsher current!" Faramir heard Gimli yell and he looked ahead only to see the waters divide and the pair being pulled down the more treacherous route.

"Faramir, to me!" the Dwarf commanded, and the steward immediately responded, looking up and leaping as Gimli was now doing over rocks and boulders that jutted from the water's surface. They formed a crossing of sorts. They would be dashed into the rapids if they fell, but Faramir ignored the danger.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Gordash and Kattica remaining on the shore and he waved to them to continue moving downstream.

Turning back, he saw the Dwarf was already across. One last hurtling jump brought Faramir to the narrow shoals on the opposite shore. The Dwarf had not waited. Gimli was closing in on the submerged forms and screaming back at Faramir to follow. "This way! This way!"

Wading into the river, climbing again onto the rock littered floor, Faramir noted the natural agility in the Dwarf's movements over the stone. It reminded the steward of Legolas' skills in the trees. He saw little effort was needed for Gimli to find his way, though Faramir felt more than a little off balance.

The terrain bounding the river was greatly changed since the last time Faramir had surveyed there. He had once known this land well, but it had been a few years since he had last seen it, and he came to see why Legolas and the Elves were so proud of their accomplishments. Much had changed from those dark times, and even the river seemed to reflect the cleansing strength the Elves had brought with them. Faramir knew the shore to be narrow on this side of the river, and he knew Gimli chose the right route, crossing over it on the shallowest end, yet Faramir was little prepared for what he saw ahead some few hundred yards on the river's course.

Legolas had referred to this place as the New Falls, as if waterfalls had never before existed, but Faramir knew that to be not entirely true. The direction of Aragorn and Arwen's journey led directly into the path of the runoff from a waterfall Faramir had long known. Since boyhood, he and Boromir had come here to play whenever they were given the chance. But in the days of his youth, the falls had been small trickles of water raining down from a series of streams on the higher elevations of the cliffs. The sandy basins had served as small wading pools to the two brothers, their teasing and playfulness making it a quiet sojourn of boyish pleasure. Yet now, it looked nothing like the timid cascade of the steward's youth. The falls had massed and swelled to great magnitude, powerful and brutal, and the tumult of water that poured from them was not something that one might wrestle and tumble within.

The brown water of the rain-swollen river slid over boulders no longer visible; the merging waters joined together to form a wide swell. Great ruts formed in the white-capped waters, places Faramir guessed to be whirlpools strong enough to drag a man under. And those treacherous rocks were just where Aragorn and Arwen were headed.

The pair tumbled and turned through the roiling water, fortune passing them through this field without being pulled under. Faramir gasped as he watched, leaping rock to rock in his attempt to catch them before their luck ran out. They fell away from his sight as another dip plunged them beneath the surface momentarily, and his heart dove again with fear.

Even the Dwarf had shown no signs of catching them. But fate must have been on their side that day, for Gimli's voice rang over the whirling screams of the river's rushing waves. "They are caught on the rocks! Hurry! Hurry that we might reach them yet!" the Dwarf cried and he was already scrambling down one of the outcroppings that made a short platform before merging the waters once more.

The cascades were near their end, and the two rivers formed into one mass. Ahead the water slid over one more stepped point before settling to its depths and narrowing into the silent river that eventually led to Henneth-Annün. The outcropping of rocks seemed a dumping point here, as if the strength of the water were physically spent. It snagged the couple, no doubt giving them both a jolting shock as they slammed to an abrupt end. The pressure alone might have done terrible harm.

Faramir gained on the scene, practically sliding as he descended the stacked stones that gave him access to where the last step dropped off. Rock upon rock lined the way, and again the water raged past. Yet somehow the pair had split apart and had ventured to opposite sides of the rocky base. Arwen was pale in the splashing water, her face in a horrid grimace, though she resiliently remained aware. Faramir could not imagine how she had survived to this point, but she was alive and struggling, pulling on the rope that mercifully was not twisted about her. Despite all, she pulled on the cord tethering her, trying to swing herself into a position where she might gain a foothold and haul herself up. But the rope was a counter pulley to her actions, and every inch she gained might mean Aragorn's end slipped further.

Luck prevailed. The rope somehow had zigzagged between rocks, the effect being to entangle Aragorn's line rather than letting him find the full power of the river's pull on him. Each turn had become a sort of buffer to the strength of the water's tug. The result was a near miracle, and at the rope's end Aragorn was saved from being pulled over the falls by the shortened cord. And while the drop was not so great, the rocks below surely could deliver a deadly blow.

Faramirs relief was cut short, however, when he suddenly realized that injury had been sustained. Aragorn was face up in the raging waters, waves pouring over his still form, but Faramir gasped even still.

Faramir hastened past the dwarf even as his swift glance took in the scene before him. Gimli had reached the boulder off of which Arwen was snarled. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gordash had deserted his post on the western shore and was making his way across the river much as Faramir had. He heard a voice cry out to him, and realized it was Arwen.

Faramir did not slow as he barreled past, his mind completely centered on his king. In three more jumps he was at the furthest most reach before the falls, and he could see Aragorn bobbing in the water just ahead. He could make out the ashen complexion and the sealed eyes and his mind screamed, Too late! I have come too late! Still he would not give up such a quest, and he put his hands to the rope and pulled but there was little give as the current tugged the king with it. Faramir felt a momentary panic that he would not succeed, when suddenly Gordash was there, adding his strength to the rope despite being already winded from the exertion of the run.

Inch by slow inch they dragged Aragorn closer. Faramir gasped as the small motions dragged his friend under, though that seemed to revive the king. Aragorn flailed, eyes coming wide in the surprise of near drowning, and Faramir reached out to grasp a wildly grappling hand.

"Hold on to me!" he cried. The jerking force on his arm was severe, but he would not relinquish his grip despite being pushed into a leaning crouch. It was an awkward position but it had advantage in that, if he could get Aragorn's weight far enough back, he might put leverage on his knees and haul his friend from the water.

"Pull!" he screamed again and he and Gordash strained with a mighty groan. As if the river had vanquished its hold, Aragorn was wrenched free and the drenched figure suddenly was in Faramir's arms as he sprawled backwards onto the vast rock.

With a sideways glance, Faramir checked to see Gimli's progress, his task the same though the effort had been lessened. There too, Arwen was safe, collapsed in the Dwarf's arms as he pulled her to safe ground. She gasped deeply of air, and Faramir watched her eyelids flutter as she dropped her head against Gimli's shoulder.

Then collapsing himself, Faramir shut his eyes, breathing a great sigh of relief. He, Gordash and Aragorn made a ragged pile of bodies on the rocks, but Faramir's mind only registered one thought: They are alive.

A/N: Oh, I like this happy little abode, don't you? I will still post at fanfiction.net, but this is going to be my permanent residence once I get all my stuff moved in. It may look like it would fit in a van, but I really need to get a bigger truck to haul it all. Soon the rest of my stories will be up here as well.

Features of this site to point out as I go, just in case any of you were scoping out the neighborhood: No irritating pop-up ads to accidentally click on; no breakdowns on the server every other day; stats indicating story and chapter hits free of charge to the authors; favorites lists so readers can follow links to the authors' favorite stories (note to self: compile list of favorites asap); and site managers who are responsive, friendly, and don't change the rules on the turn of a dime. Just thought you might want to know some of the reasons I am here.

Now, on to Reviewer Responses (because I know you love getting them as much as I like getting your reviews).

CartDi - Looks like you had some catching up to do. I'm glad you had fun in the doing. Disturbing? Yes, Bregus and Curtik are that. Keep reading. It will all be over fairly soon.

Daw the minstrel - My take on Legolas' sea-longing is probably more intense than Tolkien had meant it to be, but it fits into my canon (see Torn Between Two Worlds for the ultimate on sea-longing pain). As for Aragorn and Arwen, you can celebrate. They are out! Yippeee!!!!

Elfling - Yessirree, you would not be the first to complain that updates do not come often enough, but I try. I really do. I'm glad you liked the dream sequence. I did to, and it seemed the best way to tell what happened to Mattias while also sating the desires of all those Elf fanciers who wanted to know what was happening to their Legolas.

Elvenesse - Well there you go, because you asked, voila, they are out. You have to admit, it was a good way to get out. I couldn't have them just walk out of the cave. Not when it took so much to get them in.

Fliewatuet - More please! Yes, that's meant for you. When oh when will you have a new chapter up? I've updated. . . see! You are so very close on what you think happened to Aragorn and Arwen, and I will fill in the blanks with the next chapter. Maybe I'll make you wait though, just like you are making me wait (yes, that is blackmail).

JastaElf - Sorry, daw beat you to it. But thanks for trying. I have a nice little consolation prize I popped in the mail for you. I loved Legolas' torment, but writing Arwen's frantic escape was even more exhilarating. I'm so glad you are enjoying this and that you think the master would be too. Your opinion has a lot of muster for me.

Jedimasterteo - Thanks for following me! I'm glad you are liking Arwen. There are parts of me in her (Éowyn and Kattica too), so it has really been a joy to see her finding herself. I'm wondering what your brother thinks of Gimli after this chapter. Feisty, irrepressible, lovable Dwarf. That's my take. Wait until he sees Legolas.

Lamiel - And I would do the same for you. I'm having fun with Aragorn and Arwen and I'm glad you are enjoying it too. We'll get a smattering more of that playfulness in the next chapter before the final climax comes. But hey, your ideas for "The Release" were so good, I was wondering if you wouldn't want to help me with a short slash fic I have in mind. Think about it. Courage!

Le Rouret - I almost did write myself into a corner, but not in the way you are thinking. Nah, the characters will live. See! Poof! It's magic! I'm glad you like Arda. It's what I've been looking for for a long time now. I can't wait to see your story. Good luck to you, and here's the chapter you requested.

LOTR Fath - I love to see Aragorn and Arwen learning from each other. They do make a dynamic duo when they work together. But Legolas? Yeah, I know, I've beat him pretty bad. Why you ask? Because I'm sick and twisted and because I can, and people keep coming back for more. That's why.

Luinthien - Let the butt-kicking commence. I'm glad you liked the surreal atmosphere of Legolas' view on the world. That section was both fun to write and difficult. How do you say delirious without saying delirious?

Mercredi - A signal wouldn't have helped. I'll explain why in the next chapter. Aragorn's good instincts took over, and fortunately, that was enough. Gosh, I'm glad you liked Legolas' dream. It was rather nightmarish, wasn't it? But the realism in it was what I was shooting for. Glad it worked.

Mirwen Tindomerel - You'll forgive me if I leave of all the accents in your name. I'm too tired to remember the keystrokes for them. Well, thank you for following me, and thanks for all the praise, but I'm feeling like a bad influence here. If your dad has taken away your internet privileges, should I be encouraging you to read my story? Hmm, I think you need to take this up with him.

Mymiriel - Thank you, but the invitation is open. Critique away. But please, no more bunnies. I have too many of them of my own.

Nikara - Here it is. More. And soon, or at least as soon as I could get it completed. I've told you as much in this chapter as I can, but solutions are going to be coming fast. Thanks for reviewing!

Nilmandra - I've nominated you for beta of the year you know. Thank you again. LOL! Filthy people making babies . . . isn't that how everyone does it? It was sort of a goal for them. Hey, you have to grab the opportunities while you can, and some people really find mud, total darkness and hours and hours of screaming matches a complete turn-on. But no, I can't leave it there. Even you will never cure me of the cliffhanger. I will always, always, always adore them, and people will just have to learn to suffer through them with me.

None - Aragorn gets some attention in the next couple of chapters, though from here on it is everyone's mess coming together at once. Actually, he really gets to shine like the hero we know him to be. Thanks for following along. We're nearly there.

*~SuGaR~* - Sorry about the detour. But glad you found your way through. Rjppled eh? Hmm. But I thought that was in my Websters. Phooey. I hate typos. Write as much as you like. Your reviews make me chuckle.

Surreal 13 - Ah, but I do feel bad to lose you. And I am trying to get this done! You will note please that this story is categorized as Horror/Drama, not Horror/Action Adventure. Angst is the centerpiece here, not slash 'em up battle scenes. And emotions take a bit more to build. Besides, I'm still on schedule to end this puppy in but a few more chapters. You've hung in with me this long. I'm bummed you won't see it through all the way.

Tapetum Lucidum - I'm sorry. I'm hoping my dragging you here will be worth it. Ah, but you know Bregus. She's not one to let a good form of torment go to waste. I promise to be kind though. And ah, you fell into the confusion nicely. It was hard to decide how much to tell and how much not to. You got to the point though, and that was my goal. Picking on Aragorn of the movie is exactly my intent with the comments on his fingers. Sheesh man! You live among elves! Wash your hands once in a while!

Thundera Tiger - I'm so glad you landed safe and sound. I was stuck in the big blackout, and though I got electricity back within 24 hours, my internet service was on the fritz for days. I can empathize. You are so right about the sequence of events. Here is the outcome of Gimli being delivered the news about Legolas. Not pretty. I have some touching moments to come for those two when they finally do meet up again. But hey, you know you are torturing me, making me wait for my favorite story to be updated. I guess this is as good a place as any to beg for an update of "Fear No Darkness". Please?!

Tiger Lily 713 - Then you guessed it. But have you figured out why Arwen was pulled back in? I'm glad you are enjoying the story. Now please hold on tight, it's going to get very bumpy.

A/N: As always, my deepest gratitude to Nilmandra for her help in betaing this chapter.

Aragorn playfully wove the elven rope in and out of his fingers. He considered the pattern it made, reminding himself of the path he had followed to his near ruin when the waters had dragged him. However, the lacing of the cord over his digits demonstrated how this path actually helped him escape the brute assault of the booming water upon the rocks below. The snagging crisscross had held him back, and he was ever so grateful that it did.

He then spread his fingers and the rope let loose, freed as if relinquished by command. A small smile pressed Aragorn's lips. Such was the make of elven goods.

He mused on the object he held. Slightly more golden in appearance than the ropes the Fellowship had used in their travels, the crafted cords of the Elves of Doro Lanthiron were every bit as fine as the rope gifted to Sam when they had traveled through Lothlórien. But what craft honed them to such expert usefulness, even Aragorn could not say. He had watched how the Elves braided and wove the fibers with deft fingers, but never could he discern why their cords turned out so much the superior to ropes of mortal make, even when they were constructed in nearly identical fashion. Sadly, he knew few mortals who would understand that, in this instance, the rope had really been what had saved him, but Aragorn's faith in what the Elves brought to Middle-earth was heightened with just this small piece of evidence all the same.

The sinewy elven fiber could act almost of its own volition, and he knew it to be true. Crisscrossing and looping around in the rocks, it was as if the fibers knew that such meandering might serve to create small braking moments for the body being pulled. And though Aragorn had lived it, it amazed him nonetheless. Had it been any other cord he surely would have been cut down the middle by the sudden yank when he stopped. Or the fibers might have been shredded into bits. Or twisted about his limbs and throat, choking off his air. Or lopping off an appendage by the sheer force of the water. Granted, when the event had happened, the air had been knocked from his gut rendering him incoherent for a moment, but he had barely a mark now to show for the endeavor. This was so unlike how it could have been had the rope been other than what he had.

Arwen too had somehow survived it, though that miracle was one of its own telling. He had gasped his relief that she had made it out of the cave without drowning, for the knots that he tied had been by his own hand, and like all elven ropes, they held true to the one who had tied them. Could he go back in time, he might have thought to have her tie the ropes about her own waist, for then she might have freed herself. Then again, had she released herself, they might have been completely separated as she was sucked into the tumble of the rapids and current. It was hard to say which had been the better, for in the final outcome, the rope had been their salvation, though it had also nearly killed them in the process.

His heart quickened its beat as he remembered the moments in the cave. He had let her go. It had been difficult to see her dragged away, and he had held tight to the rope knowing that the tether was the only thing keeping them united. But when he realized how fast it was that she was traveling, he knew the current had taken control and sucked her into its flow. It came as a bit of surprise for a few seconds to see the uptake on the slack, but once realized, he knew he would have to give her more length, as she had been showing no indication of stopping. Such speeds were dangerous, and he knew if he did not find a way to stop her slowly, she might have been damaged horribly by the force against her body. Or he might have been jerked into the pool involuntarily, possibly harming them both. And so he had taken steps into the water, all that he might act the slow anchor when her rope reached its end.

The water had been bitterly cold when he had stepped in, and he felt his teeth rattling and the painful chill running through him within the first steps of his immersion. He was dragged as he tried to brake her ending motion, his legs quickly numbing in the waters. But he had been successful in slowing her without harming either of them. And then he felt her signal. Two tugs. She was not through. With dread he realized she had not enough rope. He had made the next steps while pulling back on the line, to keep the progress easy enough that they might both stay safe. That might have worked, but he could no longer feel his limbs, and a misstep toppled him. He lost his footing, and experienced himself the horrible drag of the water. Just as she had, he was pulled along on the surface. The solid stone wall had loomed up and realizing he was about to be smashed against it, he had dived. Below the water's surface, he found himself being pulled along by the current, just as she must have experienced. Little air was there in his lungs, but he had faith that the tides fast flow would free him soon enough to breathe. The light grew and he saw his freedom with it. But once free, he had nothing to hold him back from the continuous flight. There was no tension on the rope to give him leverage to fight for the surface and the only thing he had was his own strong kicks. Instead the water held him and pulled him and he had no choice but to be dragged along by it. The tug at his waist a moment later had told him that Arwen, willing or not, had joined him in this outbound journey.

He gulped for air when he was finally able to reach the surface, but the water batted and pelted him, spinning him dizzyingly. A whirlwind of confusion followed. He remembered swimming, pulling the rope, trying to reach Arwen, but they were always just beyond one another's grasp. Water buffeted him, splashing him, raking him over rocks and through whirling pools.

Time and time again he saw nothing but snatches of Arwen, or the shore, or monstrously large stones jutting from the water's surface. Time and time again he was gasping for air. And time and time again he could not make out where he might go to find rescue.

The only logic he could think in this vivid chaos was to keep his body light and on the surface so that he would resist the drag of the undercurrent. Skimming by, over and under, tumbling and twisting. That is what he felt. And then there was the abrupt halt and blackness accompanied by the choking fight for more air. He remembered arms pulling him up and laughter and sobs of a joyous voice ringing in his ears. He could not remember finding his way to the shore, only the vague recollection of being hauled over the shoulder of another. Once landed she was there, brushing fingers through his hair, and breathing kisses over his damp skin.

He had awakened with a startling clarity of mind, remembering everything and realizing much had occurred in the interim of his drowsing state.

And now he sat, taking in everything about him, running his hands over the cords that had saved them.

They were alive! They had escaped! He should rejoice for the ecstasy of that prosperous news.

If only he could. If only that might be the end of their horror for this day. Yet hearing the words of his old and new companions, he felt he should be partaking in what would otherwise be a ghost tale, best told before the light of a fire on a howling, stormy eve. He was still, resting his weary muscles while his brain digested the nightmarish tale of all that had come to pass in a day's turn. This was not some fable created to frighten young minds and innocents. This was real, and frightening, and vicious. This was the reckoning of a horror designed with the purpose to steal what rightfully belonged to another, with no gain for any but one.

His fingers curled tightly about the now tangled cord in his hand as he listened to Faramir relay all that had happened the night before. A twinge of guilt touched Aragorn as he heard the details. While he had laid beside his wife in the confines of the cave, ravishing her body and sating his desires, his friends had been fighting for life. For freedom.

Even if he had known, he still would not have been able to aid them. Yet, it would ease his ragged conscience if he had.

He had been blind then to all that was beyond him, but he could see now, and his mind was ticking away, creating strategies and formulating thoughts as all the points of the narrative were relayed to him. They had an enemy to defeat, and there were none among them more bent to do this than he. They had suffered, and he was willing and ready to seek vengeance for that.

His eyes swept over the group, assessing the damage they had suffered in his absence. Two he could not claim to know, but he assessed them as if they were his, knowing they were soldiers to a common cause. As he examined them, he wondered what they might bring to this campaign.

The larger man he recognized as being among the brothers in the camp. He remembered the awkwardness and apologies at his brother's overeager ineptitude a few days earlier. He no longer seemed the easygoing character that had mourned the dogs' mysterious poisoning. Now he was shaky and weary, relieved and yet afraid. He was anxious, Aragorn surmised, and knowing Gordash's part in this story, he could understand why. The desperate man knew not where his heart lie, nor did he know if it might yet go astray. But then he also looked to his steward, for Faramir was sure of the man, and that was enough to make Aragorn sure as well. How might he use the man? Of that he was not so sure.

The woman too was frightened. Aragorn need not query her with details over the facts, for he could see she would rather jump to the next stage than bandy about what was already known. Her hands kept brushing her belly, as if that gave her comfort, but for the most part he saw a mixture of eagerness and anger in her, and such tensions made him worry for the late stage of her condition. From what he had heard, she had done much as their aide, and he had no desire to see her brought to further harm. And yet she possessed skills of many sorts. As a healer he could see her talents. As a conjuror he could not, though again, he was willing to believe what Faramir had offered. And yet he also saw she was vulnerable and could be used as a weapon in the witch's arsenal. The witch wanted an unborn child, and though Bregus already had Éowyn (who Arwen confirmed was with child), Aragorn could not help thinking the witch would prefer Kattica's baby far more. For that reason alone he had serious doubts as to the usefulness the girl could offer. It pained him to think this, but in relying upon her, he would be putting her directly in harms way, and that was not his intent. She would never understand his thinking, but he would protect her if he could.

His eyes then went to the Dwarf. He could have guessed Gimli's emotions, for he knew his small companion well. What surprised him however was how silent and cool the Dwarf appeared to be. Pacing still, Gimli seemed astonishingly calm for one who might normally be called hot-tempered and rash. In this case though, the Dwarf simply listened, silently running his hands deep into pockets or over the shaft of his blade. Oddly, the Dwarf was muttering to himself. Aragorn dared not mention it, however, for Gimli seemed completely unaware he was doing it, and if pointed out, Aragorn would have likely been verbally assaulted for the insult. Instead, he gave his friend distance, knowing soon enough he would be granted the whole of the Dwarf's thoughts.

He turned then to Faramir, and Aragorn felt, rather than saw, the damage done there. The outward harm was apparent, but the king could see deeper. Anguish flickered in the recesses of the steward's eyes. It was masked, filtered by duty, but Aragorn felt there was pain, in both heart and mind in that stewing frame. He followed Faramir's words, but tried to read beyond them. Something had happened. Something Faramir could not mention, and Aragorn knew he would be hard pressed to go there, having not lived what his friend had. Yet whatever it was, the steward was functional. Justice, however, might make good medicine for what had brought on the hurt, and Aragorn could easily detect it was the old witch who might pay for the crimes rendered upon this man, and on his wife.

He gazed at Arwen. Her eyes were dewy with unspent tears, her lips curved downward into a frown as she listened to what had come to those she loved. Remote as they had been, all along she had commented on her fears for their friends, and now her premonitions of danger were ringing true. So much harm had come to these folk. He could hardly consider himself among them, for he and Arwen had suffered the least of them. Andnd yet he felt as if a year of time and learning had occurred in that day's disappearance. He examined her too, realizing exactly the tenacity and cunning that lived in her. He would never misuse those skills again. And now, he was sure, if he did step out of line, she would correct him and align him as he ought to be. At least something had been bettered in their enforced absence.

Silence fell. The story was done. No happy endings were there found among the faces. As yet. Anything to be made would have to come from them, and Aragorn suddenly felt determined there would be a good ending or there would be no ending at all. He could spend his life seeking justice, if that is what it took. But he would not wait for the ugliness the witch had planned to be executed. Too much had passed. It was time for this story to find an end. He would stop it now.

"Very well," he said slowly, drawing eyes to him with his even voice. "We need to act and there is no more time for us to wait. One or two among us shall go to the soldiers' camp. It will be as Faramir had begun to lay out: We will have the soldiers fortify our numbers and weapons. We will fight the Romany with the help of the militia forces, and I care not if the witch launches her illusions of massed forces. Knowing it is not real will be half of what empowers us to fight them." Aragorn's voice was stern and sure. No doubt was there in this decision though he had his own fears. Yet he knew it would serve them none to show them. Best that his feelings stay locked within him where no one could see them. He looked at them, opening his mouth to reveal his plans to their anxious hearts. His words were halted before he could even utter them.

"I think I should be the one to go," Arwen said. The words were startlingly familiar to him for he had heard them said many mornings prior, though the reasons said were for a far different cause than this.

He met his wife's words. "Yes," he said, agreeing with her though finding himself choking on the conflict of feelings. He feared for her departure, yet knew it the safest place for her to be. And she would be most useful to him this way. He saw the parallel. She had asked him if she might go to Poros and he had negated her before the others, his heart telling him for the sake of her safety he must say no. But he had learned since then. She clearly could assess the situation as plainly as he.

She heard his agreement, as well as his unspoken fears. Her eyes, flickering with a smile and the calm of her mood, directed him back to those around him. He completed his thought. "Kattica should go with you."

"Nay! You deny me my opportunity! You think my condition excludes me from fighting!" Kattica exclaimed. There was fire in the younger woman's voice and were she not in danger and vulnerable, he would have thought her a good ally to fight in this battle. "I am with child. My mind is not addled," she insisted.

Yet Arwen seemed to know what was within him. The calm of her eyes touched him and despite this, or because of it, he heard her words above all else. "Let her stay, Estel. I will make the journey alone."

But she seemed not to find the words worth the merit of argument. She did not plead, but merely spoke the logic of her mind. "You will need all the help you can get. This is how I may offer you the most of me and this is how you can get the most of Kattica. I am not a warrior, or a witch. I could not aid in the assault."

He knew this. He also knew there was danger for Arwen to walk the woods alone for Bregus might be searching yet for another Elf.

Arwen added, "I know the way to the soldier's camp, and I am the least hurt amongst us. I would move faster alone."

"Take Gordash then," he offered, knowing that at least the Romany man might serve as a bodyguard for his wife. There were the dogs to consider, and even though the man had succumb to an attack by them, he had experience with them. Aragorn knew he was putting his faith in Faramir's trust of Gordash, but he had to believe the Romany would come through in this endeavor if asked.

The large man stiffened as his name was spoken, but he offered no argument to the role being bantered.

"Gordash will slow me down with his injuries, as will Kattica in her condition," Arwen said.

"Gordash will not fight his own people," he said, turning to the Romany to confirm this. Shame-faced the large man blushed red. It was enough for Aragorn to know Gordash could not be relied upon as a fighter in their ranks. He turned back to his wife. "He would be of better aid to you," Aragorn responded, shaking his head, pleading that she might give this. It seemed a valid argument that her travel be accompanied.

She stepped up to him then, taking his hands. She whispered her words to him, and they were light but still readable in his ears. "Let me do this, Estel. Gordash refuses now, but circumstance may come that could alter his choosing. I think he needs to see things as they really are to know for sure. And he will only slow me should he come on my path. You will need the soldiers and you will need him. Let us not delay. If I am quick, I could have them to you before a few hours passing."

"You would send a single rider if this were a military mission and I were but a scout."

He lowered his head, knowing her words were true. He could not dispute her thinking, though the ache in his chest made him feel that he should. Yet they had come so far, and he knew to rein back now and to demand she take another companion would be to break everything they had forged. He nodded his ascent, then turned to Kattica, "But I fear for you, Kattica. I would have you go with Arwen to protect both you and your child. But I cannot force you. I am not your king. The choice is yours."

"I may stay then? I can be of benefit? Yes, you will see. I can fight in other ways than with the sword," Kattica said, her voice sounding relieved and renewed.

Gimli chuckled, "Now that is the spirit with which I was referring when I said there might be other means to fight. A Dwarven woman might say the same."

That decision at least was made. Aragorn turned to Arwen for parting words. She met him with a kiss that surprised him, but he gave into it with all the passion he dared show before others. He held onto the sigh of her heated breath as she ducked her head, her eyes trailing to his hands. He had unconsciously tangled them into the ropes yet again, and as she drew them up to place kisses upon them, he realized the handicap to his touch and dropped the ties to the ground. Her eyes slid closed as she brushed the brown fingers along her pale cheeks. She opened her eyes to him and said, "I will meet you near our cave in a few hours time. We shall bring weapons and food and gear to supply all sufficiently. Is there anything else I might do?"

Aragorn pulled his knife from his boot and handed it to her . Then in turn, he leaned in to kiss her brow. "Stay safe," he whispered to her. He knew no one else had heard his words, but if they had, he would not care. She knew all that had come to them and she knew the dangers she faced in the wild. Her safety was his only wish for her at this given moment.

Her eyes opened. She smiled, raising his hand to her mouth. Then she kissed the palms of them once more slipping a sweet smile past her lips as her eyes dipped to gaze upon them.

But there was something in that glance that made her smile slide away. She frowned then, and her eyes grew larger, though the gasp of her voice told the full of her astonishment. "I do not believe it," she softly exclaimed.

"What?" asked the steward as he craned his neck to see what Arwen might be seeing.

She turned confused eyes upon Aragorn. "Your hands . . ." she began. "They . . . they are . . . filthy!"

Aragorn chuckled at the Dwarf's response, then tried to turn a weakened smile upon his wife.

"But he just cascaded down hundreds of yards of raging river! He has been scraped, scrubbed and scoured as if a tempest had been launched upon him! He is as thoroughly cleansed as he has been in months. And yet his nails are not clean," she said, darting glances to Aragorn's face and then back to his hands.

She gave him the very slightest of a reproachful scowl, but Aragorn knew he would do well to react as little as possible. He simply shrugged.

Then she drew her eyes closer to the long fingers, her brows coming together under her scrutinizing gaze, and she said, "The soiling looks permanent. As if. . ." she glared up at him then, nonplussed by what she clearly could not believe true.

"I always thought the markings to be tattoos," Gimli laughed, shrugging at the amusement of the idea.

Arwen's eyes widened. The accusation was unspoken as her mouth clamped shut. Catching the full of her silent wrath, Aragorn felt as if the air was being sucked from his lungs. His knees went weak under the scorn of her gaze, though he was certain no one else saw the joined amusement and fury in his wife's beautiful face.

Gimli snorted. Kattica and Gordash gazed sheepishly around, apparently uncertain how to react. Faramir seemed to have suddenly found the toes of his boots to be astoundingly fascinating.

Arwen continued, the hint of a smile creeping over her face though her voice was solemn and still. I am in trouble now, he thought. The others might see her as the ethereal being she always appeared to be, but he knew the truth of what she was feeling. "I would take it that this is some silly rite of passage? Something of a Ranger initiation, perhaps?"

But she turned the full of the elven stare she had been delivering upon the steward. "Do you have it too, Faramir?" she asked, her voice infinitely calm, but the irritation was revealed to those who looked on her.

Faramir pulled his hands away from her searching eyes. "Nay! That was a northern Ranger custom, not ours of the south," he said rapidly, and Aragorn inwardly groaned for the implication, but also smiled, for he knew that statement to be not entirely true.

"Very well," she sighed as if realizing she were getting nowhere with the questioning. "We shall discuss it later." She began her walk, stepping forward, and turning away from him, gliding past on quiet steps. Within a few yards though, she turned and said with a twinkle of fire in her eye, "And we shall discuss it, meleth-nin!"

It was an idle threat and Aragorn did not dwell deeply upon it. He knew that she had said it simply to distract him from his worries. She was wise in this way, and he could not help but think he was fortunate to have someone as shrewd as she for his partner. He watched as she disappeared into the woods, her steps gaining speed until she was moving at a quick sprint before she was removed completely from his sight, and he did not doubt any longer that she would indeed return. If only to dole out justice. He felt like laughing at the thought of her ire.

Bending down to retrieve the rope he had earlier dropped, his mood returned to more serious matters, and as he rose, he turned to the others and said, "Shall we discuss the other means from which we might strategize a victory?"

"Speak it," Aragorn said, eager to hear his ideas, and knowing he would learn Gimli's prior muttered thoughts.

Aragorn smiled. "And I have a thought on how we might do that. Go on, Gimli," he said,with anticipation. He would share his idea later.

"Go on," Aragorn said, knowing most actions in battle required a sense of timing.

The Dwarf's brows furrowed, as if he had a greater worry. "It would require that Kattica be involved."

Aragorn felt his worries exposed as he knew his brows drew together. But then he glanced to Kattica, and he could see the light in her eyes. The Dwarf too directed his gaze upon her, and she met him with her chin raised, her certainty maintained. She nodded her agreement, and Aragorn indeed thought her brave.

"Ask freely, friend," she answered, her voice but a whisper in contrast to her stern demeanor.

"Let us suppose you were attempting to overpower Bregus and gain control of the Protected Place -- er, Henneth-Annün. Is it possible you could do this by bringing forth goods that are greater in strength than the elements present in the cave? I believe that is what we were leading to in our earlier discussion," Gimli said. His voice was even, but Aragorn could detect both the plea and a challenge in it, as if he were begging for his understanding to be correct.

A small smile crept upon the Dwarf's face, but before he could say more, he was interrupted by Faramir.

"But we have gone over this already, Gimli. Fire is the element missing in the cave. Kattica could hardly enter the cave bearing a torch. Nor could she douse the fire that is there in any indiscreet way. Bregus would never allow such blatant acts, no matter how they were handled," the steward said, shaking his head as he spoke.

Gimli laughed. "Oh, but I agree. It would look obvious that the girl was trying to overthrow the witch's power. Were I the old bat, I would toss her out on her backside for even attempting it."

"I dare say, Gimli, that Bregus would do worse," Aragorn pointed out in a soft voice.

"No doubt you are right," Gimli said, clearing his throat before going on in a more humbled voice. "But what I am thinking of would be far more subtle, and if this is to work, it must look as if Kattica has no intentions to usurp the witch's control. She will never gain trust if she does otherwise."

"You are suggesting what, Master Dwarf?" Aragorn asked, his curiosity for what Gimli might propose piqued.

An interesting idea, Aragorn thought, but the key question had to be asked. "What might she conceal?"

Kattica gasped. Faramir gulped. And Aragorn squinted into the reflected light of the stones, his jaw falling open in disbelief.

The color of the stones was dazzling and the subsequent light reflecting off their surfaces was white hot. Caught in the curve of cupped hands lay several nuggets of a silvery veined mineral. Rough cut and raw, they shone brightly in the morning light regardless of their ragged edges.

"It is, Aragorn. Mithril. I found it in the cave when I was trapped," Gimli said, nodding his confirmation.

"Mithril?" Kattica said. Any composure about her had certainly fallen to the wayside as her enthusiasm bubbled over her countenance. "Why, that is precious in witchcraft! It is one of the high metals, like gold."

Gimli blustered with pride, "Well, I know its value in trade. I only hoped it might work well for our sake. It shines brightly, does it not? I thought perhaps in the light, it could be an equaling element to fire.

"Oh, Master Gimli," she said, "I believe it would do more. Unless Henneth-Annün's walls are lined in gold, these stones would naturally overtake the element of earth found in the cave."

"But is there enough to do the job?" Faramir asked, worry languishing in eyes that were aglow with the light of the stones.

"Yes, I think there is, and then some, for look at the light in them. It is as if they have their own fire!" Kattica exclaimed.

"Very well, then," Aragorn nodded, seeing the benefit of what had been revealed. "Now, let us focus on the details."

Faramir's eyes turned to meet his king's, and Aragorn inwardly smiled. The northern Dunedain saw a hunger in his steward's eyes, and for the first time since their meeting he could see hope there. There was also a need to mete out justice in that gaze. Aragorn fingered the rope as he met the haunted look. "I have an idea," he said softly, and he watched as Faramir's face lit up to his words.

She ran some distance with her skirts flying behind her. Such an annoyance the free flowing fabrics were to her. And though she truly appreciated the appearance of a woman in the draped finery of a gown, it was hardly apparel useful when running through the snagging bramble of the woods.

She waited until she had passed the turn in the path leading to the Henneth-Annün cave, then lifted her skirt and tied it into two knots on either side of her hips. It altered her attire so that her legs were free to move, but it was not the most attractive garment Arwen had ever worn. Then again, mud stained, torn, and ragged as the dress had become, it really did not matter, and it was certainly better to get through the brush in the low lying places of the forest than what she had. She could make better time this way.

Now fleet of foot she ran over rocks, limb and meandering pathways. The ground, still slick from the night's rain, gave precarious hold to even her light feet. Were she like the Silvan folk, as Legolas proudly proclaimed part of his heritage, she might have taken to the trees to find the fastest route. But though the forest sang to her just as it did her Greenwood-born companion, a Wood Elf Arwen was not. Noldor was her race, and her people prided themselves on their more mannerly ways of travel.

Still, seeing how she had hiked her skirts for the endeavor before her, it might behoove her to try travel above ground for a change. She glanced up at the trees and noted that the lowest branches were nowhere within her arms reach. In fact there were few branches within any kind of reach for Arwen. Proud though she was to be Elven, she knew there was not a chance she could scamper up the trunk or leap into the treetops as Legolas commonly did. And so she abandoned the idea as quickly as she had adopted it.

A ray of light filtering through the canopy of leaves caught a glimmer of gold sparkling in one of the lower branches of the trees. Like a ribbon, the filament of lustrous color waved with the catch of a breeze. It waved lightly, as if beckoning, and Arwen had to wonder what the object was that had caught her attention.

She found her feet walking in the direction of the beckoning string, and as she neared it, she came to see it was a cord of sorts, a braided fragment of rope.

It hung above her, balanced by a thread on a snag in the tree bark, and as she watched it, her curiosity seemed to get the better of her, for she took the moment to stop and to find a stick long enough that she might knock it down. A gust of wind might have done the same, but she did not have the time to wait for such things. Time was not an easy companion to her any more. She could spare only this moment for such frivolities.

The stick brushed against the cord, and down it fell, spiraling silently to land at her feet. It was then, as she glanced down, that she realized the lament of the tree. She bent to pick up the golden strand and she heard the sadness that pervaded the natural mood of this small clearing. The voice of the trees wept lightly. And though she could not have guessed why the mourning took place, it was with a glance as she rose, the string in her hand, that she realized she was standing in what had been a camp.

The braid was simple, comprised of fibers woven over and about one another, tagged only with the simple wooden beads that closed off the design. What was disturbing though was the acknowledgement that what lay in her hand was hair. Silky and golden, Arwen was certain it belonged to Legolas.

Her heart hammered in her chest with the realization. Gordash had told this part of the story.

Evidence came clear to her then. This is where Legolas lay. And there is where Éowyn was thrown. The remnants of construction were visible and this she supposed was where the litter that carried Legolas was made. Some feet away were the remains and cuttings from various plants, strewn to the ground and discarded, their use done, and she suspected that that fire had been Bregus'.

Shaking herself free of her sorrow, she took a deep breath. She could not linger. Knowing what she did, she must hasten. The salvation of her friends was upon her, and she would not fail them. She began again her steps, renewing her quickened pace to rush past this ugliness, when one more marking caught her attention.

Upon the ground, clear as the light of the evening stars, was a paw print. Arwen was not as versed a tracker as Aragorn was, but having lived her share of years, she had learned a thing or two of living in the wilds. The print was one of a dog. She bent down to examine it, realizing it was freshly made. She gazed up again, seeing anew the marks of a struggle, a fight. Dog prints mixed with the scuffle of human feet, and had she not known the outcome of this battle as told by Faramir and Gordash, she may have worried for the victors and losers in the skirmish.

Still, she knew of the dogs, and the order they had been given, and the silent agreement made between Faramir and them. She had no need to broach it if not necessary, for unlike Faramir the night before, she did have the strength to go around this marked territory, and knowing the habits and claims of such beasts, she decided she might be wise to do just that.

The braided hair still in hand, she stepped away from the path through the wood she had set herself upon, and started a trek that went deeper into the forest. She would work her way past the camp, veering around for a few miles, then work her way back to the river further downstream.

It was a commendable plan, and may well have worked but for one thing. Her steps had already crossed the dividing line of safe and unsafe lands, and for that, a confrontation was necessitated. She realized her failing when she had traveled a minute's further pace from the old camp. It was then she realized she was being followed.

She quickened her steps, stepping lightly, leaving barely a mark as was the way of her kind, but it did not cause the one in pursuit to falter. She heard the snuffling sound of a nose picking her scent from the air, and the faint breathing of her tracker's breath mixing with the morning noises. The sound of steps following her were accompanied by the subtle noise of stealth movements in the brush. Fear quickened her heart, and involuntarily her steps picked up speed. But then she forced herself to slow, heeling herself back to that of a more normal pace. Running would only encourage the one in chase. It would increase the sense of urgency and it would drive on a panic. She must remain calm, for that was the key to meeting her pursuer. Her emotions could direct the situation if she could maintain a quiet reserve. She stopped. Quietly, she turned.

The small sound of the brush's movement told her where to look. However, it was behind her as well as before her, and without turning to confirm what she knew, she was certain another and another in the small pack of hounds had gathered around her.

Their leader stood before her. It was a wolf hound, muddy with matted fur. He met her gaze, his head lowered but eyes glowering with animal fury. A rumbling voice emanated from his throat, though he did not bare his teeth. Not yet. The threat was a low one, and she immediately shied her eyes from his. Around her, the frightful noise of the others growled to echo his, and though she inwardly shuddered, she put it upon herself that she would not show her fear. They would attack if she showed fear. She would not.

Breathing lightly, with caution, she slowly allowed her eyes to gaze up into the trees. As before, the branches were too high for her to make her escape there. Though it might be wise to retreat in this way, it was an inconceivable route.

Then gazing at her surroundings, she saw the beasts nudging forward, closing off the holes between them. There was nowhere that she might go to escape.

She released a shaky breath as she gathered her wits. She knew what was to come, and she plotted out her next steps. It was all a matter of action and reaction. She could predict what might happen, but these were animals of the wild, and whether she were of Noldor or Silvan or Sindarin folk, she could not predict the true actions of a beast. All she had was the cord of Elven hair woven in and out of her fist, and the knife in her boot that she might use if she could reach it.

A moaned cry jolted Éowyn to wakefulness from the solitude of dreamless sleep. A sharp pain made her lurch at something pulling her arms. It was her own voice that made the cry, and she realized this as her eyes came suddenly open. She pulled back, but that only sent spikes of more pain into her arm. She cried aloud, not caring to contain her hurt. Savage hands jerked her arms forward, inconsiderate of the pain they were causing.

She felt the world growing black and distant, but she did not fall unconscious. She heard the sound of footsteps moving away from her but she chose not to open her eyes quite yet. Realizing in the hazy sluggishness of her mind that she was in a horrible predicament, she was able to instantly recall her situation. The physical agony was great, and the dizzying effect of it sent her into a helpless reverie as she pondered what she might do to save herself. She had no answers.

Slowly the ache dulled to only a massive throbbing at her side, but she felt relief that her arm was no longer being jarred. She relaxed for a moment, easing back from the tensions of her torment. She felt her body go light and warm, as if she were drifting.

"Éowyn," a voice whispered. "Éowyn, awake!" The urgency in the voice drew her attention, and she struggled to comply, sensing she had fallen into sleep without intending to do so. Was it but a minute that she slipped away? The speaker's voice was familiar, but a new feeling of dread came over her as the recollection began anew. She was in danger.

She blinked her eyes awake, trying to focus through a world dotted in red. Cords were wrapped tightly about her hands, and the numbed ache in her left hand felt odd as she noticed her fingers to be swollen. She turned her head toward the voice, realizing as she did that the dull ache of her arm seemed to match the throbbing beat within her head. She closed her eyes again, wincing at the small agony of it. She felt sick for her hurts. "Who . . . ?" she managed to utter.

She opened her eyes again, the spots receding to the edges of her vision, as she focused on the face hovering before her. "Where --" she started, but then cut herself off. She already knew the answer to her own question. She could feel the cool breeze of the air whipping past her, and the sound of the pouring water. Her eyes darted about, taking in their surroundings.

They were in the front room of Henneth-Annün. Pushed away from the open wall of water, they were laying in a corner, side-by-side, put there, she supposed, to be kept out of harm's way. Yet they were unguarded, at least they were as far as she could tell.

And then she remembered more that she had intended to focus upon before she had succumbed to her pain. She gasped, "Legolas," as she remembered the Elf and his condition. Fearful concern overrode her own feelings of pain.

"Over there," Mattias directed with a nod of his head, and as she followed his direction, she could see the Elf's body from the corner of her eye. However, following through and turning with a damaged limb was not so easy. The movement required that she lean on the agonizing arm in order to bring her head around to face her friend.

"Help me up," she said giving up this objective, and though he was tied as well, Mattias managed to bring his hands beneath her to lever her up. Still, even without using her arm in the maneuver, she felt muscles compress and shift that she might not have normally noticed. A grimace of pain played over her features, and she panted for breath once she was fully upright.

But now that she was, she was more capable of movement. It took nothing of her to gaze now upon the Elf, for he lay on the opposite side of the room, facing her, nearer the hall that led into the room.

Yet it was a wicked sight she was granted. Her heart wept with anguish to gaze upon something so damaged. Legolas seemed to be worse for the time spent since his accidental fall. His skin was pale and dull. There was little of spark in his eyes, and his lips were chapped and parted as he breathed in and out of his mouth. He swallowed reflexively as she watched him, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and shut as he released a slow, low grunt. His face twisted with the sound, and it was clear by his expression that he was in pain.

"Oh!" she cried in sympathy, anguish ripping at her and she scooted forward to go near.

Voices in the next room kept her from going any further, though it was only the fear of being caught that compelled her to stay put. She paid no attention to what was said as it sounded of foreign words to her. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the Elf.

Legolas' eyes came open again, and he returned to his sorrowful stare, looking at her and through her. It was then that she realized he saw not at all, and that his eyes were glazed over, as if in sleep.

"He has been doing that fairly frequently," Mattias said from behind her, and she turned her head again to look at him.

Focused on him now, Éowyn gave the Romany man her full scrutiny. She suddenly realized he was bandaged about the waist, and trace residues of blood littered his garments and body. "You've been injured," she said, her eyes running over his body and concern furrowing her brow as she tried to discern the extent of his wound.

"Aye. I can barely recall, but the wound was grave. I remember thinking I would not see Kattica again, or meet my child," Mattias said with a sad smile.

His eyes darted back to the doorways, as if watching for anyone who might be eavesdropping on their conversation. He said, "Bäla now lives in Curtik."

He almost laughed. "Yes, I know. It should have been me. Yet . . ." His voice dropped to a whisper, though he had been speaking softly prior to this adjustment. "I think Curtik is mad. He stabbed me. He meant to kill me. I think he still intends to do so, and I do not think my father will try to stop it. In fact, with the turn in the circumstances being as they are, I believe he will encourage it."

His eyes went back to glance at the door before he shook his head and sighed. His eyes met her as he said, "I cannot pretend to understand the mind of Curtik or why he did what he did. But I can understand Bäla. He and my mother were well suited, though he was never as aggressive as she was when it came to their ambitions. He had his limits. He never wanted to work. Yet I see the motivations of the current situation. Bäla, when he lived, was always jockeying for the better position. Now that he lives yet again, he will not be satisfied being the third son, just as he was not satisfied until he was leader of my people. With Gordash still gone my father will do all he can to promote himself."

Mattias' last words made her start. "Gordash is yet missing?" The dawning realization of what that could mean made her heart beat fiercely. As she spoke, the hint of a smile turned her lips. "Then Faramir may be alive . . ."

A new thought then came to her, and she did not complete the first one before beginning into this second one. "But why, then, did Bäla encourage Bregus to take Faramir?"

Mattias' face grew grim, as if the thought repulsed him, yet he pushed his voice to speak. "I have a thought on this, but I cannot say for sure if I am correct." He swept his head around yet again, checking to make sure they were safe to speak freely. Seeing they were, he ducked his head and said, "Aside from the similarities in our appearances to my father, I can see yet another cause for the demand to fall to Faramir. It is ironic, actually, for Kattica was fearful of what might happen should Bregus find out about Faramir's title and position. I don't think it occurred to either Kattica or I that Bäla might know of it."

"Who knows of the workings in the Other World -- what they see, what they know? It is speculation only, but it would make sense for the person I knew my father to be. He would lobby for a high-ranking post. He would be bedazzled by the glory of the position your husband holds."

Éowyn stiffened. "Faramir's job is not small. It would not suit one of little ambition or goals."

Mattias' mouth turned down into a frown. "He does not know that. He would see only the nobility and glory."

Mattias' voice grew ever more sobered. "He might have, had his wife died a tragic death while they traveled together on a hunting trip. I think he would have used that as an excuse for the changes he would have been seemed to have undergone."

The sound of another groan caught her attention, and she turned again to see Legolas' agonized expression.

"What of Legolas? What have they done to him?" she whispered, taking in the horrible condition of the Elf.

With a grim expression, he sighed softly and turned his eyes to Legolas as he said, "Nothing. He moans, as if in pain, and then he drifts away, as you have seen. But they have not touched him, for all that I can discern, and they have only been discussing him and their plans."

She nodded though she knew anguish must lie in her eyes. "That is good, I suppose."

Éowyn paused, almost afraid to say what she would. She felt compelled to go near the Elf, but the voices were just on the other side of the door again. "It is just that he looks so very ill, as if . . . he were fading."

Mattias looked as if somehow he understood what she meant. "Would the dreams do that?" he asked.

"The sea-longing you mean? I do not know. I would think not. Unless . . ." Her voice trailed off as she considered an alternative reason.

"Unless he were giving up." Nostrils flared as she turned teary eyes upon her Elven friend. She gulped on her breath as she said, "I told Bregus the pain of his injury could kill him, and that was true. It was why I induced the sea-longing as I did. He suffered so horribly in the state he was in. But I also told her heartache could kill him, and I fear that is what is coming to pass."

She could feel her tears coming, and inched closer again to Legolas. "For his loss of limb and movement. If he realizes that is what has happened he may well believe he stands no chance of recovery. He was conscious when I found him. He was disoriented, but he probably did know he was gravely hurt. If he has chosen to die because he thinks there is nothing for which to live, I do not doubt it will pass."

Her face twisted into one of perplexed wonder. She spoke, but not with full certainty. "Nay, I would think not if all were as normal. Legolas is resilient and enduring. He fights, even when there is no chance to win."

She shook her head after almost shrugging. "Perhaps he is unaware he needs to yet fight. Perhaps he has given in to the sea-longing, and his body knows not what his mind would grant."

"Than he would be saved if only he might try to be healed. Can he be pulled away from the dreams?" Mattias asked, seeming eager to do something.

"It is not so simple a thing to cure. I have seen him drift into it only on one occasion. It was . . . odd. He appeared distracted when it occurred, but when Faramir called his name, it was enough to pull him back. Recovery seemed to take more from him than withdrawing, as he appeared disoriented and vague for a time after. Melancholic even. But by the next day, he was well again. But I will be honest when I say I know little of Elves and their bent toward the sea's calling," she confessed. A stab of guilt struck her, for the ache had been growing every minute since her sighting of Legolas' current condition, and she felt she might have been the one to bring this current suffering upon him.

She did not look over her shoulder to see if the others in the next room were drawing near. Instead she set her mind to what she must do. "I do not like how he appears. That I might touch him, I could judge for certain, for I can tell nothing of his condition without laying hands upon him. He looks to be suffering greatly." She tried to rise, but found it difficult with her hands tied. Her balance was awkward, and her slight movements caused her to wince with the pain.

"Your arm is injured. I fear any movement you make will cause you greater hurt."

But she would not let her injury keep her any longer, and fear for the ramifications of being found was no longer an incentive to keep her back. Unsteadily she rose, and only with his support, yet the distance was covered in but a few steps, and though her own hurts had seemed great before, her friend's agony made her forget her own pain. She knelt before him, her movements careful. "Legolas," she whispered softly, her tied hands reaching out to touch the Elf. This movement drew a hiss of pain from her already taut grimace, but she did not pull back.

His brow furrowed at the sound of his name. Did he suffer for the word? She could not answer. Nonetheless she pursued. "Legolas, please awaken," she cooed as she might in waking one of her young ones. She stroked his face gently to prompt the efforts.

His expression twisted into one of pain, his eyes closing to what she supposed was more hurt. A small cry emitted from his parted lips. Yet she encouraged him onward back to reality. "That is right, Legolas. Wake please. I know it hurts to do so, but you must hasten to wake."

Mattias was suddenly behind her, and she realized he had followed her steps. "Does he stir?" he asked.

She gazed at Legolas' face. His brow smoothed as she watched him fall back into his reverie. No signs of further wakefulness did she perceive. "It seemed so, but he has slipped away again."

She paused, the fingers of her good hand finding a pulse at the Elf's throat. "He needs a healer," she reported noting Legolas' erratic heartbeat among the other symptoms she had been observing. At this close proximity, she could hear the struggle of his breathing.

She bowed her head. The tensions of her misery for what lay before her and what might yet come rolled over her. Tears misted in her eyes. Their circumstance seemed indeed dark. A grim smile pressed her lips as her head came up. Her eyes remained fixed on the Elf. "I know not if I can take much more than what I see. What say you then?" She laughed. "Tell me that I might fall mad, and then I will realize nothing of this."

She could only muster a rueful laugh at that shared news. "Such is hard to imagine, as his plans thus far have seemed very dire indeed."

But Mattias was leaning in, shuffling around to face her in order to get her notice. He said, "I think he intends to kill or cast aside Bregus tonight with her spell and step into her place."

Her eyes met him then. Sarcasm laced her words as she said, "I may not be about to watch it. You will be sure to note how that goes." She was not sure she should care about what he was telling her, and she turned away from him then, her mind was made busy trying to think of what she knew of Elves and their illnesses.

She looked up. Notes of apology, irritation and fear mixed with her words. "I am sorry. But there is little that I might take to heart. I am about to be sacrificed so that my unborn child may do the same. An Elf who is one of the most noble creatures I know lies before me, lost in heartbreak and dream. He is dying for it and will be killed regardless unless we find a chance to be freed. You tell me that you are marked for death by a brother and father who bear the same madness, and I am told that my death has long been plotted by a ghost with whom I have yet to make company. My husband is out there, somewhere in the wilds, with a man whose last order was to kill him. Now you tell me Bäla is about to betray Bregus?" She turned her attention back to Legolas, "I find it difficult to be moved by that."

The words reverberated around her, startling Éowyn for the malignant threat in them. They did not emanate from the Romany man. "Bregus," Éowyn whispered, glancing over her shoulder, the weight of fear coming back to her in a tumult to match the roar of water behind the still figure.

"You have no evidence," the old woman continued, her voice cold and vindictive, staring at her son.

Mattias rose to face her. He seemed to show nothing of fear. His voice was calm as he spoke, but his words were peppered with fire. "Would my death convince you, Mother? For surely that is what is soon to come. Before this day is done, I believe it will be done."

Bregus seemed to dismiss him as her eyes turned down to look upon Éowyn and the Elf. However, her words spoke still to him. "The histrionics do not flatter you, Mattias. You live and you will stay alive until I say otherwise."

"Grateful though I am," he answered sarcastically, "I would like to know what your intentions are. What is your plan, Mother, for after?" his voice rose.

She turned a leering grin on him. "We shall work together for compliance, Mattias. What else would there be?"

He made a face of disgust, stepping back and looking as if he might spit. But his retort was interrupted by the appearance of another now standing at the threshold of the curtained cave.

Éowyn noted the rumpled appearance of the third of Bregus' sons. He looked as if he had just crawled from his bed, and the smug smile painted across his face was telling of what he had been doing in that bed. It was Curtik, but not the sullen and moody character she had earlier seen. This version of the character seemed cocky and sure of himself. He sauntered slowly forward, his movement sinewy and smooth, like those of a cat. "What is this? A party to celebrate all the joys this day brings?" He coiled lean arms about the old woman's waist as he came up behind her. "Ah, but my love, we are so very near a true reason to rejoice," he slurred in a pleasured voice.

The coy smile remained on Bregus' face, and though her eyes stayed fixed on her eldest son, her head turned to direct her next comment to Curtik. "Mattias seems to think you have designs on my planned renewal."

"Nonsense," Curtik said with a wave of his hand, stepping away. "By casting the spell of transformation without the moon's light, I gained no powers. Not that I am saddened by that. This body is very fine, and it serves my purposes well." He ran fingers languorously over his torso in a suggestive manner, his eyes hooded in a sensual expression of joy as he did so. Then leaning back and drawing his face into a teasing smile, he gazed at the old woman and said, "You cannot tell me you believe him, can you Bregus? How might I wrest your spell away when I have no means to do it?"

But Éowyn felt this was a lie. The young man's eyes traveled first to Mattias, then to her and as he gazed upon her, a cold shiver ran the length of her spine. His eyes were empty, dead, and she felt as if she were looking into the soul of a gruesome creature. She tore herself away from the cool of his stare, and as she did so, his attention went back to Bregus as his hand reached out to rest on the old woman's shoulder.

The young man then turned Bregus to face him, as he said in a voice that sounded sincere in as much as it could be mustered from his lascivious tone, "Truly, Bregus. You have probed my mind. Have you detected any deception from me?"

"None," she heard Bregus say with a whisper. The old woman searched his face before she sighed, then reached for the kiss that seemed hers to claim. Her lips met those of the far younger man with obvious passion and pleasure, parting with a smile as she took them. Then she turned to Mattias with a smug grin. She did not address him, but said as an aside to Curtik, "I think Mattias is jealous of your position."

A devious grin spread over the younger Romany's face as he taunted the other, "But Mattias, why? Your position is safe."

Bregus' head tilted back as the leering smile grew wider. Éowyn had the distinct feeling the old woman was drunk, though she doubted it was alcohol or drug that brought it on. Power and evil, she thought as she watched the witch glance with bemused smiles upon both her sons. The old woman reached out a hand as if, at the distance, she might caress Mattias' cheek. "Not until all is done, my child. Then I might focus my attentions better on the remedies we need make."

Mattias pulled back from her, as if her touch had reached him though her hand was no where near. His eyes went wide in surprise, but then he snarled, charging words at Curtik, "I doubt I will live to see that."

Curtik laughed, his mannerisms feigning dismay and hurt. "Accusations, Mattias? But we are the only two left. We must cling to each other."

"Do not pretend to be my brother, snake!" the older man growled, coming forth as he raised his tied fists.

Bregus tensed to an erect posture, stepping forward between the two men. Her hand came up, fingers curled in a half fist. "Do not make me hurt you, Mattias!" Her eyes were fierce with anger.

"Ah, but without Gordash as a buffer between us, do you think we might try to get along better," Curtik replied from his place behind the old woman, a feral smile creeping upon his lips.

"Were Gordash here, no doubt you would be plotting his death too, Father," Mattias answered emphasizing the incongruity of the situation with the sneering word.

"Nonsense," replied Curtik with a wave, stepping around the old woman. "I would have no reason to change the circumstances. I am happy with how things stand." He gave Bregus yet another knowing look as he said this.

"And I can see that you are heartbroken over Gordash's loss. Can you not even pretend to feel? Surely Curtik feels something, even if you cannot bring yourself to feel love for anyone beyond yourself," Mattias scolded.

"Ah, but I love," the younger Romany said as he reached a hand about Bregus' waist. He pulled her into him, his head dipping to nuzzle kisses into her neck. The old woman leaned in for the caress, her head pressed to his shoulder as a rapt expression slid over her face. "I love well, do I not Bregus?"

"You disgust me! Have you no shame?" Mattias rounded on them, focusing his attention on Bregus. "What of Gordash, Mother? Feel you nothing for him? Are you so blinded by your longings that you have forgotten your concerns for where he may be?"

The ecstatic smile on Bregus' serene face softly faded away as Mattias' words took effect. She twisted away from Curtik's embrace, her eyes growing wide as she digested the facts laid before her. "Gordash . . . he is gone?" It was almost as if she had forgotten this, and now recalled, the sobering idea brought her to humbling grief.

"We shall survive this," Curtik said, taking her shoulders in a loving gesture. He glanced to Mattias, and Éowyn could tell by the venomous look he gave that the words were a pretense. There was no concern in the young man, and she could see the workings of evil clearly in place in his mind. With a gasp she realized he indeed would attempt to take Mattias' life before all was done.

But he stroked Bregus' head and she fell into his embrace, soothed and suddenly calmed, as if she were forgetful of these woes yet again. As if to complete the ruse, Curtik whispered to her bowed figure and said in sympathetic tones, "Were Gordash here, he would not want you to grieve." She looked up at him and smiled.

All heads turned abruptly to meet the voice that spoke the words. Two figures stood at the threshold of the main entrance, hidden in shadows, and as the larger stepped forward into the light, Éowyn realized that it was Gordash who was amongst them again.

Bregus turned now too to watch her son come near. "How?" she whispered, and her face showed both relief and confusion as she stood, almost uncertain whether to step forward to hug him or step back as if repelled by fear.

"And this must be Kattica," Éowyn whispered as she watched the other figure step forward. She had not known what to expect, but this face was hardly it. She drew in a gasped breath as she gazed upon the determined features that met her, for the eyes of the young woman were not kind. In fact, they were as hard as the cold feeling of stone.

A/N: Well this is my longest chapter yet, though it was one of the easier ones to write. The next couple may be equally as long, but I'm hoping they will come out quickly and with just as much ease. I'm determined to keep this story within the limits I set, even if that means a lot of page reading on your part. I'm cooked. No more dragging this out. We are nearly done with this story. Just lots of action and angst and a witch-killing or two to do yet. Oh, and some much needed healing. [Looking at notes] Yep, that's what it says will be happening. Well, we'll see, won't we? More very soon . . . I hope.

Daw the Minstrel - Ah, chalk it up to elven rope as their salvation. No head wounds. No scrapes. No broken bones. Only dirty fingernails. And yes, there is a plan. It is a scary one, but if everything goes right, well, you know. Thanks for the review. We are very near done.

E - Oooh, I'm glad you like it. Another notch on my belt then. I would say they have been a very unlucky bunch. Poor things. When I was conceptualizing this story, I wanted it to be a set of bad circumstances that befell them, nothing they could have known was going to come. Then the trick was to see how they would get themselves out of it. I'm working on Aragorn, but he has been only one of six in this story, and I seem to have attracted readers who want the same thing for their favorites too. Ah well, this chapter is largely his. Enjoy!

Fliewatuet - I saw the chapter is up, but I haven't had a chance to read it yet. Once I get this one out, I plan to collect all my reading material and dive in. Glad you liked Marius Suenor. I might make her a part of other stories as I go. I love the concept of lashing out at bad writing in a LOTR way. Now that the heroes are reunited, oh the coming chapters will be tense. [Looks at outline again] Yep, lots of tension. Enjoy!

IceAngel - I'm very glad you like the site. I'll tell the site managers. And imagine, they are not even paying me to bring people here. I feel like I should be collecting a commission. Ah well, I hope you feel sated on Faramir. Writing an entire chapter from one perspective is very hard. Thanks for following along!

JastaElf - Well, since you popped over to review, I guess I can forgive the near miss for the update on Dark Leaf. Yes, they are all gathered together now to rescue our two blondes. Faramir is too much of a gentleman to be putting down poor defenseless pregnant ladies. Okay, Kattica is hardly defenseless, but still. Actually, I think they all bear a great deal of guilt. Can't go inside their heads without seeing it. Still we're now at critical moment when Everything Happens™. Keep reading and thanks for reviewing! Now get back to work!

Lamiel - Oh thank you. I really love that you got my symbolism. It flies over most peoples' heads, but I have imagery and elements that are recurrent in this story and they really mean more than what some might guess. Yes, Marius Suenor was a gimme, but I couldn't resist. The chapter needed some levity. So here we go. A Team together, and let some witch butt kicking begin!

Littlefish - I'm so glad you are settling in, and I take it that means we can look forward to a new story beginning with you very soon. Thank you for the praises. That last chapter was very difficult to write. The tension really got to me, and writing one perspective without shift is really hard, especially when you are at a turning point and all the pieces must be aligned. But, as you said, the strings are coming together now, and oh how the players will be dancing soon.

Luinthien - Oh yes, you are very, very hot on the trail. And a creative ending? Geez, after all of this, I hope it is. As for reasons to come back, I have a few more stories up my sleeve, so I do hope you will look in on me when this story is done. In the meantime, thank you for following along and sending your review.

Nightwing - Oh yes, much of the movie stuff and real life events for the actors is my inspiration for this story. I love parallels like that. As for the kind-faced old woman, she's kind of a mystery, but hopefully I will have left you enough clues in the end to figure it out. I also love symbolism. The benefit of writing is that the author has the power to move time. If they wish a few days can last a year and a half, and ten weeks can fly by in a chapter. The gang will be fine when I am done.

*~SuGaR~* - Well, I will give it one more try. Look in your email. AU means Alternate Universe (meaning a breach of canon), and yes, Mary Sue is a female character who is too good to be true. Usually authors who write them have a member of the Fellowship fall in love with them. MS's are despised because they are perfect, beautiful, and always in need of rescuing or are busy rescuing. I hope this chapter filled you in on what happened to Aragorn, and yes, there is a way for Kattica to overpower Bregus. See, your questions were very good. I just delayed answering them until now. Thanks for the review.

Tapetum Lucidum - Yeah, the Marius Suenor kind of hit me out of the blue. A long time back, someone accused me of building Kattica as a Mary Sue, and though I never saw it, as I was writing that chapter, I had to admit to myself she had done an awful lot. But she had magic to help her. And I never discount a pregnant woman as she gets to the end of her pregnancy. Yes, I promise, no *poof* magic, all fixed now ending. I've been doing angst up until now, I can't cheapen it up with an easy out. Have faith, and enjoy!

Thundera Tiger - Man, things are you-know-whatting now! (You have no idea how many times I have wanted to use that word since I bequeathed it to you, but I gave it to you. It is yours and know I'm forced to work around it.) Whew! I'm so glad the aha! moments worked. I hate repeating myself, but I knew I sort of had to in order to set up what is coming ahead. Your guesses are close on the plan, but not quite there. Keep guessing. Still a chapter to go before it is launched. But don't tell me your health can't take the waiting. "Fear No Darkness" has finally made it up, and you have kept me waiting [looks at watch] a really long time for that one. If I can take it, you can too. Thanks for your review.

TigerLily7 - And I like that they can get angry and tense and still know they will respect each other in the morning. Actually, partnership is a theme in all of my favorite LOTR stories, so I can't see them forming anything but. The rescue will be a combined effort, and as I have been promising, everyone has a role in it. Thanks for reviewing. Enjoy this next chapter.

Eowyns eyes turned to Kattica even as Bregus and her sons reacted to the appearance of Gordash. The young woman gaze was cold, penetrating and unreadable, powerful and consuming. She seemed . . . Éowyn could not say what she seemed, but the Rohirric womans sense of distrust rose considerably with this puzzlement. There was something odd about the girl. She was an enigma, a mystery. And as she watched what came, the question came clear in her mind: On whose side does this woman stand? There was a strength in her gaze that Éowyn might not have thought possible in one so young. It only made Éowyn trust this woman less.

Bregus suddenly seemed to realize who was with Gordash, and she raced at the girl looking as if she might strike Kattica for trying something so presumptuous as to appear before her in her Protected Place. Kattica, however, did not flinch.

"How did you get in?! I have the entrances guarded! You should not be here!" Bregus demanded, snarling in Katticas face.

The girls lips curled into a fractional smile, but there was no mistaking the serious demeanor laced into her expression. "The Protected Place seems to extend to the foot of the main entrance. I merely had to cross the threshold to feel the surge in power here. From there it was merely a matter of stepping past those you have watching that way. I do not think they noticed me. They certainly did not stop us. But then, I followed your example, Bregus. Had you been considering the appearance of another witch, you might have prepared your guardians to repel a Hunter's Spell."

The old woman's jaw fell, and the young womans smile disappeared. "But then, you did not expect my appearance. May I ask if you even remembered my existence?"

"You deserted us. You proved your disloyalty," Bregus growled, crooked teeth showing in the snarled expression.

"I sought to recapture your fleeing captive. When I returned I found I had been the one deserted. Mayhap it was for the better though. For had I not become separated from the tribe, Gordash might have been left to die last night."

There was no softening in Bregus eyes. Distrust roamed rampant in the old womans sneer. "What do you want?" she asked, anger tightening her voice.

"Are you not going to welcome Gordash back into the fold?" Kattica asked, ignoring the question.

Kattica's eyes darted first to Mattias, then around to encompass the others in the cave. Her eyes came to meet Bregus' stare and for the first time since her appearance in the cave, she looked anxious. Her voice trembled when she spoke, and when she did so it was in a hushed voice. The serious pretenses were dropped. Something new of the young woman was being revealed.

"I want to taste the power," she uttered, her eyes fixed on Bregus. She licked her lips and shuddered perceptibly as she stated this, a desperate edge sounding in her voice. "You showed me what it is to feel the darkness, to let it sift into my bones. It is tantalizing and alluring. It is . . . I would have it again. I want to taste it in its fullest form."

A cry emitted from the far end of the cave, words choked in a gasp. "You cannot! Kattica! No!" Mattias cried and all eyes turned on him momentarily. He looked exhausted and disheveled, but he came up onto his knees, finding his feet and standing, even going so far as to step forward toward the women. A twist of Bregus' head delivered two of the Romany to push him back into the corner and press him to the wall with the threat of harm. The girl watched him with a neutral face. She did nothing to aid him and simply turned away to face Bregus a moment later.

"Let me help you achieve your goal," the girl said with an air of desperation. To Éowyns dismay, she realized the girl was begging, and it was clear the old woman could see this as well as Éowyn.

Wariness guarded the old womans gaze. "You wish to help me with the spell?" she asked suspiciously.

Too quickly the girl spoke. "If that is the aid you need, yes!" Kattica exclaimed.

The full of Bregus' gritted malice met Kattica's naïve response. An invisible force pushed the girl back a few steps. "It is not! I need you not! I could not trust you would not trust you! Not unless . . ." The old woman paused, as if considering something outside of the girls gaze. " . . . Unless you were to. . . " an evil smile softened the menace pervading the moment. "But you would not," Bregus finished without offering.

However, as a residual reminder, the old womans clawed hand reached out to the girls abdomen, fingers slowed as if to caress it. In that gesture Bregus intent was clear.

Kattica stepped away, wrapping her hand around her protruding womb and gasped at the implications of the question. "I would not!"

But the old woman was smiling again, offering her words in a seductive voice. "It would be exceptional, I assure you. You would not know what came of you. No greater magic would you ever behold."

The girl stared, staggered by the offer, thunderstruck by the daring of the old woman that she would even consider proposing it. More frightening still, in the same gaze there was an air of hunger about her, as if, for just that moment, Kattica might actually consider it. Needy and wanting was her expression, unfulfilled and yearning. So great was the desire that she was actually shaking. But the lust wavered in her eyes, and she dipped her head, as if fighting back something deep in her heart. Then she gazed up to seek the eyes of Mattias. And with that she shook her head in answer. "I . . . cannot."

"Then I have no use for you," the old woman said, her mood suddenly changed. Effectively, she waved her away, dismissing the girl. "Leave," Bregus said on the whisper of a breath.

"No . . ." the girl replied, the breaking of a sob disrupting her gasp of disbelief.

No other would speak. Silence followed, punishing and hammering. The girl did not move, sobbing instead at the release of pent emotions. She seemed to dissipate, her strength dying before the eyes of all who watched. "Please . . . " she began, but no other words followed.

"Leave or die," Bregus restated as she stared darkly at the girls cowering form. There was no questioning her words.

"What of the soldiers, Mother?" Gordash asked, his voice breeching the silence. Studying him now as if for the first time, Éowyn noted that he appeared dismayed, as if he could not comprehend the turn in direction of the womens conversation. He looked wildly about as if searching for another who might share his puzzlement. His voice was a startling interruption, but the intense silence of the rest of the Romany remained. Suddenly it seemed to Éowyn as if this were a performance, and what she was watching was a scene being played for the gathered tribe. She had not a role in this, and all she could do was watch and see what might unfold in the drama. And though she gasped and sighed for the actions being shown, the Romany were oddly silent.

Still those words, the reminder of the soldiers and what might come, were enough to get Bregus notice. The old woman flinched when he continued. "The strangers spoke of them. Surely they will be coming. We must be prepared!"

Though the old womans eyes widened with this prediction, others seemed not so moved.

"No one may enter. The doors are guarded," Curtik said, speaking for the first time since Kattica took her assertive steps into the cave. His voice was flat, but he looked to be studying and assessing the girl.

Kattica seemed not to notice him. "We entered," she said as her eyes met Bregus. Her voice held the hint of tremulous hope.

"More reason, I say, to distrust," Curtik muttered, stepping to Bregus side as he warily eyed the girl.

"Please, Bregus . . . " Kattica stepped toward Bregus as well, her arms out in a beseeching gesture. "I beg you to reconsider my aid. Think of how I may help you! Think of how much you have yet to do, and what will be happening at the time of the spell. I stand in this hall and I feel the magic drift over me. It is wonderful and potent. Even now without the benefit of a spell cast, it is rousing. You know of what I speak. When your spell of immortality is cast, you will be focused on that magic. How can you not? You will not have time to maintain the door too," Kattica reasoned. "What if the soldiers choose that moment to strike? I would not doubt they would do so. Word will have reached them of our assault on the strangers."

Bregus looked to be contemplating this statement. "No word has reached them," she flatly said. "The soldiers will not come."

"How can you say that? Can you not see it?" Kattica quarreled, her confidence regained modestly by the query. "I am sure, Bregus, for I have seen them! They are free and they would plan their attack. They are coming, Bregus, and they come with the soldiers!"

"Seek them out then! In this place you know that you can. Use your mind and look! Do you see them out there? They are coming!" Kattica exclaimed, grasping at what might be perceived as Bregus' greatest fear, and simultaneously, as she did, her own panic seemed to escalate.

And still the Romany mindlessly watched. Amazed, Éowyn could not fathom their emotionless response. Their nothingness continued as Bregus stepped to the water and looked out with anxious eyes, gazing at the falling river. A long silence followed.

"What do you want?" she finally asked without the attempt at pandering words. She turned away from the translucent wall and eyed the girl with a venomous stare.

"Wrong! You had the chance before to show your loyalty and instead you tried to probe my mind. What do you really want?" the old woman asked.

Kattica's eyes searched those about her as if trying to find the answer within them. Tears filled her eyes again as they settled upon Bregus. Her voice quavered as she explained, "You misconstrue my intentions. I did not mean for you to take my actions as anything but an aid to you. Please, understand."

Kattica winced, cringing at the assaulting words. "As it was then, it is now. I want to help. My goal has never wavered. And when it is done, I want my freedom. That is always what I have asked!" she cried.

"I would not want to take my leave alone," Kattica answered. Her face softened with the revelation of this weakness while her eyes darted to the form of her husband.

Bregus caught the meaning of this. "Mattias?" she scoffed incredulously. Then laughing from her belly, she said, "You come to save Mattias?"

"Why should I not?" the girl asked, glancing at the man. And then she glared again at Bregus as she defended her stance, "I would not want my child to go fatherless."

"He has betrayed you. You have betrayed him. Can that trust be repaired?" Bregus mocked. "You risk much for what I see to be a faithless love."

Rage blossomed in Katticas glare, and the words of retort spilled out in a vexing tongue. "As do you," Kattica responded.

Even Éowyn could have predicted the loud smacking sound of skin meeting skin. The blow Bregus delivered was forceful, and the girl's head was swung around with the suddenness of it.

Still the watching Romany remained silent and uninvolved. However, anything that might have been called civility was lost.

"Search her!" Bregus demanded, and a swarm of Romanies suddenly appeared, valiant and hardened in their determination. They surrounded the girl, holding back her hands and reaching in to empty her pockets and run hands over her body.

It was ugly. The unsavory touches rolled over the girl, and Éowyn felt herself squirm for the violation they put upon the other. Kattica grimaced at their touches, but amazingly, she seemed not to resist them. Before her they laid out the items that they pulled from the deep wells of her skirt. All they revealed were her knife, her grandmother's amulet, and her medicine kit. There was nothing else.

Bregus immediately came forward and took the medicine kit, glancing at it before pocketing it, then walking away. Greedily, Curtik followed her example. Stepping up, he fingered the knife, smiling covetously at the item before putting it in his belt. He began to walk away, but Bregus turned back, as if realizing something, and eyed the charm from across the room. Curtiks steps froze as he noticed her gaze and then he turned and directed his eyes at that article as well. He then picked up the amulet, bouncing the carved, golden stone in his opposite hand as he turned to the girl and said, "If you are in the Protected Place, you will not need this charm, will you?

Kattica seemed about to protest, but then looked at him with a quizzical eye and seemingly refrained what she might say. She paled while the younger Romany man tied the charm about his own neck, seemingly mocking the girl's vulnerability. The hands that held her withdrew then, and she gaped at Curtik as if he had something to do with it. However, Kattica apparently was strong. In the next minute, her shocked demeanor dissipated and she regained control of her composure, standing resilient and proud.

He sauntered past Bregus side. "And now Gordash," he said, indicating to Bregus with a gesture that Gordash should also be searched.

The old woman gazed at Curtik long, surmising something in his words before nodding to him. Éowyn could see it. There was collusion between them, and an order was about to spill forth from Bregus.

But before it could, Kattica interrupted, stepping forward to face the old woman again. "Gordash has shown you no disloyalty! He does not deserve to be treated with paranoid charges. He is healed and capable in both body and mind. By my hand he is thus, and if you would find me free of suspicion, you must find him too. He would never try to harm you!"

"He could be plotting your murder," Curtik slyly said, stepping toward the old woman, eye contact made.

But Kattica also came forward and she turned the old woman's head to face hers before Curtik could reach her. Softly she said, "Gordash is loyal to you, Mother. Look into his mind and see. Read him for yourself. He would do nothing to hurt you."

Eowyn watched with trepidation, her distrust of Kattica increasing with each move the girl made.But any contemplation was wiped away as the scene continued to unfold and she found herself yet again compelled to watch, wait and learn what might come.

The old woman gazed at the large man then, stepping before him and tracing a finger over the skin of his face. She dipped her head, eyes closing, and the caress was a delicate thing, a blissful bond. He too closed his eyes, and he seemed to relinquish something of himself to Bregus without question.

It took but a moment, and then the old woman opened her eyes, smiling cheerily as she said, "It is true. You would wish me no harm."

The old woman snapped her head at the younger Romany, noting his response with a raised brow. "Is there a query?" she purred in a voice that was sinister and smooth. Curtik swayed, and Éowyn almost felt lost in tenor of the voice. It resonated to her core, and she felt inexplicably lightened by it. There too, all in the main cavern room appeared to do so. The old witch's voice had a quality to it that seemed to hold a conviction that was pleasing and believable.

The younger man withdrew his objections. "No. No questions. I . . . I will comply. Of course."

"Gordash is the elder male then. He shall lead us," she purred, and a sense of rightness seemed to abound then in Éowyn, as a swell in the chests of all who heard these words showed their pride.

The young man smiled coyly. "Gordash is the leader of our tribe," he agreed. Then he smiled serenely as he gazed with penetrating eyes upon Bregus and said, "I have no complaints. Mother." The last word seemed a parting thought, as if it contained a message for the elder.

The old witch nodded and let it pass, seeming to be placated with his reply. A satisfied smile curved her lips. Bregus eyes flared and mischief graced her smile as she took in all about her. After a moment, she turned on her heel, guiding her hand to direct all to the inner cave and again the young Romany took her side. Gordash stepped forward into the cave, and others that had been milling to Bregus' whims followed. "Come, we have much for which to prepare," she said to Kattica.

Bregus smiled, and Éowyn felt happy for the woman then, though she still was not certain that she should feel this. She wondered at this, and as she did, the witch spoke. "I will find a task for you," the old woman said, but the words did not come out right in Éowyns ears. She thought she heard the old woman say, "I have a use for you." Éowyn shook her head, feeling as though something was not right in this, but she was unable to put her finger to it.

Kattica seemed to be nonplussed by the statement as well. She did not turn as Bregus did, instead hesitating. Her steps slowed and she looked down, noticing wholly, for the first time, Legolas and Éowyn. She swallowed as she noticed them, and then swung her head back to Bregus. "I give myself the first task then," Kattica said.

The old woman stopped, her expression startled as she halted in her steps and turned to stand next to the girl. "You do not choose your assignments," the old woman cautioned.

Kattica shook her head, ignoring the old womans remark as she said, "What is wrong with him?" She knelt before the fair creature, reaching out a hand to touch his face, but the witch swept down and pulled Kattica's hand back before she could.

"Things have gone wrong. He . . . he fades," Bregus said without hint of emotion or explanation for her sudden movement.

There was a pause, as if Bregus were contemplating her answer. The elders eyes focused on Éowyn and they narrowed as she found her words and accused, "She did it. She incurred sea-longing in his mind."

The suddenness of this charge threw Éowyn and she felt hot rage siege her for the old womans easy choice of blame. "That is not the whole tale!" Éowyn countered with vehemence. "His back was broken before I came upon him. It appeared he was attacked," she said.

Kattica's eyes went wide with this revelation as she cocked her head to further study the body, but what Éowyn might have perceived as compassion a moment before quickly passed, and suddenly their was a fire in the girls eye. And desire. "Sea-longing? Truly? Oh, but I must . . ." Again Bregus pulled Katticas hands aside as the girl bent to touch the face and neck of the Elf.

"His spirit is shattered. It is precarious. I will not have him lost to me before my spell is wrought," Bregus answered.

The girl's eyes widened at first, as if she had been caught trying to steal someone elses possession, but then they narrowed with annoyance, and she gazed first upon the old woman, then again at the younger man who was standing at the doorway before saying, "But the Elf is alive. What more is there that you require of him?"

"He lives in this sea-longing. She helped him find his way there when he cried out in his pain. It seemed to sooth him and he has remained there since," Bregus continued. "He is content in this state. Leave him."

"This state is what is killing him," Éowyn muttered, unable to contain herself. She knew that Legolas was in greater agony than the old woman would admit to. Further, Bregus knew his ache. If the Elf were merely in a comfortablestate of something likened to meditation, why would she not allow Kattica near him?

Éowyn raged. She felt like striking at something, the old woman perhaps, for how trivial she made the situation to be. Yet Éowyn was manacled and injured. She could not strike out in any means other than words. "You read minds, do you, witch? Very well. Read his, and tell me that it is truly a state of contentment in which he lies," she snarled.

"And you brought it upon him!" the old woman reminded her in return. Éowyn stared back with a malicious gaze, surprised at the childishness of the return and refusing to flinch despite inwardly recoiling at the attribution the witch gave her.

Though it anguished her to witness it, Éowyn could not have planned it better. At that exact minute, Legolas moaned, just as he had before, his face contorting into something of agony. It could not be made any clearer to any that watched him that there was something that pained him, even in his trancelike state. He cried a piteous whimper, his face seizing with discomfort. And then he let out a panted breath, the air hitching in his throat, as if he were pushing back a horrible ache. It slowly subsided, his breathing returning to something akin to normal as his eyes slipped back into their dazed fix.

Éowyn looked in turn to the two women, gauging what she could of them from their reactions.

Their faces were telling, and Éowyn then realized there might be trust yet she could avail to the girls cause. Kattica had noticeably paled in the brief moment, her expression fearful and appalled. At the same time, the look of disgust on Bregus face was telling that she was more angered than upset at the Elfs poor condition. It seemed to Éowyn that the old woman would rather put blame elsewhere for what was occurring rather than see to fixing it. And Éowyn also knew Bregus would not hear of blaming herself. It was a pointless argument, but one she might make if the old woman continued to refuse treatment.

It sickened her, but she saw no other recourse than to draw the witchs help. Primitive as she found the old womans technique to be, there were benefits that could be garnered from her healing skills. Not that Éowyn thought Bregus had any way of mending Legolas broken bones through conventional means, but she could not deny there was something of a healing power within the witch that touched from the inside. She could reach into the soul. Frightening as that was, Éowyn felt that was exactly where Legolas restoration needed to begin. His pain came from his heart as well as from his outward hurts.

Fortunately, Bregus seemed to surmise the same and relented to Éowyns desperation. She sighed in exasperation as she spoke to the lady. "Again and again I seem to rescue you from your ineptitude. Let us see what might be done."

Éowyn silently fumed at the old woman, for she could say much about Bregus reluctance and how it had brought on this horrible event, but lashing back would do nothing to save the situation. Legolas was failing and his soul must be reached before he gave in completely to his sorrow. Or so it seemed.

Slowly spreading her fingers and focusing on the Elfs breathing, the old woman seemed to search for something of her own mind. Her eyes grew unfocused as she leaned over the body, and as she placed her hands upon Legolas chest and chin, her eyes closed.

Nodding her head as she quietly delved through internal meanderings, her lips parted, and whispered words passed over them. Her brow furrowed as she softly uttered words barely perceptible as sound. Éowyn wondered what it was that she said for the speech was not recognizable in the common tongue.

Her attention was drawn away from the witch, however, as there was a reaction from Legolas to these ministrations. He gasped, his hands flexing and eyes widening. His gaze remained vague, but it seemed he saw something from within. Éowyn rejoiced for that. Despite her trepidation at Bregus turn toward good intentions, she had to concede she was relieved to see some reaction from her friend. He had laid so still in his paling condition, and she had thought certain she might not hear sound from him again except for those cries of pain.

However, the reaction that followed was wholly unexpected. Eyes that had been dully staring into the waterfall came alive with awareness, and Legolas suddenly turned his head to the old woman, anger darkening those blue orbs. The Elfs nostrils flared in a flash of fury, and his free hands lashed out, foisting her fingers away from his body. "Do not touch me!" he screamed, and the rage that showed in his eyes was electric and violent.

Éowyns breath hitched, and she was momentarily caught off guard by the Elfs flailing swing. "Legolas!" she cried. But his movement was not checked, nor did he seem to hear her. All that filled his gaze was hatred and a desperate attempt to push the old woman away. The witch caught the brunt of his blow squarely in the chest. It knocked her aside, bowling her to the ground, and Éowyn could see the shock in the old womans eyes.

But that expression swiftly disappeared as Bregus regrouped. When she turned again, her feet beneath her, she appeared as if she might strike the Elf. However, he dropped his hands and immediately turned his attention back to the watery window, seeming not to regard any of those about him. His brow furrowed in sorrow and pain just as it had before, and his gaze softened as his eyes unfocused.

Grimacing with heated anger, the old woman scowled through her panted ire before changing the direction of her vexing glare. Accusation came to rest upon Éowyn, and like the swiftness of the force that had hit the old woman, so to did an unseen blow push Éowyn to the ground. Bregus had not moved, yet Éowyn felt as if strong hands had been flung at her bound body. She could not fashion what had throttled her with such strength, and at the same time, sharp agony sprung up from her shoulder, spears of deep hurt. She rocked with the force of it, groaning at the pain this caused her.

"I did not! I did not know he would strike out," Éowyn muttered, her jaw clenched in pain.

"What did you see, Bregus?" Kattica eagerly asked interrupting the two women, eyes concernedly fixed on the Elf. "Is there more that might be done for him?"

The pain was withdrawn as the tussle ceased. Bregus turned her head to regard Kattica, "He is alive. That is all I require. I have done all I will," Bregus announced haughtily.

"I have heard too much from you already. You will be silent!" the witch screamed.

"I think we must awaken him! He must find his way back to a natural state if there is to be any way of keeping him alive," Éowyn hurriedly added, afraid but finding reason to speak in pursuit of a remedy for the Elfs ailment.

The old woman sighed in frustration. Kattica turned back to Bregus then. "You think that is wrong?"

With an air of exasperation, the old woman threw her hands into the air. "I should know? I know nothing of Elven ailments!"

"Then you concur that he is sick," Kattica noted. The old woman scowled. Continuing, Kattica calmly said, "If he is sick, perhaps we should let her try to rouse him."

Kattica dipped her eyes in a respectful show of acquiescence, saying humbly, "I understand, Mother. I only seek your approval. He appears to be . . . hurting. Your attempt did not seem to relieve him of this."

"She will destroy him and ruin everything!" Bregus screeched, her eyes wide and staring at Éowyn.

Kattica stood to meet the elder's eyes, thus breaking her sightline, which was wrathfully fixed on Éowyn. With a quiet degree of confidence, Kattica assured the elder, "She will not."

Kattica remained quiet for a moment, her lips turning down into a frown. Then she said, "The Elf is dying. I cannot know for sure, but I think he will be gone soon if something is not done for him. This woman has no magic for which to touch him, therefore I do not think she can truly hurt him by trying. Further she is his friend. I do not think she would see harm done unto him. Let her try in her own way. I will stay with her and oversee her actions. And if he fades still, I will see to it that he is pushed back into this sea-longing."

The old woman scowled, "You try to trick me. You would play with his mind. I know of the joy you found in committing that act."

The girl stiffened at the reminder, but she did not draw back. "Would you stand over him yourself then?" she asked, her voice calm but her eyes challenging. She received no answer to this and after a time passed, she sighed and said, "I am your apprentice. I would not touch his mind unless it was required of me."

Turning her head to him, Kattica paused, pursing her lips. Again a silence followed as she considered him. Then shrugging, she coolly said, "You guard him then. I will go make the plans with Bregus, if you doubt me."

He looked slightly startled by this comment, his eyes going wider as if he might fear being assigned such a thing. But he regained himself a second later. "I have not time for this," Curtik waved her off.

"Curtik is needed for the planning," Bregus said, excusing him as if he needed her to do so.

"Gordash then? Szandor?" Kattica offered, smiling, as if she knew the old woman would not allow them either.

"I plan to employ them," the old woman said, following suit, and a queer smile of her own came to her face with the words.

Kattica nodded as if she knew this would come, and she said with a surety that challenged anyone to counter her, "Then trust in my intentions."

"Your intentions?" Bregus began. "Why might I trust your intentions when I can . . ." A small malicious smile slowly crept over the old woman's face. ". . . trust your pledge instead," the elder returned.

It seemed as if this was a moment for which the old woman had been waiting. "The pledge you will now make me assuring me of your loyalty. I know you will not sacrifice yourself and your child for the spell I cast tonight, but . . . I would ask for something else instead."

Katticas nostrils flared, her eyes uncertain as she asked, "And that would be . . . ?"

The witch laughed, enjoying, it seemed, the suspicion the girl was displaying. "Oh, nothing so bad as you might fear. All that I ask is an assurance from you that all will be well with you supervising this task."

"Simply this: if you fail me and the Elf dies, you will indenture your soul to me," the old woman asserted and there was nothing of frivolity in her tone.

"If he dies, the immortality spell cannot be cast and you will have nothing to gain in keeping me," the girl protested.

"Except your body. If the Elf dies, I would have a fallback as a means to live on for another lifetime. You would offer your body to me. That is what I want. Just as Curtik offered himself up for Bäla last night," Bregus said.

Katticas eyes went wide. "Bäla?" She turned her eyes to the youngest son, the horror clearly expressed in her gaze. She asked, "You are Bäla?"

He laughed at her mortification. "In spirit only, with none of the talent of my former life, Im afraid," he said with a bow.

"The moon was obscured and not all of what Bäla was could be transferred," Bregus contributed. "But tonight the moon should be ample and clear. I could take you if you offer it . . . in exchange for my trust."

Bregus laughed a maniacal cackle, amused by the girls show of revulsion. "Oh girl! What a fool you are! You would think I would truly want a twisted and scarred cripple to house my soul? Hardly," she scoffed, "but at least my power would stay with me." She leered at the girls belly. "And I would have a new child to foster to my dark powers."

"No!" the girl screamed. Her brow twisted in confusion and denial. "I never swore I could heal the Elf."

"But you seem to have made it your job to see him bettered. And I have deemed it yours. You may even . . . touch him if it will help to make it so."

"Ah, fear. I see it within you. So the enticement of probing his mind loses its allure? Where is your intonation of faith now?" Bregus sneered.

Another long moment passed and neither dared move. "I will not do it. You will have to believe me true," Kattica said.

"Then you are to be cast out! No, killed!" the old woman said, pushing aside everything of their former agreement.

Katticas eyes went wide and she shouted. "This is not as we had agreed! Gordash will protest!"

"He will say nothing because he is mine to rule. Be happy I do not kill you on the spot. Keep the Elf alive and this little change in our agreement will effect nothing."

A sob escaped Kattica and her face twisted with her misery. But she did not turn away. "I do not want this!"

"I do not ask you to want this. You say you wish to help? You wish to taste the power? Then keep him alive!" Bregus said, pointing at her Elven prisoner.

"Mother, no!" Mattias cried from across the room where he had been listening. No one seemed to give him any attention though. Bregus stretched a hand in his direction without looking and he was pushed to the ground.

A hand reached out and pulled the old woman's arm away, and Bregus met the tear-streaked face of Kattica. The girl nodded her agreement.

"So be it. You have your task," Bregus instructed smugly, and again she set out to exit the room.

Following in her wake, the one called Curtik followed, and he beamed in approval as he gazed back on the girl.

A/N: Oh no! That can't be all, can it? 'Course not. Forge ahead. The next chapter is up and waiting for you to read. Happy Halloween!

A/N: If you just plugged in for the last chapter update, you might want to step back. Today, as a Halloween bonus, I have given you two chapters for the price of one. Chapter 42, "Duplicity", has been posted. Enjoy, and Happy Halloween to all!

Aragorn frowned as his eyes scanned the trees and the grounds in the forest before him. A chattering squirrel barked down at him from a nearby tree, scolding him for taking up space in the creatures personal terrain. The former Ranger cast an irritated glare over his shoulder at the small rodent. "Daro, mellon," he muttered softly, "I cannot concentrate when you make all that din."

The animal ceased its noise, its tiny black eyes blinking while it cocked its head to the side. Aragorn could not help but smirk as he watched the furry mammal gazing at him, as if the small creature were pondering the words Aragorn said. "She is late," he explained, and the squirrel spoke again, rachachatting noises emitting from its throat.

"I do not know why," he said, keeping the dialogue going as if the animal truly were speaking to him. It amused him to think of the potential for a conversation with this squirrel. How many times had he seen Elladan, Elrohir, or Legolas carry on conversations with the animals of the forest? Somehow he had always believed these exchanges to be real. Elves did tend to have a way with the graces of nature. But what if the conversations between the animals and the Elves were complete contrivances, just as this one was for him? He smiled again. Knowing the simple amusements of the Firstborn, it would not surprise him if he should learn that they had been making it up for years for the sake of seeing Estel's gullibility. Conspiracy theory aside, it would not be beyond any of them. Time meant nothing to them and keeping the ruse over years would be simply something done in good humor to the three. He made a mental note that he should ask the next time he should see any one of them.

He immediately frowned, his scowl growing deep as he realized just how far his mind had wandered. Legolas would likely be the next Elf he would see, but he somehow doubted there would be anything so frivolous of which to speak with his friend. So much was in jeopardy now, and Legolas fate worried him as much as anything else in this disaster.

"Where are you, Arwen?" he said aloud, his voice now anxious and eager. He repressed the teary worry that threatened to dissolve into a frustrated scream. He knew he must keep his emotions in check, even though his heart hurt with every beat it sounded in his chest.

He said nothing, merely shaking his head as he gazed out again to the trees and paths of the forest for a clue as to his wife's whereabouts. A terrible dread was eating at him and all his earlier regrets were playing again in his mind.

He looked down from the branch on which he stood, his eyes meeting Gimlis as he did. The Dwarf frowned, shaking his head and lowering his gaze as he miserably sighed. A wave of sympathy swept over Aragorn. Gimli was as nervous and frightened as Aragorn and the king realized what a terrible weight it was that they bore. Their waiting was nearly intolerable.

"The hour grows late," Faramir said, coming away from the path he had been watching to stand next to the Dwarf. He too looked up to Aragorn as he spoke. "A decision must be made."

"She should have been back by now," Gimli murmured as Aragorn bent down and grasped the branch on which he was standing to swing down and then drop from the tree. He landed with only the slightest of sounds.

"What should we do?" Faramir asked, his face pale and grim. The prince's eyes turned and again sought out the path he had been watching before returning to the king.

Aragorn's eyes followed the direction that Faramir's gaze had followed. Henneth-Annün's entrance was just beyond the path a few hundred feet ahead. He could see the sweep of the falls through the trees. The rocky base was milky white with the frothing water churning over jagged and deadly stones at the catch basin. The light cast warm shadows on the surface, rich hues of golden light juxtaposed with the deep azure of the water, and the melding of the crisp verdant colors of the evergreens about mixed with the light spray of mist being emitted by the pummeling water. It was regal, this beauty, and at the same time there was a frighteningly mystical quality about the pool that sent tremors of fear up Aragorn's spine, as if ghosts were drifting on the air out of the fire of the sun and the cool of the water and the razor sharp edges of the stone.

Yet all else was normal in nature abounding beyond this fortress. The crickets began their mating song, and the birds twittered in the trees as Aragorn's eyes drew away from the waterfall. Light dappled through the branches showcasing the afternoon sun and its color while the scent of pine was an invigorating balm to the senses. The happenstance was a strange thing to behold, for when his eyes fell upon the tower of water, he sensed an evil within that abode that shook him. Perhaps the sensation came only from him, created by his knowledge of what lay there. But he almost sensed that it permeated out, tainting the beauty that fell about it somehow.

He looked back at Gimli and Faramir then, a restless wariness evident in their countenances. They sense it too, he thought, and he wondered at what chance they stood against a witchcraft that had grown in power as to have almost a physical presence. Bregus had already been a formidable foe. Now, could she be stopped?

Still, he had to remind himself, she had the advantage of being an unknown before. Now at least we have knowledge in our favor. Greater tasks than this had they faced. They would conquer the evil that lay before them.

Faramir touched his arm, concern riding over his drawn brow. "What of Arwen?" he asked in words that were but a whisper.

The corners of Aragorn's mouth tugged downward. He felt his heart thrum an ache of longing within his chest. He paused, fighting back everything within him that made him want to scream, cry, thrash the nearest object and give chase into the wilds to search for her, find her, and relieve him of the visions that wrapped their sinuous cords around his weary mind. "There is no time," he uttered, surprised at how calm his voice was given the agonizing pain within his chest. "She would not want us to pause in our task for her sake. She knew what was at stake when she set out."

Aragorn looked to the sky, reading the angle of the sun. He knew what Faramir asked. There was still time left for one more of them to retreat, to run to the camp of the soldiers and gather their aid. Time was still theirs, but only just. They were dangerously approaching the moment when that journey would take too long, and the opportunity to find outside help would be past.

He sighed. What right was it of his to decide where the hearts of his friends might lie? He knew his own. That was all he could claim and he knew if he turned away from the task set at their feet it would be a betrayal of friendships dear. Gathering this, he realized how very shrewd Arwen had been in volunteering herself for the task of seeking help, for she had surmised no other would depart the battle line, knowing what was to come, and do so on a clear conscience.

The steward's face gave no clues. Fair eyes turned back to the column of water. He sought there an answer Aragorn could not force. A moment's pause met him, and then the stoic expression returned and the younger man answered in turn, "I would not."

Aragorn smiled, wondering if he could not have surmised as much on his own. The fact that he had asked perhaps told him not, but now looking into the resolute expression of the man before him, he realized the answer could never be anything but what had been given.

On the other hand, he did not even have the chance to direct his eyes down on the Dwarf when that one's answer was given. "Dare not even inquire, Aragorn, for you know I will not leave here until we have seen our friends free."

Aragorn laughed softly, but the slight mirth dissolved into determination. The king nodded his agreement, his jaw tightening with the steely certitude. The decision was clear. They would continue to wait for Arwen and the reinforcements she was to bring. And though it hurt his heart to think of her and perhaps her need, he knew also he was not deserting her cause. He was showing he believed in it. Further, in a more humble part of his being he knew, there could be no other way. Given who they were and what they faced, none of them could be dragged away from the grounds of Henneth-Annün at this moment.

"We must rethink our strategy a bit if we are to do this alone," Aragorn said, stating what he thought was the obvious response given this renewed decision.

The grasp on his arm by his human companion surprised him. "Please let me be the one to do it, Aragorn. I know you would offer, but I feel I must do what I can to give Éowyn and Legolas the greatest aid."

Aragorn knew exactly of what Faramir spoke. The danger in which they were putting themselves was immense, and allowing Faramir to go alone in this endeavor brought with it frightening prospects. So much better would it be, both for power and for strategy, if they could go together. Having been given a taste of the witchs manipulation and power, even before she had magnified that skill by taking Henneth-Annün, Aragorn felt it might be better to face her as a duo. If only . . . Yet he also recognized there was a need for someone to cover the lower entrance, though that endeavor would be suicidal if done alone. In fact all of their tasks now, alone as they seemingly were, tolled a knell of death for those taking the chance.

Such were the risks of battle. Such were the risks of a fight for life. Sacrifice and valor. Friendship and love . . .

His head turned sharply, his eyes narrowing with a passing breath of wind. He stepped away, treading lightly off the course of the trail, silently striding over bramble and green growth. And then he gasped his relief, and turning to his companions he acknowledged what he now knew. "Mayhap the task remains still to be ours jointly. Listen."

And with those words, the sounds grew louder and the air of the forest stirred. The treading sounds of a dozen or more horses approached, and for the first time Aragorn felt his heart lift, lightened by the song of his heart.

Arwen's shining face appeared before him, glowing brightly among the host of the uniformed men coming near on horseback. Dogs scampered at their feet, wary and respectful of the hooves, glancing at the lady with obedience and worship in their gazes. At the rear of the company, more horses followed, and for a moment his eyes did not comprehend who rode there. But then he realized they were Elves led by Hallathôn, the guardsman to whom Legolas had spoken before their departure from Doro Lanthiron.

Delighted by this addition he smiled, but then he stilled his pleasure by realizing they came because they had learned of the fate of the missing Elves. Dead. They were here to give warning, to protect their lord, and perhaps their appearance is what had waylaid Arwens return. Sorrowful as he was, he knew he was made stronger by their presence.

Aragorn stepped forward, closing the distance between the company and him, advancing that he might garner the power now given him. The shining center of all smiled down upon him, and his faith, his soul, his meddle were given succor. Everything that made him king and mightiest among men was returned to him with the kiss of her eyes as they turned to meet his. Here was his heart.

He ventured forward to meet his wife and the looming threat at his back shrank. The silent fears tangled themselves in the jutting shards of stone. They did not rule him or the lives of those trapped within. The power that was due him had arrived and he willingly embraced it.

All the brave words of the young woman had been for naught, for apparently the old woman had betrayed her and forsaken the girl for her own desire. Éowyn could not determine what reason Kattica had to act as she did. She need not have spoken for Legolas' sake. Yet for every doubt laid bare to her, there were reassurances that the woman had a good heart. Despite the evidence made apparent to Éowyn, she felt certain the old woman did not, could not, perceive the good intentions.

"You have put your life at risk," Éowyn commented, watching the girl to see what she might say of this.

"That was my intention," Kattica murmured before she rushed to Mattias' side leaving Éowyn alone. The Romany man no longer had the ability to get up as his legs too had been bound.

"My love!" she gasped and she brushed her hand along his face. Their heads came together, and the touching of their brows was as intimate as a kiss. Éowyn turned her head away to give them a moment of privacy, but no words did she hear uttered.

At last they pulled apart, and the woman, though large because of her pregnancy, moved to a standing position with fluid grace. In but a few steps, she knelt beside the Elf again.

She said, "Mattias has told me of what has occurred here, but now I must do what I can to help Legolas. He is not well." Her eyes met Éowyn's but the Rohirric woman felt her gaze went deeper as if into her soul. "What do you know of sea-longing?" Kattica asked.

Éowyn felt a combination of emotions then. The sting of pride, resentfulness, and hope all emerged before her. The question brought out the accusation that Bregus had made, and highlighted in Éowyn's mind the foolish way in which she had acted to care for her friend's trauma. The truth was she knew so very little of Legolas' affliction. Such guilt did this realization stir.

It was a sheer accident, in fact, that she knew anything at all. Her knowledge of inducing it was not practiced, nor had she ever tried to incur it before. Her face grew red in shame as she recounted in her mind that she had accidentally overheard a conversation between Legolas and Arwen in which the Elf had told the queen that the simplest reminders to his senses could draw a yearning daze in him. It was a confidentiality never intended for Éowyn's ears. That knowledge alone produced culpability enough for her to feel she had violated something of him.

But worse, she had only witnessed the one occasion when Faramir had pulled the Elf back from the sea's trance, and that was hardly reason for her to believe she could master this illness enough to do as she had done.

As one trained in some of the healing arts, her actions had been reckless, like the bungled actions of an inexperienced soldier forced to perform surgery in the field. So too had she acted. It was unforgivable, for often had she seen how such actions could result in death, even for the good of their intentions. Yet was it the healing offered that killed, or the severity of the injury that did it? This Éowyn could not say.

On the other hand, extremely limited though her knowledge was, in a way she felt justification for her ignorance. Ioreth had mentioned nothing of the illness while Éowyn had administered aid in the Houses of Healing. In fact, nothing of Elven healing had been taught there, and Éowyn had come to assume that Elves suffered no ailments at all, save bodily injury. She had never heard of a sick Elf, and for the most part, all she had ever witnessed, was the one instance of Legolas' minor bout with the sea-longing. Even he said nothing of it, and so she simply brushed it aside like one might brush aside the smallest ailments of man.

Ignorance was her excuse, and now she felt sick for it. She should have guessed at the severity of it. How she longed to go back and undo her actions. She had made assumptions, and that was wrong.

She wished too that she had paid heed to Legolas plea. Had he not cried out 'No!' as she had administered the latent desire with her voice? And this too stung, for she realized she had ignored him and forced it upon him just as these others had foisted their dark intentions on him. She told herself she was merely applying aid to a resistant patient, for Legolas certainly was not in a right mind then, but had something within her enjoyed it as well? She had to ask herself this, as she could no longer say she did not find something of a thrill to control the Elf. However, if that were hers, it was not a desire that she openly knew. In fact, she felt sick just considering it.

"Do not admonish yourself. Your heart was in the right place. It was Bregus who took advantage, not you."

Éowyn gasped. That voice was inside her head, and the speaker was . . . Kattica?

Rich brown eyes turned on her, and Éowyn was struck by the intensity of them. It was then that she felt a hand touch her good arm. Again, Éowyn felt a voice speaking from inside her own head. "I understand what you feel, but now is not the time for regrets."

"You are in my mind. How? Is it the cave that enhances the skills for you?" Eowyn asked.

"There is a plan I would share with you yet. It was partly devised by your husband."

The Rohirric woman blinked. "Faramir? He is alive? But you betray him by telling Bregus he would come for her."

Kattica nodded and smiled, saying aloud. "He is well." Then in her mind she said, "The betrayal is a part of the plan."

She was equally as exhilarated when she noted that the girl bent her head, and tried to, Éowyn assumed, reach Legolas' mind. A moment passed, and she realized, as the time went on that there was a small stirring in the Elf. But it was not a pleasant thing, for he winced and cried out. Kattica abruptly pulled away.

"I cannot reach him," she said at last, shaking her head and relinquishing her touch. He draws away from me. He distrusts. He cannot perceive that I might do good." Kattica frowned, her eyes never leaving Legolas' face. "He has strength, but it seems he has decided to give his heart up in sorrow. I do not know how much longer he will live."

Then again she turned to Éowyn, touching her again. Kattica's voice said, "You must find a way to help Legolas. I need you to try to find healing. Speak to him. A familiar voice may coax him awake where my magic may not. He will die if he does not come out of this state. His body seems to have the power to heal, but his heart and mind have been vanquished and he lingers on the fringes of deepest sorrow."

Éowyn's face twisted in anguish at this news. It was gruesome to bear as the full weight of her guilt hit her. She sobbed, "I did this! I did not know! He was in such pain! I was only trying to help him! I did not know it would drive him this deep!"

But Kattica's voice broke through to her core as one of the girl's slender hands came to touch the Elf's chest. "Someone else did this. He is too deeply trapped in his mind for me to think he lingers there on his own. From what I know of him, it is not his nature to give up or retreat. Someone pushed him this far. And now he will not withdraw because he has found sanctuary in his desires. He has been terribly damaged, mentally violated, but you must try. He is fading quickly now."

Éowyn nodded, though her heart was heavy with grief and guilt. "Yes, of course. I will try."

She pulled her arm away to begin her task with Legolas. A stab of pain ran up her side and she winced. Kattica again touched her. "I could heal you, but if I do, you must make it seem that you bear the injury still. Do you understand?"

Éowyn nodded. "It is little in comparison to all else, but it would be appreciated all the same." Then she turned her teary eyes back to the girl and said with the deepest sincerity, "Thank you . . . friend."

The crooked smile brightened the girl's face, and Éowyn could see up close the jagged scar that crossed diagonally from the girl's nostril to chin, marring her mouth. But in Éowyn's mind, she was moved by just how lovely Kattica was, and how the flaw only enhanced what was beautiful in her.

The fiery ball slowly descended the sky as the day labored on. Its bright radiance, like a flare of heavenly fire, cast its light widely over land and water as it slowly settled lower and lower into the sky. And with that slow, unfettered motion its appearance gradually changed, growing from its blinding glow of piercing yellow-white light into the warmth of amber tones that marked an ending to the day. Iridescent was the color, entrancing and deepening, shifting to a hue of orange and red. The color was like the essence of a tropical fruit, but more so, intense, and penetrating, and uplifting. All the land was cast in the astonishing array of succulent color that beamed over the earth's surface. The glorious reckoning of light and color illuminated the sky, meshing the fringes of deeper hues, cool and inviting, with the rich whisper of night.

And high above, in the heavens, beyond the path of the sun, the stars hung in the sky, hidden and waiting for the spectacle of that royal presence to pass. Equally as inspiring, equally as regal, the stars would blink and shimmer their bountiful light, as if displaying their pleasures for the sun's glory. Though minor in comparison to that great orb, they twinkled without jealousy, and they were every bit as intriguing and delightful as that singular body. In fact they were allied, and though one would not emerge where the other strode, in their ebullient appearances and departures they passed their secrets. So it seemed that the stars held sway too, but in a far more clandestine way than the sun. Their secrets were hidden to all but the few who studied them and marked them. Few knew the tales of their alignments and the powers that might be gained through them. But when they were, if everything came together in the right order, the makings of an event that might never come again in a lifetime could be found. In this way, the stars were as powerful as the sun.

Of course, the moon was an accomplice in this. The close kinship between the sun and moon could not be dismissed, and long had the time been coming when the perfect symmetry would be projected in the sky. Sun, stars and moon all worked together, and on the cusp of this night great magic for good or evil could come forth.

There was much Gimli would wish upon his dear friend but news of what the Dwarf was undertaking on his behalf was not one of them. Concern regarding the grave report of what he knew had befallen weighed heavily in the Dwarfs mind. Though the details were uncertain that the Elf might even survive, whether this mission were successful or not, was in question. And should it transpire and they did succeed, the Dwarf was quite aware that much healing would be inevitable for Legolas' recovery. The Elf had suffered greatly and anything to remedy the misery would be needed in days to come. However, the current circumstances were the exception, and the Dwarf held no plans to share the amusement of his current predicament with his friend if there was any way to prevent it.

Gimli looked up. Perched in the branches of the trees overlooking this vista were Aragorn and Faramir, awaiting the Dwarf's signal to proceed in the assault.

Glancing around, he saw too the hints of the men of Gondor in the trees of the forest, and though he could not see them, he knew the Elves hid there as well. In fact, aside from the dogs and the horses, everyone was in the trees, including Gimli.

Do not look down, he told himself, focusing himself instead on the place that he had set as their signal point. Falling the thirty-foot drop to the ground was not an option.

This embarrassing predicament however could be blamed on no one. In fact, it had been Gimli who had volunteered for this duty. Any one of the Elves could have done this task. They were far more suited for climbing than a Dwarf, but Gimli would not have it. This task was his, for when he gave the mark, the assault would begin.

Perhaps it was selfish pride that forced him into it. This part of the plan was largely his, and as such he felt it his job to see it through. But also, the mithril Kattica was to use had been the Dwarf's find, and here too, he felt somewhat attached to seeing it being wielded. Truthfully however, Gimli had a third reason for maneuvering himself into the trees, and it was far less obvious except to those that knew him best. He simply wanted to see Legolas if he could. Somehow the need to know how dire the Elf's condition was drove him to pitiful frustration. And from this vantage point, all three requisites of Gimli's assignment could be met.

Like a hunter settled into a blind, he could watch those he sought without their observation of him. The prey was before him and he was level with the cave normally concealed behind the wall of water. But the moment was coming when he would see all within and have the answer to his vital demands. He knew that when the light hit from this angle at the exact moment of sunset, the anteroom to the cave would be brilliantly lit. Like a sparkling jewel it would show, rich and red and warm and everything within was as vivid as that without. Having seen it himself, Gimli knew the spectacle from inside the cave was as inspiring and magnificent to behold as it was from the outside. Like the heart of a fire, he thought.

The sun was sinking in the sky, getting nearer and nearer the horizon's edge as the minutes rolled past. Tensions and stress had marked every moment of this day, and the waiting had been maddening. And now the moment had come for the signal, and gruesome as it might be, the end would come.

Those who had inflicted this pain would see the punishment due them as payment for these crimes. And like the heat of a fire, Gimli felt his blood pulsing with the hot urgency of his heart. His eyes focused hard on the hazy forms growing more and more discernible behind the window of water. Any minute now . . .

The words spoken by the old shuv'ni made Kattica's stomach lurch. Tension made her body ache, muscles drawing up into tight knots. Despite the fear, she was prepared for this moment. Like a terrible nightmare, the day had gone on, long and unending, slow and dreadful as each minute seemed to be a test of her resolve. But now the waiting had ended, and the dread moment was upon her. It is time.

She felt as if she had been living her existence as a trembling, frightened creature, though outwardly she had given no clue that she felt this. She had fought to maintain her composure, difficult though that was. It was not merely the fear that she battled though. The powers given her by the cave rushed through her, around her, bolstering her. Strangely, it exhausted her as well to keep it in check. So much did she want to give in and take the power offered by the cave. That, or dowse the fires and let the radiant forces diminish that she might breathe normally again. Neither could be done though, and she was forced to live in this mystic realm despite the misery it caused her. But the time had come, and this earlier trial was past. Her heart thundered for the test that was upon her now for she knew her life was forfeit if all did not go as directed.

The light was growing warmer and brighter as it filled the cavern. Blazing color, dazzling and red, shone with an intensity comparative to the face of the sun. Bregus stepped forward, and the two boys, Yulli and Cheiro, followed, picking up the litter that carried Legolas between them and then carefully placed it in the center of the room, as if they were placing it upon an altar. Then nodding, Curtik stepped forward and hooked a hand beneath Éowyn's arm, pulling her to her feet. He effectively dragged her to a spot in the room about ten feet away from the Elf.

"No!" she screamed, her eyes fixed on Legolas, and she tried to run to his side, but the young man pushed her down, and then Bregus stepped forward and uttered the words to the Hunters Spell, causing the younger woman to freeze in her place for the few minutes it would take to complete the spell.

Kattica wondered at this. This was not according to the plan she had seen in Bregus mind. Yet she really saw no recourse but to follow along. One misstep could mean their lives, and already so much had been altered. They stood on shaky ground.

Her eyes slipped away and lit upon Gordash who was standing in the corner next to the tied and cloistered Mattias. Gordash had the biggest role to play in this plan, and Kattica prayed that his resolve was firm enough that he would not recant on his pledge. If he even could remember that pledge, she thought. His face showed a lax expression, a sort of lethargy, as if he had no thought as to what was his task and he was simply going through the motions of what was before him, like a puppet. Still, she had assumed that might happen when they had entered the cave. That he had retained as much of his own thoughts for as long as he had she found amazing, for she knew Bregus' power was incredibly strong in this Protected Place. It showed that he was resistant to the witchs will. She had ways to counter what cursed him now, and so she had convinced herself that she had to have faith she could reach him when the time came. Now her actions were guided by what she could do on her own given the limits she faced. It was a precarious place she was in, and any false move could be deadly.

It was their secret. Gordash was the keeper of the stones. She knew in the depths of his pockets he held them, and a call to his mind would retrieve them to her, though glancing at him now, she had fears that this might not come to pass. That he carried the stones at all had not been a part of the original plan designed with the others, but, knowing Bregus and how she might react, it was a modification she felt she had to make. The entirety of what they would do might have been nixed by Aragorn had they preplanned it. It was incredibly risky, contingent upon the strengths of both Gordash and Kattica. But doubtful though she might have been when she first laid eyes upon the large man, she had decided Faramirs words had been right. She had to have faith in Gordashs loyalty. The pact between she and Gordash had been made in the steps leading to the cave, and it was the ultimate test of her trust that she gave so much responsibility to him. She hoped she would not regret it.

Bregus would have never allowed her to enter the cave with those silvery-gold nuggets. She would have searched Kattica (as she had), and in doing so, she would have found them. The old witch would have understood their significance. It would have been instant death for the girl. But Gordash, she was certain, could smuggle them into the abode. Kattica knew he would not be searched. All that need be done was for Bregus to probe his mind. The promise to do the old woman no harm was finite to Gordash's truth, and so long as Bregus did not probe further, looking for answers to all that had become of him, their secret was safe. The fact was that Gordash had removed himself again from the planning stage of this scheme. And further, Gordash did not see the stones as harmful, because they fulfilled his desire to see no harm passed. They did no direct injury unto Bregus, and so his conscience was clear. Fortunately, Bregus, in all her years of leading and manipulating her people, had long since stopped noticing the minute details of their lives, and so a glancing sweep of Gordash's thoughts had been enough to assure her that Gordash was true.

Yet there were changes that had occurred in Bregus scheme, and not everything was going according to plan.

Kattica's eyes swept to the physical body of Curtik, He wore her amulet. That had not been planned, and it cut Kattica to the core to know he had it. That piece of jewelry was not simply a decoration. It was her link to her grandmother and the Other World, and without it, Kattica's powers were weakened to the point where she could not stand against Bregus. Perhaps I should have had Gordash carry this too? It certainly would have helped stave off the effect of Bregus' powers, she thought, but she immediately pushed this notion away. Strategically it was better he had not. Had she entered the cave essentially weaponless (the witch would not have counted the knife as weapon for nearly every Romany possessed one), that would have cast deep suspicion in Bregus' mind, and the old woman very well might have searched Gordash then. That Kattica carried her amulet upon entering proved to the old woman that she was not above suspicion. But it also made Bregus think the girl was not sharp enough to fashion a better weapon. And that too was fitting with what Bregus had long believed of her. Everything now hinged on anticipating the old womans actions and thoughts.

Even the abrupt turn, making the Elf her responsibility, Kattica had predicted. It had played out exactly as she expected it would. What was not predictable was that Kattica had maneuvered Bregus into doing it. Too, this had not been part of the original plan, though it made sense for it to happen as it made Kattica appear all the more witless in Bregus' mind.

Yet upon entering the cave, she could see that Legolas was in danger, and Kattica had to do something to save him. He was dying. She had to find a way to get near him that she might try to heal him. And since then, though his condition had not rapidly improved, Éowyn had managed to rouse the Elf enough to elicit what might be construed as a response. At least Legolas seemed to hear his voice called and had turned his eyes in the woman's direction. It was a positive step, and certainly would be considered one in which Kattica was adhering to her end of the bargain for Bregus' sake.

It had been a risk, but knowing Bregus as she did, it was not wholly out of the question to apply her duplicity here as well. Bregus loved feeling the victor. The moment when Kattica had been manipulated to become an accomplice to the old witch, she had seen it. Bregus would not hesitate to use Kattica again, even if she knew there were better ends that she might meet. But Bregus was truly not so foolish as that. Kattica's pretense of tears only served one purpose: to make Bregus feel she had power. In the end, Bregus would do what was best for her, and Éowyn would be the sacrifice so that Kattica could hold the doors. The old woman could not perform the spell of transformation and control the minds of her people at the same time. The reminder was there. The soldiers would attack. And no matter how much power she had gained through the strength of these walls, Bregus could not control all these things simultaneously. The spell she was about to cast would take too much of her.

No, Bregus was shrewd enough to see how Kattica might really aid her, and it was not as a sacrifice.

But then there was Bäla. Though he took the guise of Curtik, it did not matter. His spirit was there. He was an unknown, and she had not planned for his appearance. Further, she could not read him. His dark thoughts were a mystery to her. That he claimed to have no power could have been a falsity. Mattias had no proof, but he felt Bäla had strength he did not show, and so did she. But Bäla had remained subdued. He did not outwardly show his skills in magic. Judging by appearance though, Kattica would say he was wielding power over Bregus, magically or not. He led her. The idea repulsed her because of the sexual implications it presented, but it seemed there was an excessive amount of touching occurring between the younger Romany man and the old shuv'ni. Was this evidence of an enchantment?

If so, it was certain Bregus was doing the same, for she had called upon her skill of voice often enough to wield it as a charm when it suited her.

Which led Kattica to wonder: was this what their marriage had been like, both of them trying to manipulate and outmaneuver the other?

So long as they vied against each other though, Kattica was safe. Perhaps their own ambitions would divide them.

"Join me," Bregus demanded, and the singsong manner of words from elder days began to fill Kattica's ears. They pulled on her, moving her, making her head nod to keep time with the present beat. And at the same moment, the light was dazzling and her eyes were forced to squint to see. It was time.

Her eyes sought out Gordash. She willed him to come to her, but he looked directly ahead. Gordash, come to me, she thought.

"Say the words," the old woman said in a slurring voice, and Kattica recognized the effect of intoxication Bregus was experiencing due to the dark magic. Yet Kattica was afraid. Already she could feel the alluring desire taunting her through her own attempts to reach Gordash, especially as the chant was being sung. Dark magic lingered on the air, and she could feel it seeping into her body, charging her, causing her to yearn while she sucked in a quaking breath. So much power there was in this. It was just a chant, and still Kattica felt she might easily give in to it and collapse into its power.

She supposed this was the moment the old woman would pull Éowyn forward for the sacrifice and she knew she need act. "Relinquish the spell on the guard," Kattica called out to Bregus, trying not to sound demanding. At the same time, she put her command again to the larger man. Her eyes went to Gordash to see if she might find a response in him but there was nothing. She then directed her focus on the old woman. A smile crept over Bregus face but she said nothing, as if she did not hear. Her gaze was unfixed.

"Relinquish the spell on the guard!" Kattica cried out, trying to shake the woman awake with her words, but the smile continued, as did the words. And then suddenly she realized all the Romany were present in the room and the adjoining chamber. They did not linger out in the halls to wait on an attack. They were here, witnesses to Bregus transformation, though poor witnesses they were. Gordashs face mirrored them all.

"Bregus! Who guards the door? Bregus!" Kattica screamed, and then Curtik grabbed her beneath the elbow and pushed Kattica to the floor to sit beside Legolas.

"Pani, barban, yag e puv, boge'sko mabestipen. Pani, barban, yag e puv, boge'sko mabestipen! PANI, BARBAN, YAG E PUV, BOGE'SKO MABESTIPEN!"

Water, wind, fire and earth, give your power to me. The old woman was calling forth the spell without relinquishing the power over the others to Kattica. Kattica's heart thundered. This was not what should have been happening!

And then she was touched by Bregus, as words were spoken, "Kele bar!" and she supposed the Hunters Spell had been placed on her, only it did not take.

Yet, the witch was in a deep trance and did not appear to notice. She swayed under the spell, and Kattica felt the crushing power of it as the light flared and the wind gusted. "Gordash! The stones!" she cried, no longer caring to keep the secret contained. She had to pass the signal to Gimli. "Now! It is time!"

Gordash blinked as the wind pushed on him. The entire room was becoming a tunnel of noise and motion and the whipping air was extinguishing Bregus fire, as the light grew greater and greater. Yet Gordash did not move.

"Gordash, the stones!" she screamed but he did nothing in response to her cries.

Her hair was flying as she bounded on him. She would take them, she decided, and here too he seemed unmoved, apathetic. Her hands rushed at him, running to his waist and his pockets, but then stronger hands pushed her back, shoving her away from him and forcing her body to be lurched from behind. Her head whipped around to see who it was that was restraining her. Curtik's eyes met hers and they were black and endless in their wicked depths.

"Pani, barban, yag e puv, boge'sko mabestipen," he was chanting with a sinister smile curling his lips. Held tightly in his grip, she could feel the spell working its way through him. Bäla! He was fully Bäla by every definition of his magical power. She could feel his soul touching hers and He seemed to be growing in strength as she watched, and his eyes lit with a fire that matched the strength of the sun's glare. In that instant she realized he, being still in part of the Other World, had the ultimate power between them all and she could do nothing to stop it. The only thing left was to watch him and let him take what was not his. And then she felt her knees buckle beneath her as she slowly began to collapse to the floor.

The Hunting Trip
44: When All Is Done
Kattica's body helplessly faltered. Terror swept through her as doom stared her down. Weak and listless under Bäla's hold, she felt his new devilry sweep over her. Forcefully she was made to look into eyes that were wide and spookily hollow. An expression of insatiable desire was carved into the face that gazed at her.
The wind whipped her. Water splashed in her face. Light flamed around her and the earth moaned in her ears but she could not move from them and flee as her heart told her to do.
How can this be? How can this be?she asked herself. Bregus had claimed Bäla had no power, and yet Bäla was the one magically holding her, purposefully showing the full of his strength. Obviously Bregus had betrayed Kattica, but to find the one fulfilling that disloyalty on Bregus' behalf was Bäla confused her. Why had they done so much to conceal him to the girl? Together they could have overwhelmed her from the start and taken her as they were doing now. Surely there was an alternative motive to their actions than this?
It dawned on Kattica then, suddenly, ringing loud in her mind like the tolling of a bell. Bregus does not know! Flashes of reality sparked with the electrified color of light as Kattica put it all together in her mind. The greatest deception was before them, hidden in Curtik's body. Bregus, her back turned to this display, was oblivious to Bäla's actions. The old woman was too busy anointing the knife she would use for the sacrifice, reciting her chant in singsong fashion. She had not noticed the betrayal. She does not know he has powers!
In this forfeiture, the deceit was vividly clear. Not only was Bregus about to face failure, but Kattica and the others were also on the cusp of collapse. She should have seen it when she found Bäla among them. He was not to have been a part of their plan. She had not anticipated his double cross in their venture. She had known he would do something evil, but she never thought it would occur at the exact moment of Bregus' turn to the gathering of power. How could Kattica have thought it would happen then?
How could she have not? This was Bäla. She should have known.
Yet favor still shined on her and somehow, Gordash seemed to take notice of the situation, as did Mattias, and both Romany acted simultaneously.
"Stop this!" Mattias cried as he squirmed to work his hands free scraping them against the walls, fighting against them while Gordash leaped into action. The large man tackled the male witch with the full of his body, crushing Bäla under his weight. But the witch wrested free a shout, and then words were cast. A spell! The large man was thrown away with a strength that was impossible to comprehend. Gordash
was dispelled, and the evil man, rising to face Kattica again, panted heavy breaths.
"And now you shall give me what you best offer," Bäla rasped, again gazing with horrid eyes into her soul. He laid a hand aside her belly and she felt as if knives were tearing through her. A scream was ripped from her throat in unholy agony and the world was a spinning whirl of red.
Vaguely she heard a raging voice screaming as if the world were coming to end, "NO! NO! MOTHER! He betrays you! Look! Look!"
A great pain was within her, and she felt as if her body were turning inside out. Fuzzily she saw Bregus' angered face. She heard the witch's cursing bellow scatter within the confines of the cave, but it seemed to be swallowed by the whirling vortex of sound emitting around her. And then she saw the sight of Bregus and Bäla as they tore at one another, flagging one another with blows both visible and invisible while words circled her and Kattica rode away on them.
She was being lifted, and she felt something hard pressed into her hand. She was being shaken and blearily she recognized the figure of Gordash looming in her vision.
"Say it, Kattica! Say the words of the spell!" he was yelling.
She could not think. Such malevolent agony -- it hurt too much.
"Say the words!" the big man cried in her ear, his voice frantic.

Another wave of pain made her body spasm. Her breath hitched. Her mind was too rattled by the ache to register anything beyond it.
"They are doing battle and pay you no notice! Say the words!" he urged, shaking her to draw her attention to him. "Say them!"
The opportunity to redeem her failure was still available. She mustered her thoughts, her brain barely registering cohesive thought enough to remember. "Pani," she began with her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," he encouraged. "More."
"Barban," she gasped, tears streaming from her eyes.
"Yes. More! More!" he cried as his hands curled around hers, closing her fingers into a tighter fist about the stones.
"Vag e puv," she sobbed, her head falling back.
But she could feel it. The power was beginning to course through her veins, invigorating her. "Boge'sko mabestipen," she said, and the pain eased. She truly began to feel it now. A surge of new energy ran over her limbs, and the pain from within was fading.
"Again!" Gordash commanded as his eyes flitted to the witches beyond her vision.
Inhaling deeply, she spoke it again. "Pani, barban, vag e puv, boge'sko mabestipen!" The stones grew hot in her hand. "Pani! Barban! Vag e puv! Boge'sko mabestipen!"
They were alive. The stones breathed life of their own, and the aches that tore her were swept aside by the rejuvenating effect the power of the Protected Place held over her. Suddenly she had strength enough to sit up, to stand, to fight a thousand battles if that is what she must do, all because the stones were
alive.
Light like a small fire sparked in the bowl of her palm where the stones lay. And the more she spoke the words, the brighter the flame became. She rose as the energy came to her, and she had it now as Gordash offered his support. The power was granted and she raised her arm, the living rock flaring like a blinding light. Like a small sun, it flamed brightly, overriding all the other light to remain something small, like a shadow in comparison. It emoted energy at her command.

Yet something so huge could not be hidden. The blinding light was like a blow that swings wide and strikes many. It was not contained and instantly all eyes turned to it. And with that flame of zenith fire, everything in the cave began to roil in a churning maelstrom.
Everything was in her control. The earth rumbled pleasure in greeting her and the wind whipped about her, adoring her. The fiery light flared its brilliance to please her while water bowed and dipped as if to grace her. They were hers and she commanded them.
One would think that was enough to overpower all the evil that had ruled in that cave. However, she realized too that one should not underestimate the dark strengths of magic in a domain such as the Protected Place. As magnificent as it was, it was also a heavy burden. No other words could she use to describe how it felt to carry the dominant power of the cave. Every nerve in her body was alive, and though it did not hurt, neither was it easy to maintain. It was almost as if the gravity of it threatened to bury her in its strength, and if she did not hold her own, she would fall away, fading into the elements of which she held. It was inexplicably odd, but she understood through it that no mortal was really meant to have this power, and that the witches were playing with a tool beyond them in trying to capture the elements and manipulate them to a shuv'ni's will. She could not hold this for long.
Outside of her she saw them come. The witches immediately noticed the turn in tide and dispelled with their battle, setting it aside. At that moment, the rivalry between them disappeared and they were united against the superiority of Kattica.
Wordlessly they charged, pulling together all of their strengths to fight her. Bäla pummeled Kattica with a barrage of invisible blows while Bregus sent the masses of her people to surround the girl. Yet Kattica fought brilliantly, evading everything they unleashed upon her. To Bäla, the blows were knocked off target
by a blindness she wrought on him through the shining light, while Bregus and her people were hurtled away by the cyclonic wind Kattica conjured.
Blindness, however, did not dissuade Bäla. He bodily charged in the attempt to reach Kattica. He was but mere steps away, his eyes crazed as he approached and she realized then that he was unstoppable. He was a monster. She attempted to throw him back with spells of her own make, lashing them outward in his direction, anything that might hinder him long enough that she might find others at her aid, but he was not deterred.
"I have the Other World from which to pull power! You cannot hinder me with your petty incantations!" he roared as ran into the tide of her winds. He launched himself at her, his hands reaching for the flaming stones in her hand.
Yet a loud noise, a warrior's cry, and an unexpected spray of water, first one then another, splashed on them both, jarring them. Kattica's head whipped toward the onslaught. She gasped joyously, relieved to see Aragorn and Faramir's arrival, which meant the soldiers would be attacking and in a moment's time they would override the cave. She smiled with glee. It was the turn of the battle, the moment she had waited for, and she almost laughed at Bäla then in her cocky relief. She could almost see his end and she looked forward to witnessing his demise.
Bäla gasped, and then turned, freezing while she backed away, pulling the mithril closer to her chest. She watched as Aragorn and Faramir moved in a fluid motion to cut themselves free of their ropes, as if they were practiced in the skill of diving through the madness of a waterfall. It had been such a daring act, and yet they moved with a seasoned grace, automatically assessing and understanding the situation in just a turn.
Faramir took his direction toward Bregus, but Aragorn saw her, and he began his lunge in the attempt to aid her.
However, Bäla seemed to regain his composure then and with a hand that seemed to shove outward, Aragorn was slammed back with the same force as had been used on Gordash. He crashed to the wall, falling in a motionless heap to the floor.
"No!" Kattica cried.
And then Bäla's malevolent eyes turned back to her, and without wasting another moment, he grabbed her.
Where are the soldiers? she thought as she tried to back away in a desperate attempt at flight. There should be soldiers!
Even with the stones, every ounce of her energy at the moment was directed at maintaining her own presence, standing on two feet, not collapsing under the weight of the power he held. How he did it, she couldn't guess. Bäla's strength was tremendous, far greater than anything she might have imagined. His fingers closed over her fist and he tried to wrestle the stones from her, his hands becoming entangled with hers, and bodily there was contact between them.
She could read him then. Suddenly she could see into his mind and understood the root of
his deception.
His thoughts were mired in anger. Such a vile place it was, hideous for the lust and darkness that pervaded there, insidious and menacing. And yet she could see that not everything of him had been a lie. In Bäla's mind, he truly was pleased with Curtik's body, though she could see now that it had always been one of his choices. The deception was clear to her. Should Mattias or Faramir have been unable to fulfill the role of the one he would possess, he had intended to take Curtik. And while those other two had the power of mortal rule, something Bäla would always aspired to possess, Curtik had magical skills that they did not. Bäla was willing to forego the others to possess that skill, for he knew rule could be gained with other means of manipulation if need be.
Ultimately she saw Bregus' greatest failure. The witch, in her jealous guard of her position as shuv'ni, had overlooked Curtik's subtle skills of mysticism over the years. To his credit, Bäla had not. He had not neglected his youngest son as his wife had, and he had long fostered the duplicity Kattica saw now. She realized too that Curtik had been the only one of the three to whom Bäla felt a kinship and she knew then just how horribly hurt Curtik had been at his father's death. And then with a new sense of horror, she realized the reason for Bäla's death. It had been of Bregus' make. As a result she could see the motivation for everything that was occurring and why Bäla had played this most destructive game. This was his revenge.
Yet despite her surprise at the deceptive leanings of the creature her mind met, she was also astounded at his mortal strengths. Bäla was undaunted by any turn; here Kattica could see he was determined to win and be the victor. He would get his vengeance against his wife no matter the cost. And at the same time he would breathe life again. That pleased him much.
The dull understanding of how Bregus had killed him came to her. Kattica sensed poison in the reaches of his recollection. Outwardly, it looked so normal, as if he had died of natural causes, but beneath it were the old woman's regrets and the beseeching pleas made in dreams. Too late, Bregus had wanted him back and Bäla had taken advantage of her guilt then.
Kattica could see he was more astute than she had given him credit of being. She could see what he would do now. He would steal the spell away from Bregus and use it for himself. And with that, she could read in his mind that he would not only be one with Curtik's body, but also immortal. He was thrilled by the possibility of success in his retaliation. It was the ultimate turn of hurts against the old woman.
Yet in reading him, other suspicions were found true. So deep was his plan. It touched many, and she could see the spectrum of how wide it spread. It went beyond what was before her now and she could see he had been manipulating and planning this for a very long time.
He was a fiend! She had to find a means to stop him. She tried to find something of compassion within the soul to help her, but there was nothing of Curtik to call upon. All that was left of the youngest son were the memories. Any inkling of the former personality appeared gone.
Bäla was grappling for the stones, and should he take them from her, his might would be overwhelming. She pummeled him with mental blows, and yet he came. His strength was truly terrifying, and she wondered that she had not read it before, but then she realized the Protected Place magnified the strength given him. It had for all three of the witches. What was left was a battle of wills and raw power. She sized her opponent up then and knew. In a normal setting, his tie to the Other World made him the greater. But she had the stones, and she thought sure that somehow evened them.
So how might she win against him?
The amulet swung into her line of vision. It had been Kattica's tie to the Other World, her advantage, but now he had it. Unfair was that loss of benefit, for she knew he gathered no gain from the charm. He was already tied to the shadows, while Kattica's grandmother was linked to the light.
But could that be a weapon?
Suddenly, a vision appeared in her mind. The sinister gleam of a devilish eye gazed upon her, and her mind caught sight of the intruder studying her. Bäla! With the harsh slap of realization she saw. He was not just there outwardly. He was within her!
I am a fool, she thought, for he read her! All the while that she had been looking into him it seemed he too had been gazing upon her! He knew her mind as well as she knew his!
He saw. He knew. He knew everything about her. The stones in her hand. Her heart. Her greatest fears. All were exposed to him, and he would act upon them.
Bäla pushed her away, breaking their hold, and then he charged. Both hands went to her belly and the agony she had felt before was nothing compared to the crippling pain he unleashed on her now. "Let your baby come forth now! It is time she was met!" he whispered into her ear.
Her breath caught in her throat, choking her as writhing pain tore her apart from deep within. Clutching hands, strong, like the talon claws of a preying animal, dug into her abdomen, hurting her with their bruising grip. She screamed then as the elements faded from her control. She could not think of anything beyond the pain.
She nearly dropped the stones under the weight of that crushing torment as her hands went out to push him away. Foisting her weight upon him, she fumbled to send him away, hands leaping out blindly anywhere that might gain her a handhold.
And then the fingers of her free hand became tangled in the cord at his neck and she felt the familiar carving of the stone from her amulet in her hands. It was the amulet that kept Kattica focused. Mocking her from the place around his neck, she could not bear that the gift of her grandmother was now tied about Bäla's throat. It was an obscenity to see it there. If she could regain it, she might prevail for then she too would be channeled to the Other World. Yet retrieving it was beyond her.
It was a tenuous hold, barely a thing from which to gain balance, but she pulled herself up from the strength of the amulet's cord and regained herself enough to stare into his wildly malicious eyes. The satanic gaze stared back at her, and she nearly recoiled for the fear she felt looking into the heart of pure evil. But perhaps there was something in her grandmother's amulet that fortified her. She felt yet power enough to drive a sneering blow into him.
"Devil!" she cried in their native tongue. "Your true form is revealed, and now I curse you to be exposed for what you really are!"
But that small blight was all she could manage, for the pain he inflicted grew more with her words, and her legs began to waver under the weight of all that had been put upon her. She fell, but her eyes did not look away, for her anger, despite the agony, was huge and she would have him know her vexing words if she could.
What followed was a startling thing. Curls of smoke drifted from the place at his chest where the amulet fell. A searing black mark was laid there as wafts from coiling snakes of smoke emitted about it. Her grandmother's stone had burned him, and he screamed a wretched cry at the pain exposed in that.
But she could take no more. The smell of charred flesh sickened her as another wave of pain came over her. Though his hands were removed from her, the spell of his words held, and she felt her body ripping apart. Liquid slid between her legs and she realized a hot pool of fluid was forming at her feet. She crumbled into it, weakened by the agony of that which befell her. And she cried, for she knew what was coming, what Bäla had launched upon her.
Vaguely she realized her rescuers were doing battle, but it did not matter, for the fate of the thing she held closest was already lost, and there was no hope. The baby was coming and she could do nothing to stop it. It was done. She was done.

****

There was no time to applaud the surprise of their admittance to the cave. It had worked! That was all that he had time to consider in the bedlam moments that followed his and Faramir's crash through the wall of water. It had worked, they were alive, and there was not a moment to waste in this maelstrom if a rescue were to be theirs.
They had landed in the center of the mire. Action had to be immediate or all would be lost. They had gained admittance to Henneth-Annün through an entrance few ever noted as one. But even with craggy rocks, the long drop, and the deluge of water serving as a door, Aragorn had not let those considerations get in his way as they had swung through the curtain wall of water. It was a horrible risk they had taken, one completely untried as far as Aragorn knew, but he had taken many risks in his lifetime, and when lives were at stake, he knew there was little to be gained in making safe choices. He had taken the gamble of attempting the dangerous entry and he knew he must if he were to see his friends' freedom. And now was the moment to decide all their fates. But it was wrong. With a terrible sense of dread, he realized that they dove into chaos. That was as planned. However he suddenly detected it was not the chaos that they had expected it would be.
The floor was a slick of water where they had landed, but Aragorn kept his footing and with a quick glance behind, he saw that Faramir had landed as smoothly as he had. His companion was already cutting himself free and searching the room, and Aragorn regained himself enough to follow his steward's example. In a glance he took an inventory of their situation, and that was when he saw that it was not asthey had staged it.
The soldiers are not here yet! Where are they? They were supposed to have attacked by now! The battle in the outer hall was meant to keep the witch distracted enough that Aragorn and Faramir might strike her together.
And then he realized there was something too easy about their admittance. Bregus had not posted sentries at the upper door, and so he and Faramir were given the opportunity to sneak past that point without the old woman's notice. True, there had been archers in the trees watching their backs, but Aragorn thought they might have at least met with some resistance.
Yet they had not and Aragorn and Faramir were given leave to make their astounding entrance.
What they found was, in some ways, success. Bregus was scrambling to rise from the floor, shocked apparently to see them though Legolas and Éowyn were herded by a large number of Romany behind the witch. He could see they were heavily guarded, though many were picking themselves up just as the witch was. Yet their numbers surprised him. He thought that they might have been kept in the halls to hold off the soldiers. He would have expected that they would be screaming and scurrying to protect the hold by now, but they were not. Where were the soldiers?
Gordash and Mattias were to his right; the giant was fallen, semi-conscious, with his brother at his side. Mattias was bound but ministering to his kin. His panicked eyes turned to Aragorn in that moment and his head gestured to the third set of figures dominating the room. "Help her!" he cried, and Aragorn whipped his head to that direction.
He caught a frightening sight then and all his fears and worries for Kattica came alive at that moment. The girl was fighting off Curtik with a series of invisible blows. Strange was the sight; for though Kattica did not move, her terrified eyes showed that she was somehow thwarting the man. Curtik's head was thrown back again and again as if he was being pelted with blows. He kept stumbling forward, somehow unhurt by what she did. Still, it was relief in Kattica's eye that told him she knew of Aragorn's presence and the message was passed to Curtik. The man stopped his advance then and Kattica rushed away. Suddenly the focus of the other was on Aragorn.
Dark eyes stared at him, and gruesome terror struck Aragorn as he gazed into those orbs. They were pitch to their depths and horrifying in their menace, and Aragorn nearly dropped the knife he had used to cut himself free in that instance of evil. He realized it then. This was no mere man that Kattica fought. Aragorn charged.
What came was a horrible surprise. The Romany's hand shot out, and with a force Aragorn could not have predicted, he was thrown, hurling into the air, dashed against the wall.
It was only a moment that he lay there; he was sure of that. A troubled cry stirred him to life, and with it he was suddenly alive again, realizing there was no time for dismay. His head ached as he rose, throbbing fingers of pain at the base on his skull prodding him. Still, he knew he could not be stalled by such frivolous hindrances as pain. He rose to his feet as quickly as his body would allow and fortunately he was not noticed in the foray that danced around him.
And as fortune had it, his knife had not been lost in the dashing tumult either. As he stood he felt the comfort of the familiar weight in his hand. His head turned back to the renewed battle between Kattica and the man and he could see dire trouble brewed there. Curtik leapt back from the girl. The horrible hiss of scalding fire was rent in the air, accompanied by the unpleasant scent of burning flesh and the man's wretched scream. The small moment brought him glee, but it was a short victory.
Kattica fell into a crumbling heap upon the wet floor and his fears were then doubled.
Aragorn rushed forward, barreling into the sidestepping man. But as he reached Curtik, the Romany once more seemed to have regained himself. The assault was deflected with a backward move, and Aragorn again found himself on the ground looking up. With the charred stain at his chest, there was something demonic about Curtik's appearance.
But the true menace was revealed as Curtik spoke to him. "Good evening, King Elessar. I have been expecting you."
Aragorn gaped. He knew then with certainty what he faced. "You are Bäla," he whispered.
"As you can see, I have one part of my spell near completion." The malicious smile did not fade as the hand of the man indicated Kattica's writhing body. "In a moment more, I will cut out the baby and use its heart for my magic. And now I need an Elf to complete my magic." In a mocking voice he said, "You do not happen to have one with you, do you? Your pretty wife would make a lovely completion to what has been started here." Then as if seeing the horror in Aragorn's eyes for these words, the witch laughed. "Oh, but the Lady Arwen is almost too lovely to destroy. Luckily, there is but a spare Elf about."
He began to direct Aragorn's attention to where Faramir fought and Legolas lay. It was then that Aragorn realized the soldiers still had not entered. Where are they? he screamed in his mind. But there was not time to ponder what might have delayed their arrival. He scrambled to rise and in that moment, astonishingly enough, something else distracted the horrible male witch so that Aragorn could regain his feet.
"YOU WILL DIE NOW, BÄLA!" someone screamed, and a moment later Aragorn realized it was Bregus' terrified voice that cried it. In a flash he saw the whirling form of a knife flung across the space. And though Aragorn could not see it, he heard the soft thud of the blade making contact with flesh and then the hissing sound again. A wavering snake of smoke rose from the wound at the male witch's back. Bäla's face changed to a grimace then transforming the shuv'ni into something even more hideous than he had already been. The man truly took the appearance of a devil.
Bäla treacherously leered at Aragorn as he swallowed this newest pain. In a voice that was deep, and ugly, and inhuman, he said with a grunt, "You have met my wife, Bregus, I believe. I am afraid she will not be joining us for the ceremonies ahead." Then in a turn that seemed in Aragorn's eyes to be taken in slow motion, Bäla reached over his shoulder and pulled the knife free as he came about to advance upon Bregus. And then he threw the knife at her.
The king waited for no other opportunity. The monster's back was turned and Aragorn struck. He vaulted, knife in hand, but Bäla seemed to have anticipated that move and before he could land his stabbing blow, the male witch swatted him away, as if he were but a small creature. Aragorn was flung to the ground again. Reflexively he rolled to cushion the shock of the fall while he still held the knife.
But suddenly the Romany people were alive and wild, crying. "Soldiers!" they said. At last! Aragorn thought, and Bäla's eyes showed fright.
Yet he turned to Aragorn then and laughed, "We are not done, my king."
Still his head turned away, as if seeing or hearing something outside of Aragorn's vision. And then the witch blanched, and he turned on his heal. The look of terror in his eye told Aragorn that indeed the soldiers were coming. Running past the tribe with another wave of his hand that toppled the people like bits of paper, Bäla was suddenly free of the chamber and in the halls that led out.
No! He is escaping! Aragorn thought while at the same time he wondered how the witch might get past the soldiers that were looming ahead. But then he felt panic. He knew what Bäla was capable of doing, and he also knew Arwen waited outside the doors of this burrow. He could not afford to lose such a deadly foe now. There was still more at stake in this horror.
He gazed back, seeing the swarming mass of people about him. If he was needed elsewhere he could not know, but he put his trust in Faramir to stand his ground somewhere amongst that barrage and to make a strike against the other witch. With that he fought to move past the crowd and out of the cave.
"Dead!" came the screams then and Aragorn's breath hitched. The word was frightening, and Aragorn almost turned, but he knew he need find Bäla or there would be other deaths still. "No! No! Dead!" the voices screamed and suddenly, the crowd was even more alive with motion, panic urging them as scattered fear rose among them.
The sudden commotion in the cave did nothing to further Aragorn's cause and he suddenly found himself being buffered against the tide of people. He heard screams and panic from the tribe, and people seemed to be running in all directions. Rage brewed in Aragorn's belly as he fought against them. "Move!" he screamed, determined. He was a hunter and he would not lose his quarry. Finding his opening, he dodged to the entrance and crossed into the narrower halls that were filtered in the last bits of light and the growing shadows.
This deed is not done, he thought as he raced out of the cavern and into the darkness to find Bäla.

A/N: Stayed tuned. Coming soon: The Final Truth.

“Legolas, awake,” the voice quietly urged. “Awake my friend. You have wasted enough time in sleep.”

The voice was very distant, as far away as the sound of the river. The water was pleasant and calming, and he drifted lightly upon it. His body languished in torpor, hesitant to leave the gentle comfort of this sweet rest.

“Open your eyes, lazy Elf. Wake and you will find the world is a better place for it.” But Legolas truly had no desire to open his eyes. It felt so much better to be still and lay in an easy recline. His dreams had been such a happy place, memories of times and friends gone but still loved. He would rather reach out, put his heart into that joy, than to face the nightmares of what lay beyond it. “Let me be,” he mumbled turning his head away from the voice of the intruder, as if that might block it out.

But the voice would not give reprieve, though it was kind in the tone it used to woo him. “There is good news for you,” the other said as enticement.

Legolas would not be moved. He did not care to know anything beyond, for he felt sure some dread awaited him in waking thoughts.

However, the longer he lay there, balanced between sleep and cognizance, the more he recalled of the world beyond dreams. Little could he think of to offer him incentive to venture into that desolate reality, good news or not. Dreams. Dreams were the place he chose. They meshed so nicely with the sound of the rushing water. The water carried him, and with it he could float so far away. . .

“Awake, Legolas! Now!” The voice was no longer so kind. “You have slept long, and the results are to be seen. Open your eyes now, Elf, and witness what has come.”

That scolding sound rankled him. He did not like being ordered away from something so personal. There was something of a dull pressure that grew within him the more he was urged. But because he knew there would be no relief if he did not cooperate with the prodding voice, Legolas made the attempt to open his eyes.

His lids felt as if they had been glued shut, and they opened as meager slits. The brightness all about him made him wince. He would not choose to open his eyes further, but a shadow loomed before him, effectively blocking the light and making it more comfortable to proceed.

A blurry world met his squinting eyes. Haloed spikes flared about the form before him. He blinked, trying to clear the haze of his vision as he turned his head to the side. His head ached a dull throb. In fact, everything ached. He closed his eyes again, rejecting the effort it took to comply with just this small task.

“No, friend. You shall not be rid of me so easily. I may take pity on you and let you lapse back into dreams soon enough, but not before you hear me out,” the other said, and Legolas thought he might know that voice.

It was vaguely familiar, perhaps more than that. “For what benefit –“ he coughed. His throat was parched and his voice sounded as a husky whisper. “For what benefit must I wake?” he asked, irritation lining his voice.

“You arise in a cranky mood, I see,” the voice laughed as a cool cup was placed to his lips. There was liquid within, and as Legolas’ head was lifted he greedily drank it, finding comfort in the relief to his sore throat.

But that was not enough to appease him. “Just leave me,” Legolas begged, longing only to fall back into the comfort of his rest. Nothing hurt there and it was so easy to forget all that had been done to him. And then there was the sound of the water. Why did he feel he might be empty if his mind focused elsewhere and not on that?

“I will not, Legolas. Now stop being so tiresome with this tedious refusal to do something so simple. Look at me!” the voice demanded.

The other was right. He knew this. It was not of his nature to wallow in dreams, and Legolas felt shame for this weakness. He forced himself to wake. “Your voice grates on my ears. Could you not have sent Arwen for this task instead . . . Aragorn?” the Elf replied in short gulps of meager voice. He realized as he spoke that he knew the speaker. He then groaned with an ache in his head.

The change in Aragorn’s voice showed sudden concern. “What hurts you, Legolas? Give me but a moment and I will give you a tonic that might ease you.”

“Stay away from me with your potions!” Legolas cried, realizing his mistake in showing his pain. He hated to show weakness, and he hated to be ill. In fact he hated to be doted upon such as he was now. He again opened his eyes. This time much of the fog and flaring light had cleared and Legolas was able to make out the features of his friend. He sighed. “Could I not just sleep?” he pleaded.

“I see no problem in rest, Dwarf,” Legolas replied gruffly, immediately recognizing Gimli’s voice as he turned his head to face his friend. The irritation in his voice made the words clipped. “My body apparently needs it,” he said with more calm, finding this a plausible argument to disarm the urgency of Aragorn’s and Gimli’s insistence that he awake. His eyes watered and his lids felt very heavy. Legolas truly did feel quite tired and his dreams were still fresh in his mind.

“It is one thing to have dreams, Legolas. It is another to live in them,” the Dwarf grumbled, and Legolas felt annoyance at being reprimanded when he felt in no mood for even holding conversation.

“Why do you bother me, Dwarf?” the Elf replied flatly, meaning nothing with the empty words. It was the best he could offer of a response, and he shut his eyes again, wondering what else his two friends might want of him.

Gimli just laughed, and this only served to irk Legolas further. “It was Aragorn’s choice to do so, Elf,” he snorted as if in jest.

A bright laugh punctuated the subsequent reply, and Legolas directed his eyes to the man. “Nay, ‘tis not true. It was Gimli’s desire. I merely went along with him on this endeavor,” Aragorn replied.

Legolas paused and sighed. Why were they disturbing him? To partake in something that amused only them? He looked upon them both in turn. There was a twinkle of glee in the king’s eye as he attempted to jest with the Dwarf. Something in Gimli showed Legolas a bit of wry merriment returned. It was a conspiratorial friendship though the stout creature shook his head as if in disbelief, keeping their ruse.

Legolas huffed with exasperation. He was done with their nonsense and he allowed his mind to drift away, no longer caring what they might want.

The Elf winced, his eyes coming open to the harsh sound. “Do not yell at me, Dwarf!” He took a breath, trying to push back his irritation. His nerves were frayed, on edge for no reason that he could pinpoint. He felt as if they might teeter over on the precipice of turbulent thoughts at any moment, and all for this small jeering on the part of his friends.

“You would do better to remain alert now,” Aragorn said, his gaze directed with tighter scrutiny on the Elf. Then leaning in closer, a large smile spread over his face. Aragorn exulted with satisfaction, “You have escaped into dreams long enough and it is time to face reality. You moved your legs, my friend! In your sleep you did it! You moved them!”

At first all Legolas could do was gape. He was unsure of what the man spoke, and this made Legolas feel as if he were not a part of whatever game the other two played. His head hurt with the ache of a pressing migraine. Beyond that, his body felt empty and sick in the dawning of his awakening, and still Legolas wished to drift away on the whisper of his mind’s beckoning. Something called to him. There was a peace in his mind he would rather go to, and the effort being put on him to stay in this reality was vexing.

But a moment later the full of his memory returned to him, and Legolas suddenly realized where he was and how he was laid and why his entire body hurt. All of it. “What--?” he began, pushing his body to sit up, elbows propping him that he might glance down at his legs.

Too fast! He realized it a moment later. He had sat up too fast and now he paid the price of his spontaneous move! His head spun in a dizzying vortex as nausea cramped his stomach. He felt heated and chilled simultaneously, and for a moment he could make no sense of the world.

He found a cool cloth running over his face and Aragorn’s hand at his chest. “You must ease into this, friend. You may have moved your legs, but I do not think it would be wise of you to move anything else very soon until you have acclimated to a new position,” Aragorn said, his eyes wary, but a gentle smile telling Legolas that he would yet survive this incident.

Legolas ignored him, feeling humiliated for his brazen impetuousness and subsequent show of weakness. That played on his nerves, causing a subtle melancholy to press upon him. But he tried to ignore this too as he began prodding his legs. Indeed there was feeling in his limbs, albeit dim. It felt as it had when he had found his legs returned inside the gypsy camp. Tingling and almost numb.

Memories of his captivity haunted him then. The oppressing feeling of darkness and claustrophobia returned. His loss of freedom and movement were resident to his memories and the struggle to find movement vexed his soul. Never before had the Elf been given so little reign over his movements had he had in the camp, and like a flashback, he recalled all of that horror again. It had felt like agony to be so confined, trapped in one place, held to someone else’s whims and made a victim to death because he could not break free of the trap. He had been a hostage of wants and desires not of his choosing, and those recollections sent severe anxiety into the core of his soul, riling the sadness into something more.

He gulped on air then. Legolas knew he should find joy in the news Aragorn had delivered, but he could not muster it. He was disappointed. Deeply upset. Like the captive he had been, he felt little freedom in this discovery. Nothing had changed. He was still trapped, held down, mired in a dark reality. He had been inadequate at finding freedom before, and it carried forward now. His happiness was constrained.

“Do not forsake your soul to Mandos, Legolas.” He recalled the voices calling to him, the pleas bidding he stay. He had not given in to death. He had remained, his faith following their desires instead of going where his agony was lessened. He had done what was asked of him. And here were the results of his efforts. Faulty limbs. A numbed existence. His remorse grabbed him in a chokehold as this disappointment became a crushing weight.

His expression must have said much, for he saw the smile Aragorn had shared with Gimli quickly fade. “It is good news, is it not? It is a first step. It means you will be fully recovered soon. You may resume your life again. Are you not happy?”

His throat constricted with the hurt to his soul. It was immense. It was crushing and again he was reminded this seemed an extreme drop in his mood. Still, he could not seem to control what played through his mind. It was all he could do to hold back the outward signs of his sorrow. “Yes, of course,” Legolas answered weakly, “Good news indeed.” I should have put more into the answer, he berated himself, but he could not find it within him to feel anything of glee.

“Legolas?” Aragorn queried, worry ringing with the word. There was pressure in the sound of it, and with that a feeling of annoyance came to the Elf.

“What would you have of me, Aragorn?” Legolas snapped, lashing out with the sudden fire burning in his chest. He wished no more to be said on the subject. It was coming too fast, and he knew if pressed he might expose what truly lay in his heart. Blame. Blame to them for forcing this upon him.

His emotions were a war of conflicting responses, confusion reigning among them, and he wished not to think on any of it.

I should be happy. Why am I not happy? Instead the pang of deep sorrow, deep, deep anguish swept over him as the song of the water continued to fill his ears.

Rest bid him to come. He longed to find reprieve from this hurt and the sea was so haunting. Biting back his vexation, he quietly asked, “My head aches and I am not ready for this, Aragorn. Might I not just sleep a time more?”

“You have slept for nearly a fortnight already. How much more rest do you need?” Gimli asked incredulously.

Pain pierced through his chest, and the world went dead. Not even treesong could pierce the silence that followed.

The king cast a scornful eye at the Dwarf, then sighed as he dipped his head and nodded to the Elf, almost wincing as he did. Legolas knew what his friend thought. You have slept too long. And then he added his own scorn to the brew of his emotions. You barely tried. See the results of your weakness.

Gimli appeared wary of making any further slips, but laughed as if trying to pass off his prior error as a small joke. “You complain for lack of sleep, then you complain for too much of it. Do you think we did not try? You would not be roused until this moment. I for one am ready to celebrate just this. Now, with indications of a cure, the good news is doubled!”

And yet, “A fortnight . . .?” the Elf whispered. How could I have slept so long? How could I sleep so long and still want more? It was an exceptionally long recovery. Humiliation reddened his cheeks as the sea’s song grew louder.

“Your injuries were grave, apparently more so than any of us thought, Legolas,” Aragorn said as if he could read the Elf’s thoughts. It was an excuse. “As you said before, your body obviously required it.”

He patronizes me, the Elf thought, and the voice of the water came louder still.

His mind fought between two fronts. On the one side was his personal disappointment. It slammed into him with enough force to render him breathless. Such an ache did it cause. He had thought himself stronger than this. Much stronger. A warrior Elf should not require so much attention! He had been crippled by sickness and he felt humiliated by it. His dread magnified just thinking of how he had been the center of such attentions. I am weak! he berated. I am pitiful!

He eyed the king, trying to read through the stoic façade. Aragorn knows. He knows it should not have taken so long. He knows I am wasted by my pathetic ineptitude!

And on the other side of his mind was another wrong. A siren’s call cried for him. The sea sang in his ears, and the more he thought of his weakness the louder it became. Louder and louder it grew, warring for his attention over the bullying of his thoughts. It cried to him, not hidden in the recesses of his mind as it usually was, but blazing forward, hitting him with as much force as his doubts.

And then it dawned on him. He was no longer fighting his own hurts. He was fighting the sea!

He was gulping on air, eyes wide as he tried to drag himself away. His terror must have become visible, for Aragorn put his hands to either side of his face. “Legolas! Can you hear me?”

He could hear voices calling, the face of an Elf healer suddenly coming into his vision. More hands were put to him and he found himself trapped within them. The memory of Bregus and her spell was suddenly upon him and he felt as if he was being held down, pushed into a black space. He was frightened, so frightened. His fear was consuming, and he knew not what caused it. I should not feel this! I must find strength! But the sound of the sea did not end, crushing him under waves of its sound, and in a strange way it was luring him to it. He knew at the end of this horribly dizzying journey, there would be comfort, but did he dare try to reach it?

A part of him said to fight it, and the other part told him he was foolish to even try.

“Legolas, drink this!” and before he could think a cup was pushed to his lips and a brew was poured into his throat. He gagged on it, twisting.

“No!” he fought, crying as he pushed hands away. “Do not touch me! Do not force this on me!”

More voices there were, and stronger hands holding him. He could not bear to look at his captors any longer. The sea was calling and he felt himself drifting toward her sound. But then he felt a heavy dullness take over his body, and even the sea seemed to fade away to the sluggish feeling.

Within minutes, he had no will to do anything but ease back. Heavy as his eyelids felt though, he fought them, knowing to succumb to the whim of these others would be the failing of him. And worse, to give in to his body’s cry for sleep was a weakness.

A fortnight, he thought, knowing this would be his rallying point. He had slept long enough!

Voices could be heard, and he realized the dull haze of his vision was a camouflage. It appeared typical of rest, at least the kind fashioned by Elves, and he used it to eavesdrop, fighting as he did to remain partially in the waking world. Their words sounded as if they were spoken underwater, and Legolas had to fight very hard to make any sense of them.

He heard the Elf healer’s voice along with Aragorn’s. The voices faded then strengthened and then he began to understand. “ . . . an attack of this magnitude along with the long waking concerns me. It should not be as thus if he were healing well.”

“--Are no longer the issue. It is his heart that suffers the damage,” the Elf said.

Legolas was in a fog. Light and shadow merged about him and everything came both from a distance and near. Again the Elf spoke. “You know already of cuivëar in its various forms. You know there is no cure for what ails him. That alone is bad enough. From what I can discern of it, the witch’s spell meshes into his sea-longing affliction. I have no means of breaking it.”

“I know not all that he is going through now, but I feel certain that Bäla used his dejection as a trigger for the affliction. Any aches inside --doubt, shame, self-loathing -- seem to be emphasized and heightened, even enhanced, by the spell.”

“Legolas is capable of those feeling too, my lord, though it may be that he kept them well hidden before now. What I suspect is that under this spell even the smallest of those feelings grows large. And when that happens, the sea’s voice becomes ever greater for him.”

The world had grown murky, and new pressures came to Legolas. This news seemed to match all that he had felt and met. Even on the fringes of sleep he was not free of it. As he worried his fate, he felt the temptress’s beckoning call. He moaned softly into the ache the voice put to his heart.

A hand was laid upon his. The rough touch of Aragorn’s fingers brushed his skin. Like a whisper, it seemed to speak to him assurances.

“I think we owe it to him to help him find his happiness. Is Valinor the only solution? Kattica says a spell may be broken if the one who has had it cast upon them fights past it,” Aragorn offered.

There was a long pause, and then, “I have many reasons why I would wish only that, King Elessar, just as I am sure you would say the same, but if it would heal him, perhaps the Undying Lands are the best solution. I would rather see him part these lands than to have him die of heartbreak due to failure. Death or departure seems the only way out of this spell and the cuivëar it presses on him.”

The voices drifted into the fog and Legolas’ strength flagged. He was weary, and the medicine was strong. Fight as he did to remain aware, he could not, and he drifted off on a cloud of misery. Yet his heartache did not fade with his rest.

In the void of his sorrow, he tried to put sense to it all. Fight for confidence. Fight for strength. Do that or admit defeat. Admit defeat . . . and it would mean death.

The words of the two echoed in the far reaches of his mind. “ . . . The girl says these amulets give him strength of heart he might not otherwise have.”

But he did not want to depend on anyone or anything. If he was going to survive, he knew he had to be the driver to the task. And yet, Legolas knew he had to have something for which to grab. His speculation was meaningless unless prescribed to something tangible. Even in the light paths of dreams he knew to simply say, ‘Be happy’ was not enough.

“You will walk again, friend. You will be whole again soon,” a deep voice whispered to him, taking his hand, and he knew it was Gimli who spoke.

Glazed eyes turned to look at the Dwarf. Could it be enough? Could regaining his legs give him the desire again to live?

He forced his eyes to focus and mustered strength enough to move his body. It seemed so very far away as he pushed himself again to rise. His head barely left the pallet when he felt a hand on his chest that lowered him back down.

“I want to see my legs,” he murmured through his weakness, desperate now to find something that might bring him a modicum of joy, or at least reason to seek joy. In the distance, the sea crooned to him.

“Aragorn told you to keep it slow,” he heard Gimli’s voice through the ringing in his ears.

It hurt, all of it, the anguish, the personal lament. What had been done to him had driven the happiness from his soul. It was as if the world had gone an ugly shade of grey, and it was tainted because he could feel none of its pleasures, just as he had felt nothing of his legs. They were back, but lacking in the full of sensation. It matched all the other aspects of reality. Beneath the sounds of the watery echoes he could hear the wind and birdsong. They were flat and unmelodious. Bereft of anything that might remind him of life as it had once been, he wanted – no, needed – a reminder of what drew him to life, why he should fight to regain it.

Perhaps death was still the answer. He had wanted it when he had not realized the spell. He had chosen to follow the sea’s call and to let it deliver him to Mandos. But his friends had intervened and begged him to stay. For their sake he had, but not for himself. Not when his freedom had been removed from him.

But now it had been restored. There was yet a chance he might walk. The possibility of being whole again was his to take.

And with that the strength of the spell pummeled him again. The sound of a thousand voices of differing words and expectations pelted him at once. Many of them were things his father had put upon him, and he knew again these were the things that plagued him always.

“You must make never show pain. , , Do not falter. You make me look the fool for your mistakes. . . For the sake of the colony, you must prosper. . . Show your gratitude, Elf! Not all can be such as you . . . You must find happiness. When might you marry? . . . Always look proud, even if you do not feel it. . . Choose wisely. Many depend upon you. . . You are needed by your people, not these mortals. . . You will come to represent all of Elfkind. You shall be their representative . . . Always show only a brave front. . . You must not succumb to the sea.” His chest keened with the mighty ache of the looming pressures. He would never be free of what others wanted or required of him. He would never be free of his personal disappointments for not being able to fulfill all those wants.

The cool cloth washed over his fevered brow and he suddenly felt very relaxed for the comfort that offered. He sighed softly, gazing into the eyes of the one administering the ease. It was there for his taking, reason, like a lifeline dangled before him. Did he dare reach for it? Did he dare take the risk? It would mean opening his soul, making himself vulnerable to hurt if such weakness was found. Yet he was so desperately needy.

He grabbed for it greedily, wanting something that might make his heart stop hurting, his soul from feeling so empty. “That feels good,” he softly said, baiting for words, wanting more than just the distant sense of kinship haunting him.

Gimli smiled sadly as their eyes met. In that moment a world of emotions emanated from the Dwarf, and Legolas lustily drank of it, reading what he could from those shining eyes.

Love. That was it. That was what was missing. And it was given, poured into him. Legolas almost felt that his companion would reach out and touch his cheek for the tender affection in the gaze. He needed it. He needed to be loved and cared for and wanted, without something of expectation. He needed to find reason that he might yet live for he had no reason. He had nothing but the sea’s call and his own disappointment.

But there was expectation in the gaze, a hunger that was returned. Gimli wanted from him too. The Dwarf was hurting, and his eyes told how he had been waiting for – wanting -- a sign of love given back.

Legolas raged at the neediness put upon him! Just one more things he must do, and he resented that it was thought he should give it!

But another part of him urged him to step away from that depth of hurt, asking: would it be so hard? A smile? It seemed that might be all that was required. Was that so difficult to give?

His eyes slipped closed and he eased back to the waves of water, ready to withstand it that he might travel away to where his dreams brought him to happier places.

His eyes came open again. “I want to see,” he repeated, his voice desperate but sounding sluggish and far away to him, drifting on the edge of his need. He again mustered himself to rise.

“We should not . . .” But then the Dwarf stopped. Something in his eyes said he understood the Elf’s need and the war that was fought within him. The situation was serious and he seemed to realize that. “Very well then, Elf. Let us try again,” the Dwarf said, gathering an arm under Legolas’ shoulder. Dignity was removed from the situation, but Legolas no longer cared. He did not go about this task with any pride. The medicine in his body made his muscles slow to respond. If he needed, he could find blame in that.

He let his head loll against Gimli’s shoulder as he was slowly propped up. His eyes wandered unfocused until he could get his bearings. In his ear he heard Gimli say, “There now. You see?”

He set his eyes forward and looked at the length of his legs. Distantly he felt the ache of taut muscles and stretching tendons. He put a hand out to touch the limbs. Faintly he felt it prodding the skin. More, he inwardly said, and he willed all of himself into this task. His right foot flexed, just as he demanded of it, though the movement was small. Then his left knee was raised, here as he had demanded also, and without knowing it a smile came to his face.

“See. It is reason to celebrate,” Gimli’s rough voice whispered in his ear.

But Legolas felt exhausted by the effort, and though he would have liked to make comment to the Dwarf, he had no energy to do so. The world faded away in a haze, and he did not even notice when Gimli lowered him back to the pallet.

However, he did hear the Dwarf say as he slipped deeper into sleep, “Have no worries then, Elf. I will celebrate for both of us. I knew you could do it. I knew you had it in you.” And with that, Legolas felt the comfort of the sea easing away from his mind, and he thought perhaps that assurance was what he needed. It was a first step taken toward regaining his heart.

“Are we ready?” Aragorn asked, trying to make the words sound neutral and without expectation. However, he felt there was a degree of pressure in the words and he cringed inwardly at it, hoping it would go by unnoticed by the Elf.

Three more days of deep sleep had followed, and then several more of wakefulness to reach the point where they were now. Aragorn had made Legolas take them slow, forcing the Elf to recuperate at a pace that was leisurely and tedious, if not annoying for the Elf. Of course he would have liked to push harder, for he knew Legolas to usually be capable of it. But in this case, he felt it was necessary to go unhurriedly that they might convince Legolas that there was more to be accomplished than just the skill of walking again. The sea-longing had pressed upon his friend many times in that period, always accompanied by moments of doubt. But they seemed to be lessening, and Aragorn hoped in the lingering healing time, the opportunities given to see small accomplishments achieved might be enough to help the Elf find his larger successes again.

Only Aragorn and Gimli had been allowed as companions in this, though the others had been plentiful in their time spent in the Elf’s companionship these days and they nervously awaited word of how these steps might go. Aragorn could not blame the Elf for his timidity in performing for an audience. So much had been put on this moment.

Precariously the Elf stood, balancing himself with spread arms while the other two hovered near. He looked almost as a child managing his first attempt at standing, and though Aragorn had offered to place a chair before the Elf to use for balance, the prop, like the audience of observers, was rejected. Legolas seemed to abhor the need for support or touch of any sort unless given in administering necessary aid. Help was one of the things the Elf had thrown off more times than not. Like the charms, Aragorn thought. Which, of course, made Aragorn feel he must take a hovering role for his friend. Judging by the expression on the Elf’s face, he was delighted by none of Aragorn's protectiveness or concern, and his stubborn resolve to do this alone showed through.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn set his jaw. It was time to see if the healing was taking.

“Your left leg is the weaker, so you will need to lean harder upon me as we proceed,” Aragorn reminded.

“I intend to lean on no one,” the Elf curtly replied, and Aragorn grimaced at the stubborn resolve. He had thought they might be past this as the Elf had shown progress these days up to the event.

“Let him try, Aragorn,” the Dwarf said, and Aragorn had to admit there was a good life lesson in that.

“Very well,” Aragorn said, “Let us begin.” And with that, he took to his friend's side, opening the way that the Elf might take the steps forward.

Legolas gritted his teeth, and then edged his left foot forward. It was a good first move and he smiled a slight grin, for he had done this without any others placing a hand on him. Still, the Elf's pallor went an ashen hue, and though he uttered no sound, Aragorn could tell small doubts were plaguing him. When will it end? Aragorn thought, and realized this must also be the Elf’s frustration. There was much healing yet to come, but he sensed the pain would ease once Legolas regained some of his skills.

But this small progress was quickly negated as the Elf shifted his weight to his left side so that he might take a forward step on his right side. Without warning his left leg buckled, and the Elf began to fall. Instantly Aragorn was there, hand hooked beneath an arm, catching the collapsing body before it had the opportunity to descend far. To an onlooker, the slip might be seen as a small stumble, and Legolas was immediately set to right by the man.

There was no gratitude in this save, however. Anger showed clearly on the Elf’s face, and he tore his arm away, crying out as he did, “Do not touch me!” The wild swing again set him off-balance. But instead of a small tripping move, he was sent into a spin with hands lashing out at the two who came to aid him. He was not caught this time, but instead landed on his hip, his shoulder catching the impact after as it made contact with the earthen floor.

The Elf rolled, muscle memory instinctively prevailing. But his face showed the response of pain. Grimacing in agony, his breath hitched as he sobbed in an anguished sound. A tear trailed from a corner of the tightly squeezed eyes as the Elf gasped upon his pain of what his mind did to him.

Panic washed over both Aragorn and Gimli as they rushed forward, crowding the collapsed Elf.

“Legolas!” Gimli cried, reaching a hand to the Elf’s shoulder, while simultaneously Aragorn placed a hand to Legolas’ head, as if to help ease him down.

What came was unexpected, for it was certainly out of character for the Elf that they knew. Legolas hooked his hand about Aragorn’s and shoved the man away at the same time that he grunted, pulling his shoulder out of Gimli’s reach. And then, as if to make clear his hostility and disdain, he wrapped his fingers into the bindings of the two charms that were secured to his wrist and yanked them free, flinging them away.

Struck in horror, the two jumped away from the raging Elf. They watched as Legolas slowly curled in upon himself, taking up a fetal position. From there, they saw him dissolve into quiet weeping.

Tears came to his own eyes, but Aragorn realized those could not help the situation. Too much pity existed already, and even should he shed them, his remorse would not be accepted. He swallowed his heartache and dismay, immediately assessing action need be taken though uncertain what that might entail.

Giving his friend a moment’s peace, Aragorn stepped forward, kneeling before the fallen figure. “Mayhap we move too fast,” he offered as an opening for which the Elf might make comment as he put out his hand to help.

The hand was ignored as the Elf twisted to rise to a seated position. “Mayhap you should leave me be,” came the answer. Biting words these were; scolding they sounded as if Legolas were intending to push Aragorn further away with them.

“Nay, friend. I will not leave you be. Not until I see you rise and stand on your own.”

“Is that what it would take? Shall I do so now that you would ease yourself away?” The fury that met him was clearly designed to shun, but the Gondor lord would not be moved.

“There are other means of standing on one’s own than just through the use of one’s legs,” Aragorn chided.

Legolas snarled, goading a fight, “I suppose in that you mean that I should use prying hands instead to help me rise! Haven't you urged me on enough, Aragorn? I feel your expectations as if they were a weight on my back. No wonder I collapse under them!”

“It is not enough!” the Elf snapped at the Dwarf. “You put this on me, Aragorn. And you, Gimli! You brought me back! It was not my choice! You made me thus!” Legolas accused.

“Cease this! Cease this now!” Gimli cried. “I have had enough of your pitying lament, Elf! Have you any right to push away the hands that try to help you?”

“It is mine to decide! Mine! And I will not be pressed upon to accept yet something else of another’s make!”

“Something else? As if we will this upon you? Think again, Elf, for I have had fairer times than this and at the moment you bring me no joy!”

“Gimli, stop!” Aragorn hissed. None of this could be helping the Elf’s state of mind.

“I do not ask you to stay! I do not ask for your aid! Leave me! If you so wish to please me, leave! It makes my decision that much easier!”

“And what decision is that? To leave?” Legolas turned a shamed face away from the roaring Dwarf. He curled in on himself, drawing his arms up to his ears as if to block something out.

“Oh, I would not doubt it. So easy that would be for you! Having it pressed into your mind like that makes it all that much more fair!" Legolas delivered a scathing glare with that comment but said nothing. "And yet you treat us as if we are the ones who did this to you! Fine! So be it then! Depart! Go away! As if we would stop you were you to truly want it on your own! But realize this before you go: your friends choose only happiness for you. We would not try to foist our desires upon you or force you into something that makes you ill or uncomfortable. If going on to your precious Blessed Realm is your choice, then joy go with you, for I see none here! But it could have been! It would be if you would open your heart to it!”

Reddened in the face, Gimli stormed away, but he did not leave the site. It seemed to Aragorn he had more he might say, and yet he was too furious to speak it. Or perhaps he was afraid to say it. In any case, he stalked to the other side of the bower, purposely keeping his eyes turned away from the Elf.

Aragorn sighed and looked at the aftermath. For Gimli he knew a moment’s recovery was all that was needed. But for Legolas . . . he had been terribly worried about the Elf’s heart. Such an outburst, though honest, was rather brutal. He was not sure Legolas was ready for something so brazen. He stepped forward then and realized as he did that Gimli’s outburst had an effect he had not anticipated. The Elf seemed to be pondering the Dwarf’s words.

There was still hurt though. Legolas’ eyes clamped shut as Aragorn neared, but on a positive note he had dropped his arms and was not locked in a struggle to fight off the sound.

Aragorn put a hand to the Elf’s shoulder. “Gimli is right, Legolas. It is time to make a decision.”

There answer was slow to come, hesitant and said in a whisper, yet the man heard it. “I am afraid.”

“Of opening my heart. I am afraid of the effect the sea-longing will have if I expose myself to vulnerability.”

It could not be ignored. It was the opening he had been looking for and Aragorn kneeled before the Elf, his hands out and open, “We all are so much more vulnerable when we give of ourselves. But to close your heart instead only strengthens what hurts you. That was not always the path you chose.”

The wariness seemed to be gone, and all that remained was anguish and honest uncertainty. With a furrowed brow, the Elf gasped, choking on his weak reply, “How do I know my heart has not already chosen? I know not what I would choose anymore. It presses on me at all times, and I do not know how to stop it, except to accept it. ”

“Then let me offer you counsel. I will not force my will. The choice is yours, as it is for all Elfkind. You know what is being put upon you." Then seeing the Elf's sorrow, he drew nearer. "I will tell you this; your case is exceptional. I speak not of the cuivëar when I say this or even of what Bäla did. I know you well and can tell you that you have always been unique among your people. Perhaps that is why the sea-longing presses upon you so fiercely.

“Bäla’s spell does not make it easy, I know, but it can be broken. You must find your sense of ease again.

“Perhaps I may guide you. I have known many of the Firstborn, and I know their failings as well as their strengths. So many find it in them only to reminisce of the past. That is a bitter path. The world is a constantly changing place, and complacency and remorse only make it stale and uninviting. That is the fate of those who close their hearts. Have you not seen it? But you are different from them. You have always been one to look forward, not behind. You have seen the opportunities left open to you and what may grow as a result of keeping your mind adaptive to change. Your heart is young. You do not shun what may yet come. You live not in past agonies. You have always been one to live for the future and what lies before of you. You would not be the Elf we love were you to look with eyes always gazing back.”

"But by refusing the past, I set myself up to make the same mistakes again and again. I make myself vulnerable to failure,” Legolas countered.

"And by looking only to the past, you may forget you are loved in the present. Gimli is correct in saying that perhaps all you need do is give your consent to be joyous again and to accept our love and our help. The sea’s call may fade if you are willing to relinquish your ego, and take the love given. I think in time you may come to see that you can give love in return without suffering, as you believe you might. Love can be strong medicine,” Aragorn said as he touched the Elf’s hand.

Legolas looked up at Aragorn with an expression that revealed just how lost he truly was. “But how do I know if my desire to stay or depart is not yet one more manipulation among the many I have endured? I swear, Aragorn, my heart cannot take any more of this.”

And then Aragorn saw his friend, as he truly knew him to be, not hidden behind a wall of scorn, or dejection, or pain. Instead he saw the fairer Elf, heartbroken and sad, another wound revealed. The Elf’s eyes beseeched him and the king opened his arms, engulfing him with his love. The embrace closed about Legolas’ shaking form, and the Elf leaned into it, accepting it, taking healing from it. “You have been through much,” Aragorn soothed. “But you need not go through more. Not alone. Trust your heart. Lean on us. It need not be a permanent solution, only one that will help heal you. We wish only to see you succeed and find happiness.”

The words seemed to hurt, for the Elf stiffened in his arms before Legolas gently pulled himself away. “I fear that not all will feel that way. I seem to be destined for failure, Aragorn. Doro Lanthiron declines under my leadership.”

A puzzled smile worked Aragorn’s mouth as he wondered at this statement. “How can you say this when I see such growth occurring within the colony?”

Legolas’ eyes glistened as a wry smile played on his lips. “The colony will crumble into financial dissolution before the winter is complete. You might understand, Aragorn. I will not pretend that I do. It seems that we are too successful, for we cannot compensate enough to make up for the boon to our expansion. The Elves of Ithilien grow beyond our means to support ourselves. Our population cannot be maintained by what we provide for ourselves. How do I ask for help when my people may be forced into compromise for the sake of survival?”

Aragorn blinked, wondering at the depth that this worry brought upon the Elf. It seemed so extreme and was worth further query, for he could see that Gondor could be an aid to the Elves’ plight, if they were allowed. But he refrained from speaking this thought for he realized this was just the thing to which Legolas might object. Too many had already pressed their whims and wills upon Legolas, and the fair Eldar was torn by it. He feared not just for himself, but also his people.

He could almost read the thoughts carried in those orbs as the words were replied. “We show our weakness in asking for help.”

This had to be dispelled. It was damaging to linger like this the hurts and dissuading this stubborn pride. The man abruptly raged. “No. You show your faith in your friends by asking. We do not mock that! We admire that! Loyalty and the desire to help must count for something, for we would find no shame in receiving the same of you.”

“But there is shame! I should have seen what was to come! I should have prepared for this flaw and protected my people that they would not have to suffer!” Again, the hands went up to the Elf’s ears, and he hissed at a twinge of what might be seen as pain.

Aragorn knew this was moving in a way that was drawing the cuivëar near, and so he cried out, “What more would you have of me, Legolas? We are all guilty of something in what has come here. Blame me for having us come! Blame Arwen for making the suggestion! Blame Gimli for taking up the challenge to hunt as my companion! Blame the Romany people for unwittingly falling under evil’s spell! Blame everyone, including yourself. And when done, where else might we foist blame? With your father for his cloying neediness? With Lord Elrond’s decision to send you on the quest? Can you not see where placing blame takes you, Legolas? Backward. Again and again to the past. Backward until you realize you are no longer moving toward a goal and the world has become cold and stagnant. It is an ugly and grey place if you cannot look ahead.”

He turned back to the subject that had been at hand. “Financial hardships can be overcome, my friend. Gondor would help you.” Seeing the downcast turn of the Elf’s eyes, Aragorn interjected, “There is no humility or weakness in that. Not everything can work at an even course, but if you keep your eyes ahead, you will not notice that the road has turned.”

Before more could be said, Gimli turned, and a determined light was in the Dwarf’s eyes as he called out. “It need not even be this, Legolas. I have found your solution though I have hesitated to say as much before now. Your people need not worry or be indebted, for there is an asset on these lands that is yours, and I daresay you had not considered it such ere this moment.” And with that, Gimli pulled from the reaches of his pockets a handful of brilliant nuggets.

The Elf’s eyes widened as he appeared to comprehend what it was the Dwarf held. “Mithril?” Legolas asked.

“But . . . “ the Elf looked from the stones to Aragorn then to Gimli, his eyes a war of thought and emotion. Then his face set firmly and his brow creased. Aragorn saw the answer before it was spoken. “No,” Legolas said.

“No?” Gimli sputtered before his face turned to rage. “Fool Elf! You dismiss this as if it were a decision about what you should eat for your supper! How can you answer so simply?”

It appeared Legolas had greater thought for his answer than this. “No!” he repeated. “It is not mine! The lands that you took these from are not mine from which to steal.”

“The Elves do not take from these lands without giving something in return. We cannot—“ Legolas began.

But Aragorn understood both sides of the argument and he would not allow Legolas to turn it aside for the obligation it would press upon him. “Do you not think what you offer in replenishing the green of Ithilien is recompense enough for what you might take? Gimli shares a solution with you that may serve your people. He deserves to be heard,” Aragorn interrupted.

“Nor do you! Yet you reject it straight out!” Aragorn shouted, then he mastered his tongue, driving it to speak in a calmer voice that might seem to hold the sense of control that was needed for this situation. “Gondor and Doro Lanthiron can negotiate the nuances of an agreement later. There is so much to gain by such. Do not forget it is in Gondor’s interest to keep the colony whole too. Open your mind and your heart. There is much being offered beyond just a solution to your worries.”

“I would offer to send some of my Dwarves to mine it if you think it might aid your task.” Then quickly Gimli added, “But you may pay us if you so wish. There would not be words of burden or recompense if you did.”.

Aragorn turned pleading eyes to the Elf. “Legolas, again I say to you, we would see you succeed.”

Legolas’ lips were drawn into a thin line, and he seemed to be enraged by what, Aragorn decided, must seem like yet more plying. “By accepting the support of others rather than proving I have the strength to do it on my own?”

It was enough. The argument had grown old, and it was fraught in self-pity rather than logical solution.

“Why is that wrong?” Aragorn asked. “Think about it, Legolas. No one truly ever succeeds without a measure of support from others. I did not fight the war alone. Sauron was not defeated by the likes of our Fellowship alone, nor did Frodo make it into Mordor by his own skills alone. These tasks were accomplished through the help of many. We worked together and together we saw it through.” Then he considered for a moment and said with a small smile, “Like Gimli and that silly weapon of his, the task is best accomplished when the effort is one of a team.”

The Elf looked away, but Aragorn went on. “Just because the nightmare of war has ended, do not begin to think we stop depending upon each other. There is a reason for our fellowship. It is there that we may find support when we may need it. You need not live as an exile to prove your strength.”

The Elf was weakening and Aragorn suspected it stemmed at this base. And for so much more, but that was the root.

In the whole of it, he knew confidence must be introduced. “This setback to the colony is a small thing really, Legolas. By focusing on this small setback, I think you may have missed the whole of the picture.”

Legolas gazed at him with questioning eyes that implored Aragorn to continue. “Do you know why so many of the Elves come to Doro Lanthiron, my friend? Can you guess? It is not for its proximity as a haven, and it is certainly not so they may be closer to men,” Aragorn laughed. “Here is the secret I dare reveal: the success of Doro Lanthiron is because of you. You, my friend. Can you not see that? Do you not hear? Even the healer said nearly as much. You made replenishing the lands your goal because you would yet look ahead and see what good you might bring to Middle-earth. You refused to look backward at the harm done to this place, and instead you chose to rebuild it. And from there it spread. Legolas,” he said, taking the Elf’s hands in his own. “The Elves do not flock to Ithilien. They flock to you. You give them the initiative to go on. You give them the ambition they need to yet thrive. You give them goals that they might live here longer. If not for you, they would depart. How they admire you, Legolas. Can you not see?”

Changing tact again before the Elf had a chance to put up a wall, Aragorn smiled and said, “But there is something you must do on your own. It would prove you have the strength to do as you would choose.”

“You may walk,” the king said, and he knew his eyes shone true and focused as he said this, for it was how he felt.

Hesitance met him and the meek answer was slow to come. “What if I fall?” Legolas asked, now seeming suddenly so small.

This seemed to appease something in Legolas’ heart. It took another long moment for it to pass, but then a soft smile came upon the Elf’s lips as he nodded his acceptance.

Without asking, Gimli was at his side, and together they stood him up, making him ready to journey forward. Legolas grimaced, the ache in his body apparent, but there he balanced between man and Dwarf.

And then Aragorn spoke quietly into the Elf’s ear. “I will make you a pledge, my friend, if you will make one to me.” The Elf looked at him, and Aragorn realized this was the lesson the king had needed to learn. And so he had, and he was willing to put it to practice in everything and everyone he might know. It no longer applied solely to Arwen and himself. Perhaps he could be a better man for it. And with that, he realized they had all learned some very important lessons on this journey. Legolas could be eased if he would share his burden, and Faramir could proceed when his anguish was revealed. Éowyn found her strength when she was doing for others. And so on.

All these lessons had been learned, but Aragorn could only speak on the one he had known. “I will let you stand alone,” he said to the Elf, finding his calm, and then he added, “I must, for holding you would only hinder your progress and you will come to hate me if I keep you aright. However, freedom such as this comes with a condition. You must promise you will seek my aid when I might help you. Will you do this?”

Legolas gazed deeply into the man’s soul, as if understanding the base of where that lesson had been learned, and then he nodded, and both Aragorn and Gimli released their holds, standing poised on either side of the Elf as he balanced alone.

As before, the first step was taken and it went well. But when it came time to shift his weight and balance on his weaker leg, the Elf hissed in pain. And just as his hand came out to reach for Legolas before he fell, Aragorn felt his friend’s hand take his arm and pull himself up on the king’s weight. On the other side of the Elf, he saw the same measure taken on the shoulder of the Dwarf, and between the two, Legolas was able to stand.

Legolas did not pull his hands away for the step that followed, nor for the one after, but by the time they had slowly walked the path before them, the Elf had managed to cling with less force, each step a lightened burden, and each tread was more certain because they stood at his side to help him make his journey. And soon enough, he could walk the path on his own.

“Do you tire, Legolas?” Aragorn asked, and Gimli too noted the weariness coming upon the Elf’s appearance. A light sheen glimmered over Legolas’ skin, and his breath came somewhat hurriedly. It seemed this small exercise had fatigued him.

True to form though, Legolas denied it. “I am fine, Aragorn,” he answered, and Gimli wondered what the healer might say to that.

Yet Aragorn smiled, amused by this answer as he pulled over the chair that they had tried to use as a crutch earlier and indicated that Legolas should sit in it. “Rest for a few minutes, my friend and we might do it again. Think you that I might tell the others they are granted permission to draw near? They expected your success, and I do not doubt they will want to commend you for a job well done,” he stated. Legolas momentarily hesitated, then nodded, smiling slightly.

Gimli felt heartened by the expression on his friend’s face. Even if it was just a small indication of happier tidings, it was more than he had seen of Legolas in a very long time. Gimli’s own face reflected the thrill of this, and that in turn seemed to have effect on the Elf.

“I have to apologize, Gimli,” Legolas said in the peace that came between them.

Gimli looked at the Elf but was uncertain he knew what was meant. He could think of many hurts he had suffered in the last few weeks, but none of them directly at the hands of his friend. It would be unkind to direct that on Legolas when he knew the Elf was in a recovery state. “I know no reason an apology is required,” Gimli replied.

In the next breath, though, he chastised himself for saying as much. In the best of times, finding means of pointing out any weakness of the Elf was one of the Dwarf’s primary occupations. And he knew Legolas truly enjoyed such occasions, even if to the outside observer it appeared their exchanges were brutal. The humorous barbs were their way of showing their affection for one another. Though the Dwarf had been hesitant to do so in these days (seeing how sensitive Legolas’ mood had been), he felt perhaps now was the time to resume this part of their ritual.

But Gimli had just allowed it to pass. Legolas had actually apologized and Gimli had let it go by. Fool Dwarf! he thought. You catch yourself up in pity. How often does such an opportunity come?

Legolas, however, seemed to be game for some better humor, though perhaps he had forgotten he was setting himself up for such. He appeared so serious. His voice was low in admission. “Nay, Gimli. I was harsh on you, and you proved you were right.” Legolas’ eyes dipped and true sorrow could be seen to dim his face.

Immediately Gimli was humbled. Any hope he could have had of playfully striking the Elf was wiped away in that most sincere show of humility. It suddenly seemed inappropriate to the Dwarf to let such a thing work to diminish what was an unspoken value placed upon their friendship. He decided that for whatever it was the Elf was apologizing, he would forgive it. That is certainly what he did under normal circumstances. At least in most cases. Well, some. In any case, it did not befit Gimli to let such a hurt fester, and if Legolas was truly so agonized by his shame, it behooved no one to ridicule that harm. He felt certain that for whatever it was Legolas was apologizing, had he known there was reason to apologize, he would have dismissed it the moment it had happened. Therefore, he would dismiss it now. His chest puffed up. He felt rather proud of his resolve.

“You are too sensitive, for I know no indignity you have put upon me. Let us move past it, shall we?” the Dwarf recommended, turning away as if to dismiss the subject. He noticed then the two amulets the Elf had tossed in his earlier fury and went over to retrieve them from the low bramble where they had landed.

Legolas, however, did not dismiss it. “Nay, Gimli, I cannot move beyond it until you have forgiven me,” the Elf said with a voice flecked in misery. “Such a heinous hurt. I cannot imagine how you survived my ridicule and shaming ways.”

Gimli was now stymied, for he had no punishment for which to fit a crime. Valar, he makes a large show of his humility. I wonder what he did? the Dwarf pondered as he fingered the charms. As such, he was at a loss and he found he could not make eye contact. “Um, er, forget it, Elf.”

The boldness of Legolas’ voice forced Gimli to look though. “Forget it? I cannot. Nor do I think any of us can. It is rather large, after all,” the Elf said with a small smile creeping over his lips.

“Your halberd, of course. I am apologizing for doubting its usefulness,” Legolas replied with a slightly cocked head.

Was that all? The Elf had made such a large show of his apology and for something the Dwarf felt no shame. And then it almost had felt like he was going to be spoofed for it. Then again, Giml remembered the Elf’s erratic moods, and decided this extreme was just part of the healing Legolas was experiencing. Perhaps this is what Gimli needed to do to help his friend recover, be a sounding board for the extremes and help the Elf learn to ease them into normal response. In any case, he was now sure he had misjudged. The Dwarf’s chest puffed up in small pride as he rose with the charms in hand. He was pleased with his choice of weapon, and therefore he would accept this apology. “I am gladdened to see you have learned what such might wield.”

Legolas nodded, and then he lightly confessed, “Truthfully, I thought you might have been overcompensating. I am heartened to learn I was wrong and that the halberd was a useful tool after all,” Legolas continued.

But words among that scattered comment drew the Dwarf’s attention. Gimli’s brows furrowed and he felt his beard bristle. “Overcompensating, you say. Overcompensating for what?”

A glint of amusement sparked in those clear blue eyes. “You know,” Legolas whispered. “Your inadequacies in other areas.”

“WHAT other areas, Elf?” the Dwarf rumbled. And then he knew he was had. There was no turning back.

Legolas glanced to his left, then right before speaking in a hushed tone, “Your weapon.”

“It is rather lacking, you know. Especially in comparison to those of the others.”

“Not the halberd. It is huge!” Legolas proclaimed, and then he laughed, obviously finding amusement in the Dwarf’s embarrassment.

Gimli felt his face redden. He was not sure if he should laugh, or pummel the Elf. Instead he growled, vowing to himself he would get Legolas back. At least there was no audience for this, Gimli thought.

He stalked away, making a show of his irritation and looking for an excuse to be done with the Elf’s good humor. And then he realized he still held the amulets, and so he turned, stomped over to the Elf and thrust his hand out to return them. His movements were rather brusque.

As if sensing the joke were enough, the Elf slowed his laugh to a smile, and then stifled it more to bring it to sobering stillness. He paused as he looked at the enmeshed charms in the Dwarf’s hand, as if pondering their meaning, and then he carefully untangled one, taking them both as he did. He handed a cord back to the Dwarf while keeping the other. “That one belongs to Kattica,” Legolas said as that particular amulet was returned, and Gimli understood the meaning. Kattica should take back what was hers. He needed the protection no more. He would find his own way back into this world.

The mood was no longer the light mirth they had borne a moment earlier, and despite the moment of humility the Elf had just suffered him, Gimli was moved. And then he realized he would have things no other way between them. And so he expressed it in the kindest way he could. He spoke from his heart.

“I am glad you are feeling better, Legolas. I feared I might be forced to ride your silly horse out of here on my own.” It was as close to an admission of love he could get. And then he masked the lump in his throat by harrumphing, “That would have been pleasant for no one.”

Gimli nearly choked on this reply, but then he saw the near tears and his friend’s eyes and knew that that was as close as the Elf might come to expressing the same love. It took everything within Gimli not to burst out with laughter -- or tears -- so filled with joy was he in that instant.

Gimli could then hear the others walking the forest path, and he turned to meet them. But as he did, he heard the tolling of laughter. It came again from his Elven companion.

“Why, Elf?” Gimli asked, feeling as if he was again being set up for a jest.

“For ignoring your mother’s teaching. Did she not show you how to match your clothing when you dress?” Legolas chuckled.

The sound was music to Gimli’s ears, for twice now it had come, and he had not heard such a sound in weeks. He looked upon the merriment in Legolas’ face, noting as he did the light shining in the blue eyes, and Gimli could not refrain the smile that pressed his own lips. He followed the gaze and saw that the Elf looked upon his attire, and specifically his foot, as he asked, “Very well. I cannot refrain from asking. Why do you wear a single red boot, Dwarf?”

Suddenly Gimli knew why he had refused to have the bandages removed. Were it any other time, the Dwarf knew he would have made it his highest priority to have the red bindings gone, but he had hesitated, and though he had been unsure why up until this moment, now he knew. He had left them so that he might hear his friend laugh. He understood. He would willingly be the butt of the joke. In fact he would do anything so long as he could hear the sound of his friend’s laughter again.

And as Legolas’ question was asked, Aragorn stepped before them, his eyes intent on the Elf though his own question was directed to the Dwarf. He laughed softly as he neared, obviously pleased with the Elf’s easier mood. Gently he queried, “It seems our friend is feeling renewed. Shall we resume as we had before?”

Gimli turned to gaze hard at the man, amazed at the coincidence of the question. To his question, and the Elf’s, Gimli had but one answer.

Chuckling for the joy both his friends brought him, he found himself thoroughly amused by this, jubilant and tearful for what lie before them, and further for what might yet come. These were their first steps, their last steps, their middle steps. They were all part of their journey traveled together, and the Dwarf was eager to progress forward from this point. His eyes were bright as he looked from the Elf to the man. He paused for a moment, composing his words. And then he let it go, choosing to live in the happiness of the moment instead.

“Well, it has long been time you got around to asking that, I think,” he finally said. Then with a burst of sweet joy he continued, “To the both of you I say the same: You have no idea how I have wanted to hear you say just those words. I thought you might never get around to asking.”

A/N: Please proceed forward to the Epilogue. Stay behind your line leader and keep your arms and legs in the vehicle until the ride has come to a complete halt. Thank you.

“Not much further, Gimli!” Legolas announced to his Dwarven companion, his long gait giving him the advantage of covering the ground ahead of them in quicker time. He was urging his friend on and as he did, he noted there was barely any sign of a limp left in his stride, and that his steps were taken without pain. Legolas smiled. It felt good to walk about so freely, even if done so in this locale. Merrily, he directed their way to his friend, his feet lightly touching ground on the pavement of the city streets.

Despite his disdain for city life, the brisk evening air of autumn felt fair in his lungs. The cool temperatures only seemed to invigorate him as the visage of the city settling into night’s peace made his heart feel good.

Minas Tirith was golden. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of rose, peach and honey, turning the reflective white walls of Minas Tirith golden as the fiery ball kissed the horizon before passing into the west.’ Legolas gave a final farewell to Anor for having bestowed her fair beauty upon them again even as he welcomed the milky appearance of Ithil, already rising in the sapphire skies to the Southwest. The colors of the sky were mirrored in the shadows, rich indigo and cobalt, hiding in the doorways and alleys as they cut into the avenue on which they walked. Indeed, it was a marvelous night.

“Why the rush, Elf?” Gimli huffed in protest, struggling to keep up with the pace Legolas struck. “For an immortal , you should hardly feel compelled to get anywhere with such haste. It is wasted on you.”

Legolas laughed, not realizing until then that he had been moving at such a clipped pace, and he modestly slowed his steps so that the Dwarf might catch up with him. He was feeling especially buoyant on this eve, and he was in a fair mood to jest. Thus he replied in a teasing voice, “Perhaps this is true for a creature as long-lived as you, but I have much to accomplish yet in this age. I cannot spend it lumbering in slow strides.”

Gimli raced forward on his stout legs, shaking his head and looking with serious contemplation at his friend. To that Legolas merely laughed, “Such mirth!” the Dwarf frowned. “What makes you so merry?”

Legolas frowned, his brow furrowing in disappointment. “Gimli! Were you not at the same gathering as I just this afternoon at the palace?“ the Elf asked incredulously.

Gimli smirked and it became suddenly apparent the Dwarf had been jesting it turn. “Yes, yes, Elf. I was there and I heard. And a happier bit of news it could not be.”

“Indeed,” Legolas laughed. He knew Gimli to use any bit of gossip as an excuse to celebrate. However it had been the Elf’s suggestion to do so tonight.

“But you cannot tell me you were not already aware of the queen’s condition? ” Gimli egged on eyeing the Elf with a knowing glance. “Elven wisdom being all you proclaim it to be, I would have expected you to have known the moment the blessed event occurred.”

Legolas knew his brow furrowed as he considered this. His mood dimmed slightly at the thought, and the reminder of those dark days late in the summer cast a small shadow of hesitance over his current actions. “I suppose I did,” he began, frowning as he thought about it. “I was unable to feel anything for their happy news as I was more caught up in self-pity at the time. My mood has lifted much since then, though,” he remarked brightly, knowing that what he was about to do was meant to further aid him in removing any remaining doubt.

Gimli stopped where he stood, pulling the Elf to a halt as he did. He stared at the Elf, almost gulping on air. “You do not mean to tell me . . . You cannot mean to say . . . Legolas, was this baby conceived on that ill-fated hunting trip?”

The Elf laughed, his momentary plunder into retrospective mood wiped away with the Dwarf’s expression of shock. “That holiday was not entirely an ill-conceived notion, Dwarf. As you can see something of good was begat there. Were I to guess, I would venture it occurred whence they were trapped in that cave.”

Mouth agape, Gimli seemed caught in the gossipy undercurrent of this speculation. “Not even after the fact, but before. Say it is not so!” the Dwarf gasped in disbelief.

Legolas laughed, shaking his head as he resumed his steps. Seconds later, the Dwarf was matching his pace. However, Gimli seemed to have donned a quizzical expression. Speaking in a far softer voice than was typical of the Dwarf, as if he feared they might be heard, Gimli hesitantly asked, “You do not think Aragorn and Arwen would ever tell the youngling of his conception, do you?”

Now it was Legolas’ turn to be mortified. “Ai! Elbereth Gilthoniel! And give the child nightmares? I think not!”

The Dwarf laughed in amusement at the Elf’s expression and he nodded as if they had found a point of agreement.“ But tell me Legolas, if you knew –,”

Gimli’s speech was cut short as Legolas came to a sudden halt, nearly tripping Gimli as he did.

“Why do you stop, Elf?” Gimli’s voice grumbleed as he grabbed the Elf’s arm to regain his balance.

“I stop because we have come to our destination,” Legolas answered with a shrug.

“Here? This is where you would have us go to celebrate the king and queen’s good fortune?” the Dwarf asked in surprise.

Legolas looked up, gazing at the rustic sign. The words, ‘Sleeping Dragon’ were emblazoned upon the slab of wood swinging above the door. Carved letters were painted and a rather comical version of what a dragon might appear to look like was nestled about them. The squeaking sound of hooks chafing against the iron sign post was grating to his ears, and a wave of apprehension suddenly made the Elf shudder. How easy it would be to simply turn back.

Working up his nerve, he said in a tone that hid the deep apprehension he truly felt as he lightly chuckled, “I would not think you would object, Master Dwarf. After all, was it not you who introduced me to this establishment of fine refreshment on a cheery summer’s eve not so very long ago?”

Gimli harrumphed, looking up at the sign then back at the Elf before answering with a wary tone. “Exactly the reason why I would never expect you to cross that threshold again,” Gimli retorted, frowning. “Your last sojourn here did not turn out so well for you -- if you will recall.”

“I do recall – at least most of it I do – and that is just the reason I choose to come here yet again. The last time we partook of the hospitality of this place, it was before we departed with our friends on that ill-fated journey. Now our friends return with good tidings to bear. Seeing that their happy situation was the result of that not-so-pleasant holiday, and I think it is fitting we should renew our acquaintance with this tavern, if for no other reason than to say that we have concluded where we began, and to put it past us.” He paused, sighing, and said almost to himself. “And I think it is time that I owned up to ‘thissuch’ and all that has come since.”

Gimli sighed a hesitant breath, then asked in a voice that could not hide his underlying feelings of concern, “Do you think that is prudent, friend?”

Legolas felt his jaw tighten as he grimly watched the sign swing in the night breeze with a rusty groan. It was a foreboding place to him, but he knew were he to find the last of his recovery he needed to cross that threshold. “Indeed I do,” he said at last.

The Dwarf shrugged, appearing as if he did not quite agree; but he did not voice it. “Very well, Elf. Let us go forward then,” he said.

The door opened on noisy hinges, and a wave of heat escaped the abode as the pair stepped over the threshold. The roar of celebration blasted in the Elf’s ears, and he nearly cringed at the noise. A smoky haze hung in the air, and Legolas felt his eyes sting for the murky residue that clouded his sight once inside. It was plain to see that the tavern was as crowded and raucous now as it had been on the night of the city’s prior celebration. Word of the queen’s good news seemed to have traveled, and the festivities surrounding such happy rumors appeared to have already begun. Legolas wondered how long the city’s citizens might not milk the opportunity to celebrate this event. Based upon what he knew of Aragorn’s people, their jubilation might last for some time. Still, it was the first night of the news, and the Elf too was in the mood to join them. Warily, perhaps, but ready to take on the task.

Mal, the innkeeper, was in his element. As he looked up to note their arrival, a cheery smile spread over his red face as he hustled from the far side of the tavern to greet his new guests. And just as before, his arms were spread wide in greeting.

“Gimli! Legless!” he shouted, as if they were intimate friends. “Good to have you gents with us on this fine eve! Enter! Enter! Let us find you a place to sit!” The words barely passed his lips as a table in the center of the room cleared with a glance in that direction. It seemed that word of the Elf and Dwarf’s friendship with the royal couple was common knowledge among these folk. Eyes lit up among the people as their identities were relayed and whispered about the room.

A prodding hand guided them to the table, pushing them through the masses as chairs rolled aside to part a way for them. With a quick swipe of the wooden surface (washed down, as Legolas noted, with what looked to be the same stained rag from their first visit), Mal waved them into their seats, eagerly looking upon them with uncontained joy and anticipation.

“I would gather you gents have been up to the palace long enough to hear the blessed tidings? ‘Tis a wonderful thing, is it not? Gondor’s to have an heir. The people could not be prouder!”

“Good tidings indeed!” Gimli confirmed, and Legolas nodded and smiled, laughing almost at the bursting smile on the innkeeper’s face. One would think the tavern owner was the proud father, so gleeful did he appear. Somehow though, Legolas suspected that as happy as Mal was, it was partly due to the boost in patronage this night brought him.

The barkeep looked at them attentively. “The usual then, gents?” he asked, winking at Legolas with an amused smile.

“Aye, Mal. Bring us the usual,” Gimli interrupted, eyeing the Elf with a look of chagrin.

“For my friend, perhaps, but I would prefer something more to my usual tastes. I will have a goblet of wine, if you have it,” Legolas asserted. The grim expression on Gimli’s face told him what his companion thought of the Elf’s preferred choice.

Mal gave Legolas a querying blink, as if he had heard the order incorrectly. “You do not want one of those --?”

Mal gave Gimli an astonished glance, to which the Dwarf sheepishly frowned. “Legolas, why not try—,” Gimli began in an earnest whisper.

“Wine,” Legolas stated, cutting the Dwarf off before more could be uttered. Then turning to Mal, the Elf cocked an inquisitive brow and said, “You do dispense that beverage here, do you not?”

Mal’s pride was obviously hurt by the query. “Good sir,” he said, “this tavern brags the widest array of drinks in all the city.”

Appeased, Mal wiped his hands on his apron as he resumed his eager posture. “I have a fine Elven vintage if that would meet your satisfaction.”

“Thank you, yes,” Legolas replied, for indeed that would meet his satisfaction. Feeling smug as he glanced at the embarrassed expression painted across Gimli ’s face he laughed, noting that the Dwarf would not meet his eyes.

A long minute passed, and Legolas was sated with his pleasure, but he knew it was time to let his friend off the hook. He said, “Did you have a question you were going to ask me before we entered this establishment?”

Gimli’s brow furrowed as he attempted to recall the earlier thought. After a moment it struck him, and he looked rather relieved to have a new topic to discuss. “I would have asked had I not had been tripped up by those lanky tree limbs you call legs. Yes then, Legolas, I do have a question, and I wonder more now than ever as you continue to assert yourself this eve: why is it you now choose to celebrate when you had known all this time that Arwen was with child? Surely you could have guessed that Minas Tirith would be in a festive mood upon release of the king’s news? I would think you would want to avoid a crowd.”

Legolas chuckled at the long-winded route the Dwarf had come to ask. “My reason is simple. I did not celebrate because Elessar and Arwen chose not to make this revelation until now. I can keep a secret, my friend, and I think they were waiting until Arwen’s return to make their announcement,” Legolas replied as their drinks were delivered to them.

“Now hold there, Elf. I need to get a fact or two straight here. I understand that perhaps you may have known of Arwen’s condition. Arwen obviously knew. But I had attributed that to your being Elves. Somehow it seems the Firstborn can see when a woman is in such a state,” Gimli began.

Gimli frowned, appearing uncertain if Legolas was yet pulling his leg or not. He rolled his eyes, then said, “Regardless, you knew of her condition long before the rest of us did. But the king is not an Elf. Are you telling me Aragorn was privy to knowledge of her condition as well?” Gimli asked.

Legolas leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. The Dwarf seemed to consistently miss the easy openings he left for his friend, and Legolas found this one simply too good to pass up. He continued to chortle as he said, “Gimli, perhaps there is something about Dwarven mating habits I do not know. Then again,” Legolas interjected with a look of disgust. “I do not think I wish to know. But in human reproduction, as well as in the Elven equivalent, the father is usually somewhat aware of the, er, action, in which he participates.”

Gimli sighed in exasperation as he gave an expression that made it seem he wondered how the Elf could be so dense. “That is not what I mean, Elf, and you are well aware of it! I mean that it seems odd Aragorn would be aware of her state and yet allow his queen to make the journey to Poros and back again with nary a worrying glance. Were she my queen, and I knew her to be with child, I would not let her depart from my sight.”

“’Allowed’? ‘Were she my queen’? Gimli, you make her sound as if she were a child herself . . . a possession even. I assure you that that is not the case, and I am gladdened to see Aragorn has at last learned his lesson on this,” Legolas stated.

“The king has treated his bride in nothing but the most mannerly of ways as far as I can tell,” Gimli protested. “I do not know if there is any lesson for which he needed to learn. The lady is treated like a . . . queen,” Gimli stated, giving a nod as he drank from the frothy tankard.

Legolas laughed. “No doubt,” he agreed, sipping from his cup. “But I think somewhere in his short years, our Aragorn forgot what is most keen in matters of respect. In Elven culture, all are regarded for what they might contribute, and none are discriminated against.”

Gimli frowned. “I understand your point, but I would disagree. Were I to know she were in a condition of bearing child, I would hesitate to let her do anything but recline in a waiting position.”

Legolas gave the Dwarf a disbelieving glare as he shook his head in wonder. “No wonder the female populace of Dwarves is so resistant to bearing young! With treatment like that, why not just lock them in cages and be done with it? Gimli, give the queen credit for being of hardier stock then that and remember that you speak of one of Elfkind. She is not a frail doll. And Arwen is not at a point where her condition is apparent or made to be uncomfortable yet. In fact, as you point out, it is not visible to mortal eyes at all. And so long as she travels with the requisite contingent of guardians, I could see it not as a problem for any among them. More so, her mission was not one taken into riotous zones. She went to Poros as an emissary, and from my understanding she was regaled by the denizens of that land with all due hospitality. The message I was given was that she had a successful mission. Much was gained by her journey,” Legolas relayed.

Gimli leaned away, seeming to have tired of this debate. He drank of his mug before shrugging and saying, “And what of Faramir?”

“He was returned to what I presume are the welcoming arms of his wife and family just this morn,” Legolas answered, having greeted the steward in their crossed paths of journey. Legolas had answered the summons of the king this morning just as Faramir had received his permission to be relieved of duty. After six weeks away, it appeared Faramir was eager to return home. He too had been made a part of the journey with Arwen, and it had signaled a compromise to the plans offered on their Poros problems so many mornings prior. It had been the king’s decision to send both the steward and the queen to show Gondor’s commitment to that realm. And despite her early misgivings, Éowyn saw her husband’s departure with a brave new light.

“And so she has been. Given her cloistered life, she and Mattias, and all the Romany for that matter, seem to be taking well to city life,” Legolas answered.

“As if Emyn Arnen were a city,” the Dwarf muttered. “A small township, perhaps.”

“For I, of the woodland realm, it is city enough. For those who live in the quiet of the forest it is as plentiful as a city. They camp in the foothills nearby, and they will winter there, I hear,” Legolas replied, “which is well, for I have been told Kattica has been learning much at the lady’s hand, and the same for Éowyn in return. And while Éowyn and Kattica have been sharing wisdom of herbal lore and the more studious concerns of the healing houses, the healers of my realm have been paying them visits as well.”

“Elves in Emyn Arnen? Dare your folk venture that far?” Gimli said mockingly.

“Be done with you, Dwarf,” Legolas scolded while laughing. “It was Aragorn’s suggestion that, so long as Elves and men might be dwelling so near, an understanding of the healing techniques among my kind might be of benefit to others.”

“And so we see where yet more good has come of our summer respite,” Gimli said, as if acknowledging points of accomplishment.

“Éowyn is joyous, for my healers have assured her that her baby is well. They will be at hand, as will Kattica, for the birth,” Legolas announced.

“She was born to it, and Vesawen flourishes under all the attention she garners,” Legolas replied.

Gimli smiled. “Good news you bring. Then shall we drink a toast to motherhood?” Gimli asked.

But Legolas frowned. “Say not to ‘motherhood’, for we have learned giving birth is not exclusive to being a good mother,” Legolas answered with a shudder.

“Good point,” Gimli agreed, seemingly understanding the Elf’s anxious thoughts. “It makes me wonder how Mattias could turn out so well, given to what he was born. Gordash as well.”

The Elf nodded. “And yet Curtik did not. I have wondered the same, and in talking to Kattica I have concluded that it all stems from the condition of Bregus at the time she conceived and birthed them. It cannot be confirmed, for Bregus did not live to tell us –,”

“—She does not live to tell us how immersed in the Dark Arts she was at that point. But I would speculate that she was more invested when Curtik was born than with the others,” Legolas completed.

“Like a diseased woman giving birth to a diseased child,” Gimli concluded. “Very well, then what if we drink a toast to women of valor?”

“Much more appropriate, I think,” the Elf agreed. And as he said this and began to down his drink, the expected activities of the tavern’s great room proceeded, and many of the patrons broke into a song of celebration. There was nothing vulgar or debauching about it; it was simply a merry tune sung obviously for the sake of the queen. Still Legolas felt his insides churn, for he knew it would not be long before the calls for the more scintillating tunes would come. That was a moment Legolas both dreaded and looked forward to meeting.

As if he could read the Elf’s discomfort, Gimli said, “We ought to return to the palace. Aragorn will be wondering at our disappearance.”

Legolas read his friend well, but negated the offer. “I had told him we were going out for the evening to join his people in celebration,” Legolas said, fortifying his resolve by giving argument.

“I expect more of my companions to be arriving tomorrow, though. I would choose to be well-rested before we set out for Ithilien,” Gimli countered.

“If the Dwarves come tomorrow, likely they will not arrive in the morn, so you may laze about as you choose come the new day. The night is still young, and we have only had one drink each.” Legolas waved to Mal to bring them another round. “Relax and enjoy yourself, Gimli. We are in your element.”

With those words the song ended, and the room grew quiet with the absence of music. The rumble of voices was jarring, and there were others who noted it and cried out for more song. “Who will sing for his keep?” came the call.

“Ah, sit down, Finnelar. You couldn’t warble a note if you grew feathers and laid an egg!”

“I’llse doo et,” the drunkard rose and then collapsed. Without missing a beat the next call went out.

Legolas smiled expectantly. It was as he expected, and with a smile he turned to his friend and said, “Your element, Master Dwarf.”

Yet Gimli seemed to be of another mind, and he was shaking his head as he stood and turned to those of the room. Holding up his hands to silence the crowd he said, “Thank you! Thank you! I appreciate the sentiment, but not tonight.”

“Ah, Gimli, come sing one!” a cry begged out, but the Dwarf would not be swayed.

Shaking his head to negate the wish, he said, “Nay. Not this time. I would choose to have a quiet evening with my friend, if you will.” And then he sat.

But the crowd would not be appeased. In a heartbeat they started calling out for yet another to entertain them.

It was the moment Legolas had been waiting for, as he had known it would come. And just as Gimli had done, he stood and held up his hands, shaking his head. Slowly the crowd quieted enough that he might speak.

“Please,” he began, and his voice stuck in his throat. So many eyes were turned on him and he felt his face going red. “Do not ask this . . .”

A round of disappointed hisses and moans circulated the room, and he was drowned out for what else he might say.

“He sang a bawdy tune ‘afore,” came the muttered cries. But none heard the words he had continued to speak in the overriding tumble of words that crisscrossed his speech.

He took a moment trying to decide if it was worth trying again. He took the risk of being humiliated in this endeavor, and he knew he played with a part of his soul. Yet he knew what he was doing. “DO NOT ASK THIS OF ME,” he exclaimed loudly enough that he might be heard over their voices. Immediately the room went silent.

He felt the blush sweeping over his cheeks, but he worked past the rattling thunder within his chest. Gimli looked mortified as their eyes met but Legolas pressed on, forcing the words to croak out. “Do not ask this of me,” he eyed them, “for my name is not ‘Legless’.”

The Elf smiled, silencing them with just the cast of his eyes. “My name is Legolas. Legolas. However, you may call me Greenleaf if that name is too difficult to get about your tongue. And if you would but ask Legolas, Greenleaf, I might be willing to oblige with a song.”

“Legless. ‘T made no sense to me, but who am I to question these Elven folk and their names?”

“Would you sing us a song, Master Greenleaf?” Legolas’ eyes turned to the female voice. It was the barmaid who had hung off Gimli in their last encounter in this barroom, only this time her eyes were fixed only on the Elf. “Would you sing a song for me?” she asked with a sigh.

The echo came up, the request repeated in a chorus of polite voices. Legolas smiled shyly. Across the table, Gimli was shaking his head, saying something, and the Elf leaned in that he might hear what was said over the rumbling of voices in the room. “You need not do this, Elf. Do not let them coerce you into something you do not wish to do,” he warned.

Legolas gave his friend a faint smile, appreciating all that of which the Dwarf was trying to save him, but Legolas knew he did not want to be saved. Further, he appreciated that Gimli was not actively seeking rescue. He gave the Dwarf a knowing nod, smiled, and then rose. He knew his mind.

Turning back to the crowd, he found his voice again. “I would like to sing –“

Legolas laughed nervously, then began again. “I would like to sing you a song of Elven lore. It is a song of love unrequited and it is a tale most fitting the lady’s request on this eve,” he said as he nodded to the barmaid. She looked as if she might swoon, but he opted not to note it. She was Gimli’s lady, after all. And then he began.

As requested, it was the same song he had sung before, but it was not. Whereas before he had felt compelled to manipulate the tune in order to do what might please the crowd, now he felt compelled to do what was correct in his mind. The choice of the music suited him, for the song was sad, and stirring and lovely, but he sang it more to cleanse his heart of the dissatisfaction he had allowed to take hold of him those few months back. Somehow it felt a weakness had been allowed; a gap in his soul had let this failure overcome him. He was here to set it right. He would reveal what he was without apology or shame.

He sang. He sang with his heart lifted as the words melded with his soul and the melody was one that matched the emotional reach of the song. Far cleverer was the song sung in its true form as he revealed it now, for he was moved by the haunting lilt of the notes and choked by the trembling delicacy of the words. He closed his eyes, chasing away the faces that watched him and could scorn him, no longer caring what might bring their pleasure or discontent. He was free of them, and he sang to appease his heart. He sang for the joy of hearing the tune mesh into Iluvatar’s Song. He sang for the surety he felt.

Sadly, it had to end, and with the last notes fall, Legolas knew he must face their judgment. He paused for a moment, wondering if he had it within him to face their opinions. And then he opened his eyes.

Not a soul spoke. The room was dead quiet. No one dared speak, and Legolas was uncertain as to what this meant.

And then finally a voice interrupted the roaring emptiness. It was Mal who graced the room with his words, and he seemed to be of one mind with the crowd, for to what he uttered none objected or countered with words of their own. He spoke for them all.

“Please, Legolas, sir?” the man hesitantly pleaded. “Would you – could you sing yet another?”

Legolas looked into the man’s eyes and he could see tears gathered there. And then he gazed about the room and he realized there were many who shared the depth of this sentiment. And more. He could see that they realized how fleeting his offering to them was. It was as if they understood just how unique and precious what he gave them could be, and the awakening in their eyes would be with them for the rest of their lives. He had touched them, and they were grateful. But they would not be greedy. They would ask of him only so long as he was willing to give, but they would ask just the same. They would not force it of him, for they had learned, as had he, and they knew what he gave them was so much better this way. His way.

Legolas smiled then. He was cured. He knew what he chose was the right course to follow, for he had many lives yet to touch and his work was not yet done.

First, I need to thank those who have volunteered their time as beta readers to this story. It really was a commitment on the part of these four ladies to do so, but through them I came to see I really needed their help. I would be very hesitant to go without a beta reader again. They showed me many ways in which I might improve my skills and I will always be grateful for their help. Thank you to M.N.Theis, JastaElf, Nosila, and most especially Nilmandra (what a great person!). Each did a wonderful job, and each did it for nothing more than my thanks. How I wish I had another way to pay them beyond just these words.

I also wish to acknowledge the following people who contributed to this story by offering their comments, critiques, encouragement and insights. Please forgive me if I have forgotten anyone. This story has been a year and a half in the making, and a name or two (specifically those who emailed me as my server won’t allow me to keep things that long) may have slipped through the cracks.

Acacea
AliciA
AlishaB
Alivyan
Alliwantisanelfforchristmas
Araquen Estel Princess and Hope of Gondor
Aria7
Artemisa
Arwyn
Asha
Bainpeth
Barmy-the-elf
Bill-the-Pony
BlueTigerCat
Bryn bnw
Capn Jak Sparrow
CartDi
Cat6
Cattaria
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Chris
Clouds of Violet
Daemon Empress
Dark-of-Stars
Daw the minstrel
Deana
Dinfaniel
DismalDay
E
EarlGrey
Enigma Jade
Eldar Wannabe
Elenora1
ElfLady
Elfling
Elwen
Elvenesse
EtceteraKit
Faery Tragedy
Firsarnien
Fliewatuet
French Pony
Furius
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Galena
Ghostfox1
Grace
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Guardgirl12
Gwyn
Halogatomon
Hobbitch
Hobbits_live
IceAngel7
Insane Muse
Irena
Iverson
Jack
JastaElf
Jay of Lasgalen
Jedimasterteo
Jedi’s Honor Bound Witch
Joannawrites
Jocelyn
Jon
Karina
Katherine the Great
Kayleigh-talitha
KitKatGirl
KrystalB2003
Lady M
Lady V
Lamiel
LAXGirl
Le Rouret
Legolas lover
Lembas7
Len
Lirienel
Lisette
Littlefish
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LOTR Lover
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Mari
marry
Mastermind
Mea1
Mer
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MeShelley
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M.N.Theis
MotherNature
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Myra the Archer
Nancing Elf
Nebride
Nightwing
Nikara
Nilmandra
None
Nosila
Oregon
Orlysangel122
Petite Hikarie
Pippin-n-legolas
Pharaearwen
Princess ArWen of sMirkwood
~Psychopomp~
Puter Patty
Raider-K
RainyDayz
Rala
Ranger Elrohir
Ria
Ribbetfrog
Rogue Solus
Satine 19
Scoop K
Seana SerpentOwl
Shaan Lien
Shakes
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Shezuil
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Sigil Galen
Sirith
Snicklepop
Snitter in Rivendell
Sofia
SpaceVixenX
Starlight 10
Stephanie
Sugar
Surreal13
Susie
Susie82
Sylvia1
T
Tamara
Tapetum Lucidum
Tara
Thalia Weaver
The Dancing Gypsy
The Karenator
The Wannabe Dwarf
The Wyrmieness
ThunderaTiger
TigerLily713
Tintalle1
Toyou
TreeHugger
Voodoodoo
Voodoo Reader
Violet
Well duh…
Westielab
Wingul-Nimue reborn
WeasleyTwinsLover1112
Witchmaster
Ziggy
Ziggy3

Thank you everyone who helped me by voicing your desire to see this story go on! I know there were some who felt it went on way too long. I apologize for that. Originally, this was going to be a little summer project. That was two summers ago. However, if it helps, I did follow my outline.

A few people commented on my choice of the Romany people. One person even asked if I was Romany. I can answer that as ‘no’, though I do know those people traveled through the woods behind my grandfather’s house on an occasion or two when I was a child. I remember being intrigued, and a little frightened by them. As I came to learn more about them, I decided to use the Romany for this story because of their history. They have roots on nearly every continent of the planet and they are as old as Christian times. Call me odd, but I could see a group of nomadic travelers with a name that translates to mean “the people” existing in Middle-earth.

Here’s a little more on the real Romany and what I have done to them for the sake of this story.

Linguistic experts would have a field day trying to catalogue the whole of the Romany language, as their dialect and common phrasing is significantly different from one country group to the next. It would be easier to say that there is a different version of Romany depending on which country you are looking into rather than saying there is one Romany tongue. Making this even more complex, the Romany people tend not to chronicle their own language. Words are passed on in spoken form, not written, and often the same phrase or word might be found spelled and voiced in several different ways even within the same country culture. Needless to say, my use of the Romany language in this story is limited to what I could find, which was truly a mishmosh of various regional phrases. Some of it I just had to make up. The rest is combined Arabic, Hebrew, Romanian, etc. versions of the language. My apologies. My Romany speech must read as gibberish.

The Romany believe in witchcraft and mysticism, and I thought that fit nicely into Tolkien’s world too, which of course is a place where Wizards, Sorcerers, the Dead, Magical Rings, Trees of Light, etc, already have a place. Actually, in the grand scheme of what Tolkien created, I thought a group of gypsies might be a rather tame gathering. However, I ultimately wanted to show what might happen were our heroes to encounter a horror that was actually of human make. Okay, enhanced human make. I know no humans that wield power such as this. However, in Middle-earth . . . well, we know it happens all the time in Middle-earth.

Romany healers are known as ‘witches’ and to be a witch is to hold a powerful position within the tribe, but not so powerful as the eldest male, unless of course, the eldest male is also a witch. Knowing that, you can see why Mattias thought he was dead meat when Bäla took power.

Hair charms and other amulets/talismans are common devices of fortune and blessing among these people. A lot of effort is put into what outsiders might see as jewelry, but is considered among those people as a fortification against the spirits and evils guiding the other worlds. The beads are usually hand carved and painted, and wishes or ‘spells’ are put upon them. The Romany are rarely seen without these adornments.

They also have many ways of reading fortunes, including using stones as described in the early chapters (though the answers I had Bregus find were far more detailed than what a gypsy might read in a real stone tossing session).

Because of the Romany belief in witchcraft, I took the liberty of combining their view on mysticism and tied it into some of the more common information of general sorcery and mysticism available in the libraries and bookstores. My research into common magical spells shows some witches do believe that Protected Places exist, but the form that I gave it in this story was an exaggeration of my own make. The means of creating one was based on what I knew of magical spells calling the elements of earth, wind, fire and water for assistance. Henneth-Annün seemed to fit well with those requirements.

Actually, real witchcraft is rather tame in comparison to what literature has portrayed it to be. Most magic is truly a matter of studied herbal remedies and a belief system that focuses on the somewhat magical effects of nature.

I can also tell you that witches do center themselves on whether they are white witches or black witches. As you can guess, white is considered good and black is bad (black witches are seen as using their powers to manipulate and provoke).

When I conceived this story, I did indeed know that Orlando Bloom had broken his back at an earlier point in his life. It was one of the things that drove me to add that part to the story. I love parallels, you see. And foreshadowing. That’s why I had Mal calling him Legless in the beginning of the story, and you will note that Bregus, for most of the tale, had him caught in a spell where he had no use of his legs.

Parallels to real life have a way of popping up though. I did not know when I concocted this story that my husband was going to have major back surgery during the course of writing it. He had spinal fusion done on three vertebrae, in April, right around the same time that our dear Legolas fell from the tree. Some of Legolas’ pain was based on what I observed of my husband’s agony. Some too was from the memory of a friend who had suffered paralysis due to a broken neck, way back when. She walked again in the end, but not without spending a long time working toward it. For my husband, he is up and about, but it was a long, slow, and tedious recovery, especially those first three months. In my mind Legolas suffered worse harm, but he also recovered much faster than the spousal unit has done. Such is the weakness of mortals! (Can I trade him in on an Elf? No? Bummer!)

Gimli’s halberd was a personal joy to write. Originally, I chose it only because I found it to be a ridiculous weapon. Really, I had no idea how it would play out as this story went on. I just thought he would never pick up a bow with Legolas around, thus he needed another weapon with which to hunt. I also thought an axe was an ill-conceived hunting implement. That left the choice of either a sword or the halberd. Were I a Dwarf I might argue setting snares as a means of capturing game though (they aren’t exactly stealthy in the woods). Even still, I had fun playing with ways to make the halberd fit.

Again onto parallels, indeed it was intentional to show three women struggling with conceiving children. I can say I have walked the path of all three of our heroines at various points in my life. This story was partly about that, and also about the aftermath of choosing parenting when there clearly isn’t an interest in parenting, such as Bregus represented. Though it irritates some of you to think of it, she was a mother too, and though her ambitions were rather extreme, I have seen parents in real life who all but abandon their children for the sake of their own glory. Funny, but they still love their kids, even if they are bad examples of how to love. Actually, they usually don’t realize they are bad examples. Usually their children don’t turn out quite as whole as Mattias or Gordash either. Ah well, I wanted a happier ending than that.

I really wasn’t going to tell what happened to Faramir, but in the end I found I needed to do so for the sake of understanding his agony. So, yes, at last you all know. Faramir was raped. Or something like raped. Is it rape if no one physically touches you? Actually, same question to Legolas, as what happened to him was a mental assault. At least that is what I was trying to imply by having him say, “Do not touch me,” just like Faramir had been saying.

As for the rest of the story, I wanted to show what comes of marriage after a time, even for the perfect mates. The “I do” part is just the beginning. After that, the work really begins. A working marriage requires communication, understanding, compromise, and a sense of humor. At least! And that is if it is just the couple one is dealing with. Adding children to the mix makes it even more difficult as expectations start to interfere. And let us not forget in-laws, friends, careers, religious beliefs, goals, lusts, personal interests, money and how those too have an effect. It’s just part of co-habitation, and a sampling of what you put up with after the intoxication of romance is past. I think not considering all those points was Bregus’ mistake.

Spousal abuse is a very scary topic, and I really didn’t get into what attracted Bregus to Bäla, though I had that couple figured out a long time back. I didn’t go into it though because, A) I couldn’t figure out where it best fit, and B) had I written it, I could have spent many a chapter analyzing just them. Yes, it is a sick relationship, but there are many couples in this world who could readily pass for this pair (and no, my marriage is not a model). Abusive relationships feed off of themselves, and as outsiders it is very easy to say, “Why doesn’t she/he just leave.” It is far more complex than that. In some ways being with an abuser almost like an addiction. There is shame and coercion and control all playing into the mix and the heart of the problem stems from low self-esteem.

I have more I could say, but that would just force me to write another story. Email me if you like, and I’ll be happy to dissect this story into shreds, unveiling all the hidden agendas I put into it.

For now, I am done. Thank you again to everyone who read this story and stuck with me. It was a long journey, but now it is time the ride came to an end.

Oh, and don’t forget to turn in your safety harnesses as you leave the pavilion.

The Hunting Trip by Ithilien