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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am sorry, Legolas," he repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come in."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds like something that Aragorn would say."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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