*Rating may change for later chapters; dark themes and some graphic, but never gratuitous, violence. I will warn you if it does. Beware.

*My many, many thanks to Nilmandra, brave, paitent, insightful and incredibly good at making this story better. What you like about this is undoubtedly due to her suggestions. What you don't like is probably due to the ones I didn't heed carefully enough! Thanks also to my other wonderful beta readers, Liz and Sphinx.

*Finally, I consider both the books and films in my fiction, and I write a combination of book canon and movie-verse. There is one slightly AU bend in this story, which will become apparent soon, but that I do not wish to give away just yet.

Chapter One: Ill Winds

Often now, Legolas walked his garden at night, pacing end to end, measuring the dragging time in footfalls until at last the day began anew and he was able to fill his mind with other things. But always, the stillness after sunset gave way to another voice that rang across the land and echoed in his heart with increasing veracity and persuasion.

It had always been hard for him in this season of earth. When the trees gave over to fiery red and gold, and the fading sun burned away the very life in his beloved plants, lulling them into winter sleep.

In the spring and the summer, it was not so hard. The trees he loved, the trees he tended, gave him their attention, their muted whisperings, the gentle sighs and comforting murmuring of wind through branches heavy-laden with green leaves. He was of the earth then, could will himself to believe that he still belonged in this place.

It was when the song of the trees was hushed in brown winter that he could not feign deafness to the call of the sea. And so in the waning months, he stayed among his trees at night and he tried to hold their message in his memory, so that in the long season ahead he might have some defense against the sea longing.

Tonight though, he heard neither the call of the sea, nor the failing voices of the trees and he did not move beneath them. Tonight, he stood rooted in the center of his garden and listened as the wind shrieked of foul things through the branches above. Great clouds boiled at the horizon, rolling over one another and rising ever higher until it seemed they might topple the world.

What comes upon this ill wind?

There was a warning in this night. He could feel it in the too warm air shimmering about him, could feel the danger of the storm stalking his thoughts.

He looked towards Minas Tirith, wondering if perhaps he was not alone in his vigil tonight.

And overhead, lightning crashed to Middle Earth in white flame, and the clouds opened at last and bled from the fractured sky.

*~*~*~*~*

She came awake slowly to the fluttering in her womb and smiled in sleepy contentment as she eased a hand across the slight swell that was the child growing within her. Wondering if perhaps Aragorn would be able to feel the babe move at last, she stretched a leg lazily toward him.

She had many creative ways of bringing him from sleep; most of them were likely to blame for her currently swollen state, but this one in particular was perhaps her favorite. To feel him bolt upright from dead sleep and curse as she pressed icy feet to his legs never failed to give her great amusement.

However, her foot stretched and searched and she did not find him there, and at last, she opened her eyes and discovered that he had left her side. She turned over slowly and found him brooding at the window, the tapestries pulled open as he watched over the land below.

In the cool flicker of lightning she saw that his profile was troubled, his eyebrows lowered over his high brow and his mouth pressed thin and grim in worry.

She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and moved from the bed. She walked behind him silently, wrapped her arms about him and laid her cheek against the rigid line of his shoulder blade. He did not start or seem surprised to feel her touch, but he remained silent for a moment, lost in his own thoughts.

"I did not mean to wake you," Aragorn said at last, bringing his hands to cover hers where they rested against his abdomen.

"The babe woke me. Like his father, he is restless this night. What troubles you, Estel?"

"It is nothing, meleth nín. You need your rest."

"I rest better with you by my side. If it is nothing, why have you let your bed and your wife grow cold?" she asked teasingly, but there was concern in her voice as she placed a warm kiss on his shoulder, felt some of the tension there ease away. "Give me the truth."

"I fear there is something happening. This storm brings with it more than rain, yet I do not know what this threat is, nor what it means."

She looked out the window at the clouds surging over the mountains and felt her own skin draw too tight and confining in the charged atmosphere.

"I do not like it that Faramir and Éowyn ride in such a storm," Aragorn said at last and revealed to her the source of his fretting.

She was inclined to agree with him, but still she tried to relieve him with lightness. "I know, Aragorn. You always sleep better when those you love are within your protection. But everyone must once or twice in life venture from your reach. Do you not think Éomer capable of hosting his own sister and her husband safely?"

"They have been gone for three days. They will be in the deserted lands now, with no one near to give them shelter. They are not yet in Éomer's protection."

"Faramir and the Rangers are not unaccustomed to hard conditions. They will pass the storm safely," Arwen assured him.

"Perhaps I should have gone with them."

"The messenger said that Éomer's fall was no danger to his life and that he needed only a little help for a few weeks as he recovered. He is Éowyn's brother; she wishes to spend time with him, and Faramir will see to the business of Rohan well enough. There was no need for you to go as well. Gondor is yours to care for."

"I do not forget that. Still, I wish they had waited to begin their journey," Aragorn continued. "The sky has been threatening all week. They will not get far in weather such as this."

"Will you now take responsibility for the weather, in addition to everything else, Estel?" There was just a note of annoyance in her tone, as his helplessness began to seep into her through their gentle contact.

"I wish they had waited," he simply repeated.

"All the better that they did not wait, for they will be home sooner. Éowyn was anxious to reach her brother, to assure herself he is well. A guard of Gondorians surrounds them. Most of them are Rangers who love Faramir as much as they love you. They will return soon to your keeping, where no harm may befall them."

She was jesting again now, but her arms tightened about him, and he turned slightly to return the favor, putting her into his keeping, which was indeed, where he desired to have those whom he loved. She stood quietly in his embrace, as the child moved between them. King and Queen looked past the city to the open lands beyond.

They stood there together, sleepless now, and they waited within their safe stone walls for the storm to show them its fury, and worried for those that were abroad.

*~*~*~*~*

In a flash of lightning, Faramir caught his wife's expression and saw that she had fallen deep into grim thoughts. Though the messenger from Rohan had assured her that Éomer would recover fully from the fall from his new stallion, and that it was only a broken leg and a few broken ribs, Faramir understood that Éowyn would not believe it true until she laid eyes upon her brother. They had rested little in the two nights since they had set out from their home; and for her sake, he did not wish to let this storm stop them on the third.

He could understand more than most what the news had cost her. So many she loved had been lost to her in such a short period of time during the war, and that was a grief he'd been forced to endure as well. The fear that she could suffer more loss was almost more than she could bear, she who had stood firm under the sword of the Nazgul when all others had fled, save one brave hobbit.

He could offer her no comfort with his own knowledge of loss, and that troubled him. He could only take her to Edoras with due speed, even if doing so meant pushing through this dangerous darkness.

The horses skittered and bucked and tried to fling their riders from them. He kept an eye on Éowyn, saw that she sat the horse more easily than the rest of them. Of course, he thought. She was the Lady of the Mark.

In any other circumstances, he had little doubt she'd be enjoying this wild ride, and very much looking forward to the trip to Rohan.

Faramir did not like the ride through the unprotected borderlands between Gondor and Rohan. If he were being truthful, he would have admitted that after spending all the years of his life defending his people from Mordor, he was uncomfortable, even in peacetime, with riding too far beyond the borders of Gondor. He worried for his homeland even now, was afraid some trouble would arise and he would not be there to protect the people he was sworn to protect. He was bound to his realm, and not even his fascination with other peoples and races of the world could tempt him from it willingly.

He never felt quite settled on foreign soil, for too long had he lived in the fear and danger of Gondor being overthrown by darkness. The responsibility of caring for the nation of free men, though rightfully restored to another, still weighed heavily on him. He did not think he would ever be free of it. He was unsure he wanted to be.

He knew Éowyn was always glad for the chance to return to her windswept city on the hill. And while he loved and appreciated the people of Rohan for their spirit and their fierce pride and hospitality, Edoras felt vulnerable to him, he who had always dwelled in the valley, with the stout mountains at his back. In the high city of Rohan, danger could come from all directions. He never rested well there.

And, he admitted, his reluctance to visit the city did not end with concern for her defenses. Faramir was sometimes envious that Éowyn's love for his homeland did not match her love for her own, though he knew well enough what it was to long for the sight of one's own hills and plains and mountains.

He already wished for the plains or the forests of Gondor, instead of this wide road through an unfamiliar and dense wood. He could hear nothing above the rushing wind and thunder, not even the hoof falls of his own mount. He was uncomfortable traveling with so many men and horses; he'd spent too many years as a Ranger.

In a forest, alone and on foot, he could have hidden himself and Éowyn from any enemy, seen or unseen. But royal guards did not travel so lightly, nor so covertly, and in fact their safety depended upon the clear and bold announcement of their strength and force.

That a Prince and his bride might go forth on foot, alone, was not something one even considered…at least not openly. A wry smile played momentarily at the corner of his mouth as he contemplated what Elessar would have said to such a suggestion.

Still, as he led his wife and his men on the open road, he felt as if a thousand unfriendly eyes watched from the cover the darkness and the wood beyond his path. And though there had been no sign of danger in the precautions he'd taken, he was still unsettled.

His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, and remained there.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Éowyn's thoughts drove themselves into increasingly maddening circles as she wondered without satisfaction of answer how her brother had fallen from his mount. Éomer was far too good a horseman to suffer a simple fall, and yet the messenger had assured her that it was merely an accident and that no grand event had sent her brother from his saddle.

The rider of Rohan had delivered his message and promptly disappeared after Faramir had looked at her stricken face and quickly announced they would depart the following morning. The messenger refused all refreshment or rest, as well as declining to escort them back to Edoras, as would have been the proper custom.

She wondered if perhaps Éomer was injured more seriously than the messenger had disclosed, wondered if the rider was anxious to return to his King's side.

The war was over, she thought angrily. It was time for the men of her family to desist with leaving her to mourn them.

She lowered her brow, unsure of why her thoughts were so dark. Éomer would be fine, she told herself, looked hard for hope, and could not understand why it felt so far from her. She stared hard at the path ahead, as if straining to see Rohan and her brother from afar.

And so it was that directly in her line of vision, in a wash of white lightning, Éowyn saw a lone figure, standing at the edge of the wood, robed in black but for his pale, pale face. In the space of a suspended breath of air, her world tilted, and confusion, shock, and fear rocked her heart madly against her ribs.

He was just as quickly gone as the sky gave back over to darkness, as if he'd never been there.

She reeled backwards in surprise with a cry that was stolen by the wind, and her mount felt her lose her seat and nearly topple from the saddle. The horse stopped uncertainly in the path as Faramir rode on, unaware.

A ghost of her past returned, though it was impossible. She had heard he was dead, had been assured by young Merry and Pippin that it was so.

Only in her mind, she tried to assure herself as she frantically searched the darkness ahead. Her mind and nothing more, bringing her painful memories of death and war, as she contemplated Éomer's injury.

She could have perhaps dismissed it simply by her desire to believe it untrue, but in the next flash of harsh light, he was still there, unmoving, and her eyes met his cruel ones, and acceptance shot through her like arrows. The knowledge pierced and ripped at the denial she would have held to, tearing away the sense of relief she'd felt at tidings of his death.

Her eyes shifted when, behind him, many figures came forth from the mists of the wood, as if conjured by him, and then were lost as blackness gave them back their cover.

Éowyn screamed a warning, but she was frightened--so much more afraid of him now than she'd ever been of him before, though she did not know why--and the sound, high and shrill and full of air, barely registered above the howling of the wind.

But all the warnings in the world could have sounded, and it would have still been far too late to stop the storm that broke upon them now.

*~*~*~*~*

To be continued…

Chapter Two: Gone

Legolas stood high upon a hill and he surveyed all that his eyes could see, and longed for what they could not.

The storms of two nights past had seemingly washed the earth clean, and the woodlands and plains sparkled green and the Anduin ran in a bright banner through it all. The sky overhead showed not a hint of threatening cloud, though he could not quite forget the warning on the storm winds. Just beyond the farthest reach of his eyes, he knew the wide silver sea thrashed at the shore, and here his mind could all but touch it.

He heard light footsteps behind him, but did not turn from his place upon the hill and his view of the world below.

The footsteps paused behind him, and her voice came lightly. "Brother, you stare at the fields as if from them you may glean the secrets of the Valar."

Legolas half-turned, welcoming with a sweep of his hand the fair she-elf that had pursued him up this long path and to the hill where he sometimes liked to come and stare across the land, towards the hidden sea.

Aeliné was perhaps the only one in the colony of Ithilien who might have approached him so easily, without worry for the interruption she caused. He supposed that might have something to do with the fact that they had both chased each other through Mirkwood with sticks imagined into daggers as elflings, and had side by side tormented all housed within the royal halls with their mischief. They were close in age; she had been born but three years before him, as they were close in temperament. There had always been understanding and ease between them.

He found himself glad of his sister's presence among the many elves who had chosen to follow him from his emptying homeland to this strange and beautiful realm. The land itself had been a gift from Aragorn, though Aragorn was quick to say that the presence of the elves was his own pleasure.

She did not treat him as overlord or Prince, and she did not pester him with grievances. Some days it seemed he never spoke to a soul without some complaint or need, and she was always nearby to assist him or remind him that he was to keep his peace.

Now, she stood beside him, her clear eyes watching him rather than the view he turned back to, and he felt her persistent and knowing gaze upon him. At last he raised an eyebrow in question and in invitation for her to speak her thoughts, though he knew she did not need nor seek permission for whatever she would say.

"Perhaps it is not the land at all, but the sea that you look to."

He did not like to speak of the sea, but he also did not like the weakness his inability to do so implied, so he smiled tightly, forcing it across his lips. However, when he turned to look at his sister, he found that the expression came more easily.

She was very dear to him, and if she tread in the dangerous waters of his sea longing, it was the love she bore him that prompted it. And perhaps she had earned the right to speak of trials, for she had known her share of them. Aeliné's story was one that was as sad as the shadow in her eyes. They both carried the scar of a common sorrow, though she bore the full weight of it upon her at all times.

Weeks before Legolas had departed to play his role in the War of the Ring, Aeliné's husband, and one of Legolas' dearest friends, a noble warrior called Nendil, had been slain by a party of Orcs who'd ventured far into the forests of Mirkwood.

Legolas had been with Nendil at the end, and had given his word that he would carry his friend's last words to his beloved wife, who awaited his return. His sister's grief had been terrible to behold, and Legolas had been nearly unable to bear his own sadness at his friend's passing, but it was much easier to bear than his sister's mourning.

For days he watched her drift, aimless and numb, through the palace halls, seeking neither sunlight nor nourishment. She desired the company of none, and eyes that had always sparkled when she saw her youngest brother turned dull and fathomless. She had withdrawn to such a great distance that he could no longer reach her.

Legolas had been almost glad to depart for Rivendell, and for the excuse to escape from her woe, but he had thought of her often during the long journey. He had worried how he would find her when he finally met her again, or if she would have already departed the shores of Middle Earth. He feared mostly the stillness that had lived in her eyes since he had stood before her and ended her hope and her joy, and diminished her light with words that had brought them both to their knees.

The stillness, even now, was still there in her eyes, and it ran deep.

But there was again love in her when she looked at him, and if she found joy in little else, Legolas knew that being with him was comfort to her. If for no other reason than because he reminded her of her husband, who had been forever at his side from the time they were mere babes.

"Will you go there soon? To the Havens, and across the sea Legolas? There is no reason why you should have to suffer so. And you do suffer. I see it."

"Nay, I will not make the journey. There is need of me here. I would not leave Aragorn. I am bound to him in my love for him."

"But you will pay a price for staying," she observed. "You already have paid it. It has cost you much care and heartache already."

With that, she turned and studied the horizon curiously for long moments, which prompted Legolas to ask, "and you, my sister? Will you go soon to the West, where the pain of this world is lessened and the great weariness cast away and left behind in the waters?"

Legolas had always wondered why Aeliné did not depart immediately after Nendil was killed, why she hadn't sought to ease the grief with a reunion or at least a memory, rather than the grim reality of her loss day upon unending day. He had never asked her before now.

"Nay. I do not hear the call of the sea. I do not long for it."

"And how is that? I should dearly like to know."

Her great eyes were full of loss and he found it hard to meet them as she looked steadily at him and said in a final voice, "It is not the time. He waits across the sea, but I can not yet go, for there is much here to be done."

"Do you stay for me? Because I would not have it," Legolas asked, lowering his brow.

"Arrogant fool," was her response to that.

He set his arm around her slim, but strong, shoulders and together they turned back to look out toward the sea.

Legolas sighed heavily, and his throat ached for her sorrow, and his stomach churned with anger at his inability to do anything to give her ease, and joy, and laughter again. Pointlessly, he struggled for some words of comfort. But he understood, from both seeing his father suffer the loss of his mother and knowing of Elrond's longing for Celebrían, that there was some pain for which there were no words at all nor any measure of time that might ease such grief and wanting. There was only hope of meeting again across the waters, and this she denied herself for some reason unknown to him.

"There is great bravery in you, fair one," Legolas said at last and they looked ahead and did not look away again until shouts from far below reached their keen ears.

Turning back toward the growing colony, Legolas saw that the guards from the gate were riding quickly toward the road and attempting to flag down a horse charging down it. The animal seemed maddened; his eyes rolled back and he was lathered from a run that looked to have nearly ended him. From one flank, an arrow protruded, caught deep in the muscle. Though the horse's hindquarters were covered in dried blood, he did not seem to feel it at all. And as the animal's dangling reins were secured by a rider, not even Elvish hands could calm him.

He left Aeliné behind him without a word, taking great leaps down the hillside and calling for his own horse to be brought to him immediately.

For it was Éowyn's horse, and he had returned without her.

*~*~*

"Here, no, a little higher…just there," Arwen said, and moved Aragorn's hand and pressed it firmly into the curve of her belly. "Can you not feel that?"

Aragorn moved in front of her, keeping one hand tightly against his growing child, with the other resting upon his hip in a superior looking stance. Arwen looked at him as he scowled at her middle in deep concentration, brow furrowed and mouth pressed tight. A slow smile came unbidden to her face at his fierce expression, but she quickly flattened it as at last he glanced back at her.

Heaving a sign of frustration, he shook his head. "Nay. I cannot feel it."

"Perhaps it is too soon. Do not look so troubled, Aragorn. I am sure in coming months you will have many opportunities to feel him as he gallops inside me. I am fairly certain that I shall give birth to a foal, not a child."

"Then perhaps you were destined for Éomer, who would have gladly taken you before he met his dear wife." Aragorn sighed again as he took his hands from Arwen's middle and instead took her fingers in his as they continued their walk in the gardens. "I am beginning to think that you feel nothing, but enjoy tormenting me by pressing your icy elf-feet against me in the night to awaken me for no reason at all."

He was perhaps sulking just a bit, disappointed to let her have their child all to herself for so long. To lighten him, she stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek. "It is important for a child and his mother to spend time together. You are not invited yet. You have done all that is required of you, for now."

His silver eyes glinted, like a sword flashing in sunlight, every bit as sharp and poignant. "I enjoyed my part in it very much."

"I gathered," Arwen answered and squealed with what sounded as girlish delight when he swept her firmly into his arms and kissed her there, in sunlight streaming like yellow ribbons through the trees.

"Anytime you have need of my services, Lady, you know where to find me, and if you do not, have the Tower issue a call, and I shall come at a run," he promised.

He was quite serious, and she threw her head back as he held her there and she laughed. The sound rang off the stone of the buildings surrounding them and swirled high into the air and into windows thrown open to welcome the beautiful day. And everyone within hearing of that musical laugh quickened their step and felt their own mouths turn upwards in smiles of love for the King and Queen below, who had taken leave of the palace to enjoy each other and the afternoon in the garden.

"Aragorn! I must…" Legolas strode quickly into the courtyard and then stopped, for he had come upon King and Queen in a most intimate embrace. He had no time for the usual wit that would have soon followed if he'd discovered them so any other time. "My apologies."

Aragorn jerked back and had the grace to look abashed, but Arwen gave him a rather sly smile, like a cat pleased after a thorough stretch, until she saw his face.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked quickly, seeing Legolas bore some news.

"I come with ill tidings. Lady Éowyn's horse has returned to Ithilien without her and he is injured by arrows. I feel the party has met some opposition."

"Only the one horse returned?" Aragorn asked, and the doubt that had assailed him as he stood at his window and waited for the storm to come upon them struck him again.

"Yes. I have given word at the Tower for a company to be assembled so that we may ride for Édoras to give Faramir aid."

Aragorn gave Arwen's hand a squeeze and looked at her quickly. Before he could say anything, she nodded. "Go. You must."

With a final kiss and a last touch of hand to the shy child, Aragorn turned and followed Legolas from the courtyard, and those in the towers above heard the Queen's laughter no more that day, or for many days hence.

They rode as they had not since they came to Gondor's aid in the days of darkness. Aragorn and Legolas led the line. The hilt of Aragorn's sword pressed into his palm, and Legolas' bow traveled in his tight grasp.

They moved fast, and no force could have slowed them, yet a gnawing of thought in the minds of all in pursuit knew that it was likely far too late for aid of any kind. That grim thought only grew as the hours and then the day passed into night.

 Near dawn of the second morning, they learned that they were not mistaken.

As the mists rose and the sky gave over to gray, Legolas motioned Aragorn and the rest of the company to halt, and he stared hard into the deceitful light, as if trying to make out what he saw. At last, the lesser eyes of Aragorn and the men behind saw a lone figure stumbling down the road.

Legolas tightened his fingers about his bow and Aragorn pulled his blade from its sheath as they waited.

At last, the light shifted and aided their vision, and it became apparent that the stranger, though covered in both mud and blood that could not possibly have all belonged to him, wore the colors of Gondor.

"He is one of ours!" Aragorn cried out, and dismounted. With Legolas and several other men behind him, he ran to the faltering soldier.

Upon seeing Elessar, the young man fell to his knees before him and began to sob violently, gasping for air and pressing what looked to be a shattered arm to his ribs as he rocked there and reached with his good hand for Aragorn's boots.

"It is too late! I came for help as soon as I awakened, but it is too late!" Grasping him about the ankle, he choked out to a bewildered Aragorn, "you must kill me! For I have failed you, and Faramir, and the Lady! I have failed them all and such a coward should not live!"

Aragorn looked at Legolas in alarm, and then slowly kneeled with the soldier, taking his dirty face between both hands and tilting it up so that he could look him in the eye. Tears warmed Aragorn's hands, and made canyons in the mud caked upon the boy's cheeks. He trembled violently beneath Aragorn's touch.

"What has happened?" Aragorn asked urgently, but not unkindly, though the soldier cowed more at these words.

"An ambush in the night. They came from everywhere, devils out of the forest. We were outnumbered, Milord, and they just started killing. We tried to defend ourselves but it was too late."

"How many survived?" Legolas asked from above as Aragorn's wide eyes stared through the boy in front of him in shock at such news.

"I fear none lived save me. I was injured in my sword arm, and hit upon the head and I crawled away, and all went dark for some time. I do not know how long it has been since the attack!" With this, he burst into gasping sobs again and doubled over, again seeking to touch Aragorn's boot. "May all forgive me, but I crawled away when I should have stayed and done my duty of guarding the Lord Faramir and the White Lady until my death. I am a coward and I deserve no mercy! Please, you must kill me for this disservice. I have betrayed your trust!"

With that the guard reared up upon his knees and threw back his head, exposing a pale throat streaked with mud and with blood, as he waited for the King's blade.

Aragorn reached forward to place his hand on the young man's shoulder and asked, "what is your name?"

Looking bewildered to still be alive, he said tentatively, "Turen, Milord."

"Turen, there is no shame in survival and you may be of great service to us yet. You must show us where you were ambushed and search your memory for any information that may lead us to those who committed this act."

"You are merciful, Milord. I will tell you all I know."

With Aragorn's help, Turen gained his feet and was quickly tended by the King's healing hands. When his arm and the cut on his temple were bound, he was put upon a horse with another rider and they set off at a more reckless speed than before.

As the sun edged directly overhead, they arrived on what was not a battlefield, but rather a graveyard, and the armor of the fallen men of Gondor glittered in the high sun, and the brightness seemed an obscenity on the bloodied grounds. The fine Rangers and the Royal Guard of Gondor lay broken in the road, their weapons in many cases undrawn and expressions of surprise and agony upon their still faces. The stench of death and rot curled into their nostrils and they could not escape it in this place. Birds of carrion scattered and retreated to lower branches at the arrival of the company, watching keenly. Many unseeing eyes stared back as Legolas and Aragorn both sat motionless upon their mounts, fighting waves of fury and grief and sickness.

Swallowing hard, Aragorn's eyes scanned the field for signs of life, and for Faramir and Éowyn.

A vulture swept down and picked at the body of one soldier, and with a shout of rage, Aragorn hurled his sword at the bird, who took flight before the blade drove home into the bloody ground.

"It was a massacre," the men behind them were saying and looking fearfully into the woods for the enemy.

Murder. Ambush. Assassination. Devilry.

The voices of the soldiers behind Legolas murmured on, and at last, he understood what the winds had been whispering on the night of the storm.

"Riders at the head of the column set up a guard about the perimeter! The rest of us will begin burials. Search for Faramir and Éowyn! We shall not leave this place until we find them. We shall then ride in answer to this atrocity!" Aragorn commanded, and in his raw voice was both venom and grief, barely held in check by his strong will. His hands trembled with it, and he curled them into impotent fists so that his men would not see.

At that moment, as if in answer to his ragged cry, there was a flash of silver at the edge of the wood, and all stilled and turned, holding their breath collectively, as if they feared that to draw air would somehow cause the sight before them to dissipate.

Faramir staggered from the shadows, and from him two broken arrow shafts protruded, one in his chest, the other in his middle. The white tree and stars on the front of his armor were crimson, and in his face there was no color at all. His eyes seemed to look past them all, to some unseen foe. He dragged his sword behind him, for he had not the strength to wield it. He looked as the walking dead, and Aragorn felt new horror drop like a stone in his stomach, for he feared only one thing could bring such a look of defeat to the Steward's face.

Faramir gave an airless sort of cry when he at last he recognized the banners of Gondor, and his strength failed him. He fell upon his knees in a pool of sunlight, head lowered in defeat. For a moment, a strange merge of past and present nearly dazed Aragorn as the memory of the fall of Boromir assaulted him and bled into this new sight of his brother, injured in much the same way.

Aragorn leapt slain horses and waded through bodies to come to his Steward's side, and Faramir looked up at him, and his eyes had gone blind to all save the horror of whatever had brought his men to their deaths.

Aragorn took the hand Faramir raised weakly with his own trembling hand, and clutched it tightly to his chest, and Faramir's skin burned with fever even as Aragorn's own eyes burned with tears of deepest fury for this needless slaughter.

"She is gone," Faramir whispered in a broken voice, and seemed to not know what else to say. "She is gone. Gone and I cannot find her."

***

Chapter Three: An Oath Sworn 

Aragorn and Legolas carefully lifted Faramir between them, and carried him deeper into the woods. It was a futile effort to shield the Steward from the aftermath of the battle; Aragorn was quite sure Faramir had already been among his dead, in hopes that even one might live.

Warm trickles of new blood ran down Aragorn's hand as Faramir's gashes reopened and strained against the embedded arrow shafts, and the horribly sweet stench of a putrid wound hung over them. This scent, with that of the dead men, almost overcame Aragorn, who was already sickened enough by the sight of the massacre that he was fighting the bile rising in his throat.

Aragorn and Legolas brought him to a small clearing and let Faramir gently to the ground. Aragorn kneeled over Faramir as Legolas went in search of the herbs and bandages Aragorn would need without a word between them.

Weakly, Faramir resisted Aragorn's care, raising his hand to grip Aragorn's wrist so weakly that Aragorn could barely feel the touch upon him. Aragorn turned to look into Faramir's eyes, sunken deep into a face devoid of color. Again, Aragorn was struck by the old memory of Boromir as they had laid him in the boat and sent him over the falls.

"I could not--find her. She is gone. We must…must ride to her…"

He was bleeding heavily again and expending strength he could not spare, and Aragorn at last pushed him firmly to the ground and placed a hand on Faramir's fevered forehead to hold him still. "We will find her, Faramir. But first, you must be tended."

"Leave it!" Faramir gasped and tried to twist away and to raise his head. He gave up the fight almost immediately. The simple movement winded him and through wheezing breaths, he demanded, "can you not…hear me? They…took…her!"

"Who, Faramir? Who has taken her?" Aragorn asked, hoping to occupy the Steward's mind long enough to tend his body, as well as to learn any information that might help them. It would not be an easy task for a mind so tormented with frantic worry and memory of the night of the assault.

"The messenger. From Rohan. He was--there. He shot me."

At last, Faramir fell still, breathing painfully, an ominous gurgling sound coming from within him with every laborious rise and fall of his torn chest.

Aragorn half-turned back to his men and shouted, and all heard the note of panic in his voice, though he tried to master it. "Send a party of the fastest riders to Gondor. Double the guards at the gates! Give the Queen word that she is to answer no summons unless it be written in my hand or that of Legolas, no matter how urgent the message! Close the gates and allow entry to only those known to Gondor. Ride quickly! We do not yet understand this threat against Gondor, and the Lady Éowyn, but we must take no chances that the Queen might be attacked as well!"

"Why do you--prevent me…from finding--my wife? You must let me go to her." Faramir's voice pitched higher than normal in his fear, and he turned his head quickly to the side, refusing the water that Legolas had returned with and was trying to pour down his throat.

He was, however, so far beyond the boundaries of his own strength, that not even his worry for his wife could sustain him. Faramir at last fell still and silent. His eyes closed, and Aragorn found himself glad of that, for it was difficult to meet them. He was frightened by what he saw in Faramir's dull gray gaze.

Aragorn dared not ask how Faramir had survived the long days with none to care for his wounds and none but the dead and his own agony for his wife to keep him company.

"Turen!" Aragorn called sharply as he tended Faramir, preparing to remove the arrows and bind the wounds. The ministrations roused Faramir from his stupor, but he made no sound. Rather, he bore all stoically, only grimacing slightly when Aragorn caused him particular discomfort.

The young guard had been standing directly behind Aragorn, unknown to the King, with horror his face as he looked upon Faramir's injuries. Turen came forward immediately, looking nearly as pale as Faramir when the smell of the wounds touched him.

"What did the attackers look like? From where did they come?" Legolas interrogated.

"They came from the mists and the trees, Milord," Turen answered nervously, and his throat constricted as he swallowed hard. "Upon foot they walked out of the wood at the moment the storm broke, and none saw them until it was too late. They were clothed in black and most had smeared mud upon their faces so that all that we could see was the whites of their eyes and their bared teeth." He shivered at this and said no more.

"Is there nothing else? Nothing else you can tell us that might help the Lady Éowyn?"

"There was one man, if man he was. I saw him plainly in the moment before I fled. It was he who inspired such fear in me as to make me try for escape. He did not fight but stood and watched over all, and gave the order for none to be spared, not even those who made pleas for their lives." Turen closed his eyes and when he opened them again, they shone with tears that he was not altogether successful in holding back. "He was dressed in black, and his face was cruel and pale. I saw him for only a moment. He was looking at the Lady through it all."

Aragorn's hands faltered upon Faramir and his eyes swung upwards to clash with Legolas' surprised stare.

"The Lady. Was she hurt?" Legolas asked Turen.

"I do not believe so. They would not face her sword, but they meant to drag her from her horse. She was trying to make her way through the battle to the side of her husband. When she could not find him, she wheeled her horse and I think she meant to ride for help. But before the horse got far, an arrow was sunk into it, and the animal went down.

"The Lady was thrown hard, and I did not think she would be able to rise, but she regained her own feet quickly. It was too late, for the men were then upon her, though she killed many before they restrained her. I saw no more, for it was then that the pale man emerged from the cover of the trees and started forward, and I crawled away. There was nothing I could have done to save her."

It was grim news indeed and at his sides, Faramir's agitation increased as the words cut through the pain and the haze of fever. Again, he struggled beneath Aragorn's hands, and his fingers curled into the dirt below him in an agony that had nothing to do with arrows.

Faramir neared the end of his endurance as Legolas raised him to a sitting position and supported his weight while Aragorn fastened dressings and bandages around his bloodstained chest and abdomen. He would need much care, and mending the damage the arrows had done to chest, lungs, and shoulder, as well as to his belly would be a long process.

Legolas spoke the inevitable at last to Aragorn, in quiet tones. "We must send him to Gondor for healing. My sister studied the arts of healing with Elrond long ago. I'll have one of the riders send for her when they reach Gondor. He needs much care."

Faramir bowed his head, and weakened in defeat and grief, tears spilled down a face gone blank and hard as stone.

"She is lost," he whispered to Aragorn, who took Faramir's shoulders gently in his grasp and squeezed them in comfort. The Steward sounded as a broken man, and Aragorn suspected that the realization he could not join the search for his wife further bowed him.

"Nay. She will never be lost so long as you light the way home to her, Faramir." Legolas assured Faramir from above, and put a hand upon his shoulder, adding his reassuring touch to Aragorn's.

When Aragorn rose slowly before Faramir, the Steward's hollowed, haunted eyes followed his every move, watching almost as if he could not fully comprehend what Aragorn was doing.

Aragorn drew his sword and dropped upon one knee before it, bowing his head before the blade and Faramir.

"I pledge an oath to you that I will find out what has become of Éowyn, Faramir."

He wanted desperately to promise more. Even knowing he could not guarantee the promise he wanted to make, he began to do so in the hope that it would give Faramir the courage to survive his wounds. The oath to return her, to return her whole, undamaged in spirit and heart, surged forth.

But the words broke against his clenched teeth and he said nothing more to Faramir. He could make no such promises, and had he, the Steward would have known better than to put his faith into them.

Aragorn raised his head, wishing and failing to see his own determination mirrored in Faramir's empty gray eyes as he climbed to his feet and turned back toward the road of the fallen.

To them, he also proclaimed that justice would be done.

"And here I lay my oath before those whose lives were taken in this malicious and cowardly attack, that I will avenge you and bring justice to those whose hands have slain you!"

Aragorn's brow lowered as he pushed his sword back into its sheath. It was supposed to be a time of peace. They had all earned it with much strife and toil. They had fought and bled for peace, they had suffered for it.

Many, many had died for it.

But as he strode back toward the dead, he couldn't deny that there were still enemies left who would give them war, whether they wished it or not.

And for a moment his fury was replaced by a great weariness and a sense of loss of something he'd just begun to appreciate. And all he desired in the world was to return to the afternoon where he had held Arwen and his unborn child in the garden and had dared to enjoy the peace.

A stretcher of sorts was made for Faramir until a wagon could be brought forth from an outlying settlement, and Aragorn sent most of his guard, in protection of Faramir, to the south toward Gondor after the solemn burials were finished.

The attack had been strategically planned at the farthest point from both cities, so that aid would be long in coming. The road was mostly an untraversed one; only occasional messengers traveling from Rohan to Gondor rode this path. The escape of Éowyn's horse was fortunate, or it might have been many, many more days before they knew anything was amiss.

Aragorn remained in a state of disbelief that such a well-planned attack had been carried out against his royal guard.

Faramir's life remained in peril, but there was little else Aragorn could do for him in the wild. Aeliné and the Warden of the Healing Houses would be hard pressed to save him, and more so in the state of mind into which Faramir had fallen. Arwen, he hoped, would be some comfort to him in the days ahead.

It worried Aragorn, perhaps more than the puncture wounds, that Faramir seemed to already mourn Éowyn, and nothing seemed to give him much hope. Aragorn could not blame him, having seen the aftermath of what his attackers were capable of.

Aragorn found it hard to consider Éowyn's circumstance, for fury and disgust and grief rose up and choked him whenever he thought of the men who had wrought such destruction putting their bloody hands upon the brave young woman. He feared, more than anything, that Éowyn would give them no choice but to hurt her, and that they would delight in doing so.

We are coming

Aragorn looked long for what signs he could find of the direction the party had taken, and discovered from both the land and Turen, that likely they had fled North, though it was the only help he gleaned from the forest or the young soldier.

"We must ride to Edoras for help," Legolas suggested. "We have sent much of our guard with Faramir and to challenge such a force as the one that descended here will require more men."

Aragorn agreed, partially because Legolas was clearly right, and partially because there was no hint as to exactly where the raiders had retreated and he did not know where else to go. Heavy rain had washed away trails and tracks, and winds had broken branches and limbs, so that there was no sure way of telling what had been disturbed by man and what had been disturbed by nature.

"To Edoras, then," Aragorn sighed, and new dread curled in his stomach at the thought that he must now tell Éomer that his sister had fallen into enemy hands, and that he had no idea who that enemy was, nor where they had gone.

Anger and remorse rose ever higher in him as they rode hard into Rohan. Anger at himself for not heeding the warning he'd felt, anger for the ordeal that they would not be in time to save Éowyn from, and guilt because he'd neglected to protect those that were his responsibility.

It was a mighty failure on his part and he could not abide the cost of it.

They were admitted into the gates of the windswept city without hesitation, though the surprised looks of the guard told them that visitors from Gondor had not been expected.

When Éomer hurried down the steps of Meduseld, Lothíriel only a stride behind him, Aragorn and Legolas were not surprised to find his leg quite unbroken.

"You did not fall from your horse?" were Aragorn's first words to the King of Rohan, before those of any greeting or warning.

Even through his confusion at seeing the King of Gondor arrive unheralded at his doorstep, Éomer looked indignant at such a suggestion. "I have never fallen from my horse, Elessar. Greetings, Legolas," he added, before asking, "what manner of news have you?"

"Ill news," Aragorn replied and glanced briefly to Éomer's lovely wife, who was also kin to Faramir.

Seeing the strain upon Aragorn and Legolas' faces, Éomer's brow lowered. "Is it my sister? Is she unwell?"

Aragorn would have liked to ease the thing that had first and most worried his old friend and ally, wished that it was anything else that he must tell Éomer. "It is Éowyn. She was taken captive in an ambush on the road to Rohan."

"Taken in an ambush?" Lothíriel asked in confusion.

Éomer said nothing, but his ruddy skin turned several shades lighter as his eyes moved from Legolas to Aragorn, and then behind them, as if in frantic search of his missing sister.

Legolas quickly added. "A messenger of Rohan arrived to ask both Éowyn and Faramir to come to your aid, for he said you'd been injured in a fall from your horse. The same messenger shot Faramir on the road a few nights later as a force came out of the forest there. It was a massacre, the night of the great storm. Many men of Gondor were slain. Faramir was left for dead and your sister taken. Faramir lives, but his life is in danger."

At the small gasp of dismay from Lothíriel, a gasp of concern for both Faramir and her husband's sister, Aragorn quietly added, "Faramir is being taken to Arwen for care. He is gravely injured but there are many with fine hands of healing in the city. Of Éowyn, there is no sign, and we shall need your help in finding her."

Éomer staggered back a step, and seemed not to feel the comforting touch Lothíriel lay upon his rigid arm. Denial was the first road he chose. "Nay, she would not be captured. Perhaps she simply rode for help, and is hiding along the--"

Aragorn could not let the false hope take hold of his friend, and interrupted him with the grim truth. "One of the guards saw that she was taken. But they did not harm her, Éomer. They took care not to, from the account of this young soldier."

Aragorn gestured behind him to Turen, who had insisted and then begged to ride with the King. Aragorn had thought it wise to let him, simply because the young man would have followed them at the first opportunity out of a need to reclaim his honor.

Éomer was clearly still so stunned by the news, still so shocked, that he could not yet speak. Aragorn saw the lines of his expression changing from confusion to fury, as denial left him, and Éomer's fingers curled into fists at his sides and his eyes narrowed.

Where that building fury would be directed, not even Éomer seemed to know.

At last, breaking the horrible silence, Lothíriel, the only one of them with an idea of what to do next, said in a tightly worried voice, "King Elessar, Master Legolas, you and your horses are weary. Let our men care for the horses and come inside until we can gather our men and devise a plan of how we will find Éowyn."

And she quickly turned and started to climb the stairway to the Golden Hall, but not so quickly that Aragorn missed the silver flash of the tears swelling in her eyes.

Éowyn. He threw out the thought towards her, and hoped by sheer will and magic he did not possess that she would know they were already riding to her aid.

A/N: Remember, I use a combination of book and movie-verse. I like the movie-verse aspect of Éowyn leading the people to Helms Deep, and waiting below during the battle.

Chapter Four: Falling Darkness

"Out!" Éomer roared as he stormed past the guards posted at either side of the entrance to the Hall and hit each heavy wooden door with the flat of his hand so that they both sprang back as if battered by an invading army.

Late afternoon sunlight poured across the stone floor in an elongated rectangle, interrupted only by the ominous shadow of Rohan's King. Servants, guards, and citizens of Edoras who had been going about their business froze, swiveling their heads almost at once to look in confusion at Éomer, who looked and sounded so uncharacteristically enraged.

"Leave us!" Éomer bellowed, the words lashing like a whip, when they stood rooted and watched him as if he'd gone completely mad.

Legolas watched as the people in the hall at once scattered, like slaves suddenly released from their bonds and afraid of what might befall them if they did not flee while they had the opportunity.

When the Hall emptied, Aragorn, Legolas, and Lothíriel followed Éomer as he strode in the long, slightly bowed strides of a horseman towards his throne, boots slapping stone with purpose. The three of them paused together uncertainly when, rather than ascending the steps to his seat, Éomer suddenly spun on his heel and bore back upon them. His fingers were still curled into his palms, his face still very gray.

He did not stop until he stood directly before Aragorn, his face mere inches from Elessar's.

"She was under your protection!"

When Aragorn nodded and met his gaze steadily, Éomer continued, voice trembling now, "did you give no thought to her safety before you set her upon the road?"

Legolas watched as Aragorn stood fast before Éomer without defending himself. In Elessar's face was only misery and pity for the King of the Mark.

"How did you let them come to this? Can you not defend your own people?"

"Éomer…" Lothíriel began in reproach, but was interrupted by Legolas, who could not abide such unjust accusations to be hurled at Aragorn, and less so when he knew fully well that each charge drove home in Aragorn's heart, deep as arrows, because Aragorn himself believed them to be true.

"Your sister and her husband were well protected by a Gondorian royal guard. We have entered a time of peace! Aragorn could not have foreseen this occurrence, he could not have known what would befall the company! One of your own men, a traitor to Rohan and to Gondor, has caused this! He was your own man, Éomer! Your own!" Legolas spoke softly, but his words resonated in the stone hall, carrying across the empty space.

Éomer paused, turned, and looked at Legolas for a long moment, expression unfathomable, caught somewhere between anger and thoughtfulness. Legolas could almost see his thoughts as he mentally listed his men, looking for the one that was missing from his ranks.

Legolas continued, his words easier now. "If we can find who the traitor is and determine where he might have gone, we might have an indication of where she has been taken."

Aragorn's voice came softly a moment later, and he spoke as though Legolas had not interrupted at all. "You are right, Éomer. She was in my protection and I have failed her. And I can only ask her forgiveness for it when we meet again. I do not ask for your forgiveness, for I understand that you cannot give it.

"But she is not the only loss of the night. Many fine young men met death on that road. Faramir lies near death now. Éowyn is alive. It is something to be grateful for."

"Grateful!" Éomer gasped in disbelief, and the word had an ugly sound as it hung in the air. Fists that had begun to relax tightened again as he rounded on Aragorn. "Grateful that she has fallen into the hands of men who will…do you not know what they shall do to her, Aragorn? Do you n--they will take her and they will defile her!"

"Stop it!" Lothíriel demanded vehemently as tears rushed down her lovely face, for she was no longer able to check them as she watched her husband's fury and knew that it stemmed from his suffering.

Éomer acted as though he did not hear her, though tears brimmed so high in his eyes that he must have been blinded by them. Reaching for his sword, he began striding toward the door in an uneven path. "We must ride now. There is daylight left still! We must stop this. It is not too late to save her from harm. We have no time to gather the men. Let us go now. The men will follow!"

He walked nearly to the door before he realized that none of them followed, but rather simply turned from where they stood and watched him with similar expressions of pity. What he'd known all along surged to the forefront of his thoughts and it was a terrible, terrible knowledge.

If they rode faster than the wind, they would be too late to save her from such a fate.

"She would have preferred death!" Éomer choked out at last, voice hoarse and breaking.

With his head lowered, he walked back past the three standing before his throne without looking at any of them. He unsteadily climbed the platform and fell into the chair, as if his legs would no longer hold him. Above him the white horses of Rohan ran across banners of green, the symbol of a house that was collapsing. He did not know if she would survive it. Éowyn had once looked for death because she could find no honor or hope in man, save the one who had now failed her.

And now those that had taken her would take also her own honor and that would be more than she could bear.

It was far, far more than he could bear.

Legolas stood quietly as Éomer shielded his face with his hand, his shoulders shaking slightly. Silence seemed to press all around him, more deafening than any thunder, as he stood in the darkened hall and watched the great soldier of Rohan fall quietly to pieces.

"Leave us," the Queen murmured softly in a moment.

Aragorn nodded and at once turned to find his way to the guest quarters, where they had stayed both in times of war and in times of peace. Aragorn did not meet his eyes as he went, and Legolas knew that if Aragorn had looked at him, he would have seen fully the responsibility Aragorn carried upon him.

Legolas would have liked to give Aragorn some words of comfort, would have liked nearly as much to find some comfort for himself. He had been among men for many years now, and he had come to love them for their courage and their nobility and the sacrifices that they might make for something they loved, for something they believed in.

But he had seen both good and bad men and equally, he had come to hate them for their ability to inflict such cruelty and suffering upon fellow men, for their heedless struggles for power and their greed and their damning pride and need for revenge.

Legolas followed Aragorn after a moment of hesitation, feeling frustrated and disappointed in men for the first time in several years, reminded of dark days and dark men though it was a lesson he would have been happy to never repeat.

He glanced back once to see that Lothíriel had risen to stand at her husband's side, her dark head shining as she bent it to rest upon her husband's golden one. Her arms encircled his shoulders and she held tightly to him, almost as if she would take the pain from him and into herself if she could do so.

The fierce warrior of moments before vanished. Éomer reached for his wife, pulled her to him, and held her tenderly while he shed his first tears for his sister's bitter fate.

Arwen had been upon the walls of the city for many days now, watching the North road. Not even her keen eyes could see anything that might aid her in easing her worry.

She was not alone, though she would have preferred it. Always there were guards near her; Aragorn's most trusted and most skilled men had been sent back by order of the King. Arwen wished her husband had not left his best to her, for she was safe in the city and she feared that he might have need of their swords. There would be no persuading them to go though, when the King had given them to high duty of guarding wife and heir to his throne.

The city seemed tense, as if it held its collective breath, waiting for some unknown release after words of warning had come back from the North. Though the Tower Guard watched day and night for danger, none had come. In fact, the road leading to Minas Tirith had seemed more deserted than usual, and Arwen found herself feeling desperate for news from any source, be it friend or enemy.

She found herself increasingly annoyed at Aragorn's message; irritation springing from the state of anxiety she had lived in, keeping her up late at night and at the window, looking across the empty plains, with only the squirming unborn to keep her company. Aragorn had sent word only that there had been trouble on the road and messengers were not to be trusted. She understood the warning was sent as soon as possible when Aragorn had perceived some danger, but she felt certain that he must know what her mind would make of the gaps in the sketchy details he had provided.

The returning riders were very close mouthed about what had happened, skillfully avoiding her questions with vague explanations and shifting eyes. But she saw the pinched look on their faces, heard the way their muted voices trailed off when she turned a corner, and watched from the walls as they went into houses in the city and later came out looking shaken. The windows of the houses seemed darker and more empty after they had left them with their ill tidings.

And she felt it in her own heart, doubt and grief, and though she tried to hold to hope, she was beginning to know that something terrible had transpired. Something more terrible than Aragorn had told her, something more terrible than the guards would tell her.

How many had been injured on the road? Was Aragorn in danger? What had become of Faramir and Éowyn and all who had gone with them? Was there some trouble in Rohan? Should she send more men to aid her husband?

The questions went as unanswered on this morning as they had in all the past days and Arwen walked the walls and she waited until she thought she would go mad with the waiting.

And then, one week after her husband had left her, and as an angry looking sun sank below a front of thunderheads, a banner of Gondor broke from the wooded road far away and danced across the armor of those riding at the head of a long line of soldiers.

She watched alone for a moment as the column of horsemen followed Aragorn's standard, for none of the others could yet see them. A horse and rider broke away from the group and headed South, and she thought it was likely that someone was riding to alert the household of Faramir and Éowyn's return.

She suddenly wheeled away from the wall and when her guards looked at her in surprise, she gave them a relieved smile, her first in days.

"They are home."

As Legolas stood at his window and waited for the creeping darkness to chase the last light into the West, a serving woman with tears running rapidly down ruddy cheeks entered his quarters bearing a tray laden with food that he had no need of.

Keeping an apprehensive eye on him, she went about setting out the meal. Sobs began wracking her shoulders as she worked, and not even her fear of being alone with a warrior elf, a terror shared by all the house servants, it seemed to Legolas, could prevent her from her grief.

Legolas, careful not to make any quick movements, watched sympathetically, without his usual irritation that not even volunteering to die with the men of Rohan had eased their sort of morbid curiosity and superstitious fear about elfkind.

"Why do you cry?" Legolas asked softly after a moment, turning to look at the woman.

The woman, who was standing as to keep one eye on Legolas without appearing to do so, started and nearly missed the goblet into which she had been pouring ale.

"Mi---Milord?" She sniffled.

"Why do you cry? Are you so afraid of me?" Legolas persisted.

"Nay, Milord. It is not you. It is Lady Éowyn. They are saying…they are saying that she has been taken and that she will never be found again." The words came faster now, and so did the tears. "They are saying that the King is mad with grief and that not even the Queen can comfort him. They say that there will be war with Gondor, that it was Elessar's fault and that King Éomer shall demand justice from him if his sister is harmed. They say our King has not left his throne in hours, that he sits and he stares at the doors before him as if waiting for her."

Legolas walked cautiously over to the woman, but she was crying too hard to bother herself into being alarmed of him. Taking the cup of ale and sipping it to be polite, he looked more closely at her, seeing that she believed all of the absurd rumors that were wont to swirl through human halls at such a time.

"You know Lady Éowyn?" he asked her first.

"Yes, Milord. I know her well. I was with her when she led us to Helms Deep. I was with her in the caverns. She stood alone with her sword before us all, and even when we heard them breaking through your lines above. We began taking the mountain passage, but she stood fast and would have protected us from them until her death. And yet she is gentle too, Milord. Gentle and of a loving heart, and she has only just found such happiness with Prince Faramir."

"You know her as shieldmaiden, yet you do not think she will return?" Legolas chastened, raising an eyebrow.

As she thought about it, the woman's tears slowed. "It is just that no one knows where she has been taken. And the King is not in the state to find her, from what folks say…"

"Ah, that is it, isn't it? What they say. Men who say more generally know less, and you would be well served to remember that in the time to come. Your King is not mad, merely grieved. There will be no war with Gondor. And Middle Earth is not large enough to hide the White Lady from those who love her."

The woman looked fully into his eyes for the first time, and her tears stopped. "You are very kind, Milord, to ease my mind."

"The Lady Éowyn is fortunate to have such devotion. I am sure she will find much comfort in it when she returns," Legolas said at last, keeping his voice confident.

"I must go, or the others shall think you have slain me. You see, they say…" she began, then heard herself and stopped, as Legolas raised his brows. She smiled sheepishly through drying tears and the strands of fair hair that plastered to her damp cheeks. Taking a deep breath as she lifted the empty tray, she smiled at Legolas. "I am beginning to understand what you mean when you say those who talk more, know less. Still, I shall tell them that elves, in fact, are very kind after all."

"Yes, we rarely slay women until after sunset," Legolas said quietly, and watched as the woman's eyes darted nervously at the darkening sky before she caught herself and smiled good-naturedly.

She even laughed a little, and he was glad to hear the sound of it.

Legolas smiled after her, but his heart was not in it, and after she closed to door after herself, he walked back toward the window and waited until the land turned black.

Silver light streamed into the halls of Meduseld, which were deserted as night fell on Edoras. Even Legolas' light footsteps seemed to echo to the wooden rafters overhead as he walked swiftly down the hallway.

He'd seen no one other than the serving woman after he and Aragorn parted ways to retire to their respective rooms. He now came to Aragorn's quarters and rapped once upon the door, pushing it open when Aragorn invited entry.

He found Aragorn standing much as he himself had the entire night, looking out his window at moonlit plains and mountains.

Aragorn did not turn around, but said, "you are dressed for travel."

Legolas was a bit taken aback until he saw his own reflection in the windowpane, then met Aragorn's eyes in the glass.

"It will take several days to identify the missing messenger, assemble a force, and perhaps more to plan a search area. I am going for Gimli. We may need his axe before the end."

"Aye," Aragorn agreed, almost as if he were distracted.

"The dwarf would howl like a dying warg if he were not part of a rescue that he could later boast about, and largely exaggerate his part in." Legolas said it lightly, not because he felt light but because he wished to see his friend lifted from his grim thoughts.

Aragorn's expression did not change in the glass. "Aye," he said in the same disinterested way.

"And you know that Gimli did just wed Galadriel and I meant to bring them a gift for their betrothal," Legolas continued, fairly convinced that Aragorn had not heard anything he'd said since he came through the door.

At this Aragorn turned from the window and looked at Legolas like he'd gone daft.

Legolas lifted one shoulder in a delicate manner and said in explanation, "I thought you were not listening."

"I imagine I shall cease doing so very soon if you continue with this nonsense."

Legolas smiled, and Aragorn's mouth at least lifted at the corners.

In a moment, Aragorn asked, "you are taking the guard with you to the caves?"

Legolas shook his head. "I shall travel alone under cover of night. The men need their rest. It will be faster. And safer."

Aragorn opened his mouth to tell the elf that he could not possibly go alone, and then realized that he would do the same if the choice were his. A large force had not saved Faramir and Éowyn. Still, with Éowyn's disappearance and so many deaths weighing on him, Aragorn did not think he could stand to have Legolas' injury upon his shoulders. And, he acknowledged, he would very much need the elf in the time to come.

"It was not your fault, Aragorn," Legolas interrupted, reading his thoughts.

"Who else?" Aragorn asked quietly, not denying that Legolas had correctly interpreted his hesitation. "I had the power to send a thousand men on the road with them."

"It was the act of madmen, Aragorn. You can not control the destiny of all those you care for. There is nothing that could have prevented this from unfolding as it did."

"You felt a warning on the storm as well," Aragorn murmured, and it was not question but known fact.

"Yes," Legolas admitted.

"Should we not have ridden then?"

"We still would not have arrived in time, Aragorn. You know this. It was beyond you and I."

Aragorn said nothing for some time.

Taking a new direction, Aragorn murmured quietly, "I stand here and I find reason to hope that Faramir burns with fever."

"So that he is not in his right mind to think of her?" Legolas guessed.

Aragorn nodded. "I cannot fathom having Arwen taken from me in violence. And even less could I live with waiting while others searched for her. To think that I had failed to protect her…"

"It was madmen, Aragorn" Legolas repeated firmly. "If you take responsibility for madmen, you will quickly become one."

That was wisdom, and Aragorn nodded slowly, and looked at Legolas for a long moment. Finally, he said, "we must find her."

"We will," Legolas said with sureness.

"We must find her and we must return her to Faramir unbroken."

Legolas nodded, but the words of assurance did not come so easily this time, so he did not give them.

"Go," Aragorn said at last, seeing that Legolas was reluctant to leave him to his worry and yet anxious to begin his journey. "You will need to ride across the plain before the moon climbs all the way over the mountains and cheats your secrecy."

"I will return with the dwarf in a few days."

Aragorn nodded, and looked at his friend for a moment before he came forward. He placed his hand on Legolas' shoulder, and Legolas reached up to clasp his as well. Tightly.

"Keep your eyes open, mellon nin," Aragorn advised.

"I am an elf, Aragorn," Legolas replied, feigning lightness again as he turned to go. "I sleep with my eyes open."

*