A/N: And it’s a two-fer this time, as an apology for how long it took me to get it up!

Chapter Two: Terror and Rage

A slight breeze swept through the courtyard of the royal palace, gently tossing the long, dark hair of the Lady Arwen, Queen of Gondor, as she stood gazing at the sunset.  This evening, she found herself out of doors, gazing into the West, remembering her father, Lord Elrond.  Though it had been her choice to forsake the immortal life to be with her beloved, at times she longed to hear the sound of her father’s voice.  She did not regret her choice, but she still spent many an hour living in her memories, and wondering where she would be now, had she chosen the other path.

The sound of footsteps flung Arwen from her reverie.  Her elven ears determined the situation almost before she noted the sound - a soldier was running towards her. 

An arrow of fear plunged into Arwen’s heart as the man came into view - he was one of those who had been assigned to Dómiel’s guard that afternoon!  Though no emotion revealed itself on her face, her hands trembled as she confronted the man.

“My lady!” he exclaimed.  “Forgive me for my rude interruption of your thoughts; I must speak with King Elessar at once!”

“The king is in his study,” Arwen replied, “but where is my daughter?”

A flush of guilt colored the man’s face.  “Forgive me, m’lady,” he whispered.  Without another word, he wheeled and sprinted across the courtyard toward Aragorn’s study.

The fear in her heart now coursing through her veins, Arwen hurried after the soldier.  With each beat of her heart, the same prayer flowed through her mind - Not Dómiel...Not Dómiel...

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Aragorn looked up from the documents he had been studying as the soldier burst into the room without even knocking.  “What brings you here?” he asked.

“My lord, forgive me!” the soldier cried, dropping to his knees at Aragorn’s feet.

“Rise,” the king commanded.  “Why do you beg my forgiveness?”

The man remained on his knees and refused to lift his face toward his king’s.  “My lord,” he said with a note of near panic in his voice.  “I...I must tell you.  Your daughter, Dómiel...she...” he swallowed convulsively, unable to continue, face a bare inch from the floor.

The same bolt of fear which had pierced his wife’s heart slammed into Aragorn’s spirit.  “Tell me what happened,” he ordered sternly.

His eyes fixed on the floor, the soldier spoke rapidly.  “We were attacked by a group of perhaps a score of riders.  My commander saw a weakness in their circle, and instructed the princess to ride.  I know she escaped their grasp; I saw her ride away.  Our group, however, was outnumbered and surrounded.”  The man’s breath caught in his throat as he added, “I was the only man to escape with my life.”

“And the princess?” Aragorn demanded.

The man shook his head miserably.  “I searched the area for any trace of her.  I found evidence of another group of riders.”  His voice dropped to a terrified whisper.  “I believe she was captured, my lord.”

A maelstrom of emotions charged through King Elessar at those words.  Unadulterated rage at those who would dare lay a finger on his dear daughter mixed with terror for Dómiel’s fate and a heart-breaking sorrow as he thought of what could be done to her.  Hearing more footsteps at the door, he looked up into the eyes of his beloved queen.  “Undómiel,” he whispered.

“Estel, what...?” Arwen feared the worst, but she could not bring herself to voice her fear.

“Captured,” Aragorn said softly.

“No!”  Heartbreak and fear mixed in her own eyes as Arwen ran to the protective circle of her husband’s arms.

Sensing the near-telepathic communication between the couple, the trembling soldier slipped from the room.

Aragorn stood perfectly still for a long moment, embracing his grief-stricken wife.  His eyes closed, he rested his face atop Arwen’s head, hiding uncharacteristic emotion he was incapable of suppressing.

Finally, the king raised his head and gently lifted Arwen’s chin.  Her rich blue eyes locked on his face, and she saw that iron determination had settled in his jaw.  His eyes no longer swirled with emotion; rather, they had hardened into a steely gaze that Arwen had seen only in the eyes of warriors riding out to battle.

“I shall track her captors down,” Aragorn vowed to his wife.  “I shall rescue our daughter, and teach whoever has done this a lesson on what it means to assault the Princess of Gondor!”

Even as a frightening line of intuition crossed Arwen’s mind, she asked, “How many men shall accompany you, m’lord?”

Aragorn shook his head ever so slightly, confirming his wife’s suspicions.  “I shall travel alone.  This is not a quest for an army; it is a quest for a Ranger.”

“And so Strider shall emerge once more,” Arwen stated.

Aragorn flinched at his wife’s frankness.  “Indeed.  Though, I wish it was under far better circumstances.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Everything has been arranged, my love,” Aragorn said softly in the gray light of the following dawn.  A passerby unfamiliar with the royal couple might have dismissed the pair outside the stables as mere travelers.  A long, gray cloak covered Arwen’s rich gown, and the hood obscured her elven features.  Aragorn was clothed in the travel-worn garb of a Ranger, rather than the royal robes of a king.  His bow hung over his shoulder, and Andúril hung by his side.

“I have left instructions with Faramir.  He shall carry out my wishes in my absence, but he has been instructed to consult with you as much as possible, my love.  Please keep my departure a secret for as long as you safely can; I shall need the element of surprise.”

Arwen nodded.

“I must leave you now,” Aragorn said softly.

“I know.”  Gently, Arwen drew her husband’s face to her own for a kiss.  “I know you shall bring our daughter home, my love.  I shall watch for your arrival every day.”

Tenderly, Aragorn ran one finger along his wife’s jawbone.  “I shall think of you every moment; a piece of my heart remains here with you.”

“And a piece of my heart travels with you, Estel, my beloved.”

“Farewell, my love!”

“Farewell!”

Aragorn turned and jogged to the stables.  With the ease of long practice, he leapt aboard his favorite mount and turned the stallion’s head toward the gates of the city.

He had not traveled for more than perhaps five minutes toward the place the soldier had told him Dómiel had vanished when the sound of hoof-beats met his ears.  Immediately, he turned his mount from the path and concealed himself in the trees.

The other horse did not come into view; Aragorn heard the it halt, but could hear no rider dismount.  He held his breath and focused all of his mind on listening and attempting to discern the rider’s location.  Silence met his ears, and worry began creeping into his mind.

“Well met, Strider of the Dúnedain!”  The voice came from not a foot behind Aragorn’s head.

Instantly, he whirled, Andúril sweeping in a neat arc before him.  The blade met only air as the figure behind him leapt easily aside.

When Aragorn turned his full attention to the figure, he let out the slightest of chuckles.  “I should have know ‘twas you.  Only an elf could sneak up on a Ranger so easily.”  He did not say this with pride; he merely stated a fact.

Legolas let out a full, ringing laugh.  “Indeed!  But, then, I was not attempting to sneak up on you!”

“Do not lie to me, friend,” Aragorn replied.  “My ears are keen enough to pick out the sound of your travel, unless you are attempting to be silent.”

Legolas bowed slightly.  “You have found me out.  I thought to test your instincts.”

“May I ask what you determined?” Aragorn asked.

“You are not quite prepared to undertake a quest such as the one you now pursue alone,” Legolas retorted, now quite serious.

“This is not a quest for an army, my friend,” Aragorn said, repeating the words he had spoken to his wife the evening before.  “This is a quest for a Ranger.”

“And who shall prevent the Ranger from committing mistakes?” 

“Fate.”  Aragorn dodged the verbal trap.

“I shall not allow you to undertake this mission alone,” Legolas stated firmly.  “I shall accompany you.”

“Can I say anything to stop you?” Aragorn asked with a sigh.

“No being can prevent an elf from journeying where he wishes,” Legolas replied, “least of all a mere man!”

Aragorn smiled slightly and extended a hand.  Legolas grasped his forearm in a companionable gesture of warrior’s trust.

“Let us hunt together!” Aragorn exclaimed.  With a grin, Legolas ran back along the path toward his horse.  Within seconds, the human and the elf rode side by side on their hunt - the latest in a string of hunts that spanned decades and the majority of Middle Earth.