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."

*