Éowyn woke up covered in sweat. Though the sun had only just risen, the air in Emyn Arnen was already hot and humid. For once, Éowyn was relieved that Faramir was not in the bed with her, adding the heat of his body to the heat of the air. She stretched, then flopped back on the pillow, sprawling indecently over the middle of the bed. As she lay perfectly still, trying to muster the energy to rise and begin the day, the door to the master bedroom opened, and Olwyn toddled in.

"I hot, Mama," she whined. Éowyn smiled at her daughter.

"Come here, baby," she said. Olwyn approached the bed and allowed Éowyn to lift her up onto it, but refused to cuddle. "You are right," Éowyn told her. "It is far too hot for a hug." Olwyn burrowed down into the pillows, and Éowyn lay back down beside her. Just as she made herself comfortable, the door opened again, and Elboron came in.

"It is too hot to sleep any more," he said. "My hair itches." He climbed up on the bed and inserted himself between his mother and his sister. Olwyn began to whimper and push at him, and he tweaked her nose. In return, Olwyn grabbed a large handful of her brother's hair and pulled. "Ouch!" Elboron cried.

Éowyn laughed and separated her children, settling one on each side of her. "That should take your mind from your itching hair, Elboron," she said. "I beg both of you, be calm. It is too hot to quarrel. In fact," she went on, "it is too hot to do anything of consequence today. It is perfect weather to go out into the woods and pick blueberries. Would you like to do that?"

"Yes!" Elboron said. Olwyn squealed her agreement. Éowyn hauled herself off the bed.

"Then that is what we will do. First, we will have nice cool baths, and then we will dress in our very oldest clothes and pick blueberries all day. And we will eat blueberries and cream for dinner tonight." Olwyn slithered down from the bed and bounced eagerly. Elboron followed on her heels.

"Can we invite Borlas to come along?" he asked. Ever since Bergil had left to join the military, Elboron had attached himself to Beregond's sixteen-year-old second son.

"I think that is a splendid idea," Éowyn said. "We will invite Borlas and Beregond and some of the ladies and their children. It will be a regular little party. How does that sound, a blueberrying party?"

For answer, both children cheered. Each seized one of Éowyn's hands, and they dragged her down the corridor to the bathing chamber with more enthusiasm than they had ever before shown for baths.

Several hours later, Éowyn and Beregond led a sizeable party from the manor house out to the woods beyond the town. In addition to Éowyn, Beregond, and their children, seven of Éowyn's ladies accompanied them, most bringing children of their own. They wore old, patched shirts, trousers, and dresses, and they carried an assortment of pails and baskets. Most of these were empty, but two of Éowyn's ladies carried blankets and field lunches, and everyone carried a skin of cool water.

It was nearly noon by the time they reached the large patch of wild blueberry bushes north of town. Éowyn and the ladies spread the blankets on the ground, and they ate the bread, cheese, hard-boiled eggs, and lettuce that they had brought with them. While the ladies cleared the remains of the picnic away, Beregond gathered all the children together and showed them the boundaries of the blueberry patch. "None of you are to pass these limits without an adult present," he said. "Borlas, that goes for you as well. The woods are not especially thick, but nevertheless, we do not wish to lose any of you. Within the limits, you may roam as you please."

Borlas proved quite helpful, as the older boys fought to stay at his side. They filled their pails halfway before deciding that it would be much more fun to wrestle among the bushes. The girls picked a few more berries and then settled down to feast. Beregond and the ladies picked the berries quickly and efficiently, though they ate more and more as the afternoon went on. Olwyn stayed close to Éowyn, and her face was sticky with blueberry juice.

Éowyn popped another berry in her mouth and breathed in the cool scent of the woods. It had indeed been a fine idea to come out here today, she decided. Her pail was full, and she walked over to the blankets to set it down. She rooted among the picnic things for a handkerchief with which to wash Olwyn's face. Beregond, comfortably full of sun-warmed blueberries, sat down beneath a tree to cheer the wrestling older boys.

"Leave the cart here," Thano said. "It will be difficult to take further through the woods, and noisy as well. One of you must stay behind to guard it. We should not be long." He looked at his small raiding party and hoped that he had spoken truly. Spurred on by a desperate need for mobility, the Men of Nurn had practiced riding their new horses diligently. Thano was fairly sure that they would be able to control their mounts for the time it would take to locate a suitable number of potential slaves and carry them off. Stealth and secrecy would be their best weapon for the return trip along the Morgul road, though they had brought along their old slings and bags of pebbles.

He led the raiding party through the sparse, sunny woods. They were beautiful, but Thano carefully allowed himself to feel only rage that this green, fertile beauty belonged to Gondor and not Nurn. After some time, Thano heard the squealing laughter of children at play. It seemed a strange sound to his ears; the children of Nurn almost never laughed. But they would laugh after this day, Thano decided. The new slaves would free his people's children from their hard labor and give them the leisure to play and laugh as children should.

As the party approached the source of the laughter, Thano began to catch glimpses of the children through the trees. There were not many, and they appeared to be guarded only by women. All of them wore faded and tattered garments, and Thano guessed that they must be high-ranking field hands for the Lord of this land. That was good. Farming was farming, and it would not take him long to break his new slaves to the ways of his people. At Thano’s signal, the raiders spread themselves out, keeping just beyond sight of their prey. They tensed, readying themselves for Thano’s order.

With a great cry and the noise of pounding hooves, a band of Men on horseback burst out of the woods. Éowyn whirled around, Beregond sprang to his feet, and the ladies froze in terror. The children screamed and tried to run to their mothers. The riders maneuvered to separate them, and began to scoop the shrieking children up by their arms and collars. As the ladies realized that their children were being taken, they rushed at the riders. Some fell beneath the hooves of the horses. The riders seized others by their hair and skirts and dragged them away as well.

Borlas grabbed Elboron, who was nearest to him, by the arm and tried to boost him up a tree. A rider hurled him aside and pulled Elboron onto his own horse. Borlas hit the tree hard, fell to the ground, and did not move.

Olwyn stood screaming in the middle of the chaos. Éowyn rushed to save her daughter, but the rider who had taken Elboron was faster. He stabbed down with a pike, speared the back of Olwyn’s dress, and hoisted her up before him on the horse. Enraged, Éowyn ran after him, only to find Beregond blocking her way.

"My lady!" he cried. "You cannot attack them. You are unarmed. They will kill you." Éowyn turned her full fury on him.

"Beregond," she snarled, "he has taken my children!" With an incoherent shriek, she bowled him over and charged at the rider who was carrying Elboron and Olwyn away. He kicked his horse in the ribs and galloped off through the trees. Éowyn ran after him, only to be lifted off the ground by another rider and carried off with the children. The rest of the kidnappers melted away into the woods.

Beregond sat up and shook his head to clear it in the sudden silence. He looked around, and his heart sank. Three of Éowyn’s ladies lay wounded, and one was dead, her neck broken in the fight. The rest had vanished along with the small children. A moan caught Beregond’s attention, and he turned to see Borlas sitting up, dazed and bleeding. He crawled over to Borlas and wrapped his arms around the boy just as Borlas began to cry. For a moment, all he could think was that his child was safe.

After a moment, Borlas brought himself under control. Beregond continued to pat his back absently, wondering what to do now. He hoped that the three wounded ladies could walk, as there was no other way to get back to the manor house. The dead one would have to wait until someone could return with a horse and cart to fetch her, since Beregond doubted that he had the strength left to carry her home and support the living as well. He felt Borlas’s limbs and was relieved to discover that none were broken.

"Can you stand, lad?" he asked. "We must return to town, and you must help me with the ladies."

Borlas nodded and pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook, and Beregond wished once more that he had a cart so that Borlas need not walk, but there was no other choice. "Who were they, Father?" Borlas asked. "Who attacked us?"

Beregond paused, then helped one of the wounded ladies to rise. "I do not know exactly," he admitted. "It happened so fast. Their armor seemed familiar." He assisted a second lady, and was pleased to see Borlas helping the third. "Come," he said. "You are wounded, and we must see you home."

"My daughter," one of the ladies wailed. "They took my little girl."

"And my little boy," another added. "And the Lady Éowyn as well. What are we going to do, Beregond?"

Beregond set his jaw. "We are going to go home," he said. "We will see you to the healers’ surgery, and then I will determine who these men were and where they might have taken the other ladies and the children." And with that, the remnant of the berrying party began to stagger home through the woods.

There was nothing to do now but sit in the cart and wait. After their captors had shoved the ladies and children into the cart bed and fastened the curtains tightly, Éowyn had immediately begun to investigate the possibility of jumping from the cart as it rolled away. But the riders arranged themselves around the cart such that any escape attempt would be seen.

"We will keep just off the side of the road," the leader was saying. "I have heard that Elves patrol the woods on the other side, and we should not be seen by unfriendly eyes." Éowyn swore quietly as that hope of rescue vanished.

Now the cart bounced and jolted its way through the woods of Ithilien carrying Éowyn and her ladies and children off to an unknown destination. Éowyn sighed. It seemed that there was little she could do at the moment to alter the future, so she decided to concentrate on the present. And the present involved a cart full of terrified small children, some of them separated from their mothers, who needed soothing and a calm adult presence. Some of the smallest had wet themselves in their terror. Éowyn and the ladies busied themselves cleaning the children as best they could with rags torn from the sacks lining the bottom of the cart.

Olwyn clung to Éowyn and whimpered in a soft, constant monotone. Elboron, who had recently decided to start behaving like a "little man," especially in front of Faramir, had now abandoned all pretense of bravery and huddled close at Éowyn's other side. Éowyn paused after cleaning up a little girl and gave Elboron an extra hug and a kiss.

"At least we are together," she told him. "And I will do my best to see that we remain together. Your Mama will not abandon you without a fight."

The slow walk back to town helped to clear Beregond’s head. He offered perfunctory support to the wounded lady who leaned on him, but his mind was back at the blueberry patch, picking through the details of the sudden attack. In particular, his thoughts returned again and again to the helmets that the kidnappers had worn. Though they were old and battered, they retained a distinct shape, and Beregond was sure he had seen that shape somewhere before. He cast his memory back to the War, and then beyond, trying to recall the faces he had seen underneath similar helmets in the past.

"Will they come back?" Borlas asked.

"I do not know," Beregond said, mildly annoyed at the interruption in his thoughts. "I will set a division of the White Company to guard the road. And I ought to send a messenger to Lord Legolas as well, for if these raiders do return, they might just as easily turn northward into the Elves’ territory. And then I must . . . " Beregond stopped dead in his tracks as an image flashed in his memory. "Oh, no," he breathed. "That cannot be."

"What is it?" Borlas asked. "Father, are you wounded? Does it pain you?"

Beregond pulled himself back to the present and turned to glance at his panicky son. "I am fine, Borlas," he said. "But I have remembered where I have seen armor like that before. Come, we must get the ladies back to Emyn Arnen without delay. This is much more serious than I had thought."

"Why? Where did they come from? Are they going to attack the town?"

"I do not know. They appeared to be Haradrim, though why they approached from the Morgul Road I cannot fathom." Beregond quickened their pace a little, walking as fast as the wounded ladies could move. "Borlas, I will need your aid," he said. "Lord Faramir must be informed of this assault as quickly as possible. I cannot bear the message myself, and I do not have the leisure to instruct another messenger. When we return to Emyn Arnen, you are to saddle the fastest horse in the Prince’s stable and ride to Minas Tirith. Tell Lord Faramir what you saw today, and tell him that they came in armor of Harad. Can you do that?"

Borlas gulped. "Yes, Father."

"Good lad. I know that you are hurt, but this message must reach Minas Tirith without delay. After you have delivered it, you may spend as much time at the Houses of Healing there as you need."

As soon as they approached the manor house, Beregond began to shout instructions. Staff members rushed outside to bear the wounded ladies indoors. One maid pulled out a handkerchief and began to dab at the scrapes and bruises on Borlas’s face, but Beregond pulled him away.

"There is no time for that," he said. "Saddle a horse and ride now. This message must arrive quickly."

Borlas hurried to the stable and selected a large bay stallion. His fingers shook, and he fumbled with the tack. A groom ran to assist him, and another filled a water skin and attached it to the back of the saddle. His heart pounding, Borlas hauled himself onto the stallion’s back. He swayed with dizziness for a moment, then took a deep breath. His father was counting on him to deliver the message, trusting him as he would trust a grown man. Borlas urged the horse forward, and he galloped away out of the stable yard, hoping that he would be able to stay in the saddle long enough to reach Minas Tirith.

To her surprise, Doronrîn had completely lost track of time. Ioreth had invited a quartet of apprentice midwives to gather in the Houses of Healing so that Doronrîn could instruct them in the tricks of the trade she had gathered over the centuries. "For you are very wise, Lady Doronrîn," Ioreth had explained. "It would be a crying shame to have you here in the city, you who helped the little Princess to be born alive, and for the girls not to hear you speak. Why, I have been catching babies in this city nigh on forty-seven years now, and I declare that I learned as much on the night the Princess was born as in all my born days. Think what the girls could learn from you now, and how many more babies will be born hale and sound because of it."

Faced with that argument, Doronrîn had not been able to refuse. She had been somewhat apprehensive about a prolonged lesson in a language not her own, with four strange children of Men, but the girls were bright and eager to learn. Soon, Doronrîn felt almost as though she were back in Eryn Lasgalen teaching small children to identify and use various herbs and plants. She was especially pleased that the four apprentices had clearly had prior training, and thus were able to ask intelligent questions. She became so caught up in the conversation that she failed to notice the setting sun, and was mildly surprised when Ioreth entered the room.

"I do apologize for interrupting your lovely discussion," she said, "but the sun is setting now, and the young ladies will be wanting their dinners. The cooks have prepared the new young beets today, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste."

"Of course," Doronrîn said. "I would never keep any young person from a meal." She inclined her head at the apprentices, and they rose to their feet and bobbed awkward curtsies.

"Thank you ever so much for coming to speak with us, Lady Doronrîn," the oldest girl said. "If it is not too bold to ask, might we come again to speak with you? There are still so many questions we would ask of you."

Doronrîn blushed, and Ioreth smiled her apple-doll smile. "It would seem that you have acquired a following," she said. "I am hardly surprised at that; we have heard tell of the great Elvish lore-masters of old, and I am sure that they could not hold a candle to you for useful instruction, and so elegantly delivered. Why, if you see your way clear to staying in the city for a few months, you might hold regular lessons in the art of midwifery. Perhaps you might even return each year, for there will always be new young ladies to teach . . . "

Doronrîn held up her hand. "Peace, Mistress Ioreth," she said. "I fear that your tongue runs faster than my plans. I will return tomorrow to speak with these ladies. If that goes well, then we may begin to consider regular lessons."

Ioreth beamed. "That would be wonderful. Now, what would you say to a little bit of a walk? You have been very kind, to stay cooped up indoors all day today, though I dare say you have had the best of it, as it has been so very hot lately. But perhaps a sniff of the evening air would do you good." She linked her arm firmly through Doronrîn’s and steered her out of the Houses of Healing. "I have an idea. We will go and stroll through that pleasure garden on the fourth level. It is a lovely place, almost as lovely as our gardens. Your own Lord Legolas gave that to us, did you know that? It was a wedding present for the King, it was, and such a kind one at that . . . "

Doronrîn allowed Ioreth’s chatter to flow past her as they walked through the streets of the city. The air had indeed begun to cool, and as they approached the fourth level, Doronrîn thought she could smell flowers and trees, very faintly.

At this hour, the pleasure garden was mostly empty. The two ladies were just about to enter when they heard the uneven hoofbeats of an exhausted horse and the ragged breathing of a rider in pain. Without a word exchanged between them, they hurried down the street to investigate.

Not far away, they saw a young Citadel Guard leading a stumbling horse. The face of the boy on its back was bruised and crusted with spots of dried blood, and he slumped over the horse’s neck, practically insensate. Ioreth gasped.

"Why, Bergil? What has happened? Is that Borlas? What brings him here alone and wounded?"

"He rode to the City," Bergil explained. "I told him he ought to go to the healers, but he said he had an urgent message for Lord Faramir and that something had happened in Ithilien. I do not know what to do, and now I am frightened for both my father and my mother. Can you help us, Mistress?"

Doronrîn reached up and clasped the boy’s wrist. "He is alive," she said, "and I think he will remain so. He is exhausted, but that can be mended with rest."

"Someone should be ready to take him in," Ioreth said. "And it should not be you, Bergil. The barracks is no place for a sick lad."

"Our Uncle Iorlas lives in the City," Bergil offered.

"That will do. Run and tell him that your brother is in town and may need to stay with him for a few days. Lady Doronrîn and I will take Borlas to the Citadel."

Bergil nodded, gave Borlas's hand one last squeeze, and hurried away. Borlas, only partially conscious, swayed on the horse's back. Ioreth glanced at Doronrîn.

"I cannot ride behind him," Doronrîn said, "not with that saddle in place. But perhaps I can help to keep him in his saddle." She reached up and placed her hand on his knee, and a look of intense concentration spread over her face. Borlas seemed to come back to himself a little and gripped the horse's body with his knees. Doronrîn nodded to Ioreth. Ioreth grasped the horse's reins and the little party moved slowly through the streets of Minas Tirith toward the Citadel.