A/N: If you followed my lure here from FanFiction.net, WELCOME! I truly hope you will have a good time at this new site. When done here, take a peek around. Lots of excellent work will be found in your wanderings, that I can promise you.

My most sincere thanks to Nilmandra for betaing this chapter for me! You're a doll, and a smart cookie to boot, and you have my everlasting gratitude for your help!

The Hunting Trip
Chapter 39: Awakenings

Gimli and Thranduil were speaking venomous words. At least that is how Legolas' scattered mind read the conversation.

In the meandering course of his drugged and fevered brain, this was the conclusion his head had made. A voice, stern and abrupt was charging accusations while another was pleading piteously for something the Elf could not discern. Had Legolas been coherent, he might have questioned why he cast his father and his dearest friend in these respective roles with no evidence to substantiate their presence, but his state was far from coherent, and given the harm razed upon him, it was rather amazing that his mind grasped even the oddly wayward path of this concept. He was in pain. His thoughts were muddied. Reality and dream became co-mingled into a whirlpool mass of twisted logic and he was incapable of fashioning anything beyond this. Sluggish aches pulled him into the half-world of Elven dreams.

In the twilight madness, nightmarish threats loomed. The words of his father and friend were but hints of the agonizing depths his hurt traveled. He moaned, attempting to make them stop, but found his strength lacking so that he might utter real words. He opened his eyes instead in the effort to gaze at them, but his vision was blurred and thus he was left with only the sound of their voices.

"Yes, yes, I will do it! But the blood! Oh, the blood. I must stop it somehow!" Gimli cried over a fallen form. Pitiful was the Dwarf's lament, and Legolas tried to see over whom his friend was bent. The blood was a curiosity and the Elf wondered why it was there.

The Dwarf's face was obscured but Legolas was moved irregardless. The sorrow in the Dwarf's voice mixed with his own agony. Somehow, everything that had been flagging him merged. The anxieties for his people were tied to his fears for his own survival while the agonies of his bodily hurts were enveloped with the traumatic confusions lobbed on his mind. Together they melded into the single mournful wail of his friend. Separate though they were, they combined in Legolas' reality to become the figure unnamed over whom the Dwarf cried. There was no other explanation in the Elf's mind for the tears or the blood, and as he realized this, it dawned upon him that it might be his body for whom the Dwarf cried.

"Have you no sense? Do you not realize where you are?" Thranduil's figure bellowed. Legolas stirred at those words. He did not like the disdain in his father's voice or to whom the words were directed. The Elf King's mood was dark, and Legolas thought likely it was due to the presence of a Dwarf. Thinking that somehow he needed to play a part in this drama, he tried to comply so that he might answer for the Dwarf were his aid needed. It was then that he sensed himself to be in some kind of cavern. Dully he thought that perhaps they were back in Eryn Lasgalen and that Gimli had brought him here to plead for Legolas' people. In the confused logic that rattled him, this made sense to the younger Elf. After all, was his bloody body not enough to show how his people suffered? Pain raked over him, though he could not reason from where it emanated. He only knew these two beings were conversing about what might solve his ills, thus curing him and his ailing colony. He hoped their answer might come soon, for his agony was exceptional.

Thranduil's voice continued, and Legolas grew confused, for the words again made no sense in his tormented mind. "This place has powers you have yet to wield. Use them and he might be healed." Legolas' mind roiled furiously trying to put order to that thought. Was Gimli somehow the means by which the Elf would find healing? It seemed to him when put this way that his father was rejecting him, casting him aside, and putting it upon Gimli alone to find aid for the ailing friend and the Elves that he ruled. Legolas moaned without meaning to, his bruised soul stinging at yet another hurt laid there.

And then the scene quieted. He drifted away lost in his misery. He was trapped between blossoming aches and the calm of nothing. When he found himself again, in the expanse of unmeasured time, it was Aragorn and Faramir who were speaking. Somehow he realized that the conversation continued as it had left off, and strangely the shift in speakers did not bother him. They began to work into the nonsensical order of words and thoughts. The shadows shifted, giving Legolas the impression there were others lurking behind curtains and off in the distance where he could not see. He realized then that the scene too had changed, and he was now in the King's court.

"I cannot . . . my healing powers are not strong enough to stop this endless trauma . . ." Aragorn wailed, his hands covered in blood.

Legolas tried to move closer, so that he might console his friend's agony, but he realized he could not. Yet it fit within this reality. It was part of his illness and the cause of the blood he had seen with Gimli. It had transferred to Aragorn and it became the King's worry now to solve.

Faramir gave an exasperated cry readily appearing to be in a foul mood. "Must I show you everything in which you must act? Your powers are there before you. You need only look." Arwen stepped forward from the shadows then, nodding knowingly at her king as if siding with Faramir. She took one bloody hand into hers and placed it at her womb, which was, Legolas noted, swollen with child. Then she moved the other to the fallen form that lay before the king. The steward scowled, barking out to Aragorn with a dismissive wave, "Heal him, then get on with the task I set before you! I shall not hesitate again to make my presence known and my ability to usurp you take precedence!"

"But . . . " Aragorn's face showed his struggle to find an answer to the dilemma placed before him, and Legolas found himself seeking also to find the answer that might alleviate his friend's sorrow. Might Aragorn save him? That must be what was happening and he rejoiced that there might be a cure. Legolas felt certain he could not survive, damaged as he was. Too much blood was being lost. Yet Aragorn offered him a chance. The man's face lit up in surprise and wonder, as if he had been thinking the same thing and had come to find his answer. "These walls give me the power, do they not? They bolster my strength that I might do this, that I might heal him. Might I? Can I?" The son of Arathorn was taking in rapid breaths, excitement running over his features as he realized his strength.

"Yes, yes, yes," Faramir barked out, his exasperation getting the better of him as his voice rang with anger. "You will not be stilled otherwise! Now do it and be quick!"

Legolas released a small sigh, his happiness buoying him lightly away from his pain. There would be a resolution. There would be relief from his ills and he would be healed. His people would live. But the pleasure was not long-lasting. Silence grew between them, and in the solitude of that peace, Legolas realized the sound of rushing water was about them. Suddenly, he knew not where he lay. He was not in Minas Tirith's halls any longer and the suddenness in his change of venue stirred anxieties. Worse, there was something else present, and it stripped away his joy. A growing worry began to take over, for the sound had the effect of rendering upon him another lost thought.

Abruptly he was sundered from his frail grip on his thoughts. The interrupting force made him cry out. In that moment the sea-longing assaulted him like a wave crashing down onto an unsuspecting shore. Never had the effect come upon him like this before. He nearly gasped as he attempted to foist it back, the sound penetrating his dreams. The reality of the attack awakened him, and he found memory and pain choking him as he tried to hold back what was taking his mind. The effort to fight off the affects of the sea compelled him to take notice of external reality, and he forced himself forward into the present. It was as if he were swimming to the surface of a turbulent sea, fighting against a current that was far too strong. Legolas knew he had not the strength to push it away for long. He recalled then the harm Éowyn had inflicted on him by calling it forth in his mind, and the creeping lament of the gull's cry riddled him again with the memory. And all the while his body was racked in sharp jabs of pain.

"No!" he cried out. He wheezed out an utterance of surprise for the jarring of his mind. Fingers grazed his skin, and he flinched at the surprise of it.

"What is it, Elf?" a male voice said. No longer was the voice like that of his friend, and he shot eyes open though he had not realized before they had been closed. He hissed in a breath, trying to put order to the new speaker in the wayward journey back to consciousness. It did not make sense. Aragorn, Gimli, Faramir, his father. Had they not been with him? Unless. . . unless it was part of his sickness?

Blearily blinking, Legolas could make out the warping features of a man, one of an early age. A snarl painted the mortal's appearance, and he seemed unmoved by Legolas' confusion. Dawning realization struck the Elf. Though he would never admit it, the appearance of the Romany frightened him. Those strange utterances of his dream were the mingled dialogue of the people now about him. He grasped for the truth, no longer quite able to remember the words said, and knowing even if he could, what they had meant to his confused mind and to those who spoke them were two completely different things. He suddenly felt the reality before him and it was more frightening than the hazy dreams he had mistaken for truth. Curtik glanced over his shoulder and spat out, "This one too seems to need your touch, Mother, though I doubt you would really wish to see him healed. I care not," he said, rising and stepping away, "so long as you perform my task first."

The old woman's voice reached Legolas' ears, and it seemed to have taken on a lightened quality, as if the speaker were feeling something profound and moving and barely noticing what was before her. He saw her as Curtik moved away, the man rounding on a crumpled form before her. The old woman's hands were covered in blood and they ran over the length of the unmoving body. Her eyes were shut as she performed this action, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Yes, Curtik," the old woman answered in a whispering voice, "you are next, and I am almost done here. The bleeding is nearly stopped, and I feel his body begin to heal."

Her eyes flickered open a few seconds later and almost immediately came to settle on Legolas, the serene smile never leaving her lips. Her focus sharpened and her full attention was suddenly on him. "Perhaps I should find a way to slip him into a deeper sleep. My potion does not seen to have a lasting effect on Elves. This should require but a touch to reach his mind . . ." Her bloody hand reached out to Legolas and she began to rise. Legolas felt his heart race in his chest, the fear of her touch and how she might read his thoughts telling to him of the torment Kattica had once inflicted.

"Not now! I grow impatient!"

Curtik's words were like a slap in the face to the Elf, but he felt relieved all the same, for the man stepped before her, shaking her shoulder to draw her attention away. Despite his interference, there was a somnolent quality to the way she stared at Legolas. Curtik's tight grip on her arm did not seem to change this, though her motion was halted.

Bregus' head slowly turned to her son. The serene smile remained as she touched the man's cheek. "Patience. You may not see it in the sky, but the moon is still there and it will remain so for the next few hours. Peace, Curtik, I will comply. Mattias will be well, and it is your turn. Come to me now that I might finish my work."

They were distracted, and Legolas knew he would have little other chance. He had to make the attempt to move, the idea that he might free himself while they were turned away tearing through his mind. With his elbows levering him, he shifted in the litter. It was not a huge move, a nudge in another direction, but rather than finding motion, he was instead greeted with searing pain. He cried aloud for the agonizing hurt, and then fell back to his palette, the pain quashing his efforts and seducing him to acquiesce and lay still. His eyes were sealed shut, his agony pushing him to relinquish all else while he awaited its passing. Blood pumped forcibly through his temples and his breathing grew constricted. He felt dizzy and sick as a loud ringing filled his ears.

In his mind he heard words being uttered distantly in a foreign tongue. For a moment they sounded as if they came from the throat of Aragorn and Gimli simultaneously. Activity commenced about him, something of light and shadow and a voice rising in pitch and tempo. Legolas struggled to open his eyes, hoping that indeed it was his friends who called out. Help me! Please help me! his mind pleaded to them. Noise whipped over him, like the heart of a storm, with the wind screaming a torrential cry. The world suddenly went quite bright, and he groaned, turning away, squinting his eyes to shut out the intensity of the overload to his senses. A blur of two figures huddled before him, and he could make out that this is where the voice and sound originated. Star trails led off from the highlights outlining their bodies, making it difficult to decipher who it was that spoke. But alas, they did not appear as his friends. He watched the light and color and sound unfold before him, but it wasn't a fog-filled mind that prevented him from making sense of what was there. Nothing was solid in this world. Confusion streamed around him and it seemed all the earth's powers were living at once in the two joined mortal forms.

Wind blasted him. Light blinded him. The ground shook him. And water misted him with its spray and droplets as it bellowed out a crashing noise.

And then, suddenly, it stopped. The room fell dark, the dim light of a small fire the only source of illumination. The two forms were collapsed on the floor and nothing else but the rippling noise of the waterfall was witness to the tale of what had happened in this room. He grimaced, unsure himself what had happened though he was certain he did not wish to look upon his captors for answers, and he hoped they might forget his presence if he might remain still enough. He closed his eyes, easing back into the pain.

The watery tower cascaded as all other noises remained mute. The echoing rhythm of beating water pulsated its own sinewy beat. And then it was there, the calm evoked by the surf caressing the shore. The soft rippling of the sea's voice was a harmonious whisper of cool comfort. It had soothed his beleaguered body before, and it was tempting to let it give him relief once again. He had fallen into it so easily then, the balm of it easing his pain and leaving the tainting aftermath of his agony behind. How simple it would be to follow that path, to ride on the pleasure of calm waters. It gave the promise to ease him where rescue and salvation could not. The sea called him, the echo of its resonating voice beseeching his heart. To Valinor it sang. It was the answer to all his worries, to the ache of his body, and the frightening paralysis that filled him with fear. He could go this way and never come back. It was a temptation, the allure of that dreamy escape . . .

Only vaguely did he feel the touch of a hand on his heated skin or the whisper of a voice in his ear. Only vaguely did he realize the words said and how they encouraged him to merge with this longing. The voice bid his mind to accept the peace offered it. His eyes rolled back in his head and he let the clouds and the sky ride over him as the sea buoyed him away. "I see," the voice said, though he no longer heard it. "So this is what they mean by sea-longing. It is . . . interesting."

****

Arwen snuggled into the warmth of Aragorn's arms, her body spooned in the curve of his body. His form matched hers, and she felt a sense of completeness in the secure hollow of his draped arm as her dreams faded away and a new day broke her reverie. A smile of pleasure creased the corners of her mouth upward as he nuzzled his chin into hers, the heat of his breath tickling the lobe of her ear. She pressed into the caress, the comfort of his musky scent and his muscled limbs bringing joyous pleasure to her very soul. Feeling his bristly beard grazing her cheek, she nearly purred her waking pleasure at finding him by her side. Her eyes remained closed as she drew her hand up, feeling the coarse texture of his facial hair with her feathery touch. Her hand brushed his cheek, and he stirred. Her fingers pressed to his lips as he greeted them in dreams with the whisper of a kiss as she felt a small smile working along the rim of his mouth. She reached down then and pulled the large hand of his bent arm up to her lips. She too brushed the tips of them against her lips, her tongue just grazing them enough to taste the salty essence of his flesh. Her scent perfumed his stilled digits, and she brushed his strong fingers along her cheek, sighing contentedly for the fulfillment of his touch.

She used the comforting moment to reminisce the hard pull of her feelings for the man who had become her mate. It had been considered an oddity by her kind when she had made known her feelings for Estel. Unique. Odd. Those were the words she had heard phrased again and again as slowly they had unveiled their tender feelings for one another. She knew the reasons her people were hard-pressed to relinquish their hesitance. He was nothing like the Elven males to which she had been drawn at a younger age. Aragorn was unique to everything she might have found attractive in a mate. By Elven standards he was ugly! He did not bathe frequently enough. His hair was often in need of combing. When left to his own devices, he would wear the same garments day in and day out. And his hands -- this was a bone of contention even Arwen had trouble overlooking. It seemed no matter how frequently he washed them, they were never quite free of dirt, an embarrassment, Arwen felt, when etiquette and state diplomacy were required. Yet here in his arms, it mattered not at all these nuances to his appearance. She cared not for what her people or even representing governors from far lands might think. She felt intoxicated with joy over the sheer magnificence of his bearing. He was rugged and masculine and incredibly exciting as a lover, and all the nuances that had once made Elven males attractive to her seemed petty in comparison to the enticement he offered. She had no regrets whatsoever over the decision she had made in marrying him and scoffed at those of her kind who might find her choice a scandalous one. Arwen snuggled in closer, enjoying the last of their rest before she knew they must rise.

Aragorn moved even closer then, pulling her tightly into an embrace. He was awake now and his head was bowed as his lips caressed the base of her throat. Arwen rejoiced. After a dozen years of marriage the physical pleasures of marriage remained as pure and rewarding as their earliest encounters. She could never grow bored with the infinite variety of games and experiments that they played in those coital moments, and she expected their life might always be such. Ticklish glee rode over her as she realized his revived desires in the tight confines of their hug. It seemed apparent with his kisses and licks growing strong with awakened passion that he also did not tire of these intimacies. His stamina was great and she smiled at this, for there had been times, when mood struck them and their duties would allow, that their yearnings had strung out for countless hours on end, and even days of intermittent lovemaking sessions had been made a part of their most secret of games. Of course, that would not be the case on this day as they did have other stresses yet to face. Still, they might have time for one more quick dalliance before rising for the challenges that lay ahead of them.

She pulled his dexterous fingers to her mouth again as he nibbled at her neck. His aggressive attentions were not lost on her, and she decided to reciprocate by exercising a little stimulation of her own. In anticipation for the tease of the trickery she might wield elsewhere, she opened her eyes and gazed at the faint outline of his long, muscular hand. She smiled as she saw his hands were in need of a good scrubbing, and thought it better that she ply his digits touch rather than oral stimulus. She smiled as she rubbed the length of his fingers with her own, tangling them seductively with her suggestive caress. And then she stopped.

It took but a moment for it to register, but when it did she caught her breath.

"Estel!" she gasped.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" he responded as his tongue flicked the tip of her ear and he ran his hand over the curves of her body.

"No," she said, then gasped again as he touched her in a way most enticing, "I mean yes! But . . . Ai, Estel!"

He brought his head up now, his eyes too also open, and she could see the shadowy features of his face as he said, "Have I done something wrong?"

She could not help but kiss him then, for her joy was nearly uncontainable. Pulling away she grasped his face in her two hands and dared meet his eyes. "Look at me," she demanded. "Can you see me?"

It took him a moment to realize the same thing that she had, but when he did, he shot up from his reclined position, turning his head abruptly to find the light source. "I can see," he murmured. "Barely, but -- Ah, Arwen, there is light!"

A jubilant smile burst upon her face as she drew up to his side. Her eyes also scoured the space, seeking out the origin of the illumination. It took but a moment to find it, for the light was rather dim. In comparison to the pitch that surrounded them, it was the beckoning call of the sun on a fresh summer's day.

The pool below them had turned a dim shade of blue, and it appeared as if a section of water actually glowed. The lightsource grew from the solid wall that had ended their journey, blocking their passage. Yet apparently it did not. "It comes from below," she said, for indeed it appeared as if the light came from an underwater passage.

They were on their feet instantly, running down the slope of the trail, fingers grazing the wall to gauge their way, to meet up with the shoreline of the underground river. Despite the appearance of light, the cavern was nearly as densely black as before and they had not clearly seen where their steps had taken them. They splashed into the newly flooded pathway. Aragorn, thrown by the sudden change in his footing, nearly fell upon entering, but Arwen was quick to aid him in recouping his lost balance. As he regained his feet, Arwen noticed the water was just high enough to cover the tops of their feet. It was enough though to saturate her bootleather, and the trickle of water was incredibly cold to the touch, even by Arwen's standards.

Glancing about, she could make out that the water quaked and rjppled from the impact of their steps, and with it a shimmer of light danced about the room, as if in greeting to them. It gave them enough that they might see the path was not just flooded in this spot, it was flooded in all the low places where the path trekked away. The water table appeared to have been broken. Arwen's keen ears recognized the sound of water dripping further back in the caves, and decided this was likely one of the reasons for the rising river.

"It must have rained," she uttered.

She turned her eyes back to the river. From this new angle it appeared that the light drifted in from somewhere beneath the water. Where the towering wall met the rippling surface, the new light revealed an etched recess carved from the solid rock below. She had been mistaken to believe this wall had been the end, for clearly the water tunneled out at its lower depths. It was difficult to know the distance of the resource, for the light was indirect and surrounded by shadow, but in her judgment, considering the overhang and the length of the light's reach, she anticipated the entrance might be but a few meters back.

However, she was disturbed as she gazed into the liquid. Dim as it was, she could see particles of dirt flurrying within the murky confines of the pool and the water was no longer still as it had been the night before. Now the surface was shifting and turning. The liquid within was hazy while the floor of the pool was no longer visible. Something was causing the water to move and Arwen had the ominous feeling that despite the soft murmur the surface gave as it lapped at the walls and shore, there was danger below.

At her side, Aragorn was muttering thoughts of his own. "The passage looks narrow. From here I cannot tell if it is large enough to let us through." He knelt down, as if to get a better perspective, cocking his head to the side and craning his neck to look at the flickering light. Then reaching deep into the cool surface of the pool, he hissed at the chill of the water as his arm slipped into the deep, past his elbow. "The current is strong," he said, glancing up at her before rising. Then he stepped away, not pausing to tell her his thoughts, only walking away, nearly lost in the dark. However, she did not wonder at this for she knew he had gone to their sleeping spot as though to gather their goods. She heard the sound of flint striking steel, and then watched as a small flax string was cupped and then raised to the kerosene lamp. The yellow glow of the light fell upon Aragorn's face, and she smiled at his completely disheveled appearance. He gathered their meager goods before returning to her side. From there, the rope that he had untied from his waist the night before was returned to that favored spot. He handed her the other end as he said, "Use it to pull me back if I do not return on my own."

She had expected as much, and though she took the offered cord, she did not grasp it. She held it out as if she had no intentions of accepting it"No," she said. His head shot up, his eyes pulling away from the act of securing another knot.

He gave an exasperated sigh though his face looked grim. "It is the way out, Arwen; the one you had predicted."

"Aye, it is, but that passage is narrow and the current is strong. You are not the one who should be attempting this escape."

"And you are?" There was no smile on his face as he snapped this. She narrowed her eyes, giving him a warning glance but she new it was not his over-protective nature now speaking. He too seemed to sense a danger in the water. Yet he appeared perceptive enough to see she might read his intentions otherwise. He took a deep, calming breath, and then said in his most diplomatic voice, "Tell me your thoughts."

She smiled. He is learning! she thought. Then she glanced down, noting the numbing feeling in her toes as she stood in the hazy grey water. She said, "I can tolerate the temperature better than you would."

He stared at her, as if digesting the merit of such a comment, but then he shook his head and said, "I do not think it matters much. I shall not be in the water long."

"I am slighter than you as well. It might be easier for me to pass. And if it is not, I am the better swimmer between us. Further, if there is trouble, I would be easier to pull back as my weight is not as great as yours." His eyes turned away, looking into the pool as if weighing these arguments. She took the opportunity to push her point through. "The water is like ice, Estel. For those of mortal blood, even a minute in that could be a debilitating period. I am of Elven blood. I am not nearly as affected as you would be. I am more qualified to withstand the chill and I am more qualified to take on this risk."

His brow furrowed as he pondered this, and she could see he was battling his protective nature to hear her reasoning. At last he sighed and then approached her. Fingers trailed down her arms and laced into her hands. "I do not wish it to be, but you are right," he said as he lightly took the proffered rope and began to tie it about her waist. He secured it with a tight knot.

She laid her fingers over his, feeling a tiny tremble as he stilled his fumbling fingers. His eyes roamed up from her hands to her face. She greeted him with a smile that reached her dark eyes. "It will be well," she whispered, softly cooing her assurances. "We shall be free, I know it. This will work."

He nodded only slightly. No words did he say. The yellow light of the lamp showed the moisture building in his eyes. Then he turned his eyes back to his task, his hands fumbling with the rope again, tightening his knots. When he was satisfied they were secure and would hold, he sighed, standing more erect as he did. Simultaneously, spontaneously, they wrapped their arms about each other. Their kiss came unbidden, the sign of their intimacy locked together with hope. When they broke away, he said to her, "Two minutes. If you have not made it through in that time, I am pulling you back."

He looked so frightened, and she could think of nothing that might vanquish those fears. However, a thought to lessen his burden came to her then. She smiled, teasing him then. "One hard yank if there is danger or if I need for you to come," she said, reciting the words in the instructional voice he had used when he had loosed her in the tunnels alone just the day before. "Two short tugs if I have reached the end yet I wish more lead to go on. Three tugs if --"

"I know," he interrupted with a grim smile, placing one hand over hers.

"Have faith," she cooed softly, her words nearly lost, "and know I am only as far as this rope can take me. Do not be afraid of our separation. I will never leave you."

He smiled, seeing the parallel between her words and his mood as they had been the day before. "Remember to keep the rope between us taut. That is important," he said, joking still with yet another reiteration of his prior words.

She turned then and took her first steps, sinking quickly into water that rose to her waist. As anticipated, the water was frigid, and though it was uncommon among Elves, she could feel gooseflesh rise on her arms and neck. "It is very cold," she announced though she knew he had earlier proclaimed this. She began to walk towards the light, feeling the tug of a current dragging at her feet as she lowered further. She was in water up to her neck and there was still another twenty feet or so to go before she would reach the great wall. The current was so strong that her feet were barely skimming the loamy bottom of the pool. Where her feet did touch, great clouds of silt-like sand billowed up around her, muddying the water and decreasing visibility even further. The water deepened in the next few feet so that she could no longer stand, and she was forced to relinquish herself to the tide that tugged her steadily forward. She glided in the water, her head just above the surface, but the current was fast, and she was quickly pulled to the rift in the walls base.

Too fast it came up, and luckily she was facing forward as to see the wall coming. Had she not, she would have crashed head-on into the wall. As it was her speed was swift, and she heard Aragorn gasping in astonished fear as he watched her reach out and catch herself before she was dashed into the rock face.

"Arwen!" he cried, nearly diving into the water after her.

"Daro!" she responded, resorting to her Sindarin tongue to call his stop. He was forever her rescuer and she would not have it. The water made sound, like the drain of a basin where she dragged along the surface near the wall and it threatened, siphoning her body as if trying to drag her down. Still, she would not be deterred. She saw a bloody trail snake down her arm, a confirmation of the cuts on her hand from the jarring blow against the wall. It was nothing to her, minor cuts suffered for the sake of their escape. It gave her shivers of fear though as she sensed this incident to be warning of looming danger ahead, but she pushed back her anxieties and refused to let it stop her. She switched back to the common tongue, clinging to the jagged wall as she said to him in the calmest voice she could muster. "I am well. It is -- the current is very strong here."

"I am pulling you back," he declared, but she shook her head in answer.

"No! Let me try! I have not had my two minutes yet!"

"The current will drag you under," he said. "You will not be able to bring yourself back up!"

"Is that not why you affixed the rope?" she asked, shivering slightly. Her patience was short and she perceived his to be as well. She did not await his response. With a quick gulp of air she purposefully swam under, expecting him to immediately yank back on the rope. But she felt nothing that would indicate he was dragging her away, and she had to assume he was allowing her the opportunity she was promised.

With the circulation of water now evident around her, she could feel the mixture of warm mingling with the cold. But she hardly had time to register anything but the most outward of sensations. The rip of the current was great, and she found herself plummeting forward. The underground river traveled on several dozen more feet before opening into the greater world. The tunnels height and width were nearly the same, and they formed into a funneled tube as they progressed. The end revealed an opening that she could swim through and it was coming up fast. She could see rays of sunlight beckoning to her from the other side of the opening. Excitement rippled through her and she kicked her feet that she might reach it even sooner.

And then her journey found an end.

The cord wrenched at her waist as the air nearly burst from her lungs. Her progress slowed and the water that had been pulling her dragged against her body as she came to a dull stop. Water gushed around, sweeping past her and toward her simultaneously. Only a few feet more and she would reach the entrance. Surely Aragorn was not yet attempting to pull her back? Although her lungs were feeling constricted, she knew she was not yet at her final moments of air. Time was not up, so why was she not granted further access? She could not have reached the end of her rope so soon. Or could she. Glimpsing back she could see very little in the darkness, and she suspected that perhaps the rope was at an end. She had come further than she had expected she would.

Panicked because she knew the tunnels length was too long to pull her back in safe time to beat the current's strength, she struggled to kick ahead. This near to the entrance, the water was in a strange state of motion. Both in and out it seemed to go, and she felt herself eddied both ways as she struggled to make free. Just three more feet and she might find a handhold to pull herself up. Two more feet. But then, there was no more. Struggling, struggling, she could feel her lungs begin to scream. Her time was drawing to an end, and she was caught in an impossible place. She must find more rope.

She looked down, gazing at the knots holding her to the tether. Argaorn's strong fingers had done well. In fact, in his instinctive desire to protect her, he had done too well. There was nothing she could do to break out of the knots. Her fingers cloyed at the tight fibers but there was not an ounce of give within them. From this end, she would never be able to cut loose from the bonds. Yet from the other end . . .

Her heart was racing a thunderous pounding within her head. Her lungs began to cry silent agony for the air she could not breathe. And yet her brain was ticking away a strategic method to find escape. She would die in but minutes if she did not act.

Wrapping both hands around the thickness of rope, she used her own weight to rudder her down. She girded both feet beneath her and pulled. Not once did she yank at the steely tether, but twice, telling Aragorn, she hoped, that she needed more line to find her way free.

The change was quick to come. She lurched yet another several feet, and she flipped about, scrambling to find the hold she had nearly had before. Hands reached the torn edge in the rock, and she dragged herself out, relief so very near. Sunlight sparkled down on her as she used every inch of cord released to her to make herself free of the tunnel. And though it seemed clear Aragorn had not released the rope, it did seem apparent that he had found more to give her. Hand over hand she pulled, and then finally she arose, clearing her way from the tunnel.

The water around her jostled merrily, bubbles and foam playing on the surface while churning sounds of great volume greeted her in muffled voices. Here too, the water swirled furiously and quick, but somehow, with the rediscovery of the sun's glimmer, she felt capable of fighting it yet so that she might rise. More rope was released to her, and she used her handhold and the extra length of freedom to rise. She was not in deep. Quickly, soundly through those nine or ten feet of the water she went, surprised to find suddenly so much rope now availed her.

She broke the surface, gulping hungrily on the sweet, clean air, barely noticing the roaring sound of pouring water echoing loudly in the air. The craggy wall in which she hung gave her good handholds, but they were slick with the slimy residue of plant life. She gasped great breaths of air, coughing on the uptake as small waves of water hit her squarely in the face. Yet she was free. She was free!

Remembering immediately the one she had left behind, she reached down to take the rope. Seeing that he understood her last message, she thought it only right to let him know it was safe now to join her. Her free hand wrapped about the cord while the other still held to the wall. As it had been all along, she expected to find the rope taut when she set out to greet him with her outcome. But to her surprise, it was not. Instead, the rope drifted freely, laying slack in the water.

"Estel--?" she whispered, pulling the rope up and up and up in order to reach the point where it gained her leverage again, or at least the one on the other end of it. And then rapidly, suddenly, like a coiling serpent set free, the rope gained new life. She realized too late what was happening, and even if she had there might be little for her to do. Perhaps if she had considered it sooner, she might have tried to climb out of the water, to go to dry land so that a tree or heavy rock might have anchored her to her place. But she did not, and with nothing more than a short breath of air to fortify her, she was dragged back in and torn into the raging current.

A/N: And now it is time for me to make my own little promotional plea. As you may know, I have no shame, and since reviews are what feed me, this is where I ask that you nickel up some thoughts. Here at SOA (Stories of Arda) my review count is nil. I hate that! So won't you please help by offering a review. Constructive criticism is always welcomed, as is praise. But flames are hard to digest so I ask that you keep those to yourselves. I'd rather get nothing. See, nothing subtle in that. JUST FEED ME!

Response to Reviewers

I had a little extra time this week and so I was able to compose my Response to Reviewers for a change. I've tried to accommodate those that sent in reviews to chapter 38 too. Let me know if I missed you. Fanfiction.net has been playing games with giving me my reviews, and I have faith that now that I am positioned at Stories of Arda, many of those problems will go away.

BlueTigerCat - See, the thing is, I really want to get done. So if it takes 18 page chapters to do it, then that's what I will write. The end is so close. I am dreaming it now. But I have people I need to line up and places to yet go, and, gosh, Gordash and Curtik came at me from out of the blue with these last several chapters. It frightened me so to have some of the details missing when I began this fic, but now I am thrilled with how they've made their own lives. Thank you for your review.

Bryn bnw - I like this new monicker on you. Eldarion conceived in a cave? . . . Hmm, I have answers to this query but I won't be speaking on it until the Epilogue. The buck, oh yes, he keeps creeping in. I won't let that creature out of this story. He does nothing directly, but he is sort of the watcher in this tale. And yes, Kattica will only do white magic for the rest of the story. Except where black magic suits her purposes. (I love giving evil hints.) J

Cheryl Ann Alexis Christopher - Not finding the exit was a little dip in the ride. It seems they needed daylight to make their way out. But that route is another vortex of trouble. Gosh, I hope they make it! Hey, wait a minute, I'm the writer! I can make anything happen. Ooo, such power! Eowyn won't make an appearance again for another chapter or two. She isfeeling a little injured.

Chris - I'm glad to know you are still out there. I truly do know the effects of reality in conjunction to this little fantasy world. I don't mind if you need to lurk for a while, but of course, I always appreciate reviews too. I hope life is being kind. Come back when you can.

Daw the Minstrel - I like dogs too. Dogs are our friends. Don't give up on them yet. They showed compassion to Faramir. Perhaps they might yet be redeemable. Faramir really had no choice you know. His capture would have brought him nothing toward saving his wife. Sensibility is what will bring rescue. The question here is, is Faramir capable of acting sensibly when it comes to Éowyn?

E - So what do you think of their escape method? It was there all along. They just didn't see it. And now, well I'm betting they wish they had found the exit before the river had risen. Curtik is an oddity. His motives are his own, and he only tells me what he thinks I should know. Just as he does with Bregus. Creepy character.

Fliewatuet - Poor you! But I'm hoping life has gotten better since your last post. I say this of course for selfish reasons. I would love to see an update to your story. Oh well, I guess I will have to remain satisfied by working on my own. Oh, but you guessed right about the river rising due to the rain and the effect it has on Aragorn and Arwen's escape. It might have been better had they made it out earlier. However, had they, their little dalliance might not have occurred.

French Pony - [blushing] Thank you so very much. I can't possibly compare, but I'm honored all the same. The Romany speech is as accurate as I could get. I have two separate glossaries of Romany terms, but like dialects, the language changes according to regions of the world. So there is not one Romany language but more likely 20, or more, depending on whether you count the offshoots spoken within the tribes as languages too. Then there would be literally hundreds of versions of Romany. Besides that, it is a spoken language, and really not meant to be written, so the resources I have might have four or five different ways to spell the same words, or relatively the same words. As a result of gathering few resources for the language, I have had a hard time getting consistency with regional uses and have had to resort to mixing Arabic phrases with Slavic, Welsh, and Hindi phrases. I've butchered the language badly, you see, and at times I have had to make up words when the one I wanted simply did not exist. But 95% of the words are true, even if they would not normally be said in the context given. Homogenized Romany, let's say.

Gwyn - Length is not my problem. Shortening is my problem. I wish I could spill out what I need to say with an economy of words. It would make writing fanfic so much easier and faster. As it is, I average 1000 words a day, which really isn't all that much. But since this is a hobby, I must take that. The hard part is the editing, which is tedious and grueling. My ultimate goal is to either find peace with myself and know that I must rewrite and revise numerous times to get the words right, or else get my skills honed to the point where they need little polish (that's the one I am shooting for, but I fear the former is the reality I will be forced to face).

IceAngel7 - Now I know you must be loving all the Faramir action that has been going about here. He didn't make it to this chapter, but he will be in the next. You'll have to stay content for the moment with more Legolas torment and Arwen danger. Sick me. I love writing that stuff.

JastaElf - My, you are a talented one, aren't you? And I am blushing. I'm really delighted you liked that last chapter. I'm glad you are seeing the parallels between the characters too. It has been a slow build to bring it all to this head, but symbolism and contrasts and parallels will be raining in sheets from here on (I hope I don't forget anything). This is the point where I simultaneously grin like an idiot and sweat like a fiend. The end is drawing nearer, and it is really critical I get this right. Fingers crossed, but knowing you're rooting this story on really helps. Well, no, actually it adds pressure, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Thanks for your review!

Jedimasterteo - Your reviews really amuse me. A hearty greeting to your brother. I'm glad he is enjoying this as much as you are, especially the fight sequence. As for Adam, he is obviously missing something, but you can't make him go there if he doesn't want to. Hope camp went well and that you managed to get more socks in time. Thanks for reviewing!

Lamiel - Gosh, thanks for the great review. You are very right on all marks. I was rather eager to get that last chapter done as it was wearing me out. The odd use of that word? I tend to do that at times. It's makes it difficult for me to re-read my old stuff because I find weird words like that spicing things up just enough to make me cringe. So any help you can offer is greatly appreciated. Thanks once again. And a new chapter from you would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and by the by, I loved what you said about "The Release" and I may go in and 'play with it' a little more to implement your comments. Thank you for that too.

Le Rouret - Wow! I am flattered. Doro Lanthiron is the name I gave to Legolas' colony, and if youd like to use it, you may, though I'd be most pleased if you cited me as the source for it. The words mean Land of (Many) Waterfalls, which is one of the features Ithilien is noted for. While I have your attention drawn there, please make note of that as the next chapter centers around a waterfall.

Littlefish - Thank you. Sometimes it seems when we really struggle, we are the only ones who see the errors. The action will stay tense from this point forward. We've been working our way up to a spiral release for some time. I'm really happy to be letting it out at last. Next chapter we will see how the others fare, and perhaps a reunion, though I can't promise it will be happy.

Luinthien - The titles are always a give away if you study them. Then again, "Rivers of Blood" does sound rather obvious. I think I stunned everybody with the Curtik twist. Talk about out of the blue! But every once in a while I have to throw something at the audience that blindsides them. There is already so much in this story revealed. The little tricks I have plotted I must spring with a vengeance when the timing is right.

Nightwing6 - Gosh, thank you so much! I hope you put away that candy bar before coming here. Maybe I need to add that to my warnings. For your sake (though I think you are not alone) I asked the customer service booth to stock defibrillators and paddles should anyone need to be shocked back to life while in the process of reading this story. I hope this chapter didn't require their usage. Bregus' Choice? LOL! I feel sorry for her too. A little. Not enough to forgive her though. Have no fears. She is bad and she will see an ending fit to match her evil.

Nikara - I hope the confusion has been cleared up for you. How many chapters left? UmmmFour? Five? And an epilogue. Don't cite me. My outline from a month ago has already been mucked with (I tell you, these characters do what they want and they seem to care little that I have a Plan).

Nilmandra - See, you've got the inside track. You know a little of what is coming up, but only that. Even you, my friend, must be subjected to the surprise attack I am laying out in this fic. I'm so delighted though with all the help you gave me. Have you seen the reviews? People think the last chapter was great. My eternal gratitude to you!

Sigil Galen - Thank you so much. There are still twists in the road ahead, and answering your questions regarding Curtik gives too much away. He is a skeevy character, and truthfully, he has only just revealed his desires to me, but trust me when I say there is more here than just surface level skeevies.

Space Vixen X - Still enjoying the ride? Lots more turns to come. I'm betting you don't even see them coming until you are in the thick of them. Hmm, maybe I should have chosen fun park engineering as my profession. I have a knack for turning people on their sides and making their heads spin.

*~SuGaR~* - That blood thing? . . . yeah, a proud moment for me. I love imagery like that. It gives me goosebumps when the words flow like that. Thanks for the reminder of the amulet. It should appear again in, um, [checks notes] two chapters. It has not been forsaken, because every object has a job in this story. Watch for the halberd. It will do a job too. BTW, I tried to email that pdf to you by responding to your email, and it bounced back to me. The Fates are against us, it seems.

Tapetum Lucidum - Me? Happy? Not until this story is done. But I am having fun! So you think the whole lot is bonkers? Maybe. Probably. As for Faramir, remember everything he's been through this day. You must admit, it has been a very long one for him so being worn out is a good excuse. And Eowyn? She got a dose of that medicine. I'm surprised she fought as hard as she did considering her drugged state. She'll still fight, but a lot has been taken out of her with this last battle.

Thundera Tiger - I almost made it to 18 pages again for this chapter, but the overflow was going longer and longer, and so I decided to carry it to the next chapter. Thank you for the kind words. Perhaps rewriting umpteen times is the trick to getting solidly good chapters. I'll have to remember that someday when I write a real book. You are on the right track with your thinking of Aragorn and Arwen's whereabouts. And your word, "culmination" is very apropos. Kinda like "congeal" I guess. We will see lots of loose ends getting tied in the coming chapters, and many parallels drawn. This is the part I've been looking forward to all along. I hope I don't forget anything.

TigerLily 713 - Double review. I love it! It may have appeared death was looming, but it is not yet here. I pulled out the stops on Mattias' death. I couldn't do it and leave Kattica's baby without a father. Thanks for your comments! I hope you like this chapter as well.

TreeHugger - So I am tormenting you, eh? But truthfully, it was you who gave me the idea to make both Gordash and Curtik bigger roles in this story. Curtik is mad beyond reason, and his actions can't be predicted because of it. You will notice how often madness is bandied about in this story. The word is usually directed at Bregus, but the fact is, she is as sane as the rest of us, just far more driven by her greed. Curtik, on the other hand, is just insane, insane, insane. Now, what should I do with Gordash? Hmm.