A/N: As always, my deepest gratitude to Nilmandra for her help in betaing this chapter.

The Hunting Trip
Chapter 41: Stone and Cord

Aragorn playfully wove the elven rope in and out of his fingers. He considered the pattern it made, reminding himself of the path he had followed to his near ruin when the waters had dragged him. However, the lacing of the cord over his digits demonstrated how this path actually helped him escape the brute assault of the booming water upon the rocks below. The snagging crisscross had held him back, and he was ever so grateful that it did.

He then spread his fingers and the rope let loose, freed as if relinquished by command. A small smile pressed Aragorn's lips. Such was the make of elven goods.

He mused on the object he held. Slightly more golden in appearance than the ropes the Fellowship had used in their travels, the crafted cords of the Elves of Doro Lanthiron were every bit as fine as the rope gifted to Sam when they had traveled through Lothlórien. But what craft honed them to such expert usefulness, even Aragorn could not say. He had watched how the Elves braided and wove the fibers with deft fingers, but never could he discern why their cords turned out so much the superior to ropes of mortal make, even when they were constructed in nearly identical fashion. Sadly, he knew few mortals who would understand that, in this instance, the rope had really been what had saved him, but Aragorn's faith in what the Elves brought to Middle-earth was heightened with just this small piece of evidence all the same.

The sinewy elven fiber could act almost of its own volition, and he knew it to be true. Crisscrossing and looping around in the rocks, it was as if the fibers knew that such meandering might serve to create small braking moments for the body being pulled. And though Aragorn had lived it, it amazed him nonetheless. Had it been any other cord he surely would have been cut down the middle by the sudden yank when he stopped. Or the fibers might have been shredded into bits. Or twisted about his limbs and throat, choking off his air. Or lopping off an appendage by the sheer force of the water. Granted, when the event had happened, the air had been knocked from his gut rendering him incoherent for a moment, but he had barely a mark now to show for the endeavor. This was so unlike how it could have been had the rope been other than what he had.

Arwen too had somehow survived it, though that miracle was one of its own telling. He had gasped his relief that she had made it out of the cave without drowning, for the knots that he tied had been by his own hand, and like all elven ropes, they held true to the one who had tied them. Could he go back in time, he might have thought to have her tie the ropes about her own waist, for then she might have freed herself. Then again, had she released herself, they might have been completely separated as she was sucked into the tumble of the rapids and current. It was hard to say which had been the better, for in the final outcome, the rope had been their salvation, though it had also nearly killed them in the process.

His heart quickened its beat as he remembered the moments in the cave. He had let her go. It had been difficult to see her dragged away, and he had held tight to the rope knowing that the tether was the only thing keeping them united. But when he realized how fast it was that she was traveling, he knew the current had taken control and sucked her into its flow. It came as a bit of surprise for a few seconds to see the uptake on the slack, but once realized, he knew he would have to give her more length, as she had been showing no indication of stopping. Such speeds were dangerous, and he knew if he did not find a way to stop her slowly, she might have been damaged horribly by the force against her body. Or he might have been jerked into the pool involuntarily, possibly harming them both. And so he had taken steps into the water, all that he might act the slow anchor when her rope reached its end.

The water had been bitterly cold when he had stepped in, and he felt his teeth rattling and the painful chill running through him within the first steps of his immersion. He was dragged as he tried to brake her ending motion, his legs quickly numbing in the waters. But he had been successful in slowing her without harming either of them. And then he felt her signal. Two tugs. She was not through. With dread he realized she had not enough rope. He had made the next steps while pulling back on the line, to keep the progress easy enough that they might both stay safe. That might have worked, but he could no longer feel his limbs, and a misstep toppled him. He lost his footing, and experienced himself the horrible drag of the water. Just as she had, he was pulled along on the surface. The solid stone wall had loomed up and realizing he was about to be smashed against it, he had dived. Below the water's surface, he found himself being pulled along by the current, just as she must have experienced. Little air was there in his lungs, but he had faith that the tides fast flow would free him soon enough to breathe. The light grew and he saw his freedom with it. But once free, he had nothing to hold him back from the continuous flight. There was no tension on the rope to give him leverage to fight for the surface and the only thing he had was his own strong kicks. Instead the water held him and pulled him and he had no choice but to be dragged along by it. The tug at his waist a moment later had told him that Arwen, willing or not, had joined him in this outbound journey.

He gulped for air when he was finally able to reach the surface, but the water batted and pelted him, spinning him dizzyingly. A whirlwind of confusion followed. He remembered swimming, pulling the rope, trying to reach Arwen, but they were always just beyond one another's grasp. Water buffeted him, splashing him, raking him over rocks and through whirling pools.

Time and time again he saw nothing but snatches of Arwen, or the shore, or monstrously large stones jutting from the water's surface. Time and time again he was gasping for air. And time and time again he could not make out where he might go to find rescue.

The only logic he could think in this vivid chaos was to keep his body light and on the surface so that he would resist the drag of the undercurrent. Skimming by, over and under, tumbling and twisting. That is what he felt. And then there was the abrupt halt and blackness accompanied by the choking fight for more air. He remembered arms pulling him up and laughter and sobs of a joyous voice ringing in his ears. He could not remember finding his way to the shore, only the vague recollection of being hauled over the shoulder of another. Once landed she was there, brushing fingers through his hair, and breathing kisses over his damp skin.

He had awakened with a startling clarity of mind, remembering everything and realizing much had occurred in the interim of his drowsing state.

And now he sat, taking in everything about him, running his hands over the cords that had saved them.

They were alive! They had escaped! He should rejoice for the ecstasy of that prosperous news.

If only he could. If only that might be the end of their horror for this day. Yet hearing the words of his old and new companions, he felt he should be partaking in what would otherwise be a ghost tale, best told before the light of a fire on a howling, stormy eve. He was still, resting his weary muscles while his brain digested the nightmarish tale of all that had come to pass in a day's turn. This was not some fable created to frighten young minds and innocents. This was real, and frightening, and vicious. This was the reckoning of a horror designed with the purpose to steal what rightfully belonged to another, with no gain for any but one.

His fingers curled tightly about the now tangled cord in his hand as he listened to Faramir relay all that had happened the night before. A twinge of guilt touched Aragorn as he heard the details. While he had laid beside his wife in the confines of the cave, ravishing her body and sating his desires, his friends had been fighting for life. For freedom.

Even if he had known, he still would not have been able to aid them. Yet, it would ease his ragged conscience if he had.

He had been blind then to all that was beyond him, but he could see now, and his mind was ticking away, creating strategies and formulating thoughts as all the points of the narrative were relayed to him. They had an enemy to defeat, and there were none among them more bent to do this than he. They had suffered, and he was willing and ready to seek vengeance for that.

His eyes swept over the group, assessing the damage they had suffered in his absence. Two he could not claim to know, but he assessed them as if they were his, knowing they were soldiers to a common cause. As he examined them, he wondered what they might bring to this campaign.

The larger man he recognized as being among the brothers in the camp. He remembered the awkwardness and apologies at his brother's overeager ineptitude a few days earlier. He no longer seemed the easygoing character that had mourned the dogs' mysterious poisoning. Now he was shaky and weary, relieved and yet afraid. He was anxious, Aragorn surmised, and knowing Gordash's part in this story, he could understand why. The desperate man knew not where his heart lie, nor did he know if it might yet go astray. But then he also looked to his steward, for Faramir was sure of the man, and that was enough to make Aragorn sure as well. How might he use the man? Of that he was not so sure.

The woman too was frightened. Aragorn need not query her with details over the facts, for he could see she would rather jump to the next stage than bandy about what was already known. Her hands kept brushing her belly, as if that gave her comfort, but for the most part he saw a mixture of eagerness and anger in her, and such tensions made him worry for the late stage of her condition. From what he had heard, she had done much as their aide, and he had no desire to see her brought to further harm. And yet she possessed skills of many sorts. As a healer he could see her talents. As a conjuror he could not, though again, he was willing to believe what Faramir had offered. And yet he also saw she was vulnerable and could be used as a weapon in the witch's arsenal. The witch wanted an unborn child, and though Bregus already had Éowyn (who Arwen confirmed was with child), Aragorn could not help thinking the witch would prefer Kattica's baby far more. For that reason alone he had serious doubts as to the usefulness the girl could offer. It pained him to think this, but in relying upon her, he would be putting her directly in harms way, and that was not his intent. She would never understand his thinking, but he would protect her if he could.

His eyes then went to the Dwarf. He could have guessed Gimli's emotions, for he knew his small companion well. What surprised him however was how silent and cool the Dwarf appeared to be. Pacing still, Gimli seemed astonishingly calm for one who might normally be called hot-tempered and rash. In this case though, the Dwarf simply listened, silently running his hands deep into pockets or over the shaft of his blade. Oddly, the Dwarf was muttering to himself. Aragorn dared not mention it, however, for Gimli seemed completely unaware he was doing it, and if pointed out, Aragorn would have likely been verbally assaulted for the insult. Instead, he gave his friend distance, knowing soon enough he would be granted the whole of the Dwarf's thoughts.

He turned then to Faramir, and Aragorn felt, rather than saw, the damage done there. The outward harm was apparent, but the king could see deeper. Anguish flickered in the recesses of the steward's eyes. It was masked, filtered by duty, but Aragorn felt there was pain, in both heart and mind in that stewing frame. He followed Faramir's words, but tried to read beyond them. Something had happened. Something Faramir could not mention, and Aragorn knew he would be hard pressed to go there, having not lived what his friend had. Yet whatever it was, the steward was functional. Justice, however, might make good medicine for what had brought on the hurt, and Aragorn could easily detect it was the old witch who might pay for the crimes rendered upon this man, and on his wife.

He gazed at Arwen. Her eyes were dewy with unspent tears, her lips curved downward into a frown as she listened to what had come to those she loved. Remote as they had been, all along she had commented on her fears for their friends, and now her premonitions of danger were ringing true. So much harm had come to these folk. He could hardly consider himself among them, for he and Arwen had suffered the least of them. Andnd yet he felt as if a year of time and learning had occurred in that day's disappearance. He examined her too, realizing exactly the tenacity and cunning that lived in her. He would never misuse those skills again. And now, he was sure, if he did step out of line, she would correct him and align him as he ought to be. At least something had been bettered in their enforced absence.

Silence fell. The story was done. No happy endings were there found among the faces. As yet. Anything to be made would have to come from them, and Aragorn suddenly felt determined there would be a good ending or there would be no ending at all. He could spend his life seeking justice, if that is what it took. But he would not wait for the ugliness the witch had planned to be executed. Too much had passed. It was time for this story to find an end. He would stop it now.

"Very well," he said slowly, drawing eyes to him with his even voice. "We need to act and there is no more time for us to wait. One or two among us shall go to the soldiers' camp. It will be as Faramir had begun to lay out: We will have the soldiers fortify our numbers and weapons. We will fight the Romany with the help of the militia forces, and I care not if the witch launches her illusions of massed forces. Knowing it is not real will be half of what empowers us to fight them." Aragorn's voice was stern and sure. No doubt was there in this decision though he had his own fears. Yet he knew it would serve them none to show them. Best that his feelings stay locked within him where no one could see them. He looked at them, opening his mouth to reveal his plans to their anxious hearts. His words were halted before he could even utter them.

"I think I should be the one to go," Arwen said. The words were startlingly familiar to him for he had heard them said many mornings prior, though the reasons said were for a far different cause than this.

He met his wife's words. "Yes," he said, agreeing with her though finding himself choking on the conflict of feelings. He feared for her departure, yet knew it the safest place for her to be. And she would be most useful to him this way. He saw the parallel. She had asked him if she might go to Poros and he had negated her before the others, his heart telling him for the sake of her safety he must say no. But he had learned since then. She clearly could assess the situation as plainly as he.

She heard his agreement, as well as his unspoken fears. Her eyes, flickering with a smile and the calm of her mood, directed him back to those around him. He completed his thought. "Kattica should go with you."

Immediate words of protest followed. He could have predicted them.

"Nay! You deny me my opportunity! You think my condition excludes me from fighting!" Kattica exclaimed. There was fire in the younger woman's voice and were she not in danger and vulnerable, he would have thought her a good ally to fight in this battle. "I am with child. My mind is not addled," she insisted.

Yet Arwen seemed to know what was within him. The calm of her eyes touched him and despite this, or because of it, he heard her words above all else. "Let her stay, Estel. I will make the journey alone."

Forgetting all else, he said, "Alone? But. . . you should have a companion."

But she seemed not to find the words worth the merit of argument. She did not plead, but merely spoke the logic of her mind. "You will need all the help you can get. This is how I may offer you the most of me and this is how you can get the most of Kattica. I am not a warrior, or a witch. I could not aid in the assault."

He knew this. He also knew there was danger for Arwen to walk the woods alone for Bregus might be searching yet for another Elf.

Arwen added, "I know the way to the soldier's camp, and I am the least hurt amongst us. I would move faster alone."

"Take Gordash then," he offered, knowing that at least the Romany man might serve as a bodyguard for his wife. There were the dogs to consider, and even though the man had succumb to an attack by them, he had experience with them. Aragorn knew he was putting his faith in Faramir's trust of Gordash, but he had to believe the Romany would come through in this endeavor if asked.

The large man stiffened as his name was spoken, but he offered no argument to the role being bantered.

"Gordash will slow me down with his injuries, as will Kattica in her condition," Arwen said.

"Gordash will not fight his own people," he said, turning to the Romany to confirm this. Shame-faced the large man blushed red. It was enough for Aragorn to know Gordash could not be relied upon as a fighter in their ranks. He turned back to his wife. "He would be of better aid to you," Aragorn responded, shaking his head, pleading that she might give this. It seemed a valid argument that her travel be accompanied.

She stepped up to him then, taking his hands. She whispered her words to him, and they were light but still readable in his ears. "Let me do this, Estel. Gordash refuses now, but circumstance may come that could alter his choosing. I think he needs to see things as they really are to know for sure. And he will only slow me should he come on my path. You will need the soldiers and you will need him. Let us not delay. If I am quick, I could have them to you before a few hours passing."

"Yet alone?"

"You would send a single rider if this were a military mission and I were but a scout."

He lowered his head, knowing her words were true. He could not dispute her thinking, though the ache in his chest made him feel that he should. Yet they had come so far, and he knew to rein back now and to demand she take another companion would be to break everything they had forged. He nodded his ascent, then turned to Kattica, "But I fear for you, Kattica. I would have you go with Arwen to protect both you and your child. But I cannot force you. I am not your king. The choice is yours."

"I may stay then? I can be of benefit? Yes, you will see. I can fight in other ways than with the sword," Kattica said, her voice sounding relieved and renewed.

Gimli chuckled, "Now that is the spirit with which I was referring when I said there might be other means to fight. A Dwarven woman might say the same."

That decision at least was made. Aragorn turned to Arwen for parting words. She met him with a kiss that surprised him, but he gave into it with all the passion he dared show before others. He held onto the sigh of her heated breath as she ducked her head, her eyes trailing to his hands. He had unconsciously tangled them into the ropes yet again, and as she drew them up to place kisses upon them, he realized the handicap to his touch and dropped the ties to the ground. Her eyes slid closed as she brushed the brown fingers along her pale cheeks. She opened her eyes to him and said, "I will meet you near our cave in a few hours time. We shall bring weapons and food and gear to supply all sufficiently. Is there anything else I might do?"

Aragorn pulled his knife from his boot and handed it to her . Then in turn, he leaned in to kiss her brow. "Stay safe," he whispered to her. He knew no one else had heard his words, but if they had, he would not care. She knew all that had come to them and she knew the dangers she faced in the wild. Her safety was his only wish for her at this given moment.

Her eyes opened. She smiled, raising his hand to her mouth. Then she kissed the palms of them once more slipping a sweet smile past her lips as her eyes dipped to gaze upon them.

But there was something in that glance that made her smile slide away. She frowned then, and her eyes grew larger, though the gasp of her voice told the full of her astonishment. "I do not believe it," she softly exclaimed.

"What?" Gimli asked, wondering aloud what she meant.

"What?" asked the steward as he craned his neck to see what Arwen might be seeing.

She turned confused eyes upon Aragorn. "Your hands . . ." she began. "They . . . they are . . . filthy!"

"Oh, that," said Gimli, dismissing her and turning away. "They always are."

Aragorn chuckled at the Dwarf's response, then tried to turn a weakened smile upon his wife.

"But he just cascaded down hundreds of yards of raging river! He has been scraped, scrubbed and scoured as if a tempest had been launched upon him! He is as thoroughly cleansed as he has been in months. And yet his nails are not clean," she said, darting glances to Aragorn's face and then back to his hands.

She gave him the very slightest of a reproachful scowl, but Aragorn knew he would do well to react as little as possible. He simply shrugged.

Then she drew her eyes closer to the long fingers, her brows coming together under her scrutinizing gaze, and she said, "The soiling looks permanent. As if. . ." she glared up at him then, nonplussed by what she clearly could not believe true.

"I always thought the markings to be tattoos," Gimli laughed, shrugging at the amusement of the idea.

Arwen's eyes widened. The accusation was unspoken as her mouth clamped shut. Catching the full of her silent wrath, Aragorn felt as if the air was being sucked from his lungs. His knees went weak under the scorn of her gaze, though he was certain no one else saw the joined amusement and fury in his wife's beautiful face.

Or maybe they did.

Gimli snorted. Kattica and Gordash gazed sheepishly around, apparently uncertain how to react. Faramir seemed to have suddenly found the toes of his boots to be astoundingly fascinating.

Arwen continued, the hint of a smile creeping over her face though her voice was solemn and still. I am in trouble now, he thought. The others might see her as the ethereal being she always appeared to be, but he knew the truth of what she was feeling. "I would take it that this is some silly rite of passage? Something of a Ranger initiation, perhaps?"

Faramir chuckled quietly at this.

But she turned the full of the elven stare she had been delivering upon the steward. "Do you have it too, Faramir?" she asked, her voice infinitely calm, but the irritation was revealed to those who looked on her.

Faramir pulled his hands away from her searching eyes. "Nay! That was a northern Ranger custom, not ours of the south," he said rapidly, and Aragorn inwardly groaned for the implication, but also smiled, for he knew that statement to be not entirely true.

"Very well," she sighed as if realizing she were getting nowhere with the questioning. "We shall discuss it later." She began her walk, stepping forward, and turning away from him, gliding past on quiet steps. Within a few yards though, she turned and said with a twinkle of fire in her eye, "And we shall discuss it, meleth-nin!"

It was an idle threat and Aragorn did not dwell deeply upon it. He knew that she had said it simply to distract him from his worries. She was wise in this way, and he could not help but think he was fortunate to have someone as shrewd as she for his partner. He watched as she disappeared into the woods, her steps gaining speed until she was moving at a quick sprint before she was removed completely from his sight, and he did not doubt any longer that she would indeed return. If only to dole out justice. He felt like laughing at the thought of her ire.

Bending down to retrieve the rope he had earlier dropped, his mood returned to more serious matters, and as he rose, he turned to the others and said, "Shall we discuss the other means from which we might strategize a victory?"

Gimli spoke up. "I have a thought on how we might fight Bregus."

"Speak it," Aragorn said, eager to hear his ideas, and knowing he would learn Gimli's prior muttered thoughts.

"It would require getting into the cave," Gimli said quickly.

Aragorn smiled. "And I have a thought on how we might do that. Go on, Gimli," he said,with anticipation. He would share his idea later.

"And it would require our timing of attack to be exact," Gimli added.

"Go on," Aragorn said, knowing most actions in battle required a sense of timing.

The Dwarf's brows furrowed, as if he had a greater worry. "It would require that Kattica be involved."

Aragorn felt his worries exposed as he knew his brows drew together. But then he glanced to Kattica, and he could see the light in her eyes. The Dwarf too directed his gaze upon her, and she met him with her chin raised, her certainty maintained. She nodded her agreement, and Aragorn indeed thought her brave.

"Then I would ask a question to start," Gimli said.

"Ask freely, friend," she answered, her voice but a whisper in contrast to her stern demeanor.

"Let us suppose you were attempting to overpower Bregus and gain control of the Protected Place -- er, Henneth-Annün. Is it possible you could do this by bringing forth goods that are greater in strength than the elements present in the cave? I believe that is what we were leading to in our earlier discussion," Gimli said. His voice was even, but Aragorn could detect both the plea and a challenge in it, as if he were begging for his understanding to be correct.

Kattica nodded. "Yes, that is correct."

A small smile crept upon the Dwarf's face, but before he could say more, he was interrupted by Faramir.

"But we have gone over this already, Gimli. Fire is the element missing in the cave. Kattica could hardly enter the cave bearing a torch. Nor could she douse the fire that is there in any indiscreet way. Bregus would never allow such blatant acts, no matter how they were handled," the steward said, shaking his head as he spoke.

Gimli laughed. "Oh, but I agree. It would look obvious that the girl was trying to overthrow the witch's power. Were I the old bat, I would toss her out on her backside for even attempting it."

"I dare say, Gimli, that Bregus would do worse," Aragorn pointed out in a soft voice.

"No doubt you are right," Gimli said, clearing his throat before going on in a more humbled voice. "But what I am thinking of would be far more subtle, and if this is to work, it must look as if Kattica has no intentions to usurp the witch's control. She will never gain trust if she does otherwise."

"You are suggesting what, Master Dwarf?" Aragorn asked, his curiosity for what Gimli might propose piqued.

"What if Kattica could conceal what she might bring into the cave?"

An interesting idea, Aragorn thought, but the key question had to be asked. "What might she conceal?"

"This," Gimli said, and he held out his hands.

Kattica gasped. Faramir gulped. And Aragorn squinted into the reflected light of the stones, his jaw falling open in disbelief.

The color of the stones was dazzling and the subsequent light reflecting off their surfaces was white hot. Caught in the curve of cupped hands lay several nuggets of a silvery veined mineral. Rough cut and raw, they shone brightly in the morning light regardless of their ragged edges.

"Is that . . . ?" Aragorn began, greatly awed.

"It is, Aragorn. Mithril. I found it in the cave when I was trapped," Gimli said, nodding his confirmation.

"Mithril?" Kattica said. Any composure about her had certainly fallen to the wayside as her enthusiasm bubbled over her countenance. "Why, that is precious in witchcraft! It is one of the high metals, like gold."

Gimli blustered with pride, "Well, I know its value in trade. I only hoped it might work well for our sake. It shines brightly, does it not? I thought perhaps in the light, it could be an equaling element to fire.

"Oh, Master Gimli," she said, "I believe it would do more. Unless Henneth-Annün's walls are lined in gold, these stones would naturally overtake the element of earth found in the cave."

"But is there enough to do the job?" Faramir asked, worry languishing in eyes that were aglow with the light of the stones.

"Yes, I think there is, and then some, for look at the light in them. It is as if they have their own fire!" Kattica exclaimed.

"Very well, then," Aragorn nodded, seeing the benefit of what had been revealed. "Now, let us focus on the details."

Faramir's eyes turned to meet his king's, and Aragorn inwardly smiled. The northern Dunedain saw a hunger in his steward's eyes, and for the first time since their meeting he could see hope there. There was also a need to mete out justice in that gaze. Aragorn fingered the rope as he met the haunted look. "I have an idea," he said softly, and he watched as Faramir's face lit up to his words.

****

She ran some distance with her skirts flying behind her. Such an annoyance the free flowing fabrics were to her. And though she truly appreciated the appearance of a woman in the draped finery of a gown, it was hardly apparel useful when running through the snagging bramble of the woods.

She waited until she had passed the turn in the path leading to the Henneth-Annün cave, then lifted her skirt and tied it into two knots on either side of her hips. It altered her attire so that her legs were free to move, but it was not the most attractive garment Arwen had ever worn. Then again, mud stained, torn, and ragged as the dress had become, it really did not matter, and it was certainly better to get through the brush in the low lying places of the forest than what she had. She could make better time this way.

Now fleet of foot she ran over rocks, limb and meandering pathways. The ground, still slick from the night's rain, gave precarious hold to even her light feet. Were she like the Silvan folk, as Legolas proudly proclaimed part of his heritage, she might have taken to the trees to find the fastest route. But though the forest sang to her just as it did her Greenwood-born companion, a Wood Elf Arwen was not. Noldor was her race, and her people prided themselves on their more mannerly ways of travel.

Still, seeing how she had hiked her skirts for the endeavor before her, it might behoove her to try travel above ground for a change. She glanced up at the trees and noted that the lowest branches were nowhere within her arms reach. In fact there were few branches within any kind of reach for Arwen. Proud though she was to be Elven, she knew there was not a chance she could scamper up the trunk or leap into the treetops as Legolas commonly did. And so she abandoned the idea as quickly as she had adopted it.

Except . . .

A ray of light filtering through the canopy of leaves caught a glimmer of gold sparkling in one of the lower branches of the trees. Like a ribbon, the filament of lustrous color waved with the catch of a breeze. It waved lightly, as if beckoning, and Arwen had to wonder what the object was that had caught her attention.

She found her feet walking in the direction of the beckoning string, and as she neared it, she came to see it was a cord of sorts, a braided fragment of rope.

It hung above her, balanced by a thread on a snag in the tree bark, and as she watched it, her curiosity seemed to get the better of her, for she took the moment to stop and to find a stick long enough that she might knock it down. A gust of wind might have done the same, but she did not have the time to wait for such things. Time was not an easy companion to her any more. She could spare only this moment for such frivolities.

The stick brushed against the cord, and down it fell, spiraling silently to land at her feet. It was then, as she glanced down, that she realized the lament of the tree. She bent to pick up the golden strand and she heard the sadness that pervaded the natural mood of this small clearing. The voice of the trees wept lightly. And though she could not have guessed why the mourning took place, it was with a glance as she rose, the string in her hand, that she realized she was standing in what had been a camp.

And then she looked at what she held.

The braid was simple, comprised of fibers woven over and about one another, tagged only with the simple wooden beads that closed off the design. What was disturbing though was the acknowledgement that what lay in her hand was hair. Silky and golden, Arwen was certain it belonged to Legolas.

Her heart hammered in her chest with the realization. Gordash had told this part of the story.

Evidence came clear to her then. This is where Legolas lay. And there is where Éowyn was thrown. The remnants of construction were visible and this she supposed was where the litter that carried Legolas was made. Some feet away were the remains and cuttings from various plants, strewn to the ground and discarded, their use done, and she suspected that that fire had been Bregus'.

She turned her back. The trees told her the rest. Tears flowed.

Shaking herself free of her sorrow, she took a deep breath. She could not linger. Knowing what she did, she must hasten. The salvation of her friends was upon her, and she would not fail them. She began again her steps, renewing her quickened pace to rush past this ugliness, when one more marking caught her attention.

Upon the ground, clear as the light of the evening stars, was a paw print. Arwen was not as versed a tracker as Aragorn was, but having lived her share of years, she had learned a thing or two of living in the wilds. The print was one of a dog. She bent down to examine it, realizing it was freshly made. She gazed up again, seeing anew the marks of a struggle, a fight. Dog prints mixed with the scuffle of human feet, and had she not known the outcome of this battle as told by Faramir and Gordash, she may have worried for the victors and losers in the skirmish.

Still, she knew of the dogs, and the order they had been given, and the silent agreement made between Faramir and them. She had no need to broach it if not necessary, for unlike Faramir the night before, she did have the strength to go around this marked territory, and knowing the habits and claims of such beasts, she decided she might be wise to do just that.

The braided hair still in hand, she stepped away from the path through the wood she had set herself upon, and started a trek that went deeper into the forest. She would work her way past the camp, veering around for a few miles, then work her way back to the river further downstream.

It was a commendable plan, and may well have worked but for one thing. Her steps had already crossed the dividing line of safe and unsafe lands, and for that, a confrontation was necessitated. She realized her failing when she had traveled a minute's further pace from the old camp. It was then she realized she was being followed.

She quickened her steps, stepping lightly, leaving barely a mark as was the way of her kind, but it did not cause the one in pursuit to falter. She heard the snuffling sound of a nose picking her scent from the air, and the faint breathing of her tracker's breath mixing with the morning noises. The sound of steps following her were accompanied by the subtle noise of stealth movements in the brush. Fear quickened her heart, and involuntarily her steps picked up speed. But then she forced herself to slow, heeling herself back to that of a more normal pace. Running would only encourage the one in chase. It would increase the sense of urgency and it would drive on a panic. She must remain calm, for that was the key to meeting her pursuer. Her emotions could direct the situation if she could maintain a quiet reserve. She stopped. Quietly, she turned.

The small sound of the brush's movement told her where to look. However, it was behind her as well as before her, and without turning to confirm what she knew, she was certain another and another in the small pack of hounds had gathered around her.

Their leader stood before her. It was a wolf hound, muddy with matted fur. He met her gaze, his head lowered but eyes glowering with animal fury. A rumbling voice emanated from his throat, though he did not bare his teeth. Not yet. The threat was a low one, and she immediately shied her eyes from his. Around her, the frightful noise of the others growled to echo his, and though she inwardly shuddered, she put it upon herself that she would not show her fear. They would attack if she showed fear. She would not.

Breathing lightly, with caution, she slowly allowed her eyes to gaze up into the trees. As before, the branches were too high for her to make her escape there. Though it might be wise to retreat in this way, it was an inconceivable route.

Then gazing at her surroundings, she saw the beasts nudging forward, closing off the holes between them. There was nowhere that she might go to escape.

She released a shaky breath as she gathered her wits. She knew what was to come, and she plotted out her next steps. It was all a matter of action and reaction. She could predict what might happen, but these were animals of the wild, and whether she were of Noldor or Silvan or Sindarin folk, she could not predict the true actions of a beast. All she had was the cord of Elven hair woven in and out of her fist, and the knife in her boot that she might use if she could reach it.

The leader growled at her and she could now see the grimace of his snarl.

****

A moaned cry jolted Éowyn to wakefulness from the solitude of dreamless sleep. A sharp pain made her lurch at something pulling her arms. It was her own voice that made the cry, and she realized this as her eyes came suddenly open. She pulled back, but that only sent spikes of more pain into her arm. She cried aloud, not caring to contain her hurt. Savage hands jerked her arms forward, inconsiderate of the pain they were causing.

She felt the world growing black and distant, but she did not fall unconscious. She heard the sound of footsteps moving away from her but she chose not to open her eyes quite yet. Realizing in the hazy sluggishness of her mind that she was in a horrible predicament, she was able to instantly recall her situation. The physical agony was great, and the dizzying effect of it sent her into a helpless reverie as she pondered what she might do to save herself. She had no answers.

Slowly the ache dulled to only a massive throbbing at her side, but she felt relief that her arm was no longer being jarred. She relaxed for a moment, easing back from the tensions of her torment. She felt her body go light and warm, as if she were drifting.

"Éowyn," a voice whispered. "Éowyn, awake!" The urgency in the voice drew her attention, and she struggled to comply, sensing she had fallen into sleep without intending to do so. Was it but a minute that she slipped away? The speaker's voice was familiar, but a new feeling of dread came over her as the recollection began anew. She was in danger.

She blinked her eyes awake, trying to focus through a world dotted in red. Cords were wrapped tightly about her hands, and the numbed ache in her left hand felt odd as she noticed her fingers to be swollen. She turned her head toward the voice, realizing as she did that the dull ache of her arm seemed to match the throbbing beat within her head. She closed her eyes again, wincing at the small agony of it. She felt sick for her hurts. "Who . . . ?" she managed to utter.

"It is I, Mattias."

She opened her eyes again, the spots receding to the edges of her vision, as she focused on the face hovering before her. "Where --" she started, but then cut herself off. She already knew the answer to her own question. She could feel the cool breeze of the air whipping past her, and the sound of the pouring water. Her eyes darted about, taking in their surroundings.

They were in the front room of Henneth-Annün. Pushed away from the open wall of water, they were laying in a corner, side-by-side, put there, she supposed, to be kept out of harm's way. Yet they were unguarded, at least they were as far as she could tell.

And then she remembered more that she had intended to focus upon before she had succumbed to her pain. She gasped, "Legolas," as she remembered the Elf and his condition. Fearful concern overrode her own feelings of pain.

"Over there," Mattias directed with a nod of his head, and as she followed his direction, she could see the Elf's body from the corner of her eye. However, following through and turning with a damaged limb was not so easy. The movement required that she lean on the agonizing arm in order to bring her head around to face her friend.

"Help me up," she said giving up this objective, and though he was tied as well, Mattias managed to bring his hands beneath her to lever her up. Still, even without using her arm in the maneuver, she felt muscles compress and shift that she might not have normally noticed. A grimace of pain played over her features, and she panted for breath once she was fully upright.

But now that she was, she was more capable of movement. It took nothing of her to gaze now upon the Elf, for he lay on the opposite side of the room, facing her, nearer the hall that led into the room.

Yet it was a wicked sight she was granted. Her heart wept with anguish to gaze upon something so damaged. Legolas seemed to be worse for the time spent since his accidental fall. His skin was pale and dull. There was little of spark in his eyes, and his lips were chapped and parted as he breathed in and out of his mouth. He swallowed reflexively as she watched him, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and shut as he released a slow, low grunt. His face twisted with the sound, and it was clear by his expression that he was in pain.

"Oh!" she cried in sympathy, anguish ripping at her and she scooted forward to go near.

Voices in the next room kept her from going any further, though it was only the fear of being caught that compelled her to stay put. She paid no attention to what was said as it sounded of foreign words to her. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the Elf.

Legolas' eyes came open again, and he returned to his sorrowful stare, looking at her and through her. It was then that she realized he saw not at all, and that his eyes were glazed over, as if in sleep.

"He has been doing that fairly frequently," Mattias said from behind her, and she turned her head again to look at him.

Focused on him now, Éowyn gave the Romany man her full scrutiny. She suddenly realized he was bandaged about the waist, and trace residues of blood littered his garments and body. "You've been injured," she said, her eyes running over his body and concern furrowing her brow as she tried to discern the extent of his wound.

"I was, but I live still. I think she saved me in the end."

"Who? Bregus?"

"Aye. I can barely recall, but the wound was grave. I remember thinking I would not see Kattica again, or meet my child," Mattias said with a sad smile.

"Tell me what has happened," Éowyn demanded.

His eyes darted back to the doorways, as if watching for anyone who might be eavesdropping on their conversation. He said, "Bäla now lives in Curtik."

Éowyn's jaw dropped. "What? But I thought--"

He almost laughed. "Yes, I know. It should have been me. Yet . . ." His voice dropped to a whisper, though he had been speaking softly prior to this adjustment. "I think Curtik is mad. He stabbed me. He meant to kill me. I think he still intends to do so, and I do not think my father will try to stop it. In fact, with the turn in the circumstances being as they are, I believe he will encourage it."

She blinked, astounded by the delivery of this information. "How do you know?

His eyes went back to glance at the door before he shook his head and sighed. His eyes met her as he said, "I cannot pretend to understand the mind of Curtik or why he did what he did. But I can understand Bäla. He and my mother were well suited, though he was never as aggressive as she was when it came to their ambitions. He had his limits. He never wanted to work. Yet I see the motivations of the current situation. Bäla, when he lived, was always jockeying for the better position. Now that he lives yet again, he will not be satisfied being the third son, just as he was not satisfied until he was leader of my people. With Gordash still gone my father will do all he can to promote himself."

Mattias' last words made her start. "Gordash is yet missing?" The dawning realization of what that could mean made her heart beat fiercely. As she spoke, the hint of a smile turned her lips. "Then Faramir may be alive . . ."

A new thought then came to her, and she did not complete the first one before beginning into this second one. "But why, then, did Bäla encourage Bregus to take Faramir?"

Mattias' face grew grim, as if the thought repulsed him, yet he pushed his voice to speak. "I have a thought on this, but I cannot say for sure if I am correct." He swept his head around yet again, checking to make sure they were safe to speak freely. Seeing they were, he ducked his head and said, "Aside from the similarities in our appearances to my father, I can see yet another cause for the demand to fall to Faramir. It is ironic, actually, for Kattica was fearful of what might happen should Bregus find out about Faramir's title and position. I don't think it occurred to either Kattica or I that Bäla might know of it."

Éowyn gasped. "Bäla? But how?"

"Who knows of the workings in the Other World -- what they see, what they know? It is speculation only, but it would make sense for the person I knew my father to be. He would lobby for a high-ranking post. He would be bedazzled by the glory of the position your husband holds."

Éowyn stiffened. "Faramir's job is not small. It would not suit one of little ambition or goals."

Mattias' mouth turned down into a frown. "He does not know that. He would see only the nobility and glory."

She smirked. "He would have never gotten away with it."

Mattias' voice grew ever more sobered. "He might have, had his wife died a tragic death while they traveled together on a hunting trip. I think he would have used that as an excuse for the changes he would have been seemed to have undergone."

The sound of another groan caught her attention, and she turned again to see Legolas' agonized expression.

"What of Legolas? What have they done to him?" she whispered, taking in the horrible condition of the Elf.

With a grim expression, he sighed softly and turned his eyes to Legolas as he said, "Nothing. He moans, as if in pain, and then he drifts away, as you have seen. But they have not touched him, for all that I can discern, and they have only been discussing him and their plans."

She nodded though she knew anguish must lie in her eyes. "That is good, I suppose."

"You sound unsure," he said, a look of concern washing over his features.

Éowyn paused, almost afraid to say what she would. She felt compelled to go near the Elf, but the voices were just on the other side of the door again. "It is just that he looks so very ill, as if . . . he were fading."

Mattias looked as if somehow he understood what she meant. "Would the dreams do that?" he asked.

"The sea-longing you mean? I do not know. I would think not. Unless . . ." Her voice trailed off as she considered an alternative reason.

"Unless?"

"Unless he were giving up." Nostrils flared as she turned teary eyes upon her Elven friend. She gulped on her breath as she said, "I told Bregus the pain of his injury could kill him, and that was true. It was why I induced the sea-longing as I did. He suffered so horribly in the state he was in. But I also told her heartache could kill him, and I fear that is what is coming to pass."

"Heartache for what?"

She could feel her tears coming, and inched closer again to Legolas. "For his loss of limb and movement. If he realizes that is what has happened he may well believe he stands no chance of recovery. He was conscious when I found him. He was disoriented, but he probably did know he was gravely hurt. If he has chosen to die because he thinks there is nothing for which to live, I do not doubt it will pass."

Mattias was shaking his head then. "Would he do that? Give up?"

Her face twisted into one of perplexed wonder. She spoke, but not with full certainty. "Nay, I would think not if all were as normal. Legolas is resilient and enduring. He fights, even when there is no chance to win."

Mattias' eyes questioned her. "Then why would he be fading?"

She shook her head after almost shrugging. "Perhaps he is unaware he needs to yet fight. Perhaps he has given in to the sea-longing, and his body knows not what his mind would grant."

"Than he would be saved if only he might try to be healed. Can he be pulled away from the dreams?" Mattias asked, seeming eager to do something.

"It is not so simple a thing to cure. I have seen him drift into it only on one occasion. It was . . . odd. He appeared distracted when it occurred, but when Faramir called his name, it was enough to pull him back. Recovery seemed to take more from him than withdrawing, as he appeared disoriented and vague for a time after. Melancholic even. But by the next day, he was well again. But I will be honest when I say I know little of Elves and their bent toward the sea's calling," she confessed. A stab of guilt struck her, for the ache had been growing every minute since her sighting of Legolas' current condition, and she felt she might have been the one to bring this current suffering upon him.

"Do you think he would benefit from being awakened?" the Romany suggested.

She did not look over her shoulder to see if the others in the next room were drawing near. Instead she set her mind to what she must do. "I do not like how he appears. That I might touch him, I could judge for certain, for I can tell nothing of his condition without laying hands upon him. He looks to be suffering greatly." She tried to rise, but found it difficult with her hands tied. Her balance was awkward, and her slight movements caused her to wince with the pain.

"Your arm is injured. I fear any movement you make will cause you greater hurt."

But she would not let her injury keep her any longer, and fear for the ramifications of being found was no longer an incentive to keep her back. Unsteadily she rose, and only with his support, yet the distance was covered in but a few steps, and though her own hurts had seemed great before, her friend's agony made her forget her own pain. She knelt before him, her movements careful. "Legolas," she whispered softly, her tied hands reaching out to touch the Elf. This movement drew a hiss of pain from her already taut grimace, but she did not pull back.

His brow furrowed at the sound of his name. Did he suffer for the word? She could not answer. Nonetheless she pursued. "Legolas, please awaken," she cooed as she might in waking one of her young ones. She stroked his face gently to prompt the efforts.

His expression twisted into one of pain, his eyes closing to what she supposed was more hurt. A small cry emitted from his parted lips. Yet she encouraged him onward back to reality. "That is right, Legolas. Wake please. I know it hurts to do so, but you must hasten to wake."

Mattias was suddenly behind her, and she realized he had followed her steps. "Does he stir?" he asked.

She gazed at Legolas' face. His brow smoothed as she watched him fall back into his reverie. No signs of further wakefulness did she perceive. "It seemed so, but he has slipped away again."

"What then?"

She paused, the fingers of her good hand finding a pulse at the Elf's throat. "He needs a healer," she reported noting Legolas' erratic heartbeat among the other symptoms she had been observing. At this close proximity, she could hear the struggle of his breathing.

"Éowyn, there is more danger that I might tell," Mattias said from behind her.

She bowed her head. The tensions of her misery for what lay before her and what might yet come rolled over her. Tears misted in her eyes. Their circumstance seemed indeed dark. A grim smile pressed her lips as her head came up. Her eyes remained fixed on the Elf. "I know not if I can take much more than what I see. What say you then?" She laughed. "Tell me that I might fall mad, and then I will realize nothing of this."

"I think Bäla's plans are far more dire than what I have foretold."

She could only muster a rueful laugh at that shared news. "Such is hard to imagine, as his plans thus far have seemed very dire indeed."

But Mattias was leaning in, shuffling around to face her in order to get her notice. He said, "I think he intends to kill or cast aside Bregus tonight with her spell and step into her place."

Her eyes met him then. Sarcasm laced her words as she said, "I may not be about to watch it. You will be sure to note how that goes." She was not sure she should care about what he was telling her, and she turned away from him then, her mind was made busy trying to think of what she knew of Elves and their illnesses.

"You jest, and I am serious." His voice was stern.

She looked up. Notes of apology, irritation and fear mixed with her words. "I am sorry. But there is little that I might take to heart. I am about to be sacrificed so that my unborn child may do the same. An Elf who is one of the most noble creatures I know lies before me, lost in heartbreak and dream. He is dying for it and will be killed regardless unless we find a chance to be freed. You tell me that you are marked for death by a brother and father who bear the same madness, and I am told that my death has long been plotted by a ghost with whom I have yet to make company. My husband is out there, somewhere in the wilds, with a man whose last order was to kill him. Now you tell me Bäla is about to betray Bregus?" She turned her attention back to Legolas, "I find it difficult to be moved by that."

"As would I!"

The words reverberated around her, startling Éowyn for the malignant threat in them. They did not emanate from the Romany man. "Bregus," Éowyn whispered, glancing over her shoulder, the weight of fear coming back to her in a tumult to match the roar of water behind the still figure.

"You have no evidence," the old woman continued, her voice cold and vindictive, staring at her son.

Mattias rose to face her. He seemed to show nothing of fear. His voice was calm as he spoke, but his words were peppered with fire. "Would my death convince you, Mother? For surely that is what is soon to come. Before this day is done, I believe it will be done."

Bregus seemed to dismiss him as her eyes turned down to look upon Éowyn and the Elf. However, her words spoke still to him. "The histrionics do not flatter you, Mattias. You live and you will stay alive until I say otherwise."

"Grateful though I am," he answered sarcastically, "I would like to know what your intentions are. What is your plan, Mother, for after?" his voice rose.

She turned a leering grin on him. "We shall work together for compliance, Mattias. What else would there be?"

He made a face of disgust, stepping back and looking as if he might spit. But his retort was interrupted by the appearance of another now standing at the threshold of the curtained cave.

Éowyn noted the rumpled appearance of the third of Bregus' sons. He looked as if he had just crawled from his bed, and the smug smile painted across his face was telling of what he had been doing in that bed. It was Curtik, but not the sullen and moody character she had earlier seen. This version of the character seemed cocky and sure of himself. He sauntered slowly forward, his movement sinewy and smooth, like those of a cat. "What is this? A party to celebrate all the joys this day brings?" He coiled lean arms about the old woman's waist as he came up behind her. "Ah, but my love, we are so very near a true reason to rejoice," he slurred in a pleasured voice.

The coy smile remained on Bregus' face, and though her eyes stayed fixed on her eldest son, her head turned to direct her next comment to Curtik. "Mattias seems to think you have designs on my planned renewal."

"Nonsense," Curtik said with a wave of his hand, stepping away. "By casting the spell of transformation without the moon's light, I gained no powers. Not that I am saddened by that. This body is very fine, and it serves my purposes well." He ran fingers languorously over his torso in a suggestive manner, his eyes hooded in a sensual expression of joy as he did so. Then leaning back and drawing his face into a teasing smile, he gazed at the old woman and said, "You cannot tell me you believe him, can you Bregus? How might I wrest your spell away when I have no means to do it?"

But Éowyn felt this was a lie. The young man's eyes traveled first to Mattias, then to her and as he gazed upon her, a cold shiver ran the length of her spine. His eyes were empty, dead, and she felt as if she were looking into the soul of a gruesome creature. She tore herself away from the cool of his stare, and as she did so, his attention went back to Bregus as his hand reached out to rest on the old woman's shoulder.

The young man then turned Bregus to face him, as he said in a voice that sounded sincere in as much as it could be mustered from his lascivious tone, "Truly, Bregus. You have probed my mind. Have you detected any deception from me?"

"None," she heard Bregus say with a whisper. The old woman searched his face before she sighed, then reached for the kiss that seemed hers to claim. Her lips met those of the far younger man with obvious passion and pleasure, parting with a smile as she took them. Then she turned to Mattias with a smug grin. She did not address him, but said as an aside to Curtik, "I think Mattias is jealous of your position."

A devious grin spread over the younger Romany's face as he taunted the other, "But Mattias, why? Your position is safe."

Mattias was not baited. "If that is so, untie me."

Bregus' head tilted back as the leering smile grew wider. Éowyn had the distinct feeling the old woman was drunk, though she doubted it was alcohol or drug that brought it on. Power and evil, she thought as she watched the witch glance with bemused smiles upon both her sons. The old woman reached out a hand as if, at the distance, she might caress Mattias' cheek. "Not until all is done, my child. Then I might focus my attentions better on the remedies we need make."

Mattias pulled back from her, as if her touch had reached him though her hand was no where near. His eyes went wide in surprise, but then he snarled, charging words at Curtik, "I doubt I will live to see that."

Curtik laughed, his mannerisms feigning dismay and hurt. "Accusations, Mattias? But we are the only two left. We must cling to each other."

"Do not pretend to be my brother, snake!" the older man growled, coming forth as he raised his tied fists.

Bregus tensed to an erect posture, stepping forward between the two men. Her hand came up, fingers curled in a half fist. "Do not make me hurt you, Mattias!" Her eyes were fierce with anger.

"Ah, but without Gordash as a buffer between us, do you think we might try to get along better," Curtik replied from his place behind the old woman, a feral smile creeping upon his lips.

"Were Gordash here, no doubt you would be plotting his death too, Father," Mattias answered emphasizing the incongruity of the situation with the sneering word.

"Nonsense," replied Curtik with a wave, stepping around the old woman. "I would have no reason to change the circumstances. I am happy with how things stand." He gave Bregus yet another knowing look as he said this.

"And I can see that you are heartbroken over Gordash's loss. Can you not even pretend to feel? Surely Curtik feels something, even if you cannot bring yourself to feel love for anyone beyond yourself," Mattias scolded.

"Ah, but I love," the younger Romany said as he reached a hand about Bregus' waist. He pulled her into him, his head dipping to nuzzle kisses into her neck. The old woman leaned in for the caress, her head pressed to his shoulder as a rapt expression slid over her face. "I love well, do I not Bregus?"

"You disgust me! Have you no shame?" Mattias rounded on them, focusing his attention on Bregus. "What of Gordash, Mother? Feel you nothing for him? Are you so blinded by your longings that you have forgotten your concerns for where he may be?"

The ecstatic smile on Bregus' serene face softly faded away as Mattias' words took effect. She twisted away from Curtik's embrace, her eyes growing wide as she digested the facts laid before her. "Gordash . . . he is gone?" It was almost as if she had forgotten this, and now recalled, the sobering idea brought her to humbling grief.

However, the moment was only a brief glimpse upon reality.

"We shall survive this," Curtik said, taking her shoulders in a loving gesture. He glanced to Mattias, and Éowyn could tell by the venomous look he gave that the words were a pretense. There was no concern in the young man, and she could see the workings of evil clearly in place in his mind. With a gasp she realized he indeed would attempt to take Mattias' life before all was done.

But he stroked Bregus' head and she fell into his embrace, soothed and suddenly calmed, as if she were forgetful of these woes yet again. As if to complete the ruse, Curtik whispered to her bowed figure and said in sympathetic tones, "Were Gordash here, he would not want you to grieve." She looked up at him and smiled.

"But I am here."

All heads turned abruptly to meet the voice that spoke the words. Two figures stood at the threshold of the main entrance, hidden in shadows, and as the larger stepped forward into the light, Éowyn realized that it was Gordash who was amongst them again.

"What?" Curtik's uttered, shock written in his expression.

Bregus turned now too to watch her son come near. "How?" she whispered, and her face showed both relief and confusion as she stood, almost uncertain whether to step forward to hug him or step back as if repelled by fear.

"Gordash!" Mattias exclaimed, his face lighting up with his joy.

"And this must be Kattica," Éowyn whispered as she watched the other figure step forward. She had not known what to expect, but this face was hardly it. She drew in a gasped breath as she gazed upon the determined features that met her, for the eyes of the young woman were not kind. In fact, they were as hard as the cold feeling of stone.

A/N: Well this is my longest chapter yet, though it was one of the easier ones to write. The next couple may be equally as long, but I'm hoping they will come out quickly and with just as much ease. I'm determined to keep this story within the limits I set, even if that means a lot of page reading on your part. I'm cooked. No more dragging this out. We are nearly done with this story. Just lots of action and angst and a witch-killing or two to do yet. Oh, and some much needed healing. [Looking at notes] Yep, that's what it says will be happening. Well, we'll see, won't we? More very soon . . . I hope.

Reviewer Responses

Daw the Minstrel - Ah, chalk it up to elven rope as their salvation. No head wounds. No scrapes. No broken bones. Only dirty fingernails. And yes, there is a plan. It is a scary one, but if everything goes right, well, you know. Thanks for the review. We are very near done.

E - Oooh, I'm glad you like it. Another notch on my belt then. I would say they have been a very unlucky bunch. Poor things. When I was conceptualizing this story, I wanted it to be a set of bad circumstances that befell them, nothing they could have known was going to come. Then the trick was to see how they would get themselves out of it. I'm working on Aragorn, but he has been only one of six in this story, and I seem to have attracted readers who want the same thing for their favorites too. Ah well, this chapter is largely his. Enjoy!

Fliewatuet - I saw the chapter is up, but I haven't had a chance to read it yet. Once I get this one out, I plan to collect all my reading material and dive in. Glad you liked Marius Suenor. I might make her a part of other stories as I go. I love the concept of lashing out at bad writing in a LOTR way. Now that the heroes are reunited, oh the coming chapters will be tense. [Looks at outline again] Yep, lots of tension. Enjoy!

IceAngel - I'm very glad you like the site. I'll tell the site managers. And imagine, they are not even paying me to bring people here. I feel like I should be collecting a commission. Ah well, I hope you feel sated on Faramir. Writing an entire chapter from one perspective is very hard. Thanks for following along!

JastaElf - Well, since you popped over to review, I guess I can forgive the near miss for the update on Dark Leaf. Yes, they are all gathered together now to rescue our two blondes. Faramir is too much of a gentleman to be putting down poor defenseless pregnant ladies. Okay, Kattica is hardly defenseless, but still. Actually, I think they all bear a great deal of guilt. Can't go inside their heads without seeing it. Still we're now at critical moment when Everything Happens™. Keep reading and thanks for reviewing! Now get back to work!

Lamiel - Oh thank you. I really love that you got my symbolism. It flies over most peoples' heads, but I have imagery and elements that are recurrent in this story and they really mean more than what some might guess. Yes, Marius Suenor was a gimme, but I couldn't resist. The chapter needed some levity. So here we go. A Team together, and let some witch butt kicking begin!

Littlefish - I'm so glad you are settling in, and I take it that means we can look forward to a new story beginning with you very soon. Thank you for the praises. That last chapter was very difficult to write. The tension really got to me, and writing one perspective without shift is really hard, especially when you are at a turning point and all the pieces must be aligned. But, as you said, the strings are coming together now, and oh how the players will be dancing soon.

Luinthien - Oh yes, you are very, very hot on the trail. And a creative ending? Geez, after all of this, I hope it is. As for reasons to come back, I have a few more stories up my sleeve, so I do hope you will look in on me when this story is done. In the meantime, thank you for following along and sending your review.

Nightwing - Oh yes, much of the movie stuff and real life events for the actors is my inspiration for this story. I love parallels like that. As for the kind-faced old woman, she's kind of a mystery, but hopefully I will have left you enough clues in the end to figure it out. I also love symbolism. The benefit of writing is that the author has the power to move time. If they wish a few days can last a year and a half, and ten weeks can fly by in a chapter. The gang will be fine when I am done.

*~SuGaR~* - Well, I will give it one more try. Look in your email. AU means Alternate Universe (meaning a breach of canon), and yes, Mary Sue is a female character who is too good to be true. Usually authors who write them have a member of the Fellowship fall in love with them. MS's are despised because they are perfect, beautiful, and always in need of rescuing or are busy rescuing. I hope this chapter filled you in on what happened to Aragorn, and yes, there is a way for Kattica to overpower Bregus. See, your questions were very good. I just delayed answering them until now. Thanks for the review.

Tapetum Lucidum - Yeah, the Marius Suenor kind of hit me out of the blue. A long time back, someone accused me of building Kattica as a Mary Sue, and though I never saw it, as I was writing that chapter, I had to admit to myself she had done an awful lot. But she had magic to help her. And I never discount a pregnant woman as she gets to the end of her pregnancy. Yes, I promise, no *poof* magic, all fixed now ending. I've been doing angst up until now, I can't cheapen it up with an easy out. Have faith, and enjoy!

Thundera Tiger - Man, things are you-know-whatting now! (You have no idea how many times I have wanted to use that word since I bequeathed it to you, but I gave it to you. It is yours and know I'm forced to work around it.) Whew! I'm so glad the aha! moments worked. I hate repeating myself, but I knew I sort of had to in order to set up what is coming ahead. Your guesses are close on the plan, but not quite there. Keep guessing. Still a chapter to go before it is launched. But don't tell me your health can't take the waiting. "Fear No Darkness" has finally made it up, and you have kept me waiting [looks at watch] a really long time for that one. If I can take it, you can too. Thanks for your review.

TigerLily7 - And I like that they can get angry and tense and still know they will respect each other in the morning. Actually, partnership is a theme in all of my favorite LOTR stories, so I can't see them forming anything but. The rescue will be a combined effort, and as I have been promising, everyone has a role in it. Thanks for reviewing. Enjoy this next chapter.