Chapter 23: Into the Unknown

Eowyn's hands shook as she rounded the stairs, hurrying into the cave from the upper perch for the umpteenth time in the last hour. She found no solace there, nor did she find any here in the caves for that matter.

Calm, calm, she told herself for what must have been the one hundred and eleventh time in a few hours span. It was obvious this mantra was not working. Her patience had run out some time back. She had followed her own sooth wisdom as long as she could, willing herself into stillness and patience. Yet her resolve for self-control and willed endurance was now gone, and slowly as the hours had dutifully ticked away, she had lost her composure and ability to reason. She now found her seeming restraint had manifested itself into something teetering on the edge of full-blown hysteria.

She told herself to breathe. She told herself to calm down, and yet she felt as if she might rip out her hair if she stood in any one place much longer. She felt completely abandoned and lost. What was she to do? Did she dare wait any more?

"Stop this!" she said aloud to herself in a voice that was hardly temperate. This was not the quiet confidence she liked to think she possessed. This was the verge of madness seen in one caught up in nightmarish horror. Still, considering her worries, this reaction was nearly justified. Eowyn was genuinely fearful. And worse yet, it was for things she could not even know. She stifled a cry. She knew she must not give into this fear and once again battled with herself to gain control.

Focus, she told herself reaching into her past to find something that might ground her. It was an old lesson, one from her youth when she had first taken up sword, and droned into her serious nature from an early age. She forced herself to stand still. There remained calm within her, and Eowyn knew she must find it if she were to resolve this situation. Again she let her mind drift back to instruction etched into her mind. Closing her eyes, she allowed the sounds of the roaring waterfall to fill her head. She could feel the light mist of its spray waft over her skin. The sound was a relentless rumble, always in motion, always changing in quick, unreadable notes that she registered in her mind regardless of being unable to follow them. The noise was pulsing and alive and it vibrated through her body. It quickened her heart, and yet something about it was calming, and she gave into it for the minute control it gave her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she let the sensations envelope her. Slowly, so slowly, she found her mind's torment diminishing and her thoughts freed from their barrage. Slowly she found her breath, the rise and fall of her chest coming to a more normal pace.

She opened her eyes again and steadied herself. This was better. She could almost relax now and were she to do anything, poise was the thing that would make it successful. She felt more herself, and her confidence was coming back and her mind was settling into its work. She needed it to work. She needed to think this through. Fear would only make her actions clumsy and poorly conceived.

She called upon her training. Focus, she told herself again in a steadier internal voice. Think only in the moment and do not move too far beyond the periphery. You cannot know what is around the corner. You may only suspect. Be ready to act and that will be enough.

Yes, thinking like this was helpful. It calmed her like the exercises she undertook in her daily practice. It had been long since Eowyn had been required to actually think like a warrior, but there was a certain comfort in the ritual mental preparation of it that she now realized she missed. Too long had it been, yet she adopted it as if it were comfortable old clothing. Training had done this for her, and though the comfort of it felt a little odd at first, she knew she could find her mindset here again with minor adjustment.

Yet she warred with the part of herself that could only view the situation from a personal standpoint. Something was horribly wrong. Eowyn knew this, though she had no evidence to prove it. She was going by gut instinct, a trait she did not hold highly in others and reproof was there for herself in it as well. But had not Aragorn warned of dangers he could not prove? She had confidence in his ability to judge such things and gave in to her own concerns. Something had happened to Arwen and Aragorn, as well as to Gimli, and there was no one about to help her decide how to face this. Worse still, she knew nothing of what she was facing.

She turned about, looking for clues as to where to start. Her fear had been the only thing occupying her mind up until this moment, and while the day had progressed, her fear had won dominance over her. Struggling against it to find a solution to this mystery had only been furthered on by her suddenly very active imagination. Scenario after scenario of all the possible, and oftentimes ridiculous, things that could have happened to her companions had assaulted her mind as she had waited, and she had had to continually push herself away from it in order to make it this far without falling into deeper panic.

Shifting locations had helped, if only temporarily, and this is what had caused her to change places, running up and down the steps every few minutes in efforts to ignore the thoughts in her head. Now she stood inside, and though her mind had been made that she needed to act, Eowyn was completely uncertain as to how she might do that.

Should she seek out Arwen and Aragorn as was foremost in her mind? Most likely this could be done by seeking out the injured Gimli in his location and hoping to find them there as well, as that had been their destination. They could be hurt, desperate, sitting on the precipice of disaster. Or worse. Did she search for Faramir and Legolas in hopes that they could track and find the missing and potentially harmed trio? That would be even more difficult than finding Arwen and Aragorn for she did not know the direction of those two hunters. Of course, she could simply remain put, awaiting someone, anyone to return, but that was no longer an option.

No, Eowyn had made up her mind. She had waited long enough. More than long enough and she refused to sit around waiting any longer.

Furiously she thought she should have stood up to Aragorn and his demand that she remain behind. For if she had, she would not be left in this hold, but instead would be . . . would be . . . Oh, that her heart should know! This is what was so frustrating about her terror. Where could they be? She knew not. The only thing she did know was that he and Arwen had set out at a brisk run toward the new waterfall, wherever that was. East! As if that were an accurate direction to go on.

The sun was traveling into the western sky and the day was progressing. Hours in the past had been their departure and Eowyn felt the day working against her. Hopelessly she admitted she knew not quite where they might be. Due east, a half hour's run, near the foot of a forest toward the new waterfall she had been told. That might have been enough had she known that course, but Eowyn had not ventured there herself and these woods had changed much in the time since she had last traveled here. She and Arwen had just been about to set off to wander in that direction when this disaster had come. The waterfall was a new addition to the landscape as was so much else in this formerly bereft place. Sighing, she fretted. If only she had studied in skills of tracking, perhaps she might better be prepared, but her attention as a youth had been made to wielding weapon and taking foe, and had not been one of outdoorsmen's learning. What grace did holding a sword do her when she needed to act as a huntress? According to Aragorn, Legolas knew where it was they should go, but Legolas was not here.

And where was Faramir during all of this? With Legolas, of course, though the Elf was not the focus of her inquiring mind. With mixed emotion, Eowyn felt a tug at her chest. Faramir. A new war came to the forefront of her mind and Eowyn knew it too had been there all along. Truth told, Eowyn was also frantically worried for her husband, and for Legolas too, but she knew she could not to give in to that subtle terror. It did not have credence. Yet. Not enough time had passed for her to further her fear, and since it did not help her situation any, she chose to let her terror go and imagine all the other likely scenarios that had come between the Elf and Man if that is where her mind wanted to go. And that is exactly what was happening. Worry was most definitely plaguing Eowyn's mind, but allowed the rage of emotion in other guise to sweep over her was helping to push that away. It was far safer to wallow in this place than the other. Mental images of the pair and all the possibilities there were for their lot coasted through her mind. Pictures of them obliviously traipsing along, singing and laughing and making merry filled her head while Eowyn was left here to suffer torment alone. Still considering the other images in her mind, it was easier to scorn them than to let that one come to fruition in her imagination. Idly she let her mind fester with resentment. What was wrong with Faramir? Could he not sense that she was beside herself in fears?

Eowyn chastised herself for her foolishness. Of course he could not know, but still, she could not help but rummage through the possibility that this is what was taking place. This . . . or something else. Something terribly bad. Something very, very bad.

Nay! Banish that thought! She could not allow her mind to go there and it was evidence of more gut apprehensions. One worry at a time, thank you.

But what if . . . ?

No, Eowyn would not consider it. Legolas and Faramir, while gone the morning and past the mid-day meal, were not considerably late. Eowyn knew their activity could well be an all day one, especially since the prize of the hunt was a very particular one. Patience, she reminded herself. They are probably well and unscathed, having a good day under the sun and trees.

Deciding it was paranoia getting the better of her, she opted to ignore the very wary voice within her that was prodding her to act on Faramir's behalf as well. She could not allow herself to fall into her fears. Besides, Faramir would be furious if she were to act for him without reason. Nay, she could not suffer for his failure to appear though secretly she knew she longed for his strength. She would do this. She had no choice. She would do it on her own.

A thought occurred to her, and so startled was she by the very obviousness of it that she had to blink. Laughing at her foolish fancy over dilemmas uncalled for, she considered the simplicity of her idea. She now saw it. She could aid Arwen and Aragorn, while simultaneously aiding Faramir and calming her own fears with aid from better resources. She could go to the soldiers who camped so few miles away and have them take command of the situation.

But then the counter measure of her idea hit her squarely in the face. What if she were wrong and she was acting with insane panic over nothing. Aragorn and Arwen and Gimli were likely to come strolling into the camp at any minute. Legolas and Faramir would follow up after, if not even before, and soon this cavern would be filled with laughter and mockery, some of it directed at her for her insecurity. And concealed anger would be there too if she acted rashly. Calling upon the soldiers was nearly the last thing Aragorn would want to do. Eowyn grimaced. Had she given it enough time? Was she jumping to conclusions too soon? With chagrin, she acknowledged her actions were rather sudden. Was she simply letting the hormonal changes in her body guide her to rashness. If her suspicions were wrong, she would look very foolish and make everyone within the camp quite embarrassed and irritated with her. But if she were right . . .

Frustration gripped her and she pushed back the scream that wanted to erupt out of her in the sheer lose-lose impediment the situation manifested. For all their fine plans in setting up this holiday, neither she nor Arwen nor Faramir nor Aragorn had ever discussed a situation quite like this one and Eowyn was flying by her skirts to find a solution that might fit into the realm of what they might have wanted. Not only was their safety at stake, but so was their pride. If Eowyn was wrong in her suppositions, then a blight of brooding might follow that would plague their further companionship.

But the she realized this was foolish. Evading aid because her companions were too arrogant or stubborn or humble to admit they might need help was idiocy. Aragorn, for all his charms and bravery, could be a dolt in this arena. Why was he so adamant in proving his worth? He was king, was he not? Why fight off the right for protection? For the sake of pride? As if there was any doubt to Aragorn's prowess with a weapon? Yet Eowyn understood it was not easy for him coming from the humble beginnings as he did. It was one of the things she knew bothered her friend and she hoped Arwen could somehow help to make him see the truth of these matters. That is, if Arwen were still able to rationalize anything with anyone.

It was the right decision. Once more from her gut, she felt this was the correct path. No, more so than an intuitive, it was logical and for the first time she smiled. There was small pleasure in knowing she would no longer doubt the conclusions formed in her mind. And if she was wrong, then so be it. They would all live with it, and living was far wiser than allowing harm to come because of uncertainty.

Rather than marching East on a path that could be anywhere within a painstaking, miles-covered grid of hills and plains, she would go to the soldiers camp for aid. After all, was that not what they were there for? To call upon should aid be needed? Of course it was, and this was most definitely a time of need. Further, she at least knew where they were camped, and with their horses and their greater numbers they could search Aragorn and Arwen out and likely find them. And if not, as soon as Legolas arrived, he could help them pinpoint exactly where they might look. But until then, she would make ready the preparations to do this.

Taking the things she would need for a hike in the woods, she ignored those items she might require if she were trying to get a Dwarf and his companions out of a hole. Rope was not required, nor were lanterns or items of healing. Instead, digging through a trunk the Elves had left with their supplies, she found the equipment she might need to arm herself were she to be headed into a fight. This was sage wisdom. Her dread had not left her, nor had the echo of Aragorn's parting words. About her waist she buckled a long knife in place, while in her boot she hid a short blade. She would travel with nothing else except a waterskin to quench her thirst for it was not such a long journey to the soldier's camp.

Pausing for a moment before heading out, she looked at the window of the falls before her. The sun was still high in the sky so it did not cast its glowing rays into the cavern. It would be many hours yet before it descended to the frame of the portal. On summer days, it was late before the sun settled into the plains beyond the Anduin River. Eowyn projected ahead. She hoped that the next time she looked through this window, the sun might be setting and all those dear to her would be accounted for and safe.

She walked to the corridor that led to the downward path and from there to the trail that led to the soldier's camp. A warm breeze scented with pine and juniper met her nose. It was dusted with the light aroma of the ashy remnants of their fire from the night before as she walked past that picnicking place near the shore. Looking back, she reached down to her belly, feather light flutters in her abdomen hinting to her of her child's presence. It was too early to feel the movements of a baby in her womb really, but Eowyn liked to imagine it was indeed her daughter asserting herself to this world. Smiling and remembering a similar caress from Faramir the night before, she gave a last, long sigh, then turned away to her destination. And though it was daylight and she could not see it, she walked forward into a darkness that fell over the day and covered her in the inevitability of the unknown on her path.

****

With a jerk, Gimli brought his head and body upright. It was both sound and movement that shocked him back to his senses and Gimli realized with embarrassment the noise had come from himself. He had been snoring and a jarring, grunting wheeze of a deep timbered snort had actually awakened him.

A startled expression danced across his face. It had been a deep sleep he realized for his mind was still semi-attached to it. Where was he? He felt somewhat dazed, unable to recall exactly where he was or why he was there. Blearily the memory returned to him in sudden small bursts, like flashes of lightning dancing between storm clouds, obliterated from sight except for quick puffs of white light. The swift panic of thought made him edgy. The hole. He had fallen. The hunting trip.

"Aragorn?" he called out, and then he remembered he had covered this territory earlier. He had already searched that worry and found it groundless. Instead he had been waiting for his friend to return. That was right, and glancing about he recognized the stockpile of assorted treasures he had found in the dirt.

Still feeling mild confusion, he wondered how much time had passed. It was a heavy sleep he had taken, but that meant nothing for the time he might have been out. Gimli knew such rest could occur within only minutes or could go on for hours. Looking up, he realized unfortunately it was the latter for the shadows arced on at a different angle than they earlier had. Curses!

That gave him new reason for panic. Aragorn should have returned long ago. Growling in his frustration, Gimli knew something bad must have come to his friend for Gimli to have been left behind as he had been. Sitting about waiting was no longer prudent action.

He started to rise but a shaft of pain ran through his injured foot and up his leg. He had forgotten his injury and fell back down to the ground as he cried out for the ache of it. His lungs choked on air as he gasped out a moan and his head swam in a wobbly wave of discomfort. Sitting there, he waited for the pain to recede before giving try again to rise. His ankle felt more swollen within his boot than it had before, and Gimli cursed again his weakness in falling prey to sleep. Remaining still had made his ankle worse.

He had not intended to sleep, yet somehow he had managed to drift off. Touching his head as a means to settle the spinning motion that was rolling over him, he winced at the wound to his brow. This too he had forgotten, and bringing fingers away with the tug of pain he had felt there, he realized the tips were painted with blood. His bandage was seeping, and Gimli came to comprehend how he might have fallen into sleep. Into unconsciousness would be a more correct statement, at least at first, for he could not forget his snores which were telltale evidence of true sleep taking over. Still it was weariness brought on by his injuries that had initially caused his lethargy, and Gimli had to give pause to consider that he had been harmed a little more seriously than he had originally suspected.

But that was then, and this was now, and no Dwarf would allow such a thing to keep him down long. He had had his rest. He was done with that. Other things pressed upon his mind of more dire circumstance. Foremost was the absence of Aragorn. Where was his friend, the king?

With more patience and care, Gimli again started to rise. Holding his balance to his good foot, he used his halberd at his side to ground himself and balance as he came to stand, much like he had before. With wariness he stepped forward, using the shaft of his weapon to take the full weight of his body. It held, though Gimli felt it bow slightly under his body's pressure. The Dwarf frowned. His halberd was a good weapon and he appreciated it immensely, but it was not meant to be used as a crutch nor would it hold long if it were taken for that use. He would have to find something else to support him if his ankle were to remain his bane.

There are certainly enough choices for alternatives, he thought as he looked down at the stockpile of debris. Branches and roots in all shapes and sizes were displayed for him, and he was pleased by his former industry for he had even sorted the treasures into different piles according to size.

Lumbering wobbly to the pile with the thickest branches, he sized one up in his mind that might do for a crutch. It was a limb from an upper tree branch of one of the larger trees. It split into a fork, and though it was much taller than anything he might use, did Gimli not possess an axe on the halberd end? Smiling to himself for the ingenuity of his weapon, Gimli put it to use forging a crutch that would fit him. Starting at a size he was sure was too long, he bent down and fashioned the branch somewhat to what he suspected he needed. Standing it up to himself, he chuckled. His estimation was far off, and rather than making a crutch that might be right for himself, he made one that would be more appropriate for his Elven friend. As if such a thing would be used by Legolas, he chortled mirthfully.

Relinquishing the branch back to the axe end, he chopped it down to a size more respectable. Trying it again, he was pleased to find a better fit. With a few more minor adjustments, Gimli had it complete. He tucked the crutch under his arm and with tender steps he made forward. To his pleasure he found that once again as he moved his ankle was taking more and more pressure from his weight. If he had not known it before, he was certain now. His injury was a sprain only and Gimli knew he could relax for that worry. Still the crutch gave him better confidence, and Gimli decided it would come to use where he was about to journey.

For journey he must. No sign was there of Aragorn, and with the passage into midday, that absence made it all the more painfully apparent to the Dwarf that his friend needed his help. Absent of Legolas and forgetting about the fact that he was injured himself, Gimli felt Aragorn's security was in his hands. The harm to himself was minor. Aragorn should have been present, and if he had been there were no discernable clues that might give him away. That he was not was both frightening and mysterious. Gimli did not much like mysteries. He was not fond of fright either.

Gimli looked up. The passage to his escape was above, but he could not reach it, not even by extending his halberd to the furthest of his grip. And short of hewing through the walls to dig his way out, Gimli knew he would have to find his escape in a more methodical way. The tunnels beckoned him.

Truly, he did not mind, for these were the ways of a Dwarf, and a part of him had been aching to go onward and see if his suspicions were right about what he might find there. But he would not linger. Aragorn was in need of assistance and that was by far more important than seeking riches in the dark, though other Dwarves might disagree.

Knowing what he must do, he looked to the stockpile of seemingly useless twigs, branches, vines and rocks. To his eye he saw possibilities, and he began gathering and forging what he could from this into neat packs that he could sling over his back. He knew not how long he might be traveling in the depths of these caves and so planned out frugality in how he might extend his resources. Beyond the bits he could not carry he left the rocks behind, for he did not assess his need for them and assumed that, of all things, rocks were the one thing he might find in abundance down below.

Looking much like a pack mule, he turned in the direction from which he had found the magnetite stone earlier. Pulling free one slim twig of a branch, he twisted it until it snapped, still hinged at the joint, and he laid it in the center of the dirt pile. He fashioned it into an arrow pointing out his direction, just in case Legolas and Faramir might come looking for him. He would leave clues like these throughout his journey as it was the only sure way he knew for others to track his path in the dark.

His halberd in one hand and his crutch in the other, he made forward. A wisp of a breeze rushed past him as he neared the edge of the smaller tunnel at the end of this cavern. The circulation of air gave clear evidence that the tunnels led into more caves, and Gimli's heart beat brightly at the prospect of what lay ahead. As he entered the dark tunnel and the light continued to diminish, he thought of his friends encouraging him on as he drew into the darkness of the unknown.

****

Aragorn did all in his power to stifle a small cry and grimace from passing his lips. Further, he squelched the impulse that drove him to leap forth and catch his beloved and pulling her away from harm. It was not an easy thing to refrain from doing things that had become habit. His instinct to protect Arwen was as normal to him as breathing. Though true that he hovered over her actions, it irritated him somewhat that she felt he singled her out for his attentions. If she had given it much thought, she would see he devoted the same scrutiny to all of his friends. The only difference between she and they was that they had long ago threatened to pummel him if he did not leave off. Or words to that effect. In his humble opinion, Arwen was being slightly too sensitive.

Still, she was right, and Aragorn recognized her need to do this task without his assistance, though he was there to offer it should she want it. At the moment, asked for or not, it appeared needed, though he felt hesitant to step forth. He watched as her foot slipped off the flimsy rung to a ladder he had constructed.

Not truly a ladder was it. A crude set of footholds disguised as arrows he had shot into the muddy walls, each one a long step apart from the next, and despite the close range of the arrow, the mucky walls were not holding the arrows taut. So far his latest idea was proving to be a miserable failure.

Unable to restrain himself further, he stepped behind as the shaft holding Arwen's left foot, and in turn her entire body weight began to bow down and the arrow in her right hand that she was using to pull herself up dislodged itself in her hand. She was only four feet from the floor as she came toppling down once again. This was the fifth attempt at the feat and it was getting no easier with practice. Aragorn laid only a steadying hand to her back, ignoring the urge to grasp her by the waist and pull her upright. If Arwen wanted freedom to experience failure on her own, then so be it. He smiled a slight grin.

As she stood, the arrow that had been in her left hand and had not dislodged before, suddenly withdrew itself from the wall and fell with limp satisfaction to the ground. Looking first down at the arrow, then up at the place where it had formerly been entrenched, she growled. As if in answer to her inner curse, a clod of dirt from the wall let loose and with a soft splat landed upon her shoulder.

"Ai! This is useless! We shall never be free of this hole!" she cried, flailing in the attempt to brush the mud from her already ruined garment.

Watching her, Aragorn could not refrain a laugh.

"What?" she asked incredulously. "Are you laughing at me?"

Once again Aragorn tried to stifle himself, but the edge of his chuckle crept out of the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps by a small token. You look rather bedraggled, my Lady."

Arwen's brows shot up though she continued to try and brush the soiling dirt from her body. "Speak for yourself, Lord Grunge," she said. She did not appear to be amused.

"I? Lord Grunge?" he asked, pretending hurt. "Then I must be in the presence of Lady Sodden," he said bowing. "My Lady," he said as he took her hand as if to kiss it, then stopped, looking at it with mock disgust before dropping it. "Remind me to introduce you to my friend, Master Grime."

She made a soft, grunting noise and Aragorn perceived her foul mood was not appeased by his attempt at levity. She did not smile, instead looking up at the sun now passing directly above the hole. It seemed so near, and yet so unreachable.

Frowning, she again began to brush herself off. "I do not believe I have ever been so filthy in my entire life!"

Despite her scowl he was still feeling playful. Cocking a brow at her, Aragorn smirked, "And that is saying a lot."

She looked at him, studying him before she pursed her lips and squinted her eyes. "Yet on you, it looks natural."

Hurt, his face suddenly drooped though he refused to let her see she had injured him. "You must admit I clean up rather well for my court even if my current condition does not profess it," he offered.

"From the neck up, perhaps," she retorted.

With a little more than a scowl he grimaced. "Not the fingernails gripe again," he moaned, a small amount of disdain creeping into his voice. Then defensively he said, "I have said it before, I work with my hands. I do not have time to scrub them clean every time I put down a quill."

A reproving sound escaped her lips as she said, "Every living being who can hold a fork works with his hands. It is hardly an excuse for the condition in which you keep them."

He looked at her hard before choosing to speak. With exasperation he shrugged. "Do you plan to continually berate me, or will you be easing off sometime in the next decade or two?"

A look of complete surprise swept over her face at that response, then she cast her eyes down as if absorbing it. The corners of her mouth twitched downward before a new expression washed over her. It was a look of sympathy and apology she graced on him as her eyes came up to meet his.

"You are right. I am so sorry. I should not take it out on you. This is not your fault."

"You worry for Gimli," he said, offering the solution to this puzzle.

"Yes," she answered loudly, frustration taking over. Then turning about and gazing again at the sun, she said, "I cannot help but feel there is more danger about and we would be better off were we to have Gimli with us."

"You sense it too then?" he asked taking a step forward.

"Ever since we neared this field," she answered filling in the blanks to his worries. He had felt it though he had not spoken of it until now. There was something not right about this hillock or field, not right about any of the environment, as if it were marred somehow, made into a trap. He shook his head to free himself of it.

"There are always Faramir and Legolas. Eventually they will come and rescue us," he offered, choosing to be optimistic.

"I do hope so," she said, glancing skyward, but her voice held a hint of disbelief. He was about to ask her of it when her expression suddenly changed.

"Estel," she whispered, "something draws near."

He flashed his eyes upward as well. He could hear it. The sound was of rustling brush from above. A waft of fresh breeze came down upon him then and he squinted into it. The sound grew nearer, and he wondered if it were wise to stand in a beam of light when an unknown was approaching. Subtle footsteps gave way to the figure that stood over the hole a moment later and he did not then have time to act. It drew near, looking down on their presence and casting shadow upon them as it peered into the darkness. All they could see of it in the harsh contrast made by the sun was the outline of its form. A great buck stood before them, a head and a crown of antlers indicating it to be the buck of the hunt.

A pool of brightness surrounded the animal, light beams breaking off from the contrast of sky and form like an intense chiaroscuro in the frame of the opening. Shafts of color broke out from the zenith of sunlight, curiously bending in a spectrum of color which only Anar could do when meeting object below. Aragorn and Arwen both gasped at the sight while the crowned head above extended slightly at the sound, as if acknowledging its majesty.

For the briefest of moments, Aragorn considered reaching for his bow and quiver, seeking out one last attempt to take down this elusive creature. The contest still held, and despite his current predicament, it was the best shot he was likely to get. But then he watched the rise and fall of the animal's massive chest, and the poised grace of the magnificent head and he deserted the thought. There was something about the animal that was familiar. He felt almost as if he could reach out and touch it, that nameless thing that he recognized. Still, Legolas was right. This creature was far too grand to be blighted by an arrow shot, to be killed at all. It had stood the test of time and it deserved its regal place in the animal kingdom. It was not Aragorn's to decide when the animal might come to its end and it seemed out of place that a king of men should hold authority over a king of beasts.

He felt humbled. The stag was a masterpiece to behold, dominant in his vision. He could not tear his eyes away. The stag looked down upon him, its deep, earth eyes searching his soul and penetrating it. There was a connection between them and Aragorn felt stupefied as a rush of comprehension came to him. The obviousness of what he had not seen before, the familiarity he had felt, it was all poignantly clear. This deer was not his to take. It was a gift from the gods, and harming it would be like harming a part of himself. It was tangible to him, a part of his own soul, a symbol of something in himself he had lost. The animal raised its head, and briefly he could see more detail of its handsome face as the light broke in such a way as to not hinder the sight. Such grace and beauty. Such equanimity. Why did he not recognize these traits before? It was all there to be had. Aragorn only need reach out and it was his.

The buck's ears twitched and the animal pivoted its head around. Then instantly, without warning, it leapt, bounding over the hole and disappearing soundlessly from their view evermore. Once again a flood of light fell down on them, and Aragorn had to blink back from it, startled and suddenly uncertain if it had ever really been, yet a quick glance toward his wife told him his eyes had not deceived him. A single trickle of a tear escaped her eye leaving a clean trail across her cheek

She smiled at him and he smiled softly back, then he turned, shaking his head at his foolishness and he began to laugh. It was a small chuckle that escaped him at first, but then the irony of it all caught up to him and the mirth gained in volume. A deep belly laugh erupted as he recognized his own foolishness. He turned his head upward, as if trying to send a message to the animal, but he knew it would not hear. Still he laughed as he realized all of this, every minute of their dire situation, was his fault. If only he had seen. If only he had known. None of this was necessary, this escape from duty and pressures. Had he only realized earlier, he might have saved them all so much trouble. And the laughter fell about them and as it echoed about, he felt relieved, as if he were shedding a cloak that was too heavy and large for his body and had stifled his movements. These prior actions were not his but merely the persona of what was expected of him, what he expected of himself. No one else had placed this upon him. It had been his own making. And now he was free of it.

A glint came to his eyes as his laughter died down, and the beaming smile on his face rivaled the brilliance of the sun above. He knew. He understood. Arwen met his eyes with pools of happy tears filling grey orbs. She recognized him. He had come back.

With a hint of a smile he nodded to her, then bowing slightly in thought, he looked up and said, "I think it is time we found our way out of here."

But the expression of unerring confidence fled abruptly from her face as a look of terror swept in to replace it. Turning her head, her eyes darted along the walls, seeking out a source for her fear. And then she turned to him with an expression that he had seen on Legolas' face many times on their quest with the ring. It was the look of fear, and his heart skipped a beat and his throat constricted as he realized exactly what it meant.

"The walls, Estel! The walls are coming down!"

As she said this he heard the earth tremble and rock as muddy clumps began to rain down.

"Get the lamp!" he shouted as he bent and stretched to reach the waterskins and the rope. Arwen did likewise as she grabbed the lamp a few feet away. Her head flipped side to side searching for the medicine kit. Aragorn saw it in a farther corner next to his quiver but already it was too late, being buried in dirt. "Leave it!" he commanded.

Then grabbing her arm, he surveyed the measure of the cavernous room as the rumbling grew in strength. The walls on the hillside began to collapse inward, and fearfully he pulled away dragging her with him. The noise was overwhelming, vibrating through his body as he shook with the tremors of earth movement. Blind terror enveloped him as he pulled Arwen ever nearer, crushing her head to his chest as if he could somehow protect her from this. He continued to rush back, back, away from the roiling dirt and muck that was crumbling down without distinction about them. Suddenly his heart leapt to his throat when sensation of ground beneath him gave way, and he realized quite suddenly that they were falling. Murky depths surrounded them and a rush of air slid past them as restless ground skittered away. Down, down, down they drew.

No, not again, he thought as they fell into an unknown world below and everything became black.