Is it illness that brings this on?

In hindsight he would realize it was a fleeting thought, a mere minute of short-lived doubt. But at the time, it made his heart clutch with an agony that stirred in his chest and time had no reckoning to what he placed upon it.

When he had parted her company last she was wary, shy of the darkness, and only willing to go on due to his insistence and assurance that all might be well. Yet when he came to her now at a near run, stumbling through the unlit void, he found her jubilant and invigorated. And yes, giddy. Such behavior for his wife was . . . peculiar. Aragorn could no longer ignore the inconsistency of it. Am I witnessing the deliverance of madness? he asked himself in the next instant of thought. No answer was forthcoming to his encumbered mind, for he knew not how to tell the tale of such an unusual ailment.

He was terribly perplexed by her words. "I have found it!" she had said. "I have found the way out!" He was thrilled by this announcement for he felt sure in her enthusiasm that she had discovered a clue. But then she had gone on, and his heart fell with the continuation of her thoughts. "Why did I not see it? Do you see it? Can you see it? It is like a tree," she had said, and the sound hung in the air, lingering for him to ponder.

A tree?

And though the words were disturbing for the contrite shortness and seeming disconnect, it was her actions that made him ponder her sanity most. Arwen laughed as the words echoed around her. She was nearly bouncing with joy and her triumphant dance made her seem all that much more victorious for her discovery, though it was quite at odds with their situation. No more did she speak mindless prattle. It was worse. Instead she was almost mumbling to herself, announcing the assumptions she had made, and nodding to herself her about her affirmations and suppositions. Nonetheless, she appeared to be quite pleased with herself, and the whole of it seemed rather odd to the mood she had previously taken.

A bump on the head, Aragorn thought, trying to find reason for the sudden change. So many times in this day had they followed an up and down pattern of emotion. It was exhausting him and he watched her now with the scrutiny he might use as a Healer, trying to discern the exact cause of her malady without alerting her to his concerns.

Clearly she had been teetering on the edge of uncertainty. It was my prodding that pushed her! This is my fault! Aragorn scolded himself. Yet Arwen seemed not the least bit upset with him, or anything else for that matter. In fact she was clearly pleased, self-possessed and even confident in her glee. If only her words would follow suit.

Aragorn was not sure if he should find delight in his wife's newfound pleasure or if he should fear it. The better part of this journey had been spent in bickering, disagreement and dangerous pursuits. All of this had delivered them naught of their original quest. But in that time, Aragorn had gained much of an understanding of his wife. Among these advances, he had come to appreciate far greater Arwen's abilities to bend, assess and compensate. For that, his admiration for her had grown immensely, even if it had meant he had been on the receiving end of her consternation. But now he wondered if any of his prior assessments were really true. He did not think he could take another crescendo of emotional highs, though she seemed to be yet on the brink of one. He felt horrible for his conclusion, and yet he could not deem her well if she could not stay true to the person he had known her to be.

In her right mind she was an amazing creature, he knew, and he was reminded again how deeply his love delved. Therefore, as someone who loved her with the full of his soul, Aragorn thought it perhaps best that he be the one to tell her that she was acting somewhat . . . crazed. Yet words to that effect did not seem well-placed. He was not looking forward to what she might say were he to point out how oddly her thoughts seemed to run, especially if he said the words in a haphazard way. But he knew he must say it somehow, for even now he could not make heads or tails of the rambling dialog she softly kept.

"Aye, this way it would be. And see how even the trail runs up until this crest and then down again. More evidence this is that my theory is right. The stone must be denser here," she said as she stomped the pathway. "Oh, but I am making no sense at all! Poor Estel! You must wonder at me. Stop me if it seems out of sorts for I cannot help myself. My mind is leaping in so many directions at once. Yet I am certain! I am certain! See the direction of the tunnels? They are pointing the way."

He sighed in exasperation, unable to diagnose her manic ailment from observation. Yet she said he should question her, and so he timidly put forth the statement, "But you had said it held reminder of trees."

She blinked a moment, and then stabbed the air with a jabbing finger as if a point had been made. "Exactly! Oh yes, the ups and downs too, like the twists and the bends! I was thinking more of a flat surface like a drawing, but you are right. How astute of you to add another dimension to the allusion!" she exclaimed triumphantly beaming at him as if he had grasped the significance of this allegorical connection.

Perhaps the condition is temporary. A blow to the head can sometimes make one act as such. There is no other explanation of which I can think for she simply did not act this way prior to our fall, Aragorn decided. He shook his head in bewilderment, unable to grasp her meaning.

But she did not notice and she simply went on in her dialog. "I viewed it once when I rode on the back of an eagle. It was one of Gwaithir's young who took me, and he flew me so high that I truly could see. It is something one cannot identify from the ground, yet in the air it is so amazingly clear. And lovely." She gave him a cheery smile as she said, "It was like a tree."

Still, I must ask of the household staff. There may have been signs that I had not earlier seen, Aragorn told himself.

Arwen proceeded to walk forward, as if to lead them, but when after a few steps he did not follow, she glanced around. "Why do you halt?"

"Arwen, let me see your eyes."

"Why would you want to see my eyes?"

"Does your head ache in any way? Did you take on any bumps of which I should know?" he asked, trying to make the question seem innocent as he prodded her skull.

"Oh, Estel, stop playing games. Let us go before the fuel in the lamps give out."

Aragorn looked to the lanterns. She was right. The fuel reserves were dwindling and soon would be gone. Already the lamp in his hand was beginning to wink and dim slightly.

"All the more reason for us to go back to our starting place and wait for help to arrive," he said with the kindest of tones, trying to turn her with a gentle hand to her elbow.

"Folly! I am leading the way to our escape," she scoffed, pulling away.

"But Arwen, you would lead us in circles. This path simply goes around a lake," he said, attempting to make her see her foolish venture.

She cocked her head at him then, granting him a curious stare. Yet unlike a mad woman, she seemed even in temperament, more like that of the Elven make he had grown accustomed to over the years. The corners of her mouth crept up ever so slightly as she said, "Do you think I am mad?" She appeared quite sane when she said this.

Instantly he doubted himself, and wondered again at the change. Was he wrong? But the words about trees and eagles and up and down paths were far too recent for him to ignore. His eyes fell into the darkness. The realization of how dire their situation remained struck him. This was not a time for idle foolishness. He had seen others of madness pull such a feat as to seem sane for moments at a time. He would not be fooled. Their lives and the lives of their friends depended upon them making lucid decisions. And he was not certain she was in possession of such a thought at the moment. "Arwen, please listen to my words and hear me out," he said, speaking quite slowly. "I understand that should we follow this path," he stomped his foot on the ground to make it clear to her he spoke of this path, "we shall eventually end where we started, at the tunnel that originated this journey," he said, his voice edgy. Then to disguise his concern, he said, "Not that there is not merit to that goal, but I fear we will not reach it before the well of oil in the lanterns is spent." He wryly thought that he sounded as if he were speaking to Faramir's youngest child.

She held her breath, blinking at him before her reaction came, and he found himself holding his breath as well.

And then her breath was released and her response came, Aragorn wincing as the onslaught of it broached her lips as she . . .

Laughed. She laughed and the sound was a beautiful thing, light and fluid as the noise crisscrossed the space about them with their echo. "Oh, Aragorn, my love, what is it you think has become of me? A bump on the head perhaps?" He could feel his face reddening but dared not speak his suspicions. "Allow me to explain, my dearest one, for I am hardly a child, or even a madwoman. I do have logic to guide my silliness." Aragorn flinched for he felt still he was about to be rebuked for what seemed to clearly obvious. However, her furor did not rise. She did not rant. Softly sighing, she said, "I apologize for my erratic behavior. I was excited, and clearly I did not make myself clear. But once you know, perhaps you will join me in my jubilation. Try to see it, if you will." Then she paused and breathed deeply before saying, "We follow not a lake, Aragorn, but a river."

Aragorn's brow creased. "A river?" He glanced about to make sense of the body of water before them. A river? The better of him regained itself then, and he shook away her certain answer, knowing better than she. "But it is so wide for an underground resource. In this light, we can barely make out the opposing shore. It seems quite vast."

"Perhaps your eyes do not see it, but as mine have grown accustomed to the dark, I do see. Dimly it is there and I know of its make. The opposite shore is some twenty yards away though the distance is misleading without a point of reference. It is not such a wide body as you might think. Though we have walked over this path," she said, stomping her foot to make clear she was talking about this path, "for some time, there is no sign that we have yet walked there. However, to our right we have already walked and to our left, I dare say even I can see no end," she said, squinting into the dark as if to demonstrate.

"It could be a very long and narrow lake," Aragorn pointed out, acting the wary Ranger, still doubting and not knowing if he dare trust her sober mood and assessment.

"It could be. But it is not. It is a river," she responded with surety, even and untroubled as she turned back to the task of leading.

"But you said something of trees," he went on, trying to make sense still of her words and the situation. He still did not have faith that she was all together right, though he was beginning to find merit in the idea of a river.

"You have seen the likes of an uprooted tree, have you not? Then you know of the tapered roots and the patterns they make as they crisscross one another. That is what the side tunnels of this cavern do. They are like the smaller roots of a tree bending around through the soil, veering when they meet hard rock, but all leading to the main of the tap root. This river is the tap root, Estel. If we follow it, it shall lead us to an even greater source of water, like the roots leading to the trunk," she said.

He still did not see it.

"Look at the tunnels. We have been in and out of many of them, and always they are the same. They pretty much follow a single path, and always do they narrow into nothing but small fissures. Now think of the tunnels as small streams. In the beginning they start as a little trickle and build and build. Always they lead to greater and greater bodies of water. They seldom start and stop without going that way. Together they form greater rivers until they finally come to the sea. This river will lead us to a greater river the river above ground that runs to Henneth-Annün. It will lead us out, my love. I know it will."

"But what did you mean when spoke of eagles?"

"Again, I am sorry. I forgot you did not have such a celebration to mark your first century. The eagle is another story in itself that I will tell at a later time. The point is from the air when you look down on the path of a river and all its tributaries, it looks much like a tree. That is what I was saying." Then she looked ahead at their path, and seemed to steel herself to the darkness. Again she started to move in that direction.

Still, he remained where he stood, staring at the water and ignoring her steps. If it is a river it does not act with the normal temperament of one, he thought. "There is no motion on the surface of the water. Would we not see ripples, or something that might tell us it flows?" he asked. After all, this was one of the reasons he had concluded it a lake.

Her voice came to him, rich in timbre, assuring to him that the confident Elf he had wed stood before him. She had no doubt, and she spoke as if he too should have little reason to doubt. He was beginning to wonder at his assumption of madness. Could he have been wrong? This appeared to be Arwen as he knew her, and blinking he looked hard into her gaze. No stranger was present behind those eyes. "I had assumed that as well, but then I put my other senses to the test. On the surface there is nothing. But if you feel to the depth of the water, you might sense the current."

He stepped to the water's edge and dipped his fingers into the crystal clear liquid to test this. It was icy cold, almost numbing to the touch, and he pulled his hand away immediately.

He looked up to see her watching him, the smallest hint of a smile slipping across her lips. But with the patience of an Elf, she said nothing, merely waiting for him to complete his examination, as if she fully expected he would concur her assessment. Not only did she appear sure of herself, she also appeared sure of him and he felt suddenly . . . flattered . . . by her confidence in him.

It was an aching reminder to him of earlier times, when they had first met, when they had wed, the early years of their marriage. Often her eyes had appraised him this way, and he realized that he missed that ready trust they had once shared. It seemed such a long time since he had looked to her thus, hoping, expecting she might look at him this way. He knew not why she granted it now, but he appreciated its appearance, even if it were brought on by mental ailment. At least it gave him something for which to strive. He smiled at her gaze, and her eyes sparkled in kind, as if she were pleased that he noticed.

And then he saw it, the light in her eyes and the faith in her gaze and he paused, gaping at the obviousness of it. Why had he not noticed before? Like a flash of lightning, he saw it. The familiarity struck him, and he nearly fell over in his appraisal of it. Of her. Her eyes. Her trust. Her silent homage and respect. She did not doubt him. She did not scorn him and his whims. Nor had she ever! She believed in him with the whole of her being, and blind though that faith might be, it was her surety that gave him strength. He had witnessed that expression before, not only from her but from others. His people and his officers. They believed in him where he had not, and he realized all along he had been looking at outward signs to make him question and doubt himself. Such a handicap it had been, to doubt.

But she did not. She was like . . . like the buck. And had he realized it before, he might have noticed the intimacy of it. Her expression was her own. It was one he had seen many times before, but now as he met her, eye to eye, he recognized her gestures and eyes were exactly as they had always been. This was no stranger! This was no madwoman! This was a vital, creative Elf, poised and fully confident. Confident in him. Knowing with certainty what he should do, how he should react, and expecting it, as if one expected breath to follow breath. Inhale after exhale. Like the buck, that awe-inspiring creature hallowed for its poise and confident grace, she stood before him, and the moment was as powerful now as it had been when that noble creature had looked upon him. He realized it all. She had never stopped looking at him this way. It had been he who had stopped looking to her. It was his flaw in falling into the trap of blaming outwardly. His! Her assuring expression told him the full tale of her faith, and with it he found restored a complete trust for himself. And for her.

He wondered that he had not noticed before, for her eyes conveyed it all. Then he thought that perhaps he had been so guarded in his private pursuits and journeys and listening to other counsel that he had not taken the time or the effort to return to what was so naturally their normal grace. When he looked into her face, he could see the cognizant expression of one who implicitly believed and did not blame. And with that devotion, he knew he could return the favor.

This was what founded their love, their troth of mutual respect. Now he saw how foolish he had been. He realized yet again he had been letting his own faith slip away simply because of his desperation and a fear for their plight. For his plight. How long had this doubt been his? Much longer he realized than that of their fall into this cave. It was a slow decay that had been eating at him, but now he recognized it for what it had been. She was as she always had been. It had been he who had been constructing walls, forcing her into a tightly confined space, when her nature was to be free. I have been trying to pen a wild animal, he mused, Holding it hostage to my desires, my expectations, my longings. He felt chiding anger at his own blindness tug at his soul. He wanted to beg her forgiveness for ever holding forth doubts. Arwen was who she was, who she had always been, and her reactions and temperament were quite normal given the circumstances. In all he could see beyond what they now faced and he recognized how far adrift he had come from who he had been. He had been holding her back. He had been pushing her to conform. That he might see this as madness was unreasonable and cruel. Granted, it was the protective nature in him that made him wish to confine her, but that gave little excuse for his ready blindness and said even less to what was making him push away what was so obvious. Truly she was as much an equal in what made them great, and it was not his entirely to dominate and rule them. Yet he had.

She stood there and waited, and he felt nothing of pressure from her. There never had been. He saw she was as he had known her to be and he felt whole in recognizing what felt so much a part of his fulfillment as a person. They were together a team, complementing and completing each other, while separately they were so much less. But for the foolishness of his ill-conceived notions, they might well have fallen into a failing state. It made him ache to believe he might have destroyed his marriage, simply by following a course that was not naturally theirs, just as he would have killed that great deer out of the prying vanity of competition and rivalry. So many expectations and demands were put upon him, though none of it was at his own whim. Somehow though, he had seen it, and he felt renewed for having recognized his failing before it was too late, while there was still a chance to resume what was theirs together.

He saw through her eyes, and he knew what she thought. She saw him as an equal, a partner, her completion. She did not doubt him, nor did she think he would doubt her. Her trust in him was immeasurable, and if he told her then he found her theories wrong, her eyes would have dipped in hurt, but she would have believed him and followed him whatever their course.

No need was there for that. He would not betray her trust or her love. He believed so entirely in her that it made his heart thrum a sturdy rumble in his chest, and he thought he might explode with the fierceness of his emotions.

He would never doubt her again.

He did not need to continue his test of the water to know. She was right. Whatever doubt he might have had, he put aside, wondering that he had ever let it foster in the first place. Of course she was right in her assessment, and he would follow her guidance as if it were his own.

He snuffed the light in his lamp so as to reserve the fuel in this lamp, planning ahead, and then rising with confidence, he stepped forward to her. He kissed her lightly on the brow, and then took the lamp from her hand, stepping around her. With that he began marching in the direction she had begun to tread.

And that was all they needed.

Silently, she followed, and he was not required to look back to know she was there. No need for words was there either, for he knew what to do, as did she. With a stern expression of steely determination, he led them on into the darkness, but now he was certain he knew of their direction. They were on the path, and they were heading out of the cave.

****

Kattica pushed a tear away, refusing the desire to release her sorrow and fright. Tears would not help her now, and she knew that she needed to remain calm if her situation were to grow for the good. Too much had been done on impulse on this day, and she would not fall into the trappings of mindless actions again. It was time now that she planned out her next steps if only she knew what those steps might be. A concise direction alluded her.

She looked at the resting figure of the Dwarf as she touched his brow. The slumbering figure stirred slightly with the caress, murmuring words under his breath, and she found that comforting, for the sleep seemed to be real, not induced by illness. His skin was warm to the touch, though not burning, and she was satisfied. A slight elevation in temperature would be normal for such a battery of injuries, while a fever would be frightening. She looked to the bandage at his brow and saw it remained unstained. He was healing. Then she looked to his foot. In the passing of time she had tended this injury, doing her utmost to assure there was no further damage to this appendage. She felt confident there was no blood within the boot, nor was there protruding bone. She assessed further the break to be near the ankle, and figuring that, she set forth to bind it. Using one of her underskirts to supplement her supply of bandages, she shredded the fabric into strips, the bright material playing prettily in the flickering light of the fire as she did. Red was its hue, and she laughed softly to herself as she coiled the linens over and around the Dwarfs foot. When complete, his boot was completely hidden beneath the scarlet wrappings and she felt sure that, though it might feel better to be set and held firmly in place, Gimli would protest his newest piece of attire. He looked to be dressed in a red boot.

Before the mirth passed, though, a joyous sensation interrupted her examination of the Dwarf and her own self-scrutiny. Her hand reached down and caressed the belly that protruded across her form. The flutter of tiny kicks pressed her abdomen, and she sighed with contentment at the feeling. It had not been so long ago this evening that she had thought with terror she might be meeting this small wonder. It was too soon for that, and Kattica, in counting, felt sure there were at least five or six more weeks before this child might make her way into the world as she should. Still, the false labor was enough to frighten Kattica.

Recalling Faramir's lecturing ways, she reached over and raised the bowl that had been used earlier to sate the Dwarf's thirst. It sat next to his form just as it had before, liquid flickering within it as highlights caught in the fiery light. Her stomach revolted as she looked upon it, the feeling of fastness already true to her belly. She had no desire to drink another drop. She hated the thought of adding more liquids to her already burgeoning body. A huge lobbing creature she already felt, but she drank from the bowl all the same. It contradicted everything of common sense to her, to add water where water appeared to be in abundance. Yet the fluids had earlier helped, and there was no doubt that water had healing properties. Further, if another Healer had recommended it to slow the labor signs, then perhaps it had merit. It seemed Kattica still had much to learn as a Healer. Further study of the arts might benefit her and her people, and not for the first time did she consider settling in these lands for a time, once her child was born. It might do good to mingle among those who lived of these lands and especially of those learned in medicine. To learn through the knowledge they had gained could only benefit her for obviously they knew of more than she did in this case. She smiled then. If water were enough to hold off the baby's arrival for another few weeks, then she would immerse herself in it.

Looking out to the rapid flow of the river, she took a step forward so that she might refill the bowl, and the thought occurred to her that she would have to do something to gather food for them as well, for the apples that had remained when Faramir had parted she had devoured. She did not feel guilty for that, She had been very hungry, and she needed to feed her baby as well as herself. More so, she felt certain the Dwarf would sleep until the morning. However, once awakened, she knew it would be best if there were food available.

As she pondered this thought, the brightness of the moon rose over the trees on the opposite shore, and the scene was blanketed in pale light. It reminded her again of Bregus' plans, and her former joy that the witch's scheming had gone astray. That was until Faramir had run off only to make himself vulnerable again. She knew his intentions were good, but in her mind he was only thrusting himself into further danger. Yet she could not blame him. Were it Mattias in trouble, well she might do the same thing.

Once more she felt the tears come, and now, though she still attempted to push them back, they fell. She cursed herself, knowing this emotional plundering to be partly the fault of her bodily condition; she had attended many pregnant women that were overwhelmed by tears at the smallest of issues. She was certain her emotions had much to do with her exhaustion as well. Nonetheless, all rational thinking fell aside as her misery manifested itself in the hot droplets. She cried for her fear. Faramir had not returned, nor had Mattias come, and her mind played a panicky game of living all the potential harms either of them might have taken. She had been staving off the warring emotions, but now they came unburdened.

She sat on the nearest rock and let her worries flow. She went at it for long moments, her small whimpered cries and the convulsive rocking of hiccuping sighs echoed in the space of the cave. And then slowly the feelings drained off her, and the mysteries of her imaginative visions, fearful though unfounded, began to slow and just be. She could not find tears for the ache, though the trouble remained in her breast. She sniffled back the remaining flow, allowing her eyes to clear and to stare out at the handsomely growing night.

The moon's white face lit up the space surrounding her abode as the campfire dimmed down, and she let her mind wander as her fears settled into her soul, taking residence in the recesses of her thoughts. Though she had no evidence, somehow she realized that her worry was real, and she had the right to feel fear. It gave her something for which to plan. And then it dulled and she found her thoughts drifting away, moving over the scenery as she settled into exhausted apathy.

The drapery of long grasses that swept over the cliff above, sheltering this inset on the shore, swayed lightly on a breeze. Rock was strewn across the floor and water lapped the stony edges where the river met it. The stirring of crickets in the background forest ceased with the push of the light wind through the hollow, and Kattica watched the flames of her campfire flicker and crest with the soft breath of the wind.

She glanced about, her mind growing numb. Though her fears had consumed her before, it now seemed her brain turned off the onslaught of worrisome possibilities, almost as a defense against the ache in her heart. She stared vacantly ahead, almost mindless to the escape her thoughts took from that tormenting path. She was too weary to pay it much heed, and to do much more would mean to act. She could not. Her body at last felt the aching exhaustion she had been pushing away all that day. The rush of adrenaline that had carried her forward through all the prior drama seemed to have waned, and her fatigue tied to her fears made her stoic as the tears ceased to rain down from her eyes. She did not have it in her to fall completely into her woe, and she realized this was probably a godsend. She felt certain, had she absorbed everything that she knew she should lament, she might go mad with the agony of such heartache. Instead all she could do was stare outward, the pain of her heart still vividly felt, but no longer reaching the recesses of her cares. And as that curious place in her mind began an aimless wandering, the thought occurred to her that this small shelter was almost like that of a Protected Place.

She blinked, for though her mind was drifting, she had given it no inclination to fall back to thoughts of magic. But then she supposed, witch that she was, it was only inherent that her brain would stray in that direction. Yet was she a clever enough witch to be creatively thinking such thoughts, even when she had not set out to do so? She had never considered herself this and the suddenness of the idea startled her. Still, the thought had emerged. A Protected Place. It was true. This hollow resembled, to a degree, almost that which Bregus desired. Almost.

How odd, she thought, considering how wayward her thoughts had traveled.

Earth, wind, fire and water, she recited in her mind. Those were the elements used to create a Protected Place, which Kattica knew to be the strongest of those used in the performance of magic. She put them together, playing with the thoughts, finding the connections to where she stood now. These were musings only, she decided. They were the lost circles of pondering one took before falling to dream.

Not many true Protected Places existed, though every witch knew how to contrive one when they concocted their magical circles for incantations. However, she knew Bregus had somehow uncovered a real Protected Place, and she knew what one could do there was a marvel. Though Kattica had never borne witness to such an event herself, she had heard tale at the Gatherings. A true Protected Place had no need for other means of sealing it off. The elements themselves made up the walls, the ceiling and the floor. Whereas in her camp, Kattica's attempts at any magical spells would be limited to the area she might draw with her kosh, or the perimeter she might walk while reciting a chant, or even the circle in which she might contain herself created with a line of salt. A real Protected Place was already contained, and all one needed to do was step into it and claim it.

This space was not of that make. It was false for it was not fully contained in the elements. True, earth made up a portion of its walls and ceiling, but the open air and the dried grass that encased it on one side undid what the other element did. Air was not a magical element. Wind was. A gale would need to be present outside this den to call that an enclosure. And while water was present, it only lapped at the floor. It did not seal off an entrance. And fire. Campfire was also a falsity. It was not what the shuv'nis had meant when she had learned of the lessons of Protected Places. Fire meant calling upon the heat and light found only by natural cause. Molten rock, or the blaze of the sun among those enlisted. A campfire sufficed for a construed and weak hold, and it was what most witches used, for they could not harness the sun.

How Kattica wished she might have a hold of such strength, for if she did, she might have it in her to do battle with Bregus and fight off what was to come. But such a possibility could not be. Once established in that cavern, Kattica knew Bregus' magic would grow tenfold. Though Kattica was beginning to have faith in her own skills and to see the lines where magic came clearly into the realities of her life, she knew there was nothing to give her power over Bregus when magic within the Protected Place was wielded.

And yet . . .

Bregus would not be given her full strength until the true light of fire came into the den of that space. Kattica had seen into Bregus' vision. She knew the element of fire in this hold came with the setting sun. Until that time, any magic performed might be of the contrived kind a normal witch might make, not of a natural aura. There was still time and Kattica felt she might do something to hold off the elder's attempts to gain power, even if the magic were not strong. She might purchase an advantage. Kattica knew of Bregus' plans for Faramir, and the threat the old woman had made to possess Mattias in his stead. If the old witch did indeed have either of them, and if indeed she had made her way to the cave that was the keep of the strangers, little was there to keep Bregus from completing at least a portion of her plans. If she were desperate enough, Bregus might well return her beloved Bäla to her side. Kattica also knew Bregus feared giving Bäla any power. But if she were convinced that she needed him now, then all would turn ill. If Bäla were back . . . She shuddered at the thought. By rumor, she knew too that Bäla had also been a powerful shuv'ni. Reincarnated while in that hold, there would be no stopping the horrors that the pair of witches might create.

The space in which she stood, this hollow, might well be adapted for her needs. She had no salt to close off the room, but she knew well enough the chants she might use to seal it. She set about the task, stoking up the fire again, so as to bring in that element, and praying that the breeze might hold while she worked. She stared into the fire, cooing the sounds of the awkward chant she had been taught while still a young girl. The tempo of it rang loud in her ears though no accompaniment was there except those of her memory. And then she rose, and she walked over the ground, both inside and outside her concealed cave. She did her best to create a circle, her rhythm uninterrupted by the terrain as she traveled uphill and down. When she reached her starting place, she stepped inside, vowing not to step out lest the spell fail.

Her hand reached up and touched the amulet she kept at her throat, and then soundlessly the words filled her head as a new spell came. It was an entirely different rhythm that caught her up, but she grew lost in her thoughts, and she paid little attention to anything beyond the thrumming sound in her head and the texture of the amulet stroked by her fingers.

Words came aloud, and they slowly, consistently filled the space with their pattern. "Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. . . " She repeated the words over and over again until she felt the Other World touching her. It was mysterious and wonderful. Her strength returned while under the trance of that possession, and she felt the familiar power she had played to Bregus' advantage welling up in her heart. The surge recharged her, invigorating aching muscles, and at the same time, the taunt of the darkness whispered in her ears.

It would be so easy to slip back into that fold.

The amulet tugged on her neck and a breeze pulled her from her reverie. She stood still, her breath inhaled and held as she reached out with her mind for the one who might help her, fighting against the allure of the magical enticement. And then another sensation came, and she felt refreshed for the kinship in what had been her sought contact. Like the caress of a familiar touch, she found it. Like the whisper of a known voice in her ear, she heard it. She smiled, tears pulling at her eyes as she realized she now had something of good on her side. She spoke into the darkness, her eyes lifting to the full of the moon, and she said, "Ah, Puromämus, you have come. Thank you! Thank you! Blessed is your arrival, for I need your help. Please aid me, old wise one. Please help me to stop her."

****

He pulled the knife he had earlier borrowed from Kattica from his boot as his eyes ran ahead. The moon dipped behind a cloud, and it cast the path that Faramir watched ever deeper into shadows. He had thought he heard voices, and he dashed away from this route to become a furtive observer, patrolling the course to the lair with the watchfulness of the Ranger he had learned to be. Wary observation was the least he could give considering all he knew, and he prayed his careful eyes might see into the dark, somehow catching sight of the fearful fate he had unleashed. Hope lay upon the fringes of his fears, and with a desperate glimmer in his heart, he wished his darkest trepidation might pass as a nightmare flees upon wakefulness.

May reprieve be granted for my sin! he eagerly yearned in his mind. May Éowyn be safe!

He had tried with his desperate mind to compensate for his earlier foolishness. Ineptly he found himself at a loss for how he had overlooked something that was so apparent. The safety of his wife should have been foremost in his mind, yet somehow it had slipped away from him, and he wondered that he could ever forgive himself this failure.

If there be harm to Éowyn, how might I ever live with the knowledge it was through my negligence that it happened? he questioned.

In his memory though, he heard her laughter, and he knew it came from the mindful tongue he long had come to know as his wifes when she was ever doubted. She was not one to stand down, and he knew well her fiery disposition. She would not allow him to think he must be responsible for protecting her, for long had she learned to protect herself. And there lay the crux of his guilt.

The problem was that he had far too much faith in his wife and her ability to maneuver and resolve issues on her own. She was a shieldmaiden at heart, and though she rarely wielded weapons any longer, there was no doubt that she had the ability to make use of nearly anything to aid her, her mind was that clever. As such, his trust in her skills was great, and he gave her the freedom to act as she would, just as he gave Legolas or Gimli leave to their own causes. He had no rule over them. He could have no rule over Éowyn. And never did he doubt her.

Despite this, he could not get past his worry. His senses were taut with edgy anxiety, and he knew he would not feel complete and unguarded until he knew of his wife's safety and condition. The anxiety wore on him, grinding like a weight. His chest felt thick with pain. Never had he feared so greatly for her.

It was not a first though. Many a time he had put a jealous watchfulness over her actions, wariness guiding him when common sense would not. He had fretted most terribly over her steps in their earliest years, and as is common in most marriages, this became a time of turbulent arguments and standoffs. Éowyn did not like to be ordered about, and she did not like to be told of her limits. Fearful for her safety or not, Faramir had to learn to let go and know she would come back to him, despite how grave the odds. The progression of this trust was slow, for it was in Faramir's nature to be a protector long had he been. But he recognized too that so had she served, at least as much as she would be allowed, and a tether would not keep Éowyn from her innate vigor. He learned that he must allow her her freedom if she were to remain as he so adored. He could not change her, nor would he will her to be changed.

That was all fine, but for the moment it did not allay his fears. He felt certain he might find calm if only he knew her state.

Already he had been to and exited the cave of Henneth-Annün, slipping in and out with the stealthy steps he had learned in his youth of exploring and playing there. The tunnel was simply laid out. An entrance from the far side of the cliff some many steps from the water lay hidden in camouflage behind a wall of rock and scrub. From there, the tunnel twisted and turned, making all but a straight path to the hold. Further in, the path split, and this is where the route to the high turreted stairs forked off. From that ledge, the full of the gorge-cut river could be viewed, and though the platform was accessible via the forest, the ground was craggy and inhospitable to easy steps and reach. Few went there as a result, and none, to his knowledge, even knew of that entry. Beyond the split was the cave, its window visible only from the anteroom. The main room was shielded by a heavily curtained wall so that campfire light would not give away the inhabitants placed within the cave.

Éowyn had not been there, though the felted curtain remained open, as it would be in the daylight hours, and he concluded she must have deserted that space while the sun was still full. Happily he had raced through there, checking every hidden nook and concealing spot of which he knew. It gladdened his heart that she and Arwen had escaped the hold before the witch and her party could make their way there, though that did nothing to quell his worry that the women had not somehow encountered the Romany in the woods. Yet without broaching the gypsy camp and putting himself in danger of recapture, he knew he could not go now with certainty until he could make way to the soldier's camp.

Thus he was returning to Kattica and Gimli, pacified for the moment, yet no less eased for the knowing. It would have to serve. In the morning they would head for the safety the soldiers afforded them. With this plan in mind, he heard the noise.

He slid beneath the shadows of the trees, his stomach coiling with his dread as he heard again the sound. Footfalls and voices. They were coming!

A tinny taste filled his mouth, indicative he knew of his fretful worries, though he knew he had yet the edge over his enemy. He knew of them while they did not realize his presence. Backtracking he stepped into the path from which he had come, hoping he might see them before the road twisted back to the cave's entrance. Still, the moon was not cooperating this night, hiding behind clouds where it had earlier threatened clear skies for the eve. Of course, that aided Faramir's stealth, but it did naught for his eyes.

There they stand, he exclaimed in the shaky recesses of his soul, his mind quailing for the fear of the very presence the Romany people invoked in him. Dimly they were lit, walking in near single fashion, and he was impressed with the greatness of their number. Several dozen there were of them, walking in soft steps, obviously well trained in the ways of keeping silent in the forest. And then he saw something that disturbed him and he attempted to bring his eyes to search deep in the shadow to make it out.

He had much the lead on the path, and therefore, slipping the knife back into his boot, he ran back to the cave's entrance, knowing the route veered closest at this point. He was certain still, despite their approach, that there was room enough for him to duck away from their sight, and so long as they had not the hounds to alert them of his presence which they appeared to have not he was safe.

He found his hiding place, sinking low into the shrubbery. Before him lay a low gorge , and he could clearly see the path on the opposite side. Even crouched low, he was at eye level to those passing, so he could observe well with what light he had the full of that group. That was the moment the moon decided to grace him, and like a lamp lit in the darkness, the light illuminated everything he had imagined in the shadows.

His imagination had not been a wild thing. There before him he saw a fearful vision. A travois was being carried, its length framing the frail form of a body that the witch accompanied, walking to the side of it. Innocently at first he thought it meant one of their kind was injured. But the thought was swift in its flight, and seconds later he came to recognize the figure within the litter. The wind whispered around a lock of hair, and he could see the flaxen strands drift about the pale features of the one being carried.

"Legolas!" he quietly whispered.

New dread filled him, and he felt hopeless guilt for the Elf's plight. Somehow he felt the fault his. Had he not allowed Legolas his leave and their separate partings, this vile scene would not be! His eyes did not waver as he studied his friend. Though the moon was not the best source for judging detail, his estimation by comparison to the others told him Legolas' color was dreadfully ashen. Further, the Elf's eyes were tightly sealed, which told Faramir that his friend was either hurt and driven to unconsciousness, or that Legolas was heavily sedated. It could also mean Legolas was dead, though his form was not completely covered as in death, so the notion was pushed aside in Faramir's mind. Either way, with the witch keeping guard over the Elf's figure, there was little chance Legolas would have opportunity for freedom from her grasp.

Faramir gulped in his sorrow as those carrying the litter passed and with that emotion, the prince found he could not move. He knew he had but minutes before the line of people would reach him, but he remained for the moment where he was, stunned and shattered at his loss for what to do.

The situation compounded itself. Within seconds, he saw Mattias being dragged along, his face seen only because his head lay back, neck craned to the side. Again, the figure was pitiful, for the man appeared thoroughly bereft of consciousness. Such a horror he imagined, knowing Bregus' deft skill with her medicines. The image cloyed at Faramir's mind.

A sinking feeling fell over him, and his heart beat a panicky thrum within his chest. His legs trembled weakly and he reached a shaking hand to his face. He could not help but to take blame for the predicament he saw clearly before him. They are captives yet again, and all due to their aid given me! A crushing weight thrust itself upon Faramir's chest and throat. He felt the urge to cry aloud his heartache and fears though he stifled the wailing lament. Instead, a soft moan of agonized woe began to emit in small breaths from his throat. But he cut the sound off before it ever had the chance to part his lips. His sight checked him and his heart faltered for what came next.

Éowyn was among them.

All the ache he had felt prior shattered into sliver-like particles that pierced him, his shaky countenance made weak by the realization of what had happened in his absence. And though his guilt and anguish were great, they were nothing compared to the vexing shards that raked his heart at that given moment. The world grew silent, the incessant beating in his chest and the shaky breath that escaped his throat being the only sounds he could hear. Air was painfully swallowed. It tasted of blood and he choked on his cry, unconsciously rising to his feet as he watched her pass.

She was hauled between the two brothers, Curtik and Gordash, and he could see her awkward steps as they pulled her along Her head was weakly raised, bouncing with their pace but held with some small portion of strength that told him she remained cognizant of her surroundings.

He felt sick as he watched her, her obvious discomposure telling a tale of abuse from a source he could name with his glare. The witch's evil craft was at play, no doubt, and it was all he could do to repress the shuddering memory of the foul act Bregus had placed upon him in his earlier confinement. Tears dampened his eyes to consider Éowyn undergoing anything as vile as that offense, and the calling that dreadful thought laid upon him made him step forward as if to comfort her.

For whatever reason, his wife looked up at that very moment and he realized as she did that he could be seen. Her eyes lit upon him immediately, as if she had expected him to be standing exactly there, and though she was obviously not wholly herself, he could tell that her eyes came alive with her recognition. With the slightest of motion to her head, she shook it, the subtle indication for him to flee.

He could not take his eyes from her, and it was the strangest of feelings for while he watched her, he was also watching the entirety of people before him. Across the gorge, his eyes met hers, and between them he could read exactly her fears and her thoughts. He knew she sought an escape for he could see her struggles and resolve. She was stumbling and apparently troubled in her movements and he saw the difficulty she had in holding her head up to meet his. He concluded she had somehow been hurt. Rage burned in him with that thought. He could also tell that she was terribly frightened. That was obvious to see through the strained expression that furrowed across her brow and pinched her mouth. He could not blame her this fright, for he knew the reason Kattica had run. He had to assume Éowyn now served her replacement, though he prayed it was a mistake and that Bregus did not know of his wife's pregnancy. Somehow though, that seemed an impossibility. The irony of the exchange in bodies did not escape him though he gave it little more thought. The thing that struck him as most amazing was the thoughts that passed wordlessly between them, as if they could see into the minds of each other. Her eyes betrayed her, for he could see that she feared for him as her tear-stained face turned quickly to that of Mattias and then back to Faramir. He could easily read her meaning in convincing him he and Mattias would trade places where he to get close enough for capture.

She seemed also to read his thoughts. She shook her head, eyes widening as she came to realize his next actions. It was a stunning thing, for the scheme only occurred to him as he gazed upon her, but she saw it as if she could decipher the machinations of his thoughts. He had to help her escape. Now. While he still was an unknown to these people. And that is what he would do.

The entirety of this exchange was only seconds long, though with clear thought returning, he needed no more. Immediately he dropped back into the shadows, disappearing from the visible location he had just held to fade again into the darkness, just as she was hustled onward around the coiling path away again from Faramir's eyesight. None among the Romany seemed to have noticed him.

A cool breeze drifted past him, a stirring wind, and he felt a shift in temperature as the wind circulated the rolling gorge before the cliff side. He glanced up to see clouds rolling over the firmament, the moon suddenly hidden with a permanence told to him by the density of that skyward coverage. It felt of rain.

The wind grew stronger then, and he could see evidence of it swirl about the line of people, pulling at their hair and clothing. He used the distraction to run ahead on the path, certain now that he knew what he might do. He stood before the entrance of their cave, and then he darted into the shadows within, quickly negotiating his steps in the hold that he knew so very well.

It was intimately his, this cavern. He and his elder brother had long been acquainted with every detail of this hold since early in their days, and there were secrets within those tunnel walls that he had absorbed as a lad through the intrigue of play. His fingers led him, dragging softly over the rough stone surface in the walls until he reached the place he and Boromir had used for assorted games. Without benefit of light, he found the footholds he knew to be there and scaled the wall upward as it narrowed to the high peak of the ceiling. Various points in this path through the cave showed open sky above. However, there were other parts in the cavern where the walls met to form a roof, and this is where Faramir had hidden himself. So high up was this peak that even in the light of day one could hide and not be seen. From this perch he waited, his feet bracing his body again the opposing wall.

His ears were alerted. He could hear them coming.

With the dismal light of the failing moon he watched them, his eyes already fairly adjusted to the dark. The touches of light color among their garb gave away their positions, for without these features, he might not know their places. However, the cottony hair of the witch was clearly visible to him, as was Legolas for the pale sheen of his skin. He could also make out the glimmer of something held in the old woman's hand, and a few seconds passed before he realized she held a knife. His eyes moved backward down the line as he saw another pushing, or being pushed forward. The golden tresses of his beloved flickered in and out of the light as she stepped the path, her form highlighted by the wan comings and goings of the failing moon. She stepped with more grace than she had a few minutes prior, though when she came to a stand, she swayed forcing the brute hands of her escorts to steady her uneven stance.

Bregus spoke, and though her tone was low, he could hear every utterance of her speech. Her words were directed to Éowyn and she said, "You can see where I hold my knife, can you not?" As Faramir looked, he indeed could see the knife, for his eyes were adjusting further to the dark. Now instead of just a glimmer, he could see her curved knife pointed at Legolas' side, her hand over the Elf's hand and laying on his chest as if hiding the weapon from other observers. "It is time you met your end of the bargain. Gain us admittance as you promised."

Apparently Éowyn saw the knife too, for her eyes went wide as she nodded. She glanced about her, as if warily looking for something that might intervene, as if she were expecting a soldier to jump out at them at any second, but knowing her deception, it did not fully convince him. He concluded, though, that he was the only one, for the witch's eyes darted about as if she expected military intervention too. While he knew it to be an act, but it did not keep him from preparing himself. Above her, Faramir withdrew Kattica's knife from his boot again, ready to leap upon the old woman if she attempted anything at all.

The whisper of the shieldmaiden's voice belied the warrior he knew her to be. She spoke almost timidly, and this worried Faramir. Her voice radiated softly in his ears and she looked uneasy. "No one of the guard has called out as they might normally do. The guard may not be posted tonight. I think we should continue our progress into the cave. The keep is where we will likely meet the captain of the guards."

Bregus' face distorted with anger. "You said there was a password! You said there would be trouble to meet without it. I will not step forward until I know the way is clear before us, for I will tolerate no garnering of attack further down the path!" Bregus said, hostility decorating her words.

"Since none has asked so far, I have to presume no sentry has been posted. I think we might do better to walk on to the first checkpoint," Éowyn said as Faramir tried to discern what she might have had planned. Sentry? Checkpoints? Passwords? What game is she playing?

But Bregus was not budging, the volume of her voice rising with her frustration. "Nay! It is a trick! Make it right, girl, or pay the consequences!" she said, nudging closer to Legolas.

Éowyn cried out a soft gasp with the motion, for she obviously had not intended the old woman's reaction to be this. She pleaded in a soft voice. "No! Please! There is nothing to speak if the guard is not at his post! If we move on, I know we will meet the captain and I can make my case."

However, it appeared Bregus was buying into none of Éowyn's false words. With a nod, Gordash was at Éowyn's back, her hands twisted back harshly while a knife held by Curtik was suddenly at her throat. Faramir choked back his own gasp as the move quickly exposed his wife for her vulnerability. Wisely, Éowyn froze, not daring to even draw a breath.

"We will follow my original plan," Bregus snarled. "Szandor, light a torch."

It was then that Faramir assessed the absolute danger of the moment. The light did not reach him, but it was not this that he feared. It was the vulnerability of Éowyn's position that made him quake. Bregus seemed quite prepared for this entrance, and it was certain that she had thought her way through a myriad of conceivable possibilities for admission. Surely she believed sentries were posted. Yet he wondered. Had the old woman considered what might happen if she found no one there? While he considered speaking out, to act the part of a guard, and perhaps putting new fear in the elderly woman, a part of him relinquished this idea. Though he was physically concealed, if he spoke now, he would unveil to all another presence in the caves. This he knew had not been Éowyn's intent when she had lured the witch here, no matter what her act. Surely she could not have known Faramir would be about, and surely she would not want them to seek him out. He stirred slightly, uncertain what he should do.

"The password," Éowyn repeated sluggishly. Then she glanced up, and somehow her gaze broke the void, the light of the newly lit torch aiding her with its dim light. He knew that she saw him. Slowly she shook her head as she had before, as if she were negating him. Then blinking her eyes, she did so again, only shaking her head faster as if she were attempting to revive herself. It seemed to work, for her eyes came brighter and she turned back to the old woman. "The words for entrance are 'fools travel safer trails.'"

The words surprised him as they did Bregus. He realized the password leveled was for his sake, the pinch of their intended meaning telling him much. She wished better plans for him, and in turn she did not wish his participation in this action. Still, Faramir was there, and little was there for him to do but act in accompaniment to her actions. He certainly could not stand by and watch as Bregus took out her wrath on Éowyn's slight form.

Or could he?

He knew Bregus' plan. If she had realized his wife's pregnancy, it would require that Éowyn remain unharmed until the appointed time came. The same was true for Legolas, and seeing that he was hurt, it would appear the main object at the moment would be to keep the Elf alive. Faramir saw clearly now that Bregus was gathering her tools. His wife, the Elf, Mattias, and now this cave they were all a part of an ugly plan, and the old woman surely was mad if she were to do anything to forfeit her goal. He was encouraged by this assessment, for he knew, as he had learned earlier, to remove one element from the formula could save them all.

However, Éowyn was also correct in assessing the odds he faced. It was impossible to take on all the Romany and this was a horribly dangerous game he was playing. There were too many of them, and he would be vulnerable if he jumped into the thick of them now. He gazed at the limp form of Mattias and realized that body could still be replaced. 'Safer trails,' she had said. She meant the way to the soldier's camp, as that would be the wiser course. He tended to agree. But he knew the reason why he had not turned that way. He could not bear to know she might suffer in his absence.

But what he faced if he acted was insurmountable. Not only was he outnumbered by the men, but he somehow suspected the women too might be able to account for themselves if forced. Yet there were too many innocents about. Children! he scolded, hating Bregus with greater vehemence for using such innocents in her plans. He could not imagine an attempt to free Éowyn in these halls without someone coming to harm.

But what thoughts did Éowyn have on this?

"The words for admittance are foolish. What is their meaning?" Bregus inquired, her suspicious curiosity getting the best of her.

Éowyn shook her head, keeping up the deception. "I know not if there is meaning to them. They are just words." Her delivery gave no hint of the lie.

Bregus scowled. "Why is there no response?"

Éowyn seemed to slouch forward slightly, her speech minutely slurring in answer, and Faramir's worry for her came anew. "I suspect the guard left his post or fell asleep. If it is Enkirth who was posted here tonight, then that would be a very likely guess." Enkirth? Faramir thought. But the ruse seemed to work, and the knife hovering around Éowyn's face slipped away.

While he felt relief for his wife's reprieve, Faramir pondered the act being played. For whatever reason, Éowyn felt it wiser to get them inside. But why? Why? Surely she saw Bregus would not truly harm any of them, even if the threat had been made. Why had she not attempted her own freedom earlier? Her arms were not bound then or now, merely restrained by Gordash. But then he saw her slump with all her weight, and the man grunted slightly at the suddenness of it.

Faramir's anxiety increased, and he involuntarily shifted as he surmised her helplessness. It was a hard task, watching with terrified eyes upon the scene. But he also began to see the logic of going into the cave. The hold was dark in the further reaches and the heavy curtain that separated the two spaces he had already found to be pulled away as it always was in the daytime hours. If they knew not the lay of the cavern, they might be convinced to go into that darkened hollow, for the anteroom where the window stood was not vastly large. Further, the moon was not shining as it had seemed to earlier, and its light did not spill in as it had. The interior cave would be very dark at the moment. Perhaps it was Éowyn's intent to lure them there. And then . . .

Bregus nodded, as if satisfied with the idea that a guardsman might be slack in his duties. "Proceed then," she ordered Éowyn.

Faramir watched carefully as awe filled him for his wife's mastery of deception. "I should walk freely, should I not? If you wish me to fool the captain, my arms must not be restrained," the fair lady said though she barely lifted her head.

"Nay," said Bregus, suspicion lacing her voice once again. "We will gain access with you as a hostage. My skill with magic is great, and it matters not what the guards might think."

Éowyn seemed to resign herself to this, though the greatest of her ruse was about to be played. A small smile crept over her lips as a gleeful snort escaped her nostrils and she said, "So you say. I see 'tis your decision to challenge the soldiers then." She laughed softly to herself, her smile growing larger with the brightening of her eyes. "I shall enjoy watching this."

She mocks, Faramir gasped. She taunts the old woman with phantom protectors!

The elderly woman's eyes glared furiously at Éowyn, as if gauging the reality of these words. Watching her, Faramir saw that one waver, as if self-doubt and fear were driving her cockiness away. It seemed oddly in contrast to the old woman's bravura, and he almost chuckled to see the new slip in Bregus' demeanor. After a long minute's pause though, Bregus nodded, her eyes glancing to her middle son. Éowyn's hands were released.

Clever! Clever! Faramir crooned in his mind. But he had no more time to relish Éowyn's astute planning. The old woman shoved Éowyn forward, and his wife nearly fell. Were it not for the large hand of Gordash reaching out to pull her upright, she well might have collapsed. But the lady pushed off from the giant's support and she began leading their way. Her steps hardly took a straight line, and she swayed time and time again into the walls that made up the narrow coiling halls leading to the cave, though her poise never wavered. He feared for her plan, for he could see she barely had it in her to make this short journey, let alone flee for her life with a swift run. Yet Faramir reminded himself not to underestimate his wife. So he watched as she lead and the Romany followed, and when they had passed, he dropped to the ground, his feet silently landing in the sandy path. He followed. He knew Éowyn wished it not, but he would not leave her behind. Not if he could help her. She was right, thought. The path to the soldier's camp was by far the safest course, but he knew of himself. Following the safe path was not always his best attribute. Éowyn would need him, and at the moment there was nothing else that weighed heavier upon him than that.

Romany translations:

Kosh - a walking stick in appearance, but also a staff used in magical incantations.

Puv, barban, yag, pani. Vai'datha e mandi. - Earth, wind, fire, water. Your path leads to me."

Puromämus - Grandmother

Shuv'ni - a witch