Chapter 7        Veiled skies

A cool wind blew through the streets of Minas Tirith, bringing with it a sharp, crisp scent that foretold of coming rain.  High clouds had begun to gather overhead near dusk, and now, several hours after nightfall, the stars were completely masked by a heavy blanket of clouds.  An occasional distant rumble drifted through the city from across the Pelannor fields, and far to the west, an occasional flash of lightening brightened the sky. 

Arwen leaned against the frame of the open window in the small room in the House of Healing, her hands idly clasped in front of her as she allowed the brisk night wind to sweep through her loosely bound hair, setting the dark brown tresses to dancing.  Her face was calm and relaxed as she breathed deeply of the cool night, marveling at the different scents that mixed together and were carried on the high winds to places far distant.  There was the refreshing smell of rain, mixed with the varied scents of the city, and the much more conspicuous aromas that drifted in from the nearby gardens.  At the moment, she was attempting to pick out the individual scents of the myriad of flowers she new were in full bloom only a few yards away from the open window.  The flowers’ sweet aromas, carried on the wind, blended to form a wonderful mix that Arwen was thoroughly enjoying attempting to unravel.  She could not think of a better way to pass the time, as, for the first time in days, she fully allowed her body to relax.

At one time, she would have been able to pick apart the different scents and properly label them to their correct source without ever truly having to think about it.  Yet with the passing of her immortality, those days had gone.   Though she still contained senses far sharper than the average mortal, she no longer had the deep connection with Arda that she had once known.  If it were not for Aragorn, the deep pain of that loss might have been too much for her to bear.  As it was, her husband filled the void and brought such joy to her that sorrow did not stand a chance against it.  She was content with the choice that she had made, and never had she, nor ever would she, regret it.

Still, there were times when she grew frustrated with the boundaries imposed upon her by her now mortal body.  There were things that she had once done, that now she was unable to do, and even after several years she still found herself chaffing under these new restrictions.  She was constantly testing her boundaries, and often times Aragorn was forced to intercede before she unknowingly did herself physical harm. 

Even now, she realized that she was walking along the fine line of what she was once capable of, and what she was now able to do.  The last few days had been hard for her, and she was nearing exhaustion, something that was very new to her.  She knew part of the reason for her weariness came from her constant activity as she helped care for Gimli, and part came from the physical changes of her body and the child she carried within her.  Normally, Aragorn would have noticed her fatigue by now and ordered her to rest.  Yet the king had been greatly preoccupied lately, and Arwen knew she was reaching her limits.  She would have to find time soon to rest and recover from all this.  If not for herself, then for the baby that she carried.

She sighed heavily, shifting in her position and giving up on her game for the time being to glance down the dark street toward the center of the city.  It was late, and Aragorn, Faramir, and Legolas had yet to return.  Arwen was not a worrier by nature—her early years of courtship with Aragorn had quickly cured her of that—but she was disturbed that it was taking them so long to return from their task.  ‘How long does it take to question a boy?’ she thought somewhat irritably, shifting once more to glance behind her where Gimli lay sleeping soundly.  She was running out of things to keep her occupied, and as her boredom increased, so did her apprehension.

She shook her head slightly, another long sigh slipping from her. Boredom.  Yet another gift of mortality.  She could never remember ever having to deal with boredom while she had lived in Rivendell, or before that, in Lothlorien.  Then, there had always been the quiet songs of nature to fill any gap in activity or conversation.  She had once sat outside her room in Rivendell for six hours just listening to the whisperings of the trees and the laughter of the river.  She had never been bored, then.

With a final deep breath, Arwen straightened and carefully closed and latched the window.  The night air was growing cooler, and she did not want to risk the chance of Gimli catching a chill.  She moved away from the window and gracefully sank into the chair next to the bed.  A soft snore from Gimli caused her to smile slightly. 

Watching the dwarf sleep only seemed to heighten her awareness of her own weariness, and she allowed her head to fall back against the support of the chair.  Aragorn would return when he returned, and any worry on her part would do nothing to speed him.  She would just have to exercise patience for a while longer.  Forcing her mind clear of her anxious thoughts, she relaxed back into the chair, sighing as she felt tight muscles at last beginning to loosen.  Her thoughts drifted back to her life in Rivendell, and a slight smile graced her fair features.

Arwen had not meant to fall asleep, yet somewhere in the middle of a fond memory of Elrohir throwing Elladan into the river, she had drifted off, her hands folded lightly in her lap and her head slightly fallen to one side. She had only been asleep for a few minutes when a light hand on her shoulder caused her to jerk awake.

She jumped from the chair, shaking the sleep from her and flushing in embarrassment at having been caught in such a position.  She turned, expecting to find either Aragorn or Legolas, but instead, Eowyn stood regarding her, a slightly startled expression on her face.

“I am sorry, Arwen, I did not mean to startle you,” Eowyn apologized softly, her keen gaze sweeping the elf up and down.  “Were you asleep?”

“I thought you were Aragorn,” Arwen replied, intentionally ignoring Eowyn’s question.  “He has been gone for some time now.”

Eowyn nodded.  “Yes, and you should probably not expect him back too soon.  I just spoke with a guard who informed me that he, Faramir, and Legolas are down at the baker’s shop.”

“They must have learned something from the boy,” Arwen commented lightly, hiding her relief that nothing bad had happened to them by moving over to check on Gimli.  The dwarf still slept soundly.

“I would suspect so,” Eowyn answered, following her over to the bedside.  Her manner with Arwen was relaxed, for the two had long since become close friends and given up the use of titles and formalities when in private.  “It may be some time before they return.”

Arwen forcefully repressed a sigh, merely nodding in response.

“You look weary, Arwen,” Eowyn commented casually, smoothing the blanket over Gimli and not meeting the elf’s eyes.  “I have come to bring you back to the palace with me so you may get some proper rest.  You have not been getting near enough sleep lately, and if you keep it up, you will only cause yourself harm.”

Arwen blinked, somewhat startled at the slight hint of reprimand in Eowyn’s tone.  It appeared as if her friend had decided to take on Aragorn’s normal role of reminding her of her limits, and Arwen could not stop from smiling slightly at her friend’s protectiveness of her, even as she shook her head at Eowyn’s words.

“I cannot leave,” she declared softly.  “I promised Legolas that I would stay with Gimli in case he wakes up.  Besides, I wish to wait for my husband’s return.”

“If Aragorn were here, he would also insist that you rest.  You look awful Arwen.”  Eowyn answered firmly, looking Arwen up and down critically. 

Arwen frowned, turning slightly to glance at herself in the mirror hanging on the wall.  She did not think she looked awful.  A little tired maybe, but hardly awful.

As if reading her thoughts, Eowyn moved closer and gently clasped her shoulders.  “I do not think I have ever recalled seeing you so weary,” she said gently.  “You have pressed yourself too much these last few days.  It is time that you rest.  Think of the baby, Arwen.”

Arwen’s hand unconsciously moved down to her stomach, gently cradling the area where her child grew.  The last thing she wanted was for her actions to somehow harm her baby, yet she had still given Legolas her promise.

“I told Legolas I would remain here,” she protested, looking up and meeting Eowyn’s gaze.  “He was worried for Gimli.”

“Gimli is sound asleep,” Eowyn replied, her tone still firm.  “Yet I suppose that if you promised Legolas that Gimli would not be left alone, then we cannot leave him alone.  Your escort is waiting outside for you.  I will remain here until Legolas returns.”

Arwen opened her mouth to protest, but Eowyn gently reached forward and laid her fingers across her mouth.  “Go,” she ordered, “I will tell Aragorn where you have gone.”

Arwen hesitated once more, then at last gave in with a slight shake of her head and a short laugh.  “I believe that only my Father and Aragorn have ever dared to order me to bed.  Elrohir tried once, but I merely spiked his drink with a potent sleeping draught and sent him to bed instead.”

Eowyn quirked a grin.  “I shall have to be careful of what I drink, in that case.”

Arwen laughed again.  “Very well, you have won.  I shall retire to bed properly as ordered.”

Eowyn’s smile was victorious.  “Sleep well, Arwen.”

Arwen shook her head.  “I do not thing I have to worry about that.  You are right, I am exhausted.”  She moved to the door, then turned and sent her friend a warm smile.  “Thank you, Eowyn,” she said softly.

Eowyn only smiled in response as Arwen opened the door and walked from the room.

******

Legolas crouched easily at the back of the alley, his sharp eyes examining the slight scuffmarks on the side of the wall with only the aid of a small lantern.  The night air was crisp and cool around him, though the alley provided him cover from the rising wind.  High clouds blanketed the light from the heavens, and the distant rolls of thunder were drawing nearer.  Within the next hour, the city would be caught in a downpour.  Legolas wanted to make sure that all the evidence was firmly captured within his mind before the torrent washed it away.

His scrutiny of the wall and the surrounding alley was slow and thorough, his eyes searching carefully for anything that might have been missed the first time.  He had already searched the rooftop, and he was nearly finished with the wall and alleyway, and still he had found nothing new to help them in their search.  Not that he was surprised.  He hadn’t truly expected to find anything, yet that had not stopped him from hoping.

The soft sound of footfalls alerted him of another’s presence, and he rose gracefully from his crouch.  “I hope that you have discovered more than I, Aragorn,” he commented without turning, reaching forward to run his hand casually along the stone wall.  “Whoever did this left very few clues.”

“Yet we shall still find them,” came the soft reply from behind him, and Legolas nodded.

“What have you and Faramir learned?” Legolas asked, at last turning to face his friend.  Aragorn was wrapped firmly in a heavy cloak to protect him from the biting wind, yet Legolas still thought he saw the man’s hand clenched firmly around the hilt of his sword.

“We have six confirmed sightings of Scar Face, four of which place him at the entrance to this alley near the time of the attack.  I believe we will have more once we talk to the shop owners that had already left this evening before we arrived here.  Faramir is going to return tomorrow morning and talk to those that we missed.”

Legolas nodded.  “Did any of them see Scar Face with another man?” 

Aragorn shook his head, his frustration evident.  “No,” he replied.  “Yet we will continue to search.  I believe you are correct, and there is another behind all this.  Someone must have seen him, and we will find that someone.”

A loud boom of thunder punctuated his words, and Legolas could not quite keep back a small smile at the thought that Aragorn’s rage was echoed even by the heavens. 

“Come, let us find Faramir and return to the House of Healing before this storm decides to drench us.” Legolas suggested, reaching out and grasping Aragorn’s shoulder.  “It is as you said.  We will find who is behind all this.  The fact that he has not struck again since his attack on Gimli may be very informing.  Perhaps he has already left the city.”

“I hope not,” Aragorn growled.  “I want to find him, and the quicker the better.”

Legolas silently agreed, but he said nothing as he followed Aragorn from the narrow confines of the alley.  As soon as he found the one responsible for shooting Gimli, he was going to make the man regret the day he was born.

*******

Arwen grimaced in distaste as she stood outside the House of Healing, her frown directed toward the small covered wagon attached to a single horse standing patiently directly before her.  Despite the coolness of the night, she would have much preferred walking back to the palace rather than riding in this small wagon and having her wits jounced out of her.  Still, Aragorn had been firm in insisting that she use the wagon when moving around outside the palace walls.  The thick canvas covering provided her with protection against unwanted eyes, and the simple appearance of the wagon allowed her to avoid drawing attention. 

“My lady?”

Arwen turned and regarded the soldier who stood patiently beside her, waiting to assist her in climbing into the wagon.  Another soldier sat mounted on a tall bay horse a few feet away, preparing to ride beside the wagon as an unobtrusive escort.  A heavy roll of thunder echoed over head, and the wind picked up in intensity.

Arwen sighed, then reached out her arm and allowed the soldier to lift her into the back of the wagon.  She settled on the hard bench, getting as comfortable as the small confines allowed as the soldier moved to the front of the wagon and swung up on the front bench.  He slapped his reigns lightly against the horses back, calling out softly, and with a lurch, the wagon began rolling up the stone streets.

Arwen leaned back against the heavy canvas and prayed that the journey would be over swiftly.  She was anxious to reach the palace and be free of the wagon’s small, bumpy confines.  She most definitely preferred either riding, or using her own two feet, yet safety precautions allowed for neither of these options.  She was glad that the palace lay only a few hundred yards from the House of Healing.

They had not gone far when the soldier suddenly called out sharply to the horse, pulling back on the reigns and bringing the wagon to a lurching halt.  Arwen straightened and frowned, peering forward toward the dim outline of the soldiers back.

“What is wrong,” she called, attempting to keep her voice clear of her nervousness.

“Sorry, my lady,”  The soldier half turned in his seat to address her.  “It appears as if a drunk has passed out in the middle of the street.  Do not worry, Denvar is seeing to him, and we will have him out of the way in a moment.”

Arwen nodded, but was unable to repress a sudden shudder that ran up and down her spine.  She moved forward far enough that she could peer out over the soldiers shoulder, watching as the second soldier, Denvar, dismounted from his horse and moved to lean over a body that lay sprawled across the stone street.  A flash of lightening revealed a broken bottle near the unconscious man’s sprawled arm, and even from her distant position, Arwen could see that the man was dressed in ragged and torn clothing. She felt a flash of pity.

Denvar reached down and carefully rolled the man onto his back.  He grunted in disgust, then moved to grasp the drunk man by his legs and pull him to the side of the street.  He was just beginning to bend over, when the man suddenly began moving, jerking upright so quickly that it knocked the soldier off balance, causing him to stumble back a few steps in his surprise.  There was another flash of lightening, and suddenly, the man had a knife in his hand.  Arwen gasped in horror a second before the man smoothly and swiftly buried the blade in Denvar’s throat.

The soldier in front of her let out a startled cry and reached for his sword.  Suddenly, the wagon began to shake, and Arwen whirled around just in time to see two shapes climbing inside.  She let out a cry of fear and automatically kicked out, feeling the satisfactory crunch as her heavy boot made contact.  She heard a grunt of pain, and then a heavy hand closed around her ankle and gave a firm yank, pulling her forward.  Arwen fought with every ounce of strength, kicking and jerking in an attempt to free herself, but another hand closed around her knee, and then her waist, and she felt herself being forcefully dragged from the wagon.  She glanced desperately over her shoulder, searching for the second soldier, but he lay slumped in his seat, another flash of lightening revealing a steady stream of blood flowing from his severed neck.

Arwen began to panic.  She gasped in pain as she was yanked from the wagon, the rough wood scraping her back through her light tunic.  She found herself suddenly surrounded by dark figures, and she began to desperately struggle against the hands holding her as she was dragged towards a nearby alley.  She opened her mouth to scream, but a heavy blow to her stomach knocked all the air from her lungs.  Her eyes filled with tears as the blow was repeated, and then she felt herself flung to the ground.

Her shoulder hit the stones hard, and a flaring pain shot through her arm.  She tried to cry out, but rough arms forced her onto her back, and a heavy cloth was forced into her mouth, almost gagging her.  She attempted to blink through her tears and try to catch a glimpse of her captors, but a fierce slap knocked her head to one side.  Someone kicked her roughly in the side, and she tried to move away from the pain, only to have another boot strike her other side, and suddenly the blows were falling from all around her.  She tried to curl into a protective ball, choking on her screams as tears streamed down her face, but her captors would not relent.

The pain was excruciating, and Arwen felt herself quickly grow lightheaded, blackness swirling around her vision.  ‘Aragorn!  Aragorn help me!” her mind screamed, yet the only sound that escaped past the gag was a small whimper. She tried to move her arms down to protect her abdomen, her baby, yet they were roughly pulled away and cruelly twisted above her, leaving her body open to the torments of her captors.  A boot or fist, Arwen was not sure which, connected firmly with her stomach, and the pain was blinding. 

‘They are going to kill me, and the baby will die also.  I am so sorry, Aragorn,’  this was Arwen’s last thought as a heavy boot slammed into the side of her head and sent her spinning into oblivion. 

TBC