"Uncle?"

Head spinning, Eldarion turned swiftly to see his niece Arestel approaching. She was a near spitting image of his mother Arwen, except for her bright green eyes and auburn hair that hung down her back in a fishtail braid. Barefoot, she stepped lightly across the stone path, her long white gown trailing behind her.

"Uncle," Arestel said again, concern spreading across her face as she held Eldarion's arm to steady him. "Are you all right? What troubles you?"

Eldarion righted himself, waved off this precious daughter of his sister Aramiel. Arestel had never known her elvish father. Eldarion considered her as his own, helping to raise her and train her in the skills of fighting. She was beautiful and slight, and though she was equally deadly with a dagger and a bow, he wanted always to protect her.

"It's nothing," he said. But Arestel frowned and took a step closer, her grip tightening around his arm. From the corner of her eye she saw movement: a man of Gondor approaching Minas Tirith on horse from the south. He stuck closely to the Anduin, and his pace was urgent.

"Uncle," she said again, her voice low and soothing. She slipped easily into the elvish tongue. "You don't seem yourself as of late. What news did you bring to Prince Elboron in Emyn Arnen the other day?"

Eldarion turned his hard gaze back toward Mordor. Arestel stood beside him, shuddering as she too caught sight of the smoke behind the mountains. "The wind grows colder," she whispered, "and the voice louder with it."

Eldarion did not look at her. He braced himself once more on the stone railing. "You have heard this voice?"

"Yes," she said, reaching for the end of her braid. She wound the hair tightly around her fingers, a nervous tic. "I do not understand what it says, though it fills my heart and head with such grief to hear it. Such a foul, harsh tongue."

Young though she was Arestel was not a child anymore. Eldarion's sister Aramiel would not approve of her child's involvement in this matter, but what if another war was on the horizon? Could Arestel — could anyone — be shielded from it? He said finally, "I fear it means our time of peace may soon be over. I can't say what is happening or why, but I feel it."

The two stood silently together for a moment, watching the wispy tail. It hung suspended in the sky like a sharp dagger. Growing worry seized in Arestel's chest. She wished at once her grandfather were here, some old friend or ally to call upon. Someone who could put a name to this ominous appearance. But anyone who might know had long passed away, or departed to the Undying Lands, never to return to Middle Earth.

"Beg your pardon, Your Majesty." Eldarion and Arestel turned to see an elderly, brown-clad herald approaching from the White Tree. "Prince Éromir has arrived from Emyn Arnen."

Éromir, son of Elboron and grandson of Faramir, emerged from the darkened shadow of a stone archway of the courtyard. His clothes were travel-worn; his light brown hair and beard were unkempt, his grey eyes weary. He bowed graciously. "King Eldarion," he said, voice low and strong. "Lady Arestel."

Arestel stood a distance behind her uncle and cast her eyes to the ground. Eldarion gripped Éromir's hand. "Welcome, Son of Elboron," he said. "I was not expecting you. What brings you to the White City?"

"My father wished me here. He said you had visited on urgent business, but he feared he was not able to offer proper counsel to you in your time of need," the man said. "He asked me to come in his stead. Forgive me for not arriving sooner, I am just returned from my patrol of South Gondor. My men and I ran into a resistance group of Haradrim."

The king shook his head and sighed. Much of the kingdom and surrounding lands lived in peace, but even throughout Aragorn's reign there were outcroppings that remained loyal to Sauron. "None were lost, I hope?"

"Not on our side," Éromir admitted, clearing his throat. "Though it does me no pleasure to report this to you. These rebel Haradrim were on the move to Rhûn."

"To Rhûn?" Eldarion mused. He rubbed his chin. "On what business? Why risk exposure by traveling through Gondor?"

"Of what business I am not certain, My Lord, though my guess is they wished to avoid the deserts of Khand. Conditions there are harsh."

"Indeed." Eldarion gestured toward the fortress. "Let us retreat to the Great Hall where I might speak with you about present matters."

Eldarion turned to his niece. "Arestel," he said in Elvish, "do not trouble yourself any further with this matter. I will speak now with Éromir and we will devise a plan."

"I will join you," Arestel protested, but Eldarion held up his hand. With that he and Éromir disappeared inside the citadel, leaving Arestel to herself in the courtyard. She paced angrily around the White Tree. Hadn't she too heard the voice? Couldn't she offer counsel? Once more she looked over her shoulder toward Mordor. If peace was truly over then all those who could fight to reclaim it should fight. And she herself, so keen with a knife and bow, could fight.

In her clenched fists Arestel gathered up the folds of her long white dress and took off nimbly for the Great Hall.