Arien hadn't started her journey in the sky yet when Arwen woke up, but the elf-woman knew she had to get up; she had to prepare her things in order to leave at the appointed time. She changed to her travelling clothes, then opened the door and caught sight of a servant. After instructing him to give word to her escort to be ready to set off, she started packing her belongings. She didn't have many things with her – it was only two days' ride from Emyn Arnen to Minas Tirith, so she was soon done. A great rumbling sound had her frown and she looked outside the window. Grey clouds covered the sky and Arwen sensed the humidity in the air.

Not the best of days to start a journey, she thought. Yet it wasn't that which troubled her. For some unknown reason, an unsettling feeling she couldn't name started gnawing in her heart. At first she believed that the conversation she had with Faramir had left a deep impression on her, deeper than she cared to admit. But now a torturous thought and a threat began growing in her mind, warning her that she should be wary on her journey.

She shook her head. Ominous thoughts or no, what she should be thinking was that she had missed Aragorn and she needed to return to him as quickly as possible. She was sure that, once she was back by his side and his arms, she would be able to focus on the tale of the Creature.

Ready at last, she put on her travelling cloak, and she walked out. To her pleasant surprise, she came across Faramir and Eowyn, who wished to say their farewells, so all three of them walked towards the courtyard. Arwen's escort was already there courtyard, waiting for the queen to appear. The only two horses that were still without a rider on them were Arwen's - a proud white stallion – and the commander's, who was now conversing with Beregond.

"It was good to see you again, Second Captain of the Citadel," Beregond remarked, uttering the title in a good-natured tease. "I missed you, and so did Bergil."

"It was good to see you too, my brother," Iorlas answered, placing his arm over his younger sibling's shoulders. "Minas Tirith simply is not the same with you away."

"Will you give the rest of the fellows my regards? Especially Maldir?"

"Of course! I will even meet Meneldor and Rían to make sure she gets her compliments for those sweet cakes she sent you," Iorlas assured him, laughing. "I declare, that woman your friend married thinks you are starving here!"

"She only means well."

"I know, I know," Iorlas said, raising his hand in peace. His eyes caught sight of the queen appearing and he sighed gently. "I should go."

Beregond nodded his understanding, and he wrapped his arms around Iorlas in a brotherly embrace.

"Stay safe."

"You too, little brother."

"Captain Iorlas?" The voice of the servant made both captains turn. "They are waiting for you."

"Lead the way, my good man," Iorlas replied. After one last farewell to Beregond, he mounted his horse and, once Arwen had also settled on her stallion, the company set off with many blessings and kind words from the people of Emyn Arnen.


Arwen and the soldiers had been riding for some time before it was decided they should stop for a while. They let the horses graze on some blades of grass nearby, while the riders stretched their legs and backs. As they started a fire and brewed some stew for luncheon, Arwen found the opportunity to wash her face and hands as well, since one of the soldiers had discovered a small river nearby.

She had hardly finished drying herself, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. And there, in the reflection of the water, she saw the unmistakable form of a cloaked man, kneeling by the bank.

Arwen instantly lifted her head but, to her utter surprise and puzzlement, there was no one around. She looked down again, trying to determine whether she was imagining things, and a gasp of astonishment escaped her lips at what she saw: locks of black hair, flowing by her at the whim of the current. All she could do was watch the strange vision frozen, trying to comprehend what was happening… and then a gust of wind carried to her ears the sound of crying.

It was Iorlas' voice that plunged her back into reality, making her link in puzzlement.

"My Queen, the men are ready to set off again."

Arwen almost hesitated, eyes still looking every which way to catch sight of the source of her vision. There was none though.

"My Queen? Is something amiss?" Iorlas asked, noticing how shaken Arwen was.

She shook her head at once. "Go ahead, I will join you shortly."

Iorlas nodded his compliance and turned on his heel. He had barely taken a couple of steps before looking up in the sky, however.

"The clouds have become darker. It's going to rain soon."

Arwen looked up as well, only to see that Iorlas was right. Worse, her sharper vision enabled her to see lightning in the distance now. This was no mere rain; it was a storm and it was coming in their direction fast.

"Then we shouldn't waste any more time," she said. She hurried with Iorlas to the rest of the soldiers and, after the captain barked a few precise orders, they were on the move once more.

No matter how fast the travellers rode on, though, they didn't manage to escape the terrible tempest. In less than a half hour, big drops of rain started pouring on them and their cloaks did little to keep them dry for long. Darkness surrounded them, and everyone tried hard to look beyond the torrent that seemed to whip them mercilessly. Booming thunders nearly deafened them, while it was only their mastery that kept their steeds on their course instead of bolting.

"It is as though the Valar's wrath broke out against us!" Iorlas cried over the neighs of his frightened horse.

"Yet we must move on!" Arwen answered, who was forging on beside him. "There is no cover nearby we can use!"

If Iorlas ever meant to answer, he never had the chance. A lightning bolt struck close to the company and, though the riders protected their eyes on time, the horses were less fortunate. Blinded by the sudden flash of light, the poor creatures reared and neighed terrified and their masters could control them no more. It was only after much coaxing and calm talk that the steeds had regained part of their composure.

Patting his mare's neck encouragingly, Iorlas turned to see how the rest of the troops fared and started calling out the soldiers' names.

"Here!" the riders called back one by one. But when Iorlas called for his queen, there was no answer.

"My Lady?" the captain cried out, only to receive the crack of another thunder as answer. A new wave of lightning lit the area and all the soldiers saw with their own eyes the horrible truth that they had feared: the Queen of Gondor wasn't amongst them and she was nowhere else to be seen either.


Arwen tried to talk to her horse and make him stop, but it was of no use. The stallion had been closest to where that fateful lightning had struck and he was frightened out of his wits. Now he ran as fast as his legs could carry him in a state of panic, barely missing the trees and bushes that stood on his way and taken the elven-woman further away from the company and from safety… and there was nothing she could do about it.

And then, true disaster came: betrayed by the rain-soaked ground, the poor beast lost his footing and fell down, neighing painfully. Arwen was thrown violently off the horse and she landed unceremoniously on the ground, crying out her own pain as she hit her head hard against a tree stump. She tried to rise but she felt too dizzy and confused, while her stallion's constant neighs kept ringing in her ears, making her head feel even worse.

Then the whinnies ceased altogether, something that sent a chill to Arwen's heart. She looked over her shoulder slowly, and she saw a dark form stooping over the stallion. It wasn't that which changed her fright into dread and horror, though. Crimson liquid streamed out of the horse's neck, and in the black-clothed silhouette's hand was the weapon that had ended the steed's life: a small dagger, its thin and elegant blade glistening brightly despite the blood that stained it. It was also unlike any other dagger Arwen had seen in her life, for it was curved to the point that its shape resembled Ithil at his waxing and its handle was thick and made of iron. As she tried to figure out who could possibly wield such a weapon, Arwen remembered Faramir and Beregond's tale. Then she knew who was before her.

The Creature had by now stepped back from the horse's side, catching sight of Arwen. Walking cautiously, he now approached her, his dagger still at hand and his face hidden in the shadows. Lightning struck again and both adversaries were able to get a brief glimpse of each other's form for a single instant.

Snapping into action, Arwen quickly got back on her feet and drew her own means of defence: her sword.

"Stay away!" she warned, mustering all her courage. To her misfortune, however, the quick motion nauseated her and she felt faint. Falling into a swoon, her hand dropped the sword and the last thing she registered before she plunged into the darkness of oblivion was that she never hit the ground as she had expected.