Disclaimer: Don't own LOTR

Thanks to Ohtar Vicky and ebbingnight for the reviews! As ever, your comments are much appreciated! I apologize for the long wait, and I truly have no excuse this time! But the next chapter is well on its way to completion, so that will hopefully be up very shortly!

Gwarod grinned wickedly. The hilt of a dagger had been sticking out of the top of one of the men's boots, and he had managed to slip it out as they passed by. The soldier had stiffened for a moment, but by the time he turned around Gwarod had hidden the weapon and was moving his hand back to his side, as though he had attempted to trip the man as he walked past. The soldier scowled, "Don't even think of trying that again, or I'll cut off some of your fingers." Gwarod only smirked, and the soldier had moved on.

That was the last time anyone had bothered with Gwarod for at least an hour. His elven guards had left with scathing remarks – or at least he assumed them to be, he didn't know a word of their foul language. He was sure they planned to deal with him themselves, and of course the king would allow it. He could only imagine all of the tortures that would be visited upon him, and were he a sane man he might have been troubled. But Gwarod laughed; he would not be like his brother or his father. He knew the ways of these creatures, and even if they did manage to kill him they would suffer even as he did. Of course, he did not plan on doing any suffering in the near future. For all the twists of his mind, he was a very intelligent man. He knew how to take advantage of the opportunity they so generously had offered him.

There were only a few guards on him now, and he could see just a few more surrounding his men. The elves had all left, and the humans they had left behind were not tireless or unshakeable. Fools! They had not even bothered to lock him away, although he supposed his men had damaged the dungeons of Ithilien. His legs were chained to a tree, and now that the elves were gone there were no archers in it. He had a weapon, now he only needed the moment…

Suddenly, the soft, sad music that had been coming from somewhere beyond the trees rose in pitch and shifted to a terrible shriek of voices, all clamoring over one another without rhythm or tune. The soldiers were distracted, some going so far as to hold their hands over their ears. Gwarod was lucky, and the soldier nearest to him was one such man. Gwarod reached out and slit the man's throat before he had the chance to scream. He ruffled through the clothes quickly, and while he did not find a key he found a pin. Keeping one eye on the other guards, Gwarod made quick work of the chain on one leg. He was nearly finished the other when a second soldier turned toward him and opened his mouth to yell. The stolen dagger buried itself in the man's throat, and with a click Gwarod was freed.

He pilfered the sword off of the dead man in front of him and used the continued distraction of the funeral song to slit several more throats before the guards were able to raise the alarm. Knowing that there was no way he could take on all of the soldiers alone, he dropped the sword, pulled the dagger from the soldier's neck, and disappeared into the woods.

Gwarod cursed, for the trees were under elven enchantment and seemed to aid his pursuers. He was sure if it had been elves chasing him, he would have been dead by now. It took all of his cunning to evade the men, leading them through the trees, then back close to the camp, then further away again. He was quite lost himself when he finally looked back over his shoulder. The one look cost him, and he tripped on a tree root. He fell face down into a bush with a badly twisted ankle, the leaves absorbing his cry of pain. He raised himself on his arms and blinked in surprise. He was facing the entrance to a small cave, close enough to the ground to be easily missed, half hidden by the bush, and just big enough for a man of his size.

"Perhaps these elves have less power over the woods than they think," he whispered. He heard the crashing of branches under boots behind him. With a prayer, he dragged himself into the cave, only to find himself dropping several feet when his hands were past the entrance, for it was a deeper hole than he first imagined.

With a groan, Gwarod lifted his aching head and inspected his body. Other than a few bruises and the twisted ankle, nothing appeared broken, so he looked around. The light was very dim, but what little light trickled in from the sunset highlighted a torch on the wall, with the means for lighting it in a basket on the floor. That made Gwarod wary, since this was clearly an elven hideout, but a look at the cobwebs on the torch and basket told him none of them had entered for a long time. It was the perfect place to wait out the soldiers' searching. The king was at a funeral anyway, he wouldn't be bothered for some time with news of Gwarod. Truly then, the One was on his side; the timing was perfect, and Gwarod was meant to rid Middle Earth of the elves and their puppet king, should the queen's death not release him from their spell.

In the cave Gwarod waited and planned as the sky outside grew dark. He lit the torch once he was sure there was no one around, and found the cave would be useful for his future plans as well. Once he got to the royal family, he could take them here. None would suspect them to be hidden right under their feet! Here, in the dark and away from the stars and trees they worshiped like gods, the queen and her son would die.

With a smirk, Gwarod silently left the place and went to free his men while the guards were out looking for him. He marked his path by stabbing his dagger into the bases of the trees, where he hoped the guards would not look.

XXX

Kirin remained outside the tent while his uncle and the king searched it for signs of what had happened to the royal family. He helped some other humans look to the injured guards. One was certainly dead but the other three lived yet, and one of them was slowly coming back to awareness. Kirin leaned over this man. The soldier's clouded eyes brightened a bit. "Lord Gimli!" the words were slurred, as though his tongue had grown too large for his mouth. "My lord, you must tell the king…"

Kirin frowned, "But I'm not…"

"Please, there is no time! They came too quickly, there were many of them, and that man, the one who killed the lords, was the one leading them. I tried to stop him from entering, but one of the others slashed at my legs and I could not get up again when I fell. I barely managed to call a warning, for the queen and the prince were sleeping. It was too late, though; the men dragged them out of their beds before they could fight back, and they stole our horses." The man coughed, a bit of blood dribbling from his mouth and into his short beard.

Kirin realized that the man might not be able to speak for much longer, so he tried his best to ask what he thought would be most important. "Where did they go?"

The man coughed again, but pointed. Kirin shook his head; their path would not be difficult to follow, for they had left a trail of bodies in their wake and he could see smoke rising in the distance. This time, they would raise all of Ithilien to the ground. Around him, the rest of the camp was beginning to awaken. There were calls to arms and screams, for many non-combatants had arrived for the funerals. "Did they say anything? What do they plan?"

"To kill them. I shan't repeat what I heard, out of respect for my queen, but their leader wants to kill the prince himself, and he told his men to…to destroy all elves. They will take…take them while they are unwary….at the funeral rites!" The soldier groaned as other men tried to take care of his wounds.

"That bodes ill for us all." Kirin jumped. He had not heard his uncle return, but now Gimli stood beside him, leaning on his large ax. Gimli stood straighter and turned back to Aragorn, who was staring at the stars. The dwarf smacked the king's arm. "Oye there, laddie! This is your army, and it is your family in danger! Wake up, and tell them what to do!"

Aragorn glared at the dwarf while rubbing his arm, "I was praying for aid, Gimli. But you are right, now is the time to act." He looked at the soldiers. "Take them to the healers, alert everyone of what has happened. Send a battalion with the civilians and get them out of Ithilien. Tell them to make for Gondor. Take the elves who will go with you, and disguise them as best you can. Send your fastest riders to Emyn Arnen with a warning. I want everyone else to hunt these enemies down and recapture them! They are going after the elves, protect them if you can."

The soldiers instantly followed their orders, several running in different directions to spread the word. Aragorn turned to Gimli. "Now I am at a loss. We must help Legolas and Faramir, presuming you are correct in your theory, but I must go after my family!"

"You think we dwarves are incapable of doing anything on our own?" Gimli replied. "Go after your family, Aragorn, and we will wake our sleeping friends. I certainly hope they wake well enough, for I fear we will need their skills before the night is out. We can warn the mourning elves as well, if someone will show us where to go."

Aragorn smiled grimly, "Your words are wise as always, Master Dwarf. I cannot say I am pleased with this, for much danger lies ahead and I fear we will lose much…but alas, there is no time for a better plan!" He called to one of the soldiers, "Take them to the place where the elves are conducting their burial rites."

The soldier nodded. Gimli and Aragorn clasped hands once, then parted ways.

XXX

Gimli, Kirin, and the soldier guiding them were met at the edge of the clearing by one of the woodelves. He bowed to them, "Welcome, Lord Gimli, to you and your kin. Were that your presence was not the mark of such tragedy. Alas, my lord can greet you no more."

"We shall see about that, Master Hathel," Gimli replied, "for I have some news, both good and ill. King Elessar has kept a few things from you, but only because he believed the knowledge would cause great pain for all of your people and he wished for his friends to be remembered differently than they may have been should the information spread."

Hathel frowned, "Those are pretty words, but I cannot read them without anger. Why would he keep anything from us? Who else knows, if you do?"

"The twin lords from Rivendell, I believe, and few others. I am not sure if even the Lady Eowyn has been informed, but I ask you to save your anger for those more deserving. You will not like much of what I have to say, but we must act now."

"Then speak quickly."

The dwarf continued, "A broken vial was found near the body of Lord Faramir, and the traces of poison left in it matched some found on his lips and Lord Legolas'. Lords Elladan and Elrohir were misinformed by Legolas himself about the purpose of this so-called poison, and so believed he and Faramir killed themselves. However, Legolas once told me of the poison's true purpose, and I am sure you know it as well. If I am correct, then they are both still alive and can be awakened with the appropriate remedy, which I have procured." He held up the bottle.

As he had spoken, Hathel's eyes had grown wide, and the dwarves could see a number of emotions racing through him. "Alive? If what you say is true, then that very well may be, and there are probably others! I had not even considered ungolnen! We have not used it widely since the end of the war, but there are many who continue to carry it as a symbol."

"Ungolnen?" asked Kirin. He had heard Legolas speak enough elvish to know the words did not seem right.

Hathel grinned at the young dwarf, "Aye, it means spider-water. Did Legolas not tell you what was in it? It is water from the enchanted river, a few herbs, and a drop of spider venom. It is probably the most powerful sleeping potion in the world."

"Spider venom?!" Gimli spluttered. He shook his head and muttered, "Mad elves!"

"Come quickly, and we will wake the dead!" said Hathel. "This will be most interesting, for they are still conducting the funeral, although there are no longer many present. Follow me." The two dwarves followed the elf into a clearing filled with holes in the dirt. Next to the holes lay the still corpses of many elves, and their living kin stood nearby in mourning. There was an eerie silence that hung heavily in the air, even for one who had not witnessed the funeral's earlier stages. Gimli had to admit he felt guilty breaking it, for not all of these elves were asleep.

The three weaved their way among the bodies, many of the living elves bowing or at least nodding as they passed, offering silent condolences. They paused next to the largest crowd in the center, which still consisted of only five elves. Among these were the brothers, Rúmil and Orophin. They placed a hand each on Gimli's shoulders when he came close enough, their eyes moving from him to the figure which lay on the ground.

Gimli felt his insides twist at the sight. Legolas was pale as a ghost, his hair neatly braided so that it covered his ears and intertwined with the silver circlet he wore on important occasions. He was dressed as an elf lord, in greens, silvers, and golds, with his hands folded across his chest and the bow he had received in Lothlorien at his side. A single, gold-painted arrow was between his slightly crooked fingers, along with a green leaf. Several flowers and – were those seeds? – covered him, and someone had included the feather of a gull.

"Uncle?"

The smallest whisper broke the silence and the spell that had taken over Gimli at the sight of his friend, laid out as one dead. He turned and smiled at his nephew, "I am well, Kirin; or at least I will be."

Hathel was speaking to the gathered elves, so softly that Gimli could not hear a word of what was said. But he could see their expressions change, and at last Hathel turned back to them. "You may proceed, and we offer our aid. Word will be spread to attempt this on all of our dead, and though there are those who disagree with the disruption, particularly those not from Eryn Lasgalen, most are simply embarrassed. I do not know how we could have missed such a thing!"

"You lost your home and many friends in a single night, then were made to believe your lord had been tortured and killed," Gimli replied, "it is quite understandable. None here are truly well."

Orophin shook his head, "If this works, you will have our eternal gratitude."

"Leave it to a dwarf to wake one who sleeps still as stone!" Gimli grinned. Before he could proceed, a stern looking woodelf intervened.

"You are interrupting the funeral rites, and if your foolish hopes prove false then you have done a greater harm! You are distracting him from his path to Mandos."

Gimli sighed; he could hear several others mummer in agreement. "Very well then, I shall look for proof that he still lives before we continue. You elves may have fine hearing, but this is something that requires a dwarf's ear." He knelt next to the body and gently cleared away a few of the flowers and seeds.

"Why can the elves not hear it, uncle? Surely they would know the heartbeat of one of their own kind," Kirin whispered.

"Because listening to the dead is much like listening to rock, and no elf I know of has ever heard the song of the stone, not even Legolas," Gimli replied, laying his ear against the elf's still chest. "Now be silent and still." Kirin did as he was told, and Gimli closed his eyes. Both remained frozen for several minutes, and Gimli began to lose hope. Perhaps he had not been right after all? Come on, elf, now is not the time to be stubborn! If you expect me to kiss you, then you are going to sleeping for an awfully long time!

Then, he heard it. A faint, fluttering beat – almost like the elf's laughter. Gimli focused on the sound, letting it draw him in, and a smile spread across his face. He stood up and laughed, "Just like a stone indeed! He sleeps as deeply as our forefathers, Kirin, but he lives yet! Now we must wake him quickly, for there is trouble for the king and his family. Bah! Now you see why I must return so often; these two cannot survive two months without me!"

Several of the elves around them gaped, while Rúmil and Orophin laughed. "That is probably true. Did you say that you already had the remedy?"

Gimli pulled out the bottle and took out the stopper. "May I move him now?"

"We will aid you," said Hathel. He knelt just behind Legolas' head and lifted the sleeping elf into his lap, so that he was partially sitting. "It would do us no good if he choked to death on the cure."

With a nod of agreement, Gimli leaned over his friend, gently opened his mouth, and poured about a cup of the liquid into his mouth, a little at a time. As he did, he began to sing in elvish. Some of the elves looked aghast to hear their language in his deep bass, but most merely seemed curious. Those who knew the song joined in, instantly changing the tone of their silent funeral vigil. The song was light and happy, bidding the listener to awaken and enjoy life. As they sang, a bit of color returned to Legolas' face as slowly he began to wake.

XXX

Aragorn had sprinted through the camp, following the trail of destruction that he hoped would lead him to his wife and son. The thought of losing them terrified him more than more than any danger he had ever faced as a ranger or a king. A troop of soldiers followed him, but he sent several of them to follow other trails, in case the main one was meant as a distraction. At the moment, he felt fairly certain that Gwarod was trying to draw him out. If that was the case then he was acting quite foolishly, as several men tried to point out. He ignored them; this was his family. If he lost them, there would be little point to him living.

At the end of the camp, he skidded to a stop. They were about to head deeper into the trees, and from here it looked like the trail would be trickier to follow. Several different tracks converged and separated again here, each going in a different direction. Perhaps Gwarod was not trying to draw him after all; the correct path was no longer clear.

There was a distinctly feminine shout from somewhere ahead and to their right. For a moment, his head warred with his heart. It was not Arwen, of that he was sure, but the woman sounded like she was in trouble. He was down to a very small personal guard, who were charged solely with the duty of protecting the king. They would not leave him even if ordered to do so, not without a seal from the council. He entered the trees cautiously, hoping to come across some sign.

In the end, the decision was made for him by a more sinister fate. They had not gotten far when the sounds of fighting grew closer and a stray arrow embedded itself in one soldier's arm. The man yelled, drawing instant attention to them, and they were quickly embroiled in a battle of their own.

XXX

Many miles from Ithilien and Gondor, three hobbits enjoyed a moment together in the sun-filled garden of Bag End. Rosie, Sam's wife, had taken the children in for a nap, and now they were laughing at some things that were not meant for the ears of younger hobbits. The cry of a hawk caused them to look up, for large birds of prey were uncommon in the Shire. To their surprise, the bird circled downward and landed on a small tree that stood just next to the picnic table they were sitting at.

"Look!" cried Merry. "It has a scroll attached to its leg, with a red string!"

"Well you try and see what it is, I'm not going to bother a bird like that!" Sam replied.

Cautiously, Merry approached the bird. It blinked at him, but did not fly away or attack as he got closer. In fact, once the hobbit was close enough to touch the hawk, it held out the leg with the paper tied on. The bird sat patiently through the hobbit's fumbling with the string. Once the letter was removed, it continued to look pointedly at Merry's pocket. With a laugh, Merry removed a bit of sandwich he had stowed there and tossed it to the bird, who eagerly caught the treat then continued to wait in the tree.

"Give it here, Merry, I want to see who it's from!" called Pippin.

"How about we see who it's for first," suggested Sam.

Merry grinned, "What other hobbits do you think receive letters with the seal of Gondor's king on them? Besides, it has our names written on it."

"Strider!" Pippin exclaimed happily. "Well go on, read it out for us!"

Merry laughed, "After all these years, Pip, I would think you'd have learned a spot of patience!"

"We haven't heard from Gondor in some time now, go on and read it!" chuckled Sam.

"Alright, alright." Merry unfurled the paper, cleared his throat and began with a wide smile. "My Dear Friends, I hope this letter finds you well, with green lands and full stomachs."

"As if we'd be found any other way!"

"Shush, Pippin!"

"I regret that I must encroach on such peace, for all is not well here. There was a terrible attack on the elven settlement of Ithilien, too like the scourging of your Shire for my liking."

"Poor Mister Legolas; he must be devastated!"

"Now Ithilien has been purged of those evil men, but it has come with a very high price…oh…no…"

"What? What is it?" called Sam. Merry ignored him, but his hands began to shake as he continued reading the letter to himself.

"Merry, what is it?!" shouted Pippin.

Merry looked up. "They're dead."

Sam blinked. "Dead?"

"Legolas…and Faramir. I'm so sorry about him, Pip. But here, read it!" he handed them the paper, and all three crowded around Aragorn's letter. A bitter chill came over their hearts and all the earlier laughter tasted bitter. When they finished reading they looked around at one another, none with a dry eye.

"Their funeral is tomorrow then, or perhaps today. There is some difference in time between here and Gondor," Merry muttered.

"Time?!" Pippin shouted. "Faramir and Legolas are dead, and all you can think of is when they'll be buried for good?! We can't even be there! How could this happen?" With an incomprehensible yell, he threw his mug across the yard, where it shattered.

Rosie ran out from the house, "What is it? What's happened?"

Pippin sighed and dropped back into a chair, "Oh, I'm sorry Rosie, I just…"

"Ye look as though you've all come down with a sudden ill!" She touched Sam's arm and gasped, "You are as cold as ice! Come back inside, lads, and I will make you something warm. I certainly hope this has naught to do with my cooking, but as I still feel well and the children…"

Sam gently grabbed her arm and shook his head. "It isn't like that; I doubt any amount of foul food could have gone bad so quickly, and your cooking is delightful. We've just had a nasty shock. King Elessar sent us word from Gondor that Ithilien was attacked, and two of our very dear friends were killed." He handed her the letter.

"I'm so sorry," Rosie said when she was finished. "I know what those folks mean to you. All the same, I thought elves couldn't die?"

Merry sighed, "They cannot get sick and they never grow old, but they can be die by the sword or arrow just as easily as we can. It does feel different though. Like all the warmth in the world vanished for an instant."

Pippin drew in a shaking breath, and his words came out broken, "I feel something terrible has happened, far from here and near to our hearts."

Rosie frowned, "Come inside for a cup of hot soup all the same, and a cup of stronger stuff for drinking. That will warm ye, at least, and this grief will ease. The hawk is nearby yet, so we shall reply and ask them to send a guard, so you may yet say goodbye. In the mean time, we can do nothing now but wait for word. The Shire is too far for you to be of any help in time." She helped Sam to stand and slung her other arm around Pippin. "Up ye get now, lads. There is no use dwelling on the end of a life, be it big or small. Tell us all about them again, the children love your tales."

"Aye, and we will make sure there isn't a lad or lass in all the Shire who doesn't know them by heart," said Merry.