Author's Note: The song in this chapter is a traditional Welsh lullaby called "Suo Ghan." I don't own it, nor did I write it! :O)

Monday evening, Belegore stood in the stable; things were unnaturally quiet. But of course they were and he should have expected such a thing when he had just drugged nearly every horse in the entire stable. There was no stomping, no movement in any of the stalls as each one of them stood positively listless. It made him sick to his stomach, and it had been his idea! He stared at the star in the middle of Brego's forehead. Oh, if the King only knew what he was doing right now…what he was about to do in several minutes…

"Gettin' cold feet?" Dagnirhir's voice came from behind him and he scowled, turning to him.

"Of course not, you wasted idiot. And you better not have been drinking tonight, or when we get on the road, I will have Ahadil beat you to a pulp."

He held up his hands. "Watch out there, boy. Those are fighting words."

"You better believe it," he snapped. "Are you ready? I have to go and bring her here."

"I'd be more than happy to go and—"

"The guards have been shown your drawing, I told you. If you were to step out of this barn and one of them saw you, you would be tried for assaulting a young woman. Lay low here, Dagnirhir. I will return with her; she knows me, she is bound to come down without a fuss."

"I hope Calendur knows what he's doing with that diversion, or we're not going to get very far with her. And he's got the horses outside the gates, yes?"

Belegore nodded. "And everything else is set. All we need is the elf."

"Well, go get 'er. Don't waste any more time."

"Where is Ahadil?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be here when we least expect him."

Belegore frowned at him. "Stay hidden."

"Right you are, boy."

It was dark and late, and she should have been asleep already. Instead, Enguina sat at her table, thinking of Legolas and the day they had spent working on the wall. Gimli had been so hilariously funny today, telling her stories of the two of them and their travels and the wonderful companionship they had together. Dinner had been a wonderful affair as well, and as Legolas had walked her home, she had noticed that the guard across from her door had been the young Hildanir. She had been surprised that it would be someone so young, but Legolas assured her he was not stationed all night in that post. He had greeted them warmly and then gone back to his watch.

There was no doubt that she was becoming increasingly fond of spending every moment of every day at the side of Legolas. She had been unsure at first, but these last two weeks had brought her an understanding of his character that she could not do without. There was no way that she could not see him. She was in love…and she could not stop thinking about it. In her heart, she knew that there were serious possibilities that this could be forever.

And in that moment, she thought about the fact that she had not spoken to Ilúvatar for the longest time; not since her song to him…pleading him to be with her, to guide her. He had. She sighed softly, wrapping her hands around the mug of tea she had made for herself and staring into it as though it held all the answers of the universe.

"Eru, Lord of All, I have not sought you in so long I barely remember what it was like to have you at my side. Arwen had tried to convince me for so long since my assault to remember to trust you, but I could not see the point; I could not see the purpose. I still do not," she admitted softly, "but I think, after all this time, that you have let me see a bit of it. If I was happy in Lothlórien, would I have come here to seek out Arwen? And if I had never come here, I surely would never have met Legolas. You wanted me to come here…I know you did. You have a purpose for everything, even when it could be so many years before it is discovered. Perhaps it was a connection I needed to make on my own, but it has finally been made. I understand now.

"Your love has been constant, even though I have not seen it. I thought I had lost you, yet you were watching over me the whole time. Thank you for keeping me safe, and for leading me into Legolas's arms…for the blessing of Arwen in my life and the words and kindness of her husband. I have begun to make a life here…finally, I may have found a place where my heart belongs. You are good, and your love endures forever. I was wrong to have doubted you; I have wasted so much time pushing you away. Forgive me, and keep me close to you once again, even if the storm still rages in my mind some nights…help my soul to be still."

A knock on the door nearly startled her out of her skin, so lost in prayer was she, and she rose from the kitchen table to go and see who in the world it might be at this hour of night. As she peered out the window, she was astounded to see one of the stable hands. What was his name?—Belegore. She opened the door.

"Good evening, my Lord," she said. "Can I help you?"

"Lady," he said, bowing his head to her, "I came as quickly as I could. Your horse is unwell."

"Lómë?" she asked, immediately worried. "What has happened to him?"

"I was leaving the barn for the night and I always check in on each of them before I head out. He was lying on his side in the stall. I thought you would wish to come and see to him. I would be happy to escort you; I know it is late." He stepped out of her way as she came onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her.

"Oh, of course!" she said. "Thank you so much for thinking to tell me. Let us hurry to him."

"As you wish, my Lady."

Éowyn sat upon her little girl's bed, tucking her in for the night. She listened to the sounds of Faramir changing in the next room and of the splashing water as he washed up. She smiled at the sound, because she knew that meant Faramir would smell very nice when he came back into the room and wrapped his arms around her.

"Do you hear your daddy, little one?" she smiled as little Andúnêiel gave her a big smile. "He is very dirty," she joked, "and so he is taking a bath. You are clean….clean, clean, clean!" she said, rubbing her nose against her daughters. The girl giggled.

"Mommy," she said, reaching her hands up to touch her face.

"I heard that," rumbled Faramir's voice from the other room. Éowyn laughed.

"She thought it was amusing, and that is the important thing. Not a single person in this room cares what you heard," she laughed.

"That is not the nicest thing I have ever heard pass your sweet lips."

"And it is certainly not the worst, my dear." Éowyn leaned forward and kissed Annî's forehead. "Are you going to sleep for Mommy?"

"Mommy…song."

"Close your eyes, little lamb," she whispered, stroking Annî's face as she began to softly sing.

Through the window by your cradle shines a moonbeam soft and clear.

Sleep, my baby, fear no danger; none can harm you, mothers near.

In the treetops winds are sighing, birds are flying to their nest.

Warm and cozy, no more crying; sleep, my baby, be at rest.

Through the window by your cradle shines a sunbeam warm and bright.

Wake, my baby, gently smiling; day is dawning with the light.

In the treetops birds are singing, lambs are frisking in the sun.

Gone is darkness, no more dreaming; wake, my baby, night is done.

Annî was fast asleep before Éowyn had even finished the song. She rose from the edge of her bed and blew out the candle, moving into the bedroom she shared with Faramir. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she laid her hands over her womb, thinking of their child to come, and thinking of Arwen's. She laughed softly as she thought of children. "I can barely control my excitement, Faramir. What is it now, three more months?"

There was silence from the bath at first, and then. "Éowyn…what in the world are you speaking of?" She rolled her eyes.

"The child, silly! Is it not three more months until the child is to be born?"

"Indeed, so I believe. I am certain the parents-to-be are even more excited than you. And then of course, there is our new babe that is coming, only a few months later." More splashing ensued. She smiled; he was probably getting out of the tub.

"How wonderful it shall be with three children running about the gardens."

"You only want to be the first to see and hold it, Éowyn," Faramir called from the opposite room, "and that is all." She heard his laughter.

"That is not true, you arrogant man!" Then she questioned, "Do you think Aragorn will be as terrible as you were?" There was a moment of hesitation in Faramir's reply.

"What do you mean terrible?"

She laughed. "I mean do you believe he will be as anxious and frightened as you were when Andúnêiel was born?"

"I was not frightened…I was worried. There is a difference if you look it up, my dear. But no, I do believe that Aragorn shall be right there in the thick of things as he was with you; that is providing they let him."

"As if anyone could stop him," she said. Then a sly smile came across her face as she stood and began to change into her night clothes. "So you admit you were anxious?"

"Éowyn…" he said in a warning tone. She laughed in reply.

"You can argue with me when you get in here," she called into the other room.

It was only a few minutes later as she had finished taking down her hair that a warm hand fell on her shoulder first and she smiled as Faramir's strong arms wrapped around her waist, his hands settling over her womb where the baby was slowly growing. There was not much of a bump, but there was a thickness that he could feel. She always felt so warm and safe when wrapped in his loving presence.

"I never knew you could sing so beautifully. I would have you sing all the time for me if I had known it," he said very softly and so closely to her head that his lips brushed her ear. She shivered, and he kissed her ear.

"It is but a rough echo in the common tongue of how it truly sounds when Arwen sang it in the high speech of the Eldar. I believe that our daughter loves the elves." Closing her eyes, she breathed in the scent of her husband and smiled. "You smell so good."

"Perhaps our children will marry into their family. You never know it…it is possible."

She laughed. "Yes, love, it is possible, and I do pray for them to have many children."

"Mmmhmm," he agreed, kissing her neck.

"Faramir," she chided, with an amused grin, "do you not realize that I am trying to have a conversation with you? Dear, you are supposed to be listening."

"Sweet, sweet Éowyn…" he said, turning her in his arms, "after nearly five years of wedded bliss you believe that I would not know this?" His voice dropped to a fervent whisper, "Do you not realize that I am trying to silence you?" She grinned and he smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more.

Enguina followed Belegore into the stable, walking closely on his heels. She had never been in the stable this late, and therefore, did not find the silence a bit odd. She assumed that most of the horses were resting and so she would not see their heads over the stalls. As they walked down to Lómë's, Belegore allowed her to stride past him.

"Lómë?" she called softly, half-hoping to see his huge black head appear over the door and prove that he was fine. When there was no response, she moved to open the door, now even more worried than before. On her right, she suddenly noticed a shadowy figure leaning against the front of Brego's stall. She turned, an odd feeling swirling in the pit of her stomach; glancing behind her, she noticed Belegore was nowhere to be seen. "Belegore?" she called, even as she turned back to face the figure. Belegore was crouched down, hidden behind a haystack, as he watched in silence, not wishing to have any part in the actual kidnapping.

"Good evening, sir," Enguina said softly to the shadowy figure she had decided was a man. The figure did not reply, but he did turn toward her. Her sharp eyes caught a flash of moonlight glinting off something the man held—a dagger; this was not a friendly meeting, and the feeling in her stomach grew a hundred-fold. It was very easy for her to recognize terror when she felt it; she had far too many experiences with it.

"Belegore!" she called urgently. She had no weapon to defend herself, but she was not about to go down without a fight. And something told her, when there was still no answer from Belegore, that there had been nothing wrong with her horse to begin with. Her eyes became as cold as steel and she began to back away from the man's advance. She immediately wondered why she had thought to fight when it would be much simpler to run; this was a big man, and she should easily be able to escape.

There was a thud behind her, as if something had fallen from the roof. She started to spin around, but she could not make it in time. Huge arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She twisted and turned violently, but her movements were no match for the man's brute strength. She could hear her own ragged breathing, and suddenly realized she knew those arms, those hands, the smell of liquor on breath…

"No!" she cried out in both anger and terror. The man from the market! She flung as much of her weight as forward as she could, but it was no match for his brute strength. He simply hauled her off the floor, lifting her up where she could not get leverage. He hurried to clamp a hand over her mouth, but seeing a chance to inflict pain where it was due, she viciously bit him as the hand came towards her. He yelled out, falling back against the stall door where one of her hands left deep gouges in the wood. She had to get free! Panicking, she kicked his legs with all the force she could muster. He gave another muffled cry, and Enguina thrashed, suddenly breaking free, darting forward…and forgetting about the other man in her terror.

Ahadil had arrived on time to do the job. He reached forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her roughly to his chest. It knocked the wind out of her for a moment, and in the next when she had gained it back, she felt his knife pressed into her throat. Her every nerve stood on the edge of that knife.

She struggled against the arm pressed across her chest as it held her tight. "Let…let me—"

"I don't think so, lass," he whispered over her stuttering, holding the knife even more sharply into her skin. "Silence now, and there'll be no more trouble. Just come quietly and you won't be hurt." She barely breathed for the knife cutting into her throat, and she could feel a touch of wetness on her neck.

"I can't believe that elf-maggot bit me! She bit me, Ahadil!"

"Keep quiet, Dagnirhir! We'll teach her manners later; we don't have time for it now. We have to get her out of the City before—"

At that moment the door of the stable was flung open and a man in the service of the guard appeared. "Unhand the Lady Enguina!" he roared, and she suddenly recognized him—Hildanir. The young man held his sword at ready, clearly prepared to fight as he rushed down the long aisle toward them.

"You're nothin' but a child!" Dagnirhir laughed as he drew his sword and lunged forward to skewer what he believed to be 'just a boy.'

Their swords clashed, and Hildanir did his guard well, for he had the upper hand and fought with a fearsome strength; he was angry at these men for touching a woman the King had called them to protect. Dagnirhir was taken aback at the strength behind the young man, and he was fairly desperate for the battle to come to an end, drunk as he was.

"You!" Hildanir shouted, staring into Dagnirhir's face. "You are the one we were looking for!"

"Give it up, boy," he panted. "I'll kill you!"

"Let her go!" he shouted and lunged himself at the man again.

There was a loud thunk, and Hildanir suddenly lost his sword and slumped sideways onto a hay bale. Belegore appeared from behind him, holding a shovel; he had clearly hit the young man in the head with it.

"Hildanir!" cried Enguina, but the knife sliced deeper and she gasped at the pain.

"I said quiet, lass!" snapped Ahadil menacingly. Dagnirhir stepped forward and angrily stabbed the blade down through Hildanir's shoulder.

"No!" screamed Enguina as she clawed at him. Ahadil slammed his hand down over her mouth hard, cutting her throat even harder. In pain, she had no choice but to stop struggling. Belegore shoved Dagnirhir back from Hildanir's motionless form and then snatched his tunic into his hands, slamming him up against the nearby support beam of the stable.

"What in all the hells of Morgoth is wrong with you?!" he snarled. "He was not going to hurt you, unconscious as he was!"

"I wanted to make sure he didn't."

Belegore was fuming, but there was little he could do now. They needed to go. "Ahadil, do you know if everything is in place?"

"Definitely set," he said. "We'd best be on our way though, as Calendur said just before the bells toll for midnight the diversion will hit with a bang." He shrugged. "Don't know what that means, but we'd better go."

"Let's hope the boy lasts the night and makes it to the morning," Dagnirhir laughed. "It's hard to find good messengers these days." Enguina growled something low in her throat, and Dagnirhir turned to leer at her, his eyes dark and angry. He nodded to Ahadil, who released her mouth. "What did you say?"

"Saurhlokë!" she spat, and he smiled evilly at her use of the curse. The knife was lifted from her neck, and he reached out and struck her across the face, twice and hard.

"Dagnirhir, enough!" hollered Belegore, and Ahadil wrapped his arms back around her, holding her tight. The other man grabbed her face in his fist, holding her jaw so forcefully that pain shot up her cheeks and through her temples. A sudden flashback; and Enguina was trying desperately to wrench away, but there was nothing she could do, no way to escape.

In a few moments, and after a terrible struggle, they forced a burning liquid down her throat. She choked horribly, but she could do nothing to fight them, and she was forced to swallow or be unable to breathe. Within moments, Enguina felt the world slip away from her and she grew limp in the man's grasp.

"The blood's enough proof," Ahadil said, wrapping a dark cloak over her and then scooping her up into his arms. "Let's get out of here before there's so much chaos we don't know how to get out."

Dagnirhir leaned forward. "How about I carry—"

"How about you shut it!" snapped Ahadil. "You've done enough tonight." He nodded toward the boy. "He was a soldier of Gondor; our own people should not have been hurt. Keep your hands to yourself and shut your trap! Belegore, lead the way."

They drew up their cloaks and sneaked out into the dark night.

Aragorn stood at the window of the King's House looking out into the night. The day had been long, but productive, and as usual he had been more than happy to see Enguina and Legolas getting closer and closer. He was tired, and he knew Arwen was as she finished changing. The City lay quiet tonight, and everything seemed to be at rest. Soon they would be, too.

He turned about at that moment and wrapped his wife in his arms. At least he was not losing his edge on his hearing or sight. She laughed lightly and laid her head on his shoulder, and he leaned against the window frame, resting one hand on her head, and the other on her back.

"What are you looking out at, meleth?" Arwen asked in a hushed whisper, her voice barely audible over the beating of Aragorn's heart. She listened to it, beating strong and true.

"Just our City…" he replied equally low, and gently, he rocked her back and forth in his arms, humming some tune long forgotten. She smiled and listened to its rhythm, slipping her arms about his waist.

"You are so wonderful…" she whispered, and if he had wanted to move her, he would have lifted her chin from his chest to kiss her. However, he was content at the moment to just hold her, and so he only smiled, accepting the complement quietly. He continued to hum and gently rock her. She ran a hand up his back and gently curled her fingers into his hair, closing her eyes to simply enjoy the comfort, the feeling of his arms around her, the beat of his heart in her ear, and the vibration of his throat against her head.

They stood like that for quite some time. Neither counted the moments or thought about time passing, only the thought of each other lay on their minds. Arwen felt herself nearly drift off to sleep on her feet as her knees grew weak, and that was not a normal occurrence. As Aragorn's sweet, soft melody began to repeat itself for the fourth or fifth time, Arwen slowly lifted her head and kissed his chin and then his lips, her eyes cloudy.

She broke off and laughed very softly, as Aragorn's song continued. She looked at his closed eyes, though his forehead was now bent down and resting against hers. "Do you know how strange it feels to kiss someone who is humming?" she whispered.

He smiled but did not answer, his only reply was to continue the humming of the little forgotten folk song, and she laughed lightly once more. How I love him…what would I do without this man? She tightened her fingers playfully in his hair again, and kissed him one more time, tightening her grip even more as she went. He broke off the kiss this time and opened his eyes, stopping his song. She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to speak. He lowered his hands to her womb.

"Little one," he whispered, "your mother is tugging on Daddy's hair…and he does not like it." Had she been the type to be troubled at her husband's low and dangerous voice, she might have reacted with more than a smirk.

"I thought you enjoyed Annî tugging your hair, verno." She smiled a little wider and tightened her hand only slightly, and he reached back and gripped her wrist.

"Off, woman…" he said ominously.

"Afraid to lose your hair before your time, my Lord?" she whispered, her voice filled with laughter and his eyes grew dark.

"Númenorean blood does not allow for baldness—" and he cut off as she placed her ice-cold hands on either side of his neck. His breath left him, but there was no other recognition that he had felt the cold. She only smiled and held them there. He put his hands over hers, and then brought them to her face, running his fingers along her cheeks until he reached her ears. Gently, as always, he traced them, and instead of steeling her will and fighting it, she allowed him to feel her tremble. He tenderly kissed her.

"Aragorn…" she whispered, and he smiled. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked as if she had a continuous shiver. He knew better. She opened her eyes and found his full of devotion and adoration for her. "I love you," she said, and he kissed her again, this time ending it by enfolding her in his arms and lifting her off the floor. She laughed lightly. "Where are you taking me, beloved?" she said softly, sliding her arms about his neck.

"To rest your weary eyes, meleth…to our bed." He carried her to their bed as if she weighed as much as the dress she was wearing and very gently slipped her feet underneath the covers, laying her down. She smiled up at him as he gently pulled the covers over her, effectively tucking her in.

"I believe that you simply enjoy carrying me…and why are you tucking me in?" she said softly, a yawn nearly escaping her. He smiled and kissed her again.

"Practice…" was his only reply, and he rested his hands on her stomach as he kissed her once more. She watched him as he then blew out the candle. All became dark for a moment, but she felt him lift the sheet—

A booming the like of which Aragorn had only heard once in his entire life shook the King's House. Flinging himself to the window, he stared out, gaping at the massive fire cloud that was emanating huge billows of smoke from the fourth level. "Ilúvatar!" he cried out and spun, stumbling to his boots and yanking them on. As he straightened, snatching up his belt and dagger, Arwen appeared dressed and ready beside him.

"No—"

"Yes," she stated, looking at him fiercely. "Go, now."

He touched her face; he had no time to argue with her. "Take your time."

She kissed him hard. "Be safe. Go."

He was out the door and running along the cobblestones towards the fourth level as fast as his feet would fly.