No one attacks my City, my Lord's City, and lives…not even elves.
Drawing back arrow after arrow, he loosed them towards the walls, several guards following his example. He continued, with deadly accuracy, to draw and fire. He had no idea who these men were, why they were here. All he knew was that there was evil intent; several of his soldiers lay dead in the courtyard before Ecthelion felled by Elvish arrows.
The battle continued for mere minutes; this was a small party, but they had done much damage. Faramir stood staring at the slain in the garden and within the courtyard. What in all of Middle-Earth had happened here? Where had these elves come from? Why were they here?
"My Lord Faramir," said Captain Mennev, jogging to his side, "what madness is this?"
Faramir shook his head in disbelief, leaning down to turn over the nearest elf. "I am shocked, grieved," he said, "I do not know what to think." He lifted his face back to Mennev. "Gather the guard; have the City searched. If there are any more I want them caught and killed." He stood, his eyes dark. "No one will wound our City and live."
"Yes, my Lord," Mennev replied, pride on his face. He hit his chest with his fist and turned about, shouting to the guards. Several guards remained behind, looking for the wounded. Faramir noticed Éowyn coming towards him, now girded with her sword, Annî still in her arms. He shook his head; she simply could not remain behind. She stopped at the edge of the courtyard, her eyes as well as his taking in the dead. He could read the words on her lips; he knew she was just as shocked as him.
"Lord Faramir! He's still alive!" called one of the guards, and Faramir raced over, turning the elf onto his back, his face smeared with blood. It was clear the elf was dying, but looking into his face, Faramir could see the features of Mirkwood. Legolas's kin?
"Who are you?" Faramir snapped, gripping the elf's tunic. "Speak! What were you doing here?"
The elf let out a choking laugh and then smiled as Faramir dragged him close. "Death…" he strangled out, "death to the Queen…" His head fell back and his eyes unfocused. Faramir's eyes widened in terror and he dropped the elf back to the stone.
"Arwen!" he shouted, and he began running toward the King's House as if an entire army was on his heels. The guards who were near him and Éowyn, all who had heard the elf's words, followed at once behind him.
Yet another diversion; the real danger was within.
The two guards outside of the King's House stood silently as if they were stone. They had been placed there for the last few days, and they were happy to have night duty in such a quiet place, for they knew that none would attempt to pass them at this time in the evening. They were well armed and looked very fierce in their bright armor. Both men had served Gondor well during the time of the War of the Ring and were experienced in battle.
In the shadows near the wall of Legolas and Gimli's home appeared an elf clad in dark green clothes, and a cloak that seemed to blend with the very walls by which he stood. Both men thought at once that Legolas must have returned and was coming to speak with the Queen, and they visibly relaxed. A yell from off toward the courtyard startled both of them, and as the elf drew slightly nearer, they suddenly realized that there were many differences between this elf and Legolas. It only took a split second for them to realize it was definitely not Legolas when the elf drew his bow. Without time to even draw their swords in defense, both guards went down with a clang, arrows protruding from their unprotected necks. The elf stepped over their bodies and headed towards the now unguarded door with a pleased smile.
Lying in bed, Arwen was only half-asleep when she heard the sudden yell herself. Sitting upright, her sharp hearing caught the sound of arrows outside and the clanging of armor. The guards were down, and whoever was out there was coming in here. Sweeping her feet off the bed and throwing herself upright, she snatched Hadhafang from its resting place against the wall and tossed the sheath on the rumpled sheets.
Swiftly and stealthily, she moved against the wall near the doorway of their room, poised and ready to strike. She heard the door open quietly; was this person so much a fool that they thought she would still be asleep? Whatever was going on in the courtyard, whoever had attacked Minas Tirith, the battle was raging near Ecthelion; she could hear cries of pain and the firing of arrows. It made anger blaze in her heart; the fire had been enough. These people were going to die for what they had done to her City, her people…but she dropped hand to her womb.
Oh, Ilúvatar…protect us!
She was surprised to hear light footsteps within the next room, and knew it must be an elf—an elf? She had not the time to figure out the answer to such a question; the moment of attack was upon her. She spun around the corner and brought Hadhafang down swiftly, slicing a long gash down the elf's chest and tearing open the front of his tunic; if he had been half-a-second slower, he would already be dead. His sword came up just in time to bat Hadhafang away from stabbing straight through him. She drove him back as they battled across the sitting room, chairs were spun out of their way. His face strangely reminded her of Legolas and yet not so. He had certainly been an elf of Thranduil's people from Eryn Lasgalen, for his features were dark but his hair was light.
The fierce anger in his eyes caught her completely off guard; was there something personal he held against her, or was it just that he was being defeated by her that was infuriating him? She sliced Hadhafang sideways and slit his arm from shoulder to elbow. The elf hissed with pain and backed away, glowering at her with furious eyes. She looked at him silently, breathing hard. She had not fought like this for far too long, and no matter how much she made time to practice, their skills were closely matched.
He joined back into the fray and, if it was possible, looked even more furious than before. She was tiring now, and she feared for the child; someone must come to help her, someone must know she needed aid. He slammed his sword against hers, time and time again, and her grip held—just barely—each time. Her wrist and arm ached, her stomach flitted with fear, and her heart pounded in her chest. He hit her sword blade up and she spun away.
Everything happened so fast in the next few moments that she would never be able to remember exactly what had taken place. The elf crashed his sword against hers, and her hand gave out, the sword skidding across the wood floor. He dropped his sword and brought his arm up against her neck, driving her back into the wall with all of his might. Her head hit so hard that her vision blacked out and she choked, her throat constricting as he held her tight.
She thrashed blindly, yanking a hand up to protect the child and the other to tear at his face. Her nails caught in his skin and he screamed; the babe in her womb was tumbling about inside her against her ribs, her stomach, her pelvis. She brought her knee up into him and she felt his breath whoosh out across her face, but still, his arm across her throat did not let up. Her chest was heaving; she was desperate for air. Her hand scratched along his side and found a dagger. Drawing it, she stabbed it into his side, twisting it hard. Shrieking in pain, his other hand shot forward, catching her in the chest and forcing the rest of the air out of her lungs. She was strangling; her hand dropped from the dagger in his side and she began to lose consciousness, her head spinning slowly on her shoulders.
He knew he was about to die, and he needed to act quickly; releasing her throat and reaching up, he caught her jaw in his hand, yanking her mouth open and pouring some foul liquid into it. She gagged, barely conscious as he held her mouth closed around the liquid, but he stroked her throat hard, causing her to swallow. Quickly, he caught her nose and mouth and prevented her from taking a breath, shoving the bottle deep into his cloak. She collapsed then, and he let her, dropping her to her knees and letting her fall to her side.
He heard the pounding footsteps through the open doorway too late, but it was too late for him anyway. Faramir's bow was out and ready, and he fired an arrow through the elf's heart, the body dropping onto Arwen's.
Faramir rushed to Arwen's side, dropping his bow and shoving the elf from her. Éowyn was close behind him, followed by three more guards. "Arwen!" He lifted her upper body and held her in his arms, cradling her form to his chest. She is breathing…she is not dead; Faramir, get a grip on yourself, man! "Arwen?" he said softly, looking into her face. The guards were muttering something about 'the Queen, the Queen!' but she only seemed to be unconscious.
"Tiriel!" cried Annî, reaching for Arwen, and Éowyn pressed the girl's head to her shoulder.
"Is she all right, Faramir?" she asked, and one of the guards hurried over to him.
"She is breathing. She does not seem to be injured," he replied softly, his voice more steady than he felt inside.
"Thank Ilúvatar," she whispered, tears filling her eyes, "we made it in time. We should make her comfortable until she wakes."
Faramir carefully lifted her. "He must have knocked her out. Perhaps they were going to kidnap her as well," he thought aloud. He nodded toward the elf and looked at the guards. "Get him out of the House." The soldiers dragged up his mangled body as Faramir carried her into the bedroom.
"He was dead before you even shot him," Éowyn said softly. "Arwen saw to that."
"It is good that she knew how to defend herself. Thank Ilúvatar we are all safe." If anything had happened to Arwen, his heart would not be able to take the grief of failing in his responsibility and the loss of the wife of his best friend. She looked peaceful as she lay there, and then he turned to his wife. "I must find out what happened here and see to the guards. Will you stay with her until she wakes?"
"Of course," she replied, and Annî tugged against her arms.
"Down," she insisted, and Éowyn set her on the bed where the child laid near Arwen, sucking her thumb into her mouth.
Faramir reached over and caught Éowyn by the waist, pulling her into his arms. "You saved my life tonight with your bravery."
"And you saved many with yours," she whispered. "My children need a father, you know."
"And I need you," he replied, kissing her. She leaned into him, wrapping her hands into his hair and holding him extra-long. Finally, she released him.
"Be safe, please."
"I should be back in a few hours, near dawn. The guards will stay here with the three of you. Stay armed, Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien. I love you," he said, and he turned to leave the House, eager to see if his men had uncovered any knowledge of the chaos, and hoping there had been no more elves found in hiding.
Legolas was in pain; Aragorn could see it in the way he pushed Brethil forward. They did not have a moment to talk and would never have heard one another over the howling wind otherwise Aragorn would have asked him what the matter was. A little less than an hour ago it had begun to snow again, and Aragorn was surprised to see the mountains bordering Mordor and the plains covered with it in the moonlight. They could even see the campfire and smoke not even a few miles ahead in the growing light. The sun would peek its head soon, and they would already be upon the camp.
He was worried about what they would find when they caught up with this group, two men, an elf and Enguina. She would require healing, that much was certain; the wound was probably worse than even he thought, though he could in no way share those sentiments. They had been running for many, many miles, and he could tell that Brethil and Lómë, who were not worked quite so hard, were tiring. The journey home would have to be slow, especially for an injured Enguina.
He could hear Gimli cursing the blizzard conditions behind him, but Aragorn knew it could have been much worse. There was nothing they could do now but press on; they were close.
"Legolas!" he shouted to the elf. Still clutching at his chest, the elf looked up, seeing that Aragorn was pointing ahead. He looked and caught a glimpse of the campfire.
The horses poured on more speed.
Arwen's consciousness returned to her suddenly and she sat up with a start. A wave of dizziness crashed over her and she closed her eyes as the whole room spun around her. How many times have you told yourself, Arwen…do not sit up quickly! Someone's hands caught her shoulders and lowered her to the bed; she knew it was her own.
"Arwen, take it easy; it has been a long night." She heard Éowyn's voice speak softly, and she carefully opened her eyes to focus on her. She lifted a hand and stroked her womb with it, sighing in relief. The baby was all right…and she had woken up.
"Éowyn? What happened?" she asked, her brows furrowing.
"You do not remember?" Éowyn asked, worried. "I was hoping you could tell me. When we came into your home last night, Faramir found an elf hovering over you. You had clearly been fighting him—"
"I remember that I nearly sliced him to death with Hadhafang," she agreed, "but then…I hit my head…and I do not remember much of anything." Moving her head, she felt a strange pain and she lifted a hand to feel the bruises on her neck. Éowyn looked upon her sharply, as Arwen's movement had drawn attention to the darkened skin, and her eyes widened.
"Dear Eru…Arwen, your throat! What happened?" she cried, moving closer to her. Arwen's neck was severely bruised, and it hurt when Éowyn gently touched it.
"I…" she hesitated, "I wish I could remember, Éowyn." She shook her head slowly, trying to soothe the ache. "I heard shouting; are the people—"
"The people are all right, though some of the guards had been killed. Apparently, they were after you, and their little battle in the courtyard was a diversion."
"He was of Mirkwood," she said, remembering. "I recognized his features."
"I thought they looked a bit too similar to Legolas for my liking. We came as quickly as we could to reach you when we realized their attack was to draw us away from you."
"Why did they come for me?"
"Faramir thinks they were planning to take you prisoner as they had Enguina," she replied. "Perhaps they would have if you had not defended yourself and we had not arrived just as we did."
"They must be renegades from Mirkwood, for none of Thranduil's people would ever attack Minas Tirith. You think the two attacks were connected? Do you think the same people took Enguina who tried to kill me?"
"I do not know, Arwen, but we are trying to find out as much as we can." She sighed and leaned forward, "Let me see your throat."
She waved her away. "I am all right, Éowyn. It is only bruised…I am not in much pain."
Faramir entered into the room and breathed a sigh of relief. "The sun is rising and so are you, thank Eru. How are you feeling?"
"Well, as far as I can tell," she replied with a smile, "aside from a terrible headache."
"You should stay in bed and rest a while longer. I will have someone bring breakfast to you."
"Faramir," she replied, shaking her head, "I am fine. As soon as this pain had faded, I have rounds within the Tower to make, and I need to see the families of those who were killed in the attempt on my life."
"You need to rest, Arwen," added Éowyn, "and you cannot go about until I have a look at that neck!" Arwen began to get a stubborn look in her eye, and Faramir frowned at her.
"I would not stop you from going ever," he stated, "but I believe that you should rest a little longer. Think of the child," he said, his face filling with worry. Arwen tightened one hand on her stomach, and after a few moments, nodded.
"I am sure the child is fine," she said, "but as you wish! I shall wait until after I have had my breakfast and rested another hour. Then I will go."
"That sounds a little more to my liking," Éowyn sighed as she shook her head at Arwen, "though I would prefer you stayed in bed all day. Annî was awake half of the night as well and she is enjoying sleeping beside you."
"And you have not been sleeping well," Faramir added.
"Stop worrying!" Arwen groaned. "I am not foolish. I feel fine." Éowyn rolled her eyes and Faramir smiled down at her.
"Rest a little while, my Lady, and I shall get your breakfast!" replied Faramir.
Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn stood on the edge of the camp, and all was covered with a fine grey fog. They had left their horses a bit less than a mile away as dawn had broken, and they covered the last mile or so on foot. There was no way, in the snow covering, to keep their way silent except for Legolas, but it made little difference. The men were so engaged in packing up their horses and arguing that they never saw or heard them coming. The Hunters wasted no time in moving forward with their weapons drawn; Legolas had his bow aimed at Calendur's head as they drew near. Enguina lay on the ground at his feet.
"Lay down your weapons," Aragorn called to them, startling each one. Belegore whirled with his sword at ready even though he already knew the voice, and Calendur yanked Enguina to her knees, pressing a dagger to her throat. "Peace!" he said firmly, holding out a hand, staring at Enguina's limp form; the elf had to hold her upright. "We want no quarrel with you and your men."
"Release the girl!" Legolas snapped, his arrow aimed for the elf's head. His eyes missed nothing about Enguina, from a hair out of place to her blood-stained clothing to her sweaty forehead, bruised and bloodied face and pale complexion. Her breathing was fatigued; she was ill…and he was going to murder them. The cry in his heart had stopped an hour ago, and now he knew why: she was unconscious.
Calendur glanced from Legolas to Aragorn and sneered at them. "A wrong move and she dies, sons of Kings! Oh! King of Gondor, where is your army," he mocked him, "to enforce such peace? You are a fool, thinking you could come here and take her with no difficulty!"
"A man does not need an army to make peace, but to wage war," he replied, glancing at Belegore, who had lowered his weapon. Dagnirhir was nowhere to be seen; they must be cautious. "The Reunited Kingdom is not at war with you. How has Gondor wronged you? Who are you? Why have you taken the Lady?"
"I know him," Legolas snarled, never removing his eyes from the elf. "He is of Mirkwood; he was the rebel who tried to murder my father and claim lordship over his realm."
"I knew you would come," the elf replied with a little smile. "I know your type too well! You are, all three of you, such fools!"
"Yes, we've come; now hand over the lass! If we've got to take her, you're all going to die," Gimli growled, taking a threatening step forward and hefting his axe. Calendur pressed the dagger into her throat, and Gimli stopped short.
"That is not so wise, dwarf," he hissed. Legolas looked at Aragorn out of the corner of his eye, shooting the man a look of pure desperation and terror for his love's safety. Aragorn did not look at him though; his eyes were fixed on the other man who stood near the elf.
Belegore became enraged at the sight of the blood beginning to seep down Enguina's throat. The last few moments he had spent deciding what his next move would be, but as Calendur pressed the dagger to her throat, he saw instant red. He turned from watching the Hunters and looked back at Calendur instead, sheathing his sword.
"What are you doing, fool? They are armed and—"
"Let us give this up, Calendur," he said, shaking his head. "It is pointless now; we will perish in a battle against these warriors who have won such great renown that songs of them are already legend." He looked down at Enguina's shaking form and his eyes hardened as he raised them to the elf's. "Let her go…and we shall be done with this. It is over."
Calendur scoffed at him. "What has come over you, Belegore? Days ago you were eager for these moments and now you would betray all we have worked for? Draw your sword! We can still escape; they have no horses—"
"I have seen her suffering, and I wish not to see it anymore. I have met and seen the Queen, and spoken with the King…I have understood things finally, and clearly. If I could take back all of the wrongs that I have not righted within the last days I would do so, but what is done is done. Now, I must move forward with the new knowledge that I have gained.
"The King spoke to me that we must defend the innocent so that they could live the lives Eru gave to them. I tried not to listen, but as I became well-versed in the suffering of the elf you hold captive, even at my own hands, I knew that it was my duty to defend her. It is your turn, Calendur; it is you who must stand down."
"I need do no such thing!" he hissed.
Belegore pointed at him. "You said she would go unharmed, yet at every turn she has been wounded, and you, yourself, did the wounding. You will release her."
"A man who repents shall be forgiven," stated Aragorn, his eyes now fixed on Calendur. "Enguina has committed no crime against you, has done nothing to you or your men; set her free. For whatever reason you say we are fools, we are here. Take out your punishment on us if we have wronged you, the Lady has done nothing. What can you hope to gain?"
Calendur could not hold the King's steel gaze no matter how hard he tried. But instead of being wounded, he laughed, for he caught the shadow of Dagnirhir behind the King, and knew the time was right. "What do I want of you, Aragorn Elessar? I wish you and the Queen and all the offspring you believe to ever call your own to perish. Death to the line of Isildur! I want you and all your family with you, to die!"
There was nothing that would have caused Aragorn to spin at that moment, but he did, ready for the sudden attack of Dagnirhir from behind. Even so, he barely caught the sword that would have taken off his head, and shoved the man back, battling back into the trees. Legolas fired two arrows at the man, but somehow, the drunk was able to avoid them. His clear shot was taken away by the trees, and he could not follow…not with Enguina so near.
Calendur, in the meantime, had backed towards the horses, dragging Enguina with him, but it was Belegore who drew his sword, reaching out to stop him.
"No, Calendur! You will not get away! Let her go!" Belegore advanced, and as Calendur's attention was drawn away to him, Gimli vanished from Legolas' side, trying to maneuver around to trap the elf.
Furious that the man had betrayed him, Calendur lunged forward and flung the knife he held close range into Belegore's chest. The man had half-a-moment to look surprised and then dropped to the ground, dead. There was nothing Legolas could do for him, but he found Calendur suddenly unarmed. Legolas fired his arrow, hitting the elf in the shoulder. He dropped Enguina and her knees buckled as she dropped over onto her side. Legolas lunged forward for her, roaring, but Calendur suddenly drew his sword, raising it above himself to bring it down across her throat.
Eldarnar blocked the blow, Legolas's arms vibrating with the force of it. He held Calendur's blow there, glaring at him.
"Do you think me a fool?" Calendur asked. "I am an elf, and never unarmed."
"I will kill you," Legolas said, his voice deadly, "I will kill you for what you have done to her. Years ago, you could have been a good man, but you are now left to your own evils with none to help you; you even kill your own men!" He tried to push Calendur back, but the elf held his ground.
"But my friends are with me," he stated, giving Legolas an evil smile, "they are simply not here. Within the last two days, my brother and his allies have stormed your precious Tower in Minas Tirith. O! For the glory of Sauron!"
"You lie!" Legolas snarled, gritting his teeth. "You have not enough allies to take Minas Tirith!" Legolas hoped that if he kept Calendur speaking, Gimli would have enough time to take the over-confident elf by surprise. The dwarf was almost in position.
Calendur laughed. "You desire so much to believe that what I say is untrue, and yet in a way you are correct. You see, I do not have the strength and power to capture the High City of Gondor, but I do have the cunning and the quickness of elves to take the very heart of the people."
Confusion poured through Legolas's features. "What are you babbling about? Your tongue was always as a serpent, Calendur, full of lies and trickery. Speak quickly!"
Calendur laughed once more. "Do you know what lies at the very heart of the people of Gondor, Legolas?" He leaned closer to him and snarled, "It is the Royal Family. If there is anything that I have desired in the entire world it is their deaths! Dagnirhir, if he is not so stupid and clumsy, shall take care of the King, but it is truly of no consequence if he lives. The King, if he should return alive, shall return home to find the Queen, his lovely precious wife…slain."
Legolas shook his head, refusing to believe. "You are a liar!" he snapped, shoving the sword up in his anger. He shoved the elf back into the horses, who skittered away from him, and knelt at Enguina's side, holding Eldarnar out. Her breathing was shallow. "Guin, Guin," he whispered, touching her bruised and swollen face. He was terrified for her; he could feel the heat of her skin. But he had to stand and rally against the elf who launched himself at him again. He caught his wrist as the two of them clashed swords.
"Am I now?" Calendur snapped, trying to shove Legolas back. "Think hard, Prince! Why did I take the girl? I care nothing for her…but I knew every last one of you did. Three of the most important men in Gondor had to leave, or there would be too much protection. This she-elf was the logical choice when I found that she was the Queen's particular friend…and much more to you." He smiled. "I knew the dwarf would follow you anywhere, and the King would have to go rescue her.
"Ah, now you see…the objective of my mission was complete distraction for you, but Aragorn most of all, including his pathetic heart—he cannot abandon a friend, you know!" he cried with mock horror. Then, his face hardened. "But when you return home, if you live, you will find the Evenstar dead, for I know that my brother will not fail." He smiled sinisterly. "No more elf, no more child, no more line of Isildur."
"No," Legolas whispered; he could not deny the truth of Calendur's words as they settled over his heart. He did not wish to believe it, but all of the pieces fell into place. The grief of it overpowered him. His best friend from childhood, the only woman his best friend had ever loved, the mother of the heir to the throne—dead? But it was not only that…the babe would be dead as well. A baby, an innocent life! He tried to collect himself…he could not falter, not now when all was so close to coming to an end.
"Yes," Calendur said with a sneer. "I can see your acceptance of the truth in your eyes. With any amount of luck, she is dead already, or soon will—"
Legolas lunged forward, anger overloading his grief as he shoved the elf back towards the trees—and onto the blade of Gimli's axe. Calendur's mouth was open, his eyes blankly staring into Legolas's as the elf backed away. The dwarf, snarling, withdrew the axe. As the elf dropped to the ground, he brought the axe down again and again, yelling at the top of his lungs. Legolas stood, frozen for a moment, and then suddenly realized what was going on.
"Gimli. Gimli!" Legolas said loudly, and he reached forward and grabbed the dwarf's arms before he could raise the axe again. "He is dead…dead…" Gimli looked up, tears on his face.
"It can't be true! It can't be! She can't be dead!" he muttered over and over, and Legolas yanked him into his embrace, staring off into the forest behind him. As much as he wished it was not, there was no denying that this whole escapade had been a diversion, a trap for Aragorn. Oh how he wished he had not asked the man to come!
"Enguina," he whispered, and Gimli released him, using his beard to dry his eyes. Legolas turned and went immediately to her side, kneeling down in the snow and rolling her onto her back. She coughed with difficulty. He touched her face, worry creasing his brow. "Guin?" he asked, and glanced over at Gimli. "She is burning with fever."
"Legolas?"
Her voice was weak and barely a whisper, but it was full of pain. He looked immediately back to her, placing both hands on her bruised face, her left eye was so swollen. "I am here, Guin. We came for you—"
"You came?" she whispered.
"Here," Gimli said, sniffing, holding out his cloak to the elf, "she's freezing, lad." Legolas took it from him and wrapped her with it, trying to keep her warm. "I'll get a fire going," he muttered, moving away toward the place where the men had built one. "Lad's going to need a fire…"
Legolas held her close and tight in his arms, and he could see the tears on her face. "I love you," he said, his heart heavy with emotion. "I love you. I was so terrified for you, but you are safe now. You are safe."
"Gimli…"
"He is here, lighting a fire. Aragorn," he said and his voice caught, thinking of everything the man did not know, "Aragorn can heal you. You are going to be all right, everything is going to be all right." He rested his forehead against hers. "Let me get you to the fire; you are freezing." He lifted her carefully and carried her to where the dwarf stood.
"Where's Aragorn?" asked Gimli, glancing around and Legolas shook his head, his worry evident.
"I must go to him," he said, his voice catching. "He must know…he must."
"But he can't leave without—"
"I know," Legolas interrupted him, and then touched Enguina's face again, laying her back down. "Guin," he said, "can you look at me?"
She carefully opened her eyes to look at his wonderful face; she had been thinking last night that she would never see it again. She felt his icy hands on her sweaty face and she sighed softly. "I love you," she whispered, and he smiled at her. He seemed upset, and she could not fathom why he was sad; she could not even hear Gimli breathing though she knew he must be nearby.
"I have to find Aragorn," he whispered. "I have to make sure he is all right, and then I will be right back." He looked into her face; time was short. She was so very ill. "I will be back at your side—"
"No," she said, and there was a flash of terror that speared through her face that broke his heart. "Please…"
"Gimli will be right here; you will not be alone. I will be right here…I promise. I will be back in moments…just moments." He took her hand and placed it in Gimli's who was now kneeling beside her. He looked into the dwarf's wet face.
"Hurry, Legolas," Gimli said, and Legolas swiftly bent and kissed Enguina's forehead.
As he rose and turned away, he stumbled, nearly falling into the fire as she cried his name in his head. But he could not…he could not turn back to her. Aragorn had to know the truth, he had to know.
He followed the steps of the sword-fighters.
Aragorn concentrated solely on the fierce attack of the man before him. He could think of nothing else, not even Enguina or what was going on between Calendur and Belegore. Dagnirhir had set out into the woods to draw him away; he was not a fool, and he knew Dagnirhir wanted to fight him alone. But Dagnirhir greatly underestimated his strength in battle, and a drunk, though strong, had no power over a battle-hardened man like Aragorn. Andúril was like a hammer in his hand; there was no way he would be beaten. Dagnirhir could not even rock Aragorn back on his feet no matter how hard he swung or how brutal his attacks. There was no way he could win this fight.
"Stop this madness," Aragorn urged him as they crossed swords, the other man breathing and sweating as he had run a race. "It is over; you are going to kill yourself! Do not be so foolish; you are drunk and cannot have a victory. Surrender!"
"I'll see you die, filthy Ranger!" he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. He roared forward and Aragorn stepped aside, letting him trip over a tree root that sent him flying to the ground.
"I said, enough," Aragorn stated. But Dagnirhir was not going to hear him; he launched himself at the King. Aragorn stepped aside again, keeping his weapon completely out of the way. Dagnirhir stumbled and fell into the nearest oak, and when Aragorn turned back he was lying on the ground in the snow.
Aragorn shook his head. "Do you yield?" he asked, and when the man did not answer, he closed the distance. Using his foot to turn Dagnirhir onto his back, his face was all shock when he realized the man was dead. He had impaled himself on his own sword. "Fool…" Aragorn muttered, and sighed. In danger no longer, though he had not been in much danger to begin with, he remembered he had someone who needed him. Raising his head, he whistled loud and long for Brego. The horses, who had been probably been grazing, would make their way to the wood. He would need the herbs from Brego's saddlebags if Enguina was as ill as he thought she was. He waited, listening for the horses, and heard crunching in the woods behind him.
"Aragorn…" came the elf's soft voice, and he turned to look at him.
"Brethil, Lómë, and Brego are headed this way," he said, and then grew concerned at the look on Legolas's face. "Legolas, what is the matter?"
He, the master of words, suddenly found himself at a complete loss. How could he respond? How could there ever be words for the horror that he must tell his greatest friend? His silence made Aragorn panic, and he gripped the elf's shoulders hard.
"Enguina, she is not—"
"No, no…surely she is very ill," he said and he looked away to the horses as they appeared out of the mist, Brego at the lead. They slowed to a trot and Aragorn laid a hand on the bay's neck as he stopped at his side, the other two behind him. The man glanced back to Legolas.
"The herbs will help her; she will be well," he said, but the elf swallowed with much difficulty. "Legolas, speak to me," Aragorn said, turning fully to him. "What is the matter?"
"I have not the heart, and I have not the words," he said very softly, "and I must beg you for forgiveness before I even speak. Alas that I must be the bearer of…of evil tidings. Oh Ilúvatar, Aragorn, my heart breaks within me." He clutched his chest and had to look away from the man's eyes. "Evil…a great weight has settled on me. You must ride now for Minas Tirith, as fast as Brego will carry you, on eagles' wings if you can! Mirkwood Elves in league with Calendur have attacked the Tower of Ecthelion."
"Faramir is there," Aragorn replied firmly. "There is no possible force that could take Minas Tirith, not now when the guard has increased and Gimli's kin is within the City." But even as he spoke, his heart filled with dread at Legolas's words; he remembered Faramir's words at the possibility that this had been a trap, even the Council had questioned it. Had he, had they, been right all along? His knees felt weak, and he gripped Brego's mane.
Legolas shook his head slowly. "Calendur told me his plans as he held Enguina captive, and O! I would not believe him if I did not already know his cunning and treachery! Alas! it is a long tale; one that I shall tell someday if the time ever permits. But for now Aragorn, you must think naught of it, only of Arwen! You must ride now!"
"Arwen?" he asked, and his heart nearly burst in his chest. "What about her? What were his intentions, Legolas? What did he tell you?" He stared at the elf, almost ready to grab his shoulders and shake him.
"They were to attack the Tower and kill the Queen…and her...your unborn child." He reached out and gripped his friend's shoulders, tears flooding his eyes. "You must ride, Aragorn! It may be too late if you do not hasten!"
Their eyes met, and anguish and torment was shared between them. Each knew what the other must sacrifice if Aragorn rode to the City, or if he remained to heal Enguina. Perhaps it was all a lie, but that could not be believed. It was certain that without healing now, Enguina would not survive the return journey; Arwen, the child…their fates were much less certain. Even were Aragorn to ride right now, he might not be able to save them.
Though the pain in his heart seared deep enough to pierce his very soul, his terror consuming him, Aragorn knew what he must do. He turned from Legolas before he lost control of his emotions altogether, and, opening his saddlebags, began to search for the herbs. Legolas gripped his hand and pulled it away from the bag, placing it on Brego's reins.
"No, Aragorn…Arwen will die! You must go, friend…you cannot remain here!" The pain of Legolas' decision was etched into his every feature; he knew what he was about to lose. But Aragorn released the rein suddenly and embraced him.
"Foolish elf!" he whispered, his voice harsh with emotion as he clutched his friend. "Do not hinder me! I could not go even if it were certain; I cannot let Enguina die. You shall not surrender the happiness of all the ages with Enguina, for it is not your choice but mine…and I have chosen. And even through all my woe, my heart is also glad, for one, at least, of those we love shall live today." As Aragorn pulled back, Legolas felt his sorrow pour down his face.
"Resolute man!" Legolas cried in a voice so broken with grief that his eyes spilled overflowing. Legolas bent forward, took the man's face in his hands, and kissed his brow. "I love thee, Aragorn, though through hope I feel naught but grief!"
"See to the horses, Legolas," he said softly, and turned to run back to the camp. Aragorn dragged the back of his hand across his face; he had all the time in the world to debate his choice as he flew towards home. Now, he must act.
He heard Gimli call for Legolas, and he directed himself to the fire where she lay. "Aragorn, you must—"
"Let me tend to her," he said swiftly as he took a knee at her side. Gimli released her hand and her head rolled towards the side where Aragorn knelt. She opened her eyes slowly and found herself surprised at the face she saw.
"You have been crying," she whispered, but he shook his head, taking her hand and touching her forehead with the other one.
"You are very ill, Enguina," he said to her. "I am going to put you to sleep so I can heal you; the body heals more easily in sleep." He looked up to Gimli. "Please, heat water for the wound." The dwarf stood still, staring at him kneeling there, and Aragorn bit his lip to control the urge to raise his voice. "I have made my decision, and it will not be undone. Help me, Gimli." The dwarf nodded, sniffing, and turned to do what he was told.
"What—"
"Do not be troubled," he whispered to her, looking back into her face.
"Where…" began Enguina, and her voice drifted.
"Legolas will be here in—"
"I am here," the elf said suddenly, taking her other hand in his and kissing the back of it and her fingers. She heard Aragorn whispering words in her own language, but she could hardly understand them, and her eyelids grew heavy.
"Rest a while, dear Lady, and you shall be healed," he whispered. She felt herself drift away from them, but she could hear the muted tones of Aragorn's voice and the soft touch of Legolas even after she had fallen asleep.
The first few hours of the day had been upsetting for Arwen. She had known they would be as she had visited the families of those who were grieving for the loss of their loved ones. But it was her duty, and she felt for every one of them. The day had started so early in the morning as she had been up just as the sun was rising. The headache from the assault last evening had not gone away; in fact, as she had walked the long way back to the King's House, it had grown worse. She felt so exhausted that she had almost taken the arm of the guard who was walking with her. Faramir would not let her walk about without an escort after what had happened, and though Éowyn was supposed to have been with her, she needed to stay with Annî and she had not been quite well herself.
Perhaps it was the night before, perhaps it had been the last three nights without sleep, perhaps it had been the long walk about the City with a splitting headache, but whatever it was when she had reached the porch of the King's House before the bells rang for ten in the morning, she needed to lie down. When she had, it was the first time she had laid down her head and not thought of anything.
Now, she lay awake but her every limb felt heavy; she was surprised to find that she had only slept about half-an-hour. Her stomach was churning; she breathed out slowly, resting her hands on her womb. She felt the child moving again, spinning and spinning, and she felt her own head begin to pound. Raising one hand, she rested it against her head. It was sweaty, and her face grew warm even as she lay there. Her ears grew hot, and she gently peeled back the covers, allowing herself to feel the cool December air. She knew that when her ears grew warm it let her body know that if she did not find a way to calm herself she would heave, and the cool air helped her feel a little better. It only took a few moments for her hands to feel like ice and the rest of her was freezing before she pulled the blanket back over her, sighing.
The hot and cold episode played out many more times over the next few minutes, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the illness got the better of her. Ears burning, she tossed the covers off and sat up, immediately acquiring an instant urge to heave. She contained it, surprised as her vision swirled and the pounding grew; her head felt as if it were going to fall off. She rubbed her face with ice-cold, clammy hands, and stood. The chills took over her, and first her hands and then her body began to shake, her teeth chattering. She took deep breaths, hoping to calm her stomach as she stumbled towards the sitting room, thinking she would make herself some tea. She wished for a moment that Aragorn were here to hold her and tell her she was all right.
Arwen could not believe how cold she was, and yet she was sweating. She reached the door and pulled Aragorn's robe on over her shaking form; it smelled good, like him, and it comforted her for a moment. Carefully, keeping one hand on the wall, she made her way into the kitchen. By the time she had put the water over the fire, her stomach was roiling over and over inside of her. She reached out and gripped one of the chairs with her hand, trying so hard to still her revolving world that her knuckles turned white.
She reached over on the counter-top for anything she could heave into; her ears were burning beyond control. Her hands and knees shook, and she placed one hand on the chair as she sank quickly to the floor, unable to control her descent; her back fell against the chair. She tried to breathe deeply and slowly, but the air came out harsh and quick. There was no way she was going to be able to stop the vomiting now, and she wished for the comfort of Aragorn's calloused hands in her hair, his whispered voice in her ear.
It was going to be a very long day.
Aragorn felt Enguina's mind become clear to him and slowly, he began to withdraw from her. He let his hands slide from her hair, and took a deep breath to make an attempt to draw some strength into himself. He felt the weariness that he was accustomed to feeling after he had healed someone, but there was no time for rest. Looking down into her bruised face, he found her peaceful and sleeping quietly and he smelled the smoke of the campfire nearby. The swelling around her eye was greatly reduced and the broken skin on her face was healing. There were welts on her chest and neck that disturbed him, but he had no time to heal them. He followed her arm with his eyes and saw Legolas was attached to it, the concerned elf's face staring at him. Behind the elf, he could see it was already afternoon; he had been working for many hours.
"How—"
"Her wound will be tender," he whispered tiredly, "but the infection is gone; the athelas has done its work. Her fever is fading, but you need to keep her warm and keep her head cool to force it away completely. I…I cannot do more now," he said, his voice full of regret.
"You have saved her life, Aragorn," Legolas said, his eyes full. "That is enough."
Rising, Aragorn collected the herbs that lie around him and replaced them into the bag that he had taken from Brego's pack. He made his way to the bay's side, and the stallion nickered quietly into his cloak, pushing Aragorn gently with his nose. Aragorn shook his head.
"There is no time to rest, Brego, though I am weary. I hope you, at least, have had a good rest; we must ride as fast as we can to the White City…my friend, I must ask this of you—" Brego whinnied. Aragorn smiled grimly. "I know that you will fly, friend…I thank you for your speed." He patted the bay's neck, and Brego stomped his foot as if to tell him that they should go now.
Legolas had followed him to the horse, and Aragorn turned with a small leather bag in hand and handed it to him. "You cannot allow Enguina to travel for many hours at a time, for she is not full strength or full health. She will be weak and tired, and may have pain in her wound, for in my haste I cannot heal her fully. These herbs you must brew and have her drink the mixture twice a day until you return to the White City. When you arrive, then I shall look upon her once more and make certain that she stands in full health." He looked grimly at the elf. "You know very well she will not enjoy the taste, but she must drink it." Legolas smiled softly and clasped his hand about the bag.
"She will drink it, do not worry." He met the man's eyes, and frowned. "Aragorn, you are fatigued," he said softly, and Aragorn turned to tighten the pack once more on Brego's saddle.
"And you should not travel the first day," he added. "Wait until the fever goes away completely and she has a day or so of the herbs in her."
"You must rest, lad," added Gimli, though he did not want to hinder Aragorn. "If you don't rest, you shall not make it to Minas Tirith in three days."
Aragorn rested his head against the bedroll that hung on Brego's saddle, and then he turned to his friends. "Do you not understand? There is not time!" his voice broke as he spoke, but he controlled himself, steeled his will. "Three days is much too long…we shall make it in two."
"Shadowfax himself could not run so quickly!" cried Gimli, "and Brego is only one horse! He can't do the impossible Aragorn, not even for you!" Brego stamped his foot and flung his head up, whinnying loudly.
"He may yet…" said Legolas softly, and he reached out and placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "My friend, go with all speed and know that our prayers are with you. Have faith, Aragorn; Ilúvatar will smile down on you…Arwen will be all right."
Aragorn bowed his head, and clasped his shoulder as well, and then Gimli's. He turned to Brego and mounted swiftly, but Legolas touched his knee. He looked down at the elf.
"There are…" his voice broke as he spoke, "no words to express what is in my heart."
"Then speak naught of it until we greet one another again in the White City! Love her with your whole heart." As he spoke, his heart filled with pain. He reached down and clasped Legolas's arm. "We do not know how long we may have upon this earth, whether by the will of good or the will of evil, whether we be mortal or immortal. Time is short, Legolas, and I had never known that more than after I had met Arwen. More than ever now I tell you that you should never hesitate to say what it is you desire. If you seek to wed Enguina, then do not wait while this world lasts; seize the opportunity to love her that you can, and then collect as many memories as you may, for it is only Ilúvatar who knows what will come in the future."
"Eru give you speed, Aragorn," Gimli said with tears in his beard.
"Good journey, my brother!" cried Legolas, stepping back from Brego.
"Noro lim, Brego! An Arwen, noro lim! [Ride on, Brego! To Arwen, ride on!]" It was as if the stallion had wings, no more would he linger. He was chasing the wind, and Aragorn did not slow him for the stallion knew even better than he the road that would carry them home.
In moments, they saw no more of the bay bearing a very desperate husband and father.