"What's going on out there?" Alarmed, Éowyn opened the door of her bedroom when the shouts of the servants in the distance became more and more frequent. Now she was quite glad after all that Viwin had agreed to spend the night in her living room, so she would be able to tell her immediately if Faramir came back. "Did something happen?"
"Nothing bad." Viwin got up immediately and came to meet her, trying to lead her back to the other room. "One of the kitchen helps had a little accident. They didn't want to bother you with it. You have enough to worry about. He's with the healers already. Everything is alright."
"This doesn't sound like it. Why is it so dark in here anyway?" Frowning, Éowyn looked at the two windows of the living room which were not only covered by the curtains but the shutters had been closed as well. That usually only happened when the sun was burning down too hot on Emyn Arnen. No wonder you got depressive in such an atmosphere.
"I'll rather go see the man myself."
"But that's really not necessary. You should take it easy …" Viwin took another step forward when Éowyn tried to pass her by. The black-haired young woman tried to hide her haunted expression in vain. Even her voice sounded different, not as warm and calming as usual at all. Her dark, heavy maiden dress was almost soaked through with sweat when Éowyn grabbed her shoulder and reluctantly pushed her aside.
"What's with the nonsense? As the landlady, it's my duty to see if anything is wrong."
"But not in your current condition, milady." Viwin followed hard on her heels, whining about her exaggerated worries louder and louder. "You can't sleep, you're confused. I told you to drink your tea! I can get you a new pot real quick …"
Éowyn stopped abruptly. A dark suspicion crept up on her that she would doubtlessly have had much earlier already if she hadn't been sleeping almost the whole time.
"I had far too much tea already." She watched her handmaiden closely, only slightly surprised when the girl first turned pale and was blushing then. They might have trained her to sweet-talk her Lady and how to keep her from too much thinking with a few primitive tricks. But when the going got tough, the web of lies of that scrawny kid would be torn to pieces within two minutes. "Don't you want me to be of clear mind?"
"How can you say that, milady?" Within seconds, Viwin had tears in her eyes. She beat her chest with her palm, feigning shock. "Have I not always tried to be your friend?"
"Why are you yelling like that?" Pursuing another growing suspicion, Éowyn ran to the door. She could only just see a soldier run around the corner but couldn't make out his face anymore.
"Who was that?" Convinced at last that the elves had been right about everything, Éowyn spun around, ready to get all the information she needed out of her treacherous handmaiden, even with violence, if necessary. She closed the door so that there was no way the women could flee, a decision that almost turned into a disaster.
Before she knew what was happening, Viwin rushed her. A knife was glistening in her hand raised high. Due to Éowyn's surprise, she managed to push her back against the door. The handmaiden obviously relied on all those calming teas to have weakened her Lady so much that she wouldn't stand a chance against her. A triumphing smile distorted her face. "Rohan lowlife … Dirty grooms! No one wants you here in Gondor!" She would almost have succeeded in ramming the knife into Éowyn's unprotected throat.
At the last moment, Éowyn managed to push the woman back with a hard kick, to duck away under Viwin's arm and punch her in the stomach with all of her strength. As the woman went down coughing and gasping for air, the shock slowly started to melt away from her. The energy of a fight flowed through her body, something she hadn't experienced in a long time. It had been different even in the war. Today, it was her home and her court that were being attacked, her family. She had been betrayed and manipulated, for months. Anger overwhelmed her, anger on this so innocent-seeming young woman who'd almost claimed her life.
Losing her temper, she kicked Viwin's wrist next so that the knife was being hurled away. "That's how a groom learns how to defend herself," she hissed, raising her fist to get rid of the enemy for good when the girl suddenly started to sob, raising her arms protectively.
This time, the tears were real. "I'm sorry! Please don't kill me! I didn't want any of this to happen, believe me! I want us to have peace in this land, too …"
"That insight comes a little late." Éowyn could impossibly feel bad for this woman. Maybe later. Right now, she had other priorities. "Where is the soldier going?"
"To the dungeons. They freed Barhit. They want …" Viwin paused just as abruptly as she had suddenly started to talk, obviously fearing that Éowyn would snap like that again.
"What?" Éowyn fished for the edge of the tablecloth and yanked it her way so that everything on it – vases, plates, even a small marble statue of her horse – fell to the ground and shattered. It didn't matter. Thanks to the noise outside, no one would hear it. Statues could be replaced.
"Keep talking!" She reached for Viwin's knife in agitation, actually just to cut the cloth into pieces, but the handmaiden startled as if she'd hit her again, apparently seeing that as a threat.
"They want to kill the elves. That's all I know. Please, they hardly talked to me about anything …"
"Shut up." Éowyn yanked Viwin's arms behind her back, binding them with a knot that the young woman would hopefully not be able to open before gagging her with a second cloth. The brutal approach made her feel bad but in that regard, she had to agree with Faramir: Sometimes, her heart was too soft. This woman had tried to kill her. Though she might be regretting it now, Éowyn couldn't risk her calling for help.
She wanted to run outside already when she remembered something that led her back to the bedroom. One thing that Faramir had drilled into her head, again and again, was to never enter a fight unprotected. With hasty movements, she strapped on the top of her shield maiden armor, simply wearing it over her nightgown. The weapon's belt with her sword on top of that … That had to do.
In passing, she reached for a long cloak without knowing exactly why. There was actually no reason to hide, now that she finally knew what was going on in this house. However, she couldn't say if and how many Stewardaides except for that one soldier were being near her right now. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea, pretending to be clueless for now.
Now there was nothing keeping her in her chambers anymore. She ran down to the dungeon as quickly as her legs carried her. The very dungeon that she actually shouldn't be entering according to Faramir's instructions. Never had she regretted it more to meet one of his requests.
Aragorn, Arwen, and their savior had almost reached Minas Tirith already when they spotted an only too well-known rider on a huge stallion in the distance. They all basically took a breath of relief at the same time.
Mithrandir on his part had probably spotted them a while ago because he was headed straight for them so that they met at the street leading to the city gate. "I can see, the King is coming home."
The wizard allowed himself a smile for his friends and nodded at Langhour appreciatively. "I had hoped to see the Dúnedain here. One of you was enough already to bring light into the darkness of these days."
"If we'd had enough time, more of us would be here right now. I hope, next time people won't wait to call us when there are such big problems in the first place." Langhour couldn't hide a certain sharpness in his voice.
Aragorn ignored it for the moment.
"I'm afraid, coming home would be said too much, mellon. There are still too many problems that need to be solved immediately." And yet, the relief remained to be able to count on the help of another mighty ally now. After squeezing Langhour's shoulder for a last brief moment, he let himself slip from the horse as carefully as possible. At least he didn't collapse immediately. Eating something on the way had helped, just like chewing a few pain-relieving herbs from Langhour's stash.
"If I'm reading it right which direction you're coming come, you do hopefully have news for me that will take some of my worries from me."
"The night is too short for explanations. Emyn Arnen has its landlord back, so my path leads me to the capital." Mithrandir looked as if he'd prefer to carry on immediately.
And Shadowfax was prancing as if trying to emphasize his rider's words. He even almost rammed Aragorn when Aragorn wormed his way through between the horses to get to the one that his substitute was ponying for him.
"If you're going to Minas Tirith, I can ride to South Ithilien with a good conscience."
Aragorn noticed Mithrandir's critical glance of course. "Save your breath. It could all end tonight, Mithrandir. I don't want to risk even more damage or even death just because I didn't accept another challenge out of weakness. I won't grant the Stewardaides this triumph."
"I'll do my best to soothe the people in your stead." Mithrandir's eyes searched the city walls where far more torches seemed to be burning than they usually did at this hour.
"Take a few of your soldiers with you anyway. With all due respect to valor, Elessar …"
"He already has one by his side." Langhour ignored Mithrandir's annoyed glance when he dared to interrupt him.
Without further ado, he dismounted too and came to stand behind Aragorn who was still trying in vain to gather enough strength to get up on the horse. He lifted him up by folding his hands under Aragorn's bent leg so that he could swing the other one over the saddle.
"While the King couldn't count on his folk so far in this crisis, now I'm not going to leave his side anymore. I'll be like his shadow." This time, the critical tone in his voice was only aimed at himself. After all, his folk could have got the idea themselves to make sure that everything was being alright in Gondor. They all had made mistakes.
Arwen spoke up before Aragorn was even finished deciding what to think about the change of plans. "Knowing that a Dúnadan always means what he says gives me hope that nothing else will happen to my husband tonight." She steered her horse next to Langhour's and rested a grateful hand on his shoulder. "Help him keep the word that he gave to me earlier."
Only when the man had nodded at her solemnly, she looked at Aragorn sternly. "It's alright. Where could I be safer than in the protection of a wizard?"
She forced a half-hearted wink for him, but then pointed south unambiguously. In spite of how angry she had been with her best elvish friend herself for so long, she was of course still worried about Legolas.
The question that tortured Aragorn and her the most would still have to wait for now.
"Come on, Your Majesty. It's not only your husband who looks like he'll be falling off his horse any second."
Arwen just nodded silently and pulled the hood of Langhour's grey and blue cloak farther down her face so that it was now not only hiding her dress littered with bloodstains any longer. She had a feeling, it would be better to get to the Citadel as unseen as possible.
And indeed, upon arrival at the city gate, the noise had them realize immediately, something was off.
"Your Majesty!" When they approached, the soldier at the gate – that he was being alone was unusual enough – recognized her immediately and came to meet her in relief. "We feared the worst!"
Though the man could hardly hide his happiness about the Queen being alive, his clear restlessness was hard to ignore. "Where is His Majesty? Did something happen to him?"
"He is alright. He's on his way to South Ithilien to meet the Steward." Arwen signaled the man to be quieter and consciously failed to mention that there were problems in Emyn Arnen. They didn't need another reason for unrest among the folk right now.
"Where is the rest of you?" She didn't like it that the city was such an easy target now of all times. Even though the Stewardaides were being active elsewhere, one could never be sure they wouldn't seize such an opportunity.
"Either searching for you or being up there in the Citadel. There are new flyers. The citizens are almost out of control. They think that the elves of Cair Andros have killed you and the Steward. It can't be long before they will call for action." The man lowered his head, visibly embarrassed by the voices of Men already speaking up against the very folk that the Queen was a part of again.
"Well, that's what we expected," Mithrandir growled. "You have to hold a speech as soon as you're feeling better, Your Majesty."
"The whole city would be burning before that was the case. As long as I'm able to talk, that will have to do."
Arwen was more relieved than ever now that Tarisilya had retired to Lórien, no matter how little she had liked that dangerous journey in the beginning. Such an uprising imminent in the city could have ended very badly for Legolas' wife.
Spurring her horse on in determination, she ordered the soldier to remain silent about her return for the moment. They couldn't let anyone stop them on the way to the top level.
The catastrophe's extent became quickly visible in the city rings. Many small groups of citizens flocked together in the middle of the street, forging plans in the dark or even ranting about the elves in Ithilien openly. Arwen couldn't see any weapons yet but it was only a matter of time before the first of metal would be glistening in the glow of the flames. The hated Stewardaid flyers had been posted everywhere. As soon as the city guards took them down, new ones had already been hung up just a few minutes later.
There was more than pair of eyes following Arwen mistrustfully, Mithrandir was being ogled grimly as well. After all, people knew that the wizard was a good friend of the elves. It was probably only respect and fear of the Istar, too, that kept the citizens from checking who was riding beside him there.
The guards at the Citadel gate mistrusted people hiding their faces even more in times like these and stopped the two of them.
"I need to see the chief advisor of the King immediately. It's urgent, so lower your weapons." Mithrandir visibly had to keep himself from just letting Shadowfax tear past the men.
"Verilas is in an important meeting and has forbidden every visit. You will have to wait." The soldier shifted his weight from one foot to another, feeling obviously bad about having to reject Mithrandir of all people.
"Well, maybe he'll want to see his Queen if friends of the realm are not important enough." Arwen angrily pulled back her hood but stopped the soldier when he started to apologize in surprise immediately.
"It's alright, you're only doing your duty. Please get Verilas to the throne room immediately."
Ignoring her appearance, Arwen thrust the reins of her horse into the hand of a servant in front of the King's House and hurried to the building's biggest hall. She had never cared less about etiquette. She just had to pause every now and then when she started to feel dizzy, to wipe her eyes in irritation. Mithrandir's admonishing side-glance was another thing she ignored masterfully. She could only rest when there was no longer a danger of people taking the law into their own hands.
She just had sat down on her throne next to Aragorn's, a little smaller but just as richly adorned, when Verilas stormed towards her already, together with the rest of the advisors. She couldn't even say hello to the people because she was being showered with questions from all sides immediately and because in their excitement, the men didn't even hear Arwen's voice that was being so quiet right now.
Only a few strict words from Mithrandir had them go silent.
"During your kidnapping, the Stewardaides have already done a good job." Once Arwen had briefly summarized what had happened to her, Verilas started to talk.
"When Faramir vanished next then, new flyers showed up immediately that are blaming the elves for that as well. The folk is anxious enough to trust such words only too gladly. If the real problems in South Ithilien that you just told us about would go public now, the situation would escalate. But now that we know, I can inform the citizens. Until you'll come back from the healers, the problem will surely be solved already, Your Majesty."
Verilas surely didn't miss that Arwen's hand was almost casually stroking the fabric of her dress over her belly, again and again. Or how she was repeatedly closing her eyes for a few seconds and then blinked sluggishly. Just like Mithrandir, he hardly left her out of his sight for even a second.
That the wizard had long noticed what bothered Arwen so much was something she was being pretty certain about, and not only because of the many special abilities that an Istar was being blessed with. Mithrandir knew her far too well to not be able to read certain gestures, to not notice the ongoing fear in her eyes.
"I thought you were famous for your foresight, Verilas." Mithrandir heavily braced himself on his staff. "People are being so distraught that they'll soon attack anyone they think suspicious. A few pretty words from a kingly advisor can't improve such a mood."
Verilas straightened his body, shaky with age and sickness, and tied his slightly messy grey hair back from his face. Arwen's return had given him some of the strength back that the last days of fear must have robbed him of. "Nonsense. I've been executing this office for longer than just a few days, you know."
He pointed at Arwen who felt more miserable by the minute. "Do you want to ask the Queen to do this, when she's like that? She needs help immediately. Who knows what traces she's walked away with from all this!"
Now the other members of the advisor council spoke up as well. Within seconds, an utter mess arose once more. The turmoil drowned out even Mithrandir's strong voice.
Arwen had already had enough after a few futile gestures of her own. She gathered all her strength. "Shut up, all of you!"
She used the moment when the people were indeed being silent and looked at her in embarrassment, to take a deep breath. "I know now why so much is going wrong around here. If even the King's advisors fail to have a civil conversation, how are the citizens supposed to keep their calm faced with such a crisis?"
With some effort, she pushed herself to her feet, cutting Verilas off when he wanted to say something. "No, Mithrandir is right. People have to see me with their own eyes, or they will see your words as an attempt to stall them. It won't take long. And I'll let them treat me immediately afterward, don't worry."
She didn't even wait for an objection that was inevitable anyway; instead, she hurried out of the throne room to quickly put on a new dress in her chambers and clean her hair and her face at least so that she would no longer look as if a new war had already broken out.
Mithrandir and Verilas followed her uninvited while the rest of the council stayed behind, being immersed in discussions once more already.
"Your Majesty, I know you don't want to hear that right now, but …"
Verilas couldn't even finish his careful remark because Arwen was faltering for a moment.
He caught up with her, worried, but she just pushed his offered arm away.
"I'm fine, I'm just tired. Rest will have to wait until …" Arwen managed to take exactly one more step before her legs gave out under her and she slumped to the ground.
If a situation's hopelessness became more crushing with every passing second, when even the hundredth contemplation offered no solution and icy silence was trying to choke you, at some point, you were glad when someone decided to break it. With even his stash of herbs used up, Thranduil knew every single square of this damn cell by now, could have named the number of bars on all three sides.
Thus, it was quite a relief when Legolas was finally saying something again. It just wasn't exactly something that Thranduil had wanted to hear. "Talk to me, ada. Tell me about her."
He stopped his most recent wandering through the cell in confusion – by now he'd started to walk in perfectly symmetrical circles – to look next door though he could still hardly make out anything there.
The rubbery mass of various herbs that he was chewing on had grown in size significantly so that he had to push it aside with his tongue impatiently before he could talk. Which gave him at least a moment to figure out what his occasionally slightly chaotic thinking son was talking about this time. "About Ilya?" That was most likely; after all, he'd been seeing more of Tarisilya lately than her husband.
"About nana." You didn't have to be a healer to know that the infections from Legolas' wound were spreading more and more and would soon reach the heart before the last few minutes would turn into a real pain delirium. It was understandable that Legolas was trying to distract himself from that.
But this was definitely not the right subject to do so. Especially not after all the arguments they'd recently had. "Why?", Thranduil asked slowly to buy time.
A tactic that Legolas would usually have seen through quickly, but right now, his mind was being trapped too firmly in fever and also in fear for that. "I can't remember her. It's easier to think of someone if you don't have their image in your head anyway."
"Another time." Thranduil tried his best to sound confident. If he had actually let Legolas feel right now how much he was worrying about him, that wouldn't have helped anyone.
The night was almost over; there would definitely be at least a new group of guards on their shift entering the dungeon soon. People who would hopefully be on the right side and get the urgently needed healer immediately.
Until then, they all had to put their needs in the background, to let rationality master their emotions, if the consequence of their actions shouldn't be a smoldering conflict exploding.
A quiet scream interrupted these thoughts once more. "What is it?"
"Other than that damn arm swelling up so much that it will burst out of that cuff soon?", Legolas replied aggressively, between the odd moan that pure willpower couldn't prevent at this point.
"Talk to me! If you want to avoid the past once more in your selfishness, tell me anything else. If I have to stare into this damn darkness any longer, I don't need the Stewardaides to lose my mind anymore."
"We can hardly see anything ourselves anymore by now if that's a consolation." Camhanar tried to mediate, but he found exactly the wrong words.
"Sure. You have no idea, none of you. Was it not you, complaining that I never talked about it? Do you really want to know how it is? It's like being buried alive. The utter black comes to meet you like something palpable devouring your sight first, and then your mind. You cannot breathe. Every movement is like walking through Moria, on a bridge giving in with every step. The noise is so loud, you think you'll go deaf. You can't eat because the intense taste is choking you. There are no directions left, no stars, no sun, nothing to tell you where to turn to, or whom to turn to …" At his last words, his strength left Legolas. The moans of pain that had already made the whole outburst hard to understand, were gaining the upper hand.
While the others went silent with shock, a strange kind of calmness was suddenly spreading in Thranduil. He even managed to start moving. Seldom before had he seen the many mistakes he had made in his long life clearer than in this moment. If before the War of the Ring, he'd already allowed Legolas to live the life of an independent warlord instead of always slowing him down in the army out of worry for him, if his son had experienced it earlier how it was to lose people directly subject to him, it might never have come to this crisis. In all other regards, he'd tried all the more to let Legolas go his own way and had successfully told himself that he was doing the right thing.
He hadn't gone with Legolas on one of his journeys through Middle-earth even once. That he hadn't been able to leave the forest had been a very convenient excuse.
He couldn't remember if his son had ever had any interest in an elf or a she-elf before meeting Tarisilya, not even some childish crush as an elfling. These were things that the childminder and the servants had never included in their daily reports. After all, there had been more important things to talk about.
Legolas had spent several hundred uninterrupted years in the woods, completely voluntarily, though he had been drawn back outside into the world more by the day. Just to stay by his badly injured father's side. In spite of Thranduil not even being able to admit how much he needed this closeness after he'd almost been eaten by a vulgar wood spider. Had he actually said thank you even a single time?
In spite of all the – completely normal – initial problems that Legolas was having with his settlement, Thranduil could look with pride upon the matured fighter that was his son who had shown in more than one regard a better eye for the essentials and who, in particular, had more heart and emotion than he did himself. And though that was surely not thanks to him, Legolas had always come back home in the end, again and again.
It was time to finally give back some of that unconditional love and loyalty. This damn sickness that Legolas had not gone to see anyone but his father about so far, might be the only thing really connecting them. He wouldn't leave him alone with that now too. "You know who to turn to, ion nín. That was never different. And we'll talk about your mother if you want, but not now. Her memory will not serve as an escape from pain; it's too precious for that."
For a few seconds, it stayed silent. Then Legolas' breathing evened out a little. "What about Ilya and the child?"
This new attempt at suppressing the situation was one Thranduil was ready to grant. "She fears for you more than it's good for the baby."
"I know." That sounded even quieter, guilty. "I need to …"
A loud clank of the chains sounded when Legolas suddenly brought his head up because, in spite of his fever, he'd heard something still hidden from the others. "Someone's coming." The whole unbridled hate for the Stewardaides in him returned immediately when he could identify the voices outside. "Barhit."
"Careful." Thranduil smoothly left all fatherly care from that conversation behind and nodded at the two younger elves with newly strengthened authority. "Make sure to get out of here the first chance you get."
Tauriel's sneery look was enough of an answer. She had witnessed enough this night to not miss out on a chance to finally take revenge on the persons responsible under any circumstance.
A discussion was moot. The door to the cell wing was yanked open, four soldiers entered.
Before the elves could consider finally raising their voices to call for help, the last man locked the door from the inside. When the men relit the torches, there was no doubt left. These were indeed the same people that had already taken the elves to the dungeon initially. One of them had pretended to be a healer and had caused Legolas' bad condition.
But the man that had Thranduil's full attention was the one with the scar on his left cheek that not even the armor's helmet could cover completely. Just as little as the anticipation glistening in his eyes or how he was slowly, almost lovingly running his hand over a conspicuously huge sword on his belt. It was Andúril. With the same concentrated focus, he took a dagger from his belt, clearly a work of an elvish forge as well.
Too late, far too late to still accomplish anything. They would have needed to inform someone earlier. Given the sudden noise in the house and outside, no one would hear shouts from the cellar now.
Thranduil feebly braced himself on the cell door when he realized how wrong the decision was that he'd made earlier. They had waited for too long. Now there was nothing left for him to do.
While he was still busy pondering if there were any words, maybe even some plea or promise that would help –already knowing how hopeless that was when dealing with beings who were going so far just to reach a completely moronic goal –, his eyes met Barhit's. Though Thranduil tried not to let it show that his heart was suddenly racing, the Stewardaides leader noticed something that only had his grin grow. Maybe the likeness between Legolas and him.
What seemed like the death blow for every hope in the first moment, turned into an unexpected advantage instead. "Get them out of there. I want them to watch." The guy opened the door of Legolas' cell with flying fingers and threw one of his people the keys so that he would unlock the other.
"Your Majesty …" Tauriel was already losing her nerves again, stepping up to Thranduil, but one of the soldiers yanked her back before she could talk to him.
"Shut up." The man put his sword to her throat and pushed her out of the cell.
Now it was Camhanar's restraint failing him, though he had been the one to keep most calm the whole time. The fear for his wife went sky-high within seconds. He wanted to jump forward to attack the soldier, to help Tauriel, but the second man slammed the handle of a lance violently into his unprotected chest to take him down. A loud crack revealed that both shoulder and collarbone protested against the rude treatment.
Barhit raised his brows in interest when Thranduil followed the third soldier out of the cell, unfazed by the brief incident, kept in check by the sword tip right next to his neck. "An elf with priorities. Fascinating. Your Majesty, huh? Well, that's even better. You can deliver your son's body to your people for me, with the best regards from the citizens of Gondor."
Visibly enjoying himself, he let the tip of his dagger dance over Thranduil's throat. As there was no reaction, he turned away in disappointment and entered the other cell instead. "You better get used to the thought that the elves have no more say in these realms. For your kind, there's no place on Middle-earth left. This gang of strays that your son gathered on our land, they're not the saviors of Mankind, and the so-called King is only a fraud from the North whose time is already up. Isn't it ironic when you've been fighting such truths for as long as you have and then you have to see it for yourself how the world is going back to normal? Quite devastating, isn't it? Maybe you'd rather want to die yourself before your son will?"
With his weapon drawn, not looking back anymore, Barhit approached Legolas, apparently not missing the shamefully uncontrolled hiss though, when Thranduil gasped sharply. "Hold his head. Do not let him look away. I want him to enjoy every second."
The last of Thranduil's feigned calmness vanished at the latest when someone roughly grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look his son in the eye. Never could he have imagined a situation when he would downright wish to go just as blind as Legolas had last night. But right now, he would gladly have accepted every darkness before his eyes.