"The guards reported, someone is on their way to the settlement ... When I need you, I know better where to find you than where to look for my own wife. Should I be concerned?"

Grinning, Camhanar swung up onto the big oak tree at the edge of the settlement, the long, thick limbs and the view towards the river of which tempted all of them to spend time there, contemplating regularly. He briefly lowered his head in the usual gesture of respect towards his leader.

"I know why you came." Legolas returned the greeting just as fleetingly. It was a relief that he was finally able to look at people straight on again when he did. It had been only five minutes ago that Tauriel had entered their hut with the news that Legolas' eyesight had surprisingly started to return overnight. Now they couldn't help but wonder what that meant for him.

"And the answer is: I don't know."

"I could easily understand if you wanted to follow Lord Glorfindel," Camhanar started hesitatingly.

After months of insecurity and fanatic emotionality, Legolas had found back his balance at his coronation at the latest. The determination in his movements, even before his recovery, and this piercing glance made it hard, trying to give him of all people advice. But sometimes, even a wise leader needed a helping hand.

"How good is your condition really? Tauriel tends to be a little enthusiastic. And you didn't exactly give her time for an examination."

"I needed a few minutes of silence to find out what I'm supposed to do now. I'll go back to her later. But she won't be able to tell me anything other than what I already know. It will take me a while to make out more than blurred shapes again, that's always been the case so far. And until someone finds out what it is, it can happen again anytime." Carefully as always, Legolas plucked a little leaf from a twig and started to rip off the jagged edges systematically.

The sight was too captivating for Camhanar to answer for a moment. This morning, even here, outside the camp, barefoot, wearing wide, casual white clothes and not his circlet, Legolas looked exactly the part that he'd now finally accepted playing in the settlement for good. Even more than in the very beginning when there hadn't even been any talk about the Stewardaides yet.

They all had found their way here thanks to their love for raw nature, and to let their lives on Middle-earth end in reclusiveness. Though this area was still plagued by many worries and difficulties that might never go away completely: For the first time in a long while, it felt as if they were able to sit and really relax in their home again and enjoy a sunrise.

"I'm glad you'll be alright again at least for now." That was the last Camhanar had to say about the subject. Legolas was still clearly showing the fear of infinite blindness. That was something he needed to talk to about with someone closer to him than his subjects.

"But I don't think, you should risk a trip yet. Not only because of your eyesight. This …" He pointed at Legolas' bandaged shoulder. "… will also hinder you in a possible fight. You can't use a bow like that." Seeing the other clearly startle, he cursed himself immediately for starting the doom-mongering once more. "Besides, the Steward would surely be glad if you helped us in Emyn Arnen. It would improve your relationship with him."

"I am aware of all of this." Legolas twisted what was left of that leaf between his fingertips, absent-mindedly, and then threw it aside.

Two grey and black squirrels immediately jumped to the ground from the limbs above them, hoping, the elves that they'd got to know as being very generous, had dropped another small treat. They fought over the leaf for a moment before realizing that there weren't maybe a few crumbs of lembas for them to snatch and returned to their nest disappointedly, with a nagging whine.

Grinning at the little scene, Camhanar had to try and keep up with Legolas who was suddenly in a big hurry to get back to the settlement. "Will you …?"

"For now, I'll say hello to our guest and hope that it's a messenger from Lórien," Legolas replied dryly.

He briefly smiled at the other elves who hadn't heard the news yet and eyed him excitedly. He was still staggering a little, but he could already orientate himself far better, finding the narrow, overgrown path without a problem that one recognized only as the one leading to the settlement if one knew about it.

Judging by the ranting in the distance, the guest didn't know. It wasn't a voice sounding familiar to Camhanar immediately, or only from a vague memory. All the more surprised he was that Legolas was smiling wider by the second.

Expecting a man or an elf, Camhanar almost missed the slightly stocky and small silhouette with wild red hair and a long beard who was searching their way through the thick undergrowth, panting loudly. And now he did remember, though the images of the mourning ceremony in Minas Tirith back then in his head, or of Elessar's wedding, weren't exactly pretty ones.

And for his taste, this certain Ring Companion had taken far too much time, showing up here. "Oh, so the Master Dwarf has found his way to Gondor after all."

"If you don't want to find out firsthand how much my aim has recovered, I never want to hear that disparaging tone from you again when it comes to our friends."

Legolas raised his hand in a greeting when the dwarf noticed them and approached them in relief.

"A pure labyrinth!" Gimli kept on complaining. "Why do elves always have to hide so deeply that not even your confidants can find you? Scouts on trees, secret paths, nonsense! Two seasoned warriors with proper axes standing guard, and these King's enemies will be history!"

"I'm happy to see you too," Legolas smirked.

"I don't think I ever properly introduced you. Please forgive me. Gimli, son of Glóin, Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond … Camhanar, forger of Andúril and our blacksmith, too, and my other right hand here, next to Thondrar."

"A blacksmith, huh?" Gimli braced himself on his ax with a hum, to eye Camhanar from head to toe. A grin lit his knobbly face when he scanned Camhanar's hands, his broad shoulders. "A worker, indeed. Very good! Someone has to show these people here how to break a sweat."

"I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance officially." Camhanar took a small bow, the praise making him feel a lot more forgiving already. "The Lord always has many good things to say about you. We gladly offer you our hospitality."

"Very gracious." Gimli didn't look too enthusiastic. It was no secret what Dwarves thought of elvish meals.

Besides, he'd surely not come all the way from Rohan for an unexpected visit without a reason. Camhanar wasn't surprised when he murmured something about a conversation in private.

"I'll be back soon." Legolas dismissed Camhanar with a restless flicker in his eyes and took his friend aside a little bit, this time using a path that you didn't need an ax for.

"A Lord, huh?" As soon as the very strong-built, black-haired Noldo had left them alone, Gimli did no longer even try to go for a somewhat friendly tone. He dropped onto a tree trunk and rummaged for his pipe in his vest pocket.

"I just couldn't talk ada out of it," Legolas replied with a weak smile. "He didn't want me to live completely without a title though I've renounced my heritage a while ago. Because Ilya is keeping hers and the child will remain in the line of succession alone. You could have sent a letter, Gimli. I've been trying to visit you for more than a year. You must think I forgot you. Rest assured, as soon as my duties let me …"

"Why didn't you call me?" Gimli only listened to his stuttering until his pipe was burning, then he blew a big smoke ring towards Legolas, a very effective way to shut an elf up because one could be sure that they were gasping for air for a moment. "Don't you know that I would have come immediately if you'd just said the word? If I'd had the feeling that you wanted me to for even a minute? No, actually, the King and the Steward have to vanish at the same time before they get me back here."

"I did mean to." Legolas sat down next to him with a sigh.

So his friend wasn't still angry because they had had to postpone their journeys through Middle-earth at all. Technically, they'd already been able to solve that at Aragorn's wedding anyway, and Legolas still was determined to keep his promise.

This was about Gimli feeling hurt in his pride once more. Since the battle in Emyn Arnen, Legolas realized more with every passing day that he'd been but a shade of the warrior he's used to be in the last few months. He'd probably not even stay on Middle-earth long enough to make all amends. And knowing that he'd drifted apart from people who'd saved his life more than once hurt the most.

"My opinions have almost torn Aragorn and me apart already. I didn't want to burden you with this on top."

"You were afraid I could talk you out of this whole thing." The explanation seemed to be good enough for Gimli. No matter how stubborn Dwarves could be, their bonds to others could often be just as persistent. If that was the case, you didn't need many words to understand each other.

"You wouldn't have managed to." A heavy burden was taken off Legolas' heart. There was hardly anything that bothered him as much as having so little time for his Companions. Elves sometimes forgot how quickly a few decades could pass and that you had to treat relationships with short-lived beings very cautiously.

"I guess I'll just let you think so."

Gimli slapped his shoulder so tightly – the healthy one, fortunately – that Legolas was almost toppled from the trunk; then he silently dragged on his pipe for a few minutes. It wasn't hard to see that something was still on his mind that he didn't want to say immediately.

"Come on, spill it before your beard grows even longer." Legolas didn't mean to be impolite but there was still a very difficult decision he had to make. Maybe Gimli with his slightly simple and especially because of that sometimes so clear thinking could help him with it.

"His Majesty Éomer came to see me." Gimli nibbled so hard on the pipe stem as if he wanted to bite a piece off. "Not a pleasant visit. He was in East Lórien. He says the Princess looks like death. When I heard that, I had my people in Moria deliver a present for her immediately that will hopefully protect her a little. Is it not custom for elves to take care of their pregnant partners? I was told, elvish children need both parents during pregnancy and in their first years."

"They do, indeed. And since I'm failing at that so spectacularly, I have one more reason to thank you for your efforts," Legolas sighed with half a smirk.

"I would much rather have Ilya here with me myself, believe me, especially so the baby won't suffer from my absence. But until a few days ago, Gondor was a very dangerous place. I just wanted her to be safe from the Stewardaides." He rested his head in his hands when the memory of the messy situation, had every relaxation from earlier dissolve into thin air. "Instead …"

Only now, he realized that Gimli must have been traveling for a while already – he did seem a little scraggy from the journey too – and couldn't know the details of the latest developments yet. Quickly, he enlightened him.

"So? When do we leave?"

"What?" Legolas had expected an objection and didn't understand right away.

"A proper hunt is exactly what my old bones need." Gimli jumped up adventurously and swung his ax a little as if he'd already spotted some Stewardaides in the distance. "No adventure since the war, no big fight … It's about time I give our royal friend in Minas Tirith a hand again since he still can't handle a few savages alone."

Legolas was at a loss for words. At last, he came to stand before Gimli and grabbed him by his shoulders. "I don't know what I got right to deserve friends like you, but know that I would fight by your side anytime and for any reason, Gimli, son of Glóin."

The dwarf murmured something embarrassed into his beard and stepped back. "So, can we go?"

"No." Legolas shook his head in determination. "I have already risked the trust of people close to me far too often. Two of the elves I sent to Lórien treasure Ilya enough to give their lives for her, just like me. And someone who's ghosted a Balrog before doesn't need to fear a few misguided men. In the last fight, I brought my people into danger because I overestimated my condition. Yes, I might have made many mistakes recently, but I try never make the same one twice."

Gimli seemed a little disappointed; grumbling, he kicked a rock. "About time you get back to your senses."

"If the offer still stands, I'll gladly accept your help anyway." Legolas accepted the little dig like a warrior and quickly changed the subject, to distract himself alone. Now he could at least find something to get busy himself and didn't need to wonder every minute of the day if Tarisilya really wouldn't be acting recklessly. "There's lots to do in Emyn Arnen. The Prince's house is wide open to anyone entering it with wrong intentions."

"Do we have to show Men how to build again?" Gimli's face lit up already. "I'll be expected home again soon but they can surely do without me for a few weeks. Come on, let's go!"

"Don't you think you should eat something first? You'll be just as thin as an elf soon." Legolas winked at him and quickly went ahead before he could be dealt an unfriendly blow.

"Elves! They just have no respect!" Already back to ranting again, his friend followed him to the settlement. His loudly growling stomach had Legolas suspect, he was secretly happy about the offer after all.

By the time, most of the passengers had got off, the Galadhrim captain was noticeably at the end of his patience. The ship wouldn't lay in this harbor at Rauros forever.

"We need to carry on, milady." Since there was no one around anymore at this point, save for the ship's commander and the crew, consisting of just a few men, they did no longer need to bother with the masquerade.

"I'm not finished here." Tarisilya pretended to mix several substances into a tincture using a small vial while her other hand pressed a bloody fabric onto Barhit's lower arm. Glass clinked against glass; some of the fluid was being spilled, again and again, coloring the ramshackle bench dark. She still had no idea how by all the stars she was supposed to pull this thing off believably.

"Wait onshore. I need a moment alone before we can get the last stretch of the way over with."

"Not happening. You know what the Lord said." The Galadhel tried hard not to roll his eyes at her.

"What's supposed to happen now that the ship is empty?" Tarisilya's voice took on a shrill edge, sounding almost hysterical. She tried with all she had not to lose her nerves.

"Just hurry." The captain crossed his arms behind his back, not budging an inch.

"If I may …" Barhit eyed the elf disparagingly and pointed over the railing, at the hills of the surrounding area. "People in these lands had to deal with orcs hanging about here ever since the war. The path down to the Anduin is dangerous. Maybe you should rather make go first that you don't bring this pretty lady into danger."

"Save the advice for the villagers you left behind." The captain wasn't ready to have anyone talk to him in such a condescending tone.

"Milady, we …"

"Didn't you hear what he said?" It wasn't difficult for Tarisilya, sounding like she was ready to panic when she realized that Barhit had just cleverly robbed her of the last chance to alert the others. If she hadn't played along, that knife would have been in use again. "I don't want to meet any orcs! I'm not going anywhere before I know if there's any of them out there! Besides, I have to get to an empty room for a moment before I can go on a march. I'm pregnant, in case you forgot. Do you want to watch me while I throw up too? Go!"

That was too much even for the actually very patient captain to ignore. With his hands turned to angry fists, he turned away and ordered the others to come with him.

Upon reaching the shore, he ordered two soldiers to control the area of the Parth Galen and two others to secure the narrow, steep path downwards at Amon Hen. Together with the remaining warrior, he looked back at the ship again and again.

Barhit didn't move for many more long minutes although the crew was already preparing the ship for the return journey and all the other passengers were out of sight. The shore was emptying until only silence prevailed, broken by nothing but a few birdcalls.

Tarisilya only understood what the man was waiting for when the captain stared towards where he had sent his people with increased regularity, where there wasn't anything stirring anymore either. Had something maybe happened to the other elves as well? What if Barhit was having some men nearby?

At another fleeting look back over her shoulder, her eyes met the captain's in the distance, and finally, finally, he seemed to notice something in her face that confused him. With an agitated nod, he sent the last soldier away to look for the others and started to move towards her in determination.

Her protector hadn't even made it two steps towards the plank when a frightened scream escaped Tarisilya because she could see another weapon flash from the corner of her eyes, far too quickly, far too unexpectedly to even think about doing something about it.

The sound startled the other elf. He tried to start running, but his legs wouldn't obey anymore. Dumbfounded, he raised his hand when something soaked his tunic, cutting it on the blade that had gouged a gaping wound into his neck.

His strength leaving him, he went to the ground, gasping for air that his body did no longer have. Tarisilya's call had swallowed the quiet whistle of the missile and turned the actual warning into a death sentence.

"I thought we talked about what you are not supposed to do." So far, Barhit had managed to get his prisoner to obey by pressing the tip of his knife against her wrist. Now he had to get the message across by punching her face, hard, to keep her from possibly screaming again and alerting even more people to the scene.

With a shoulder that hadn't even started to heal, he didn't have more than one or two strenuous knife throws like that in him – a Kingdom for having a proper bow and a few arrows right now! –, and another dagger was reserved for one of the crew members already that came running, thinking, they had to play the hero.

At least these people didn't wear armor, so he didn't have to aim that accurately. The man was already laying on the ground before he'd got closer than a few feet to him.

That also meant, his right arm hardly obeyed him anymore though. With clenched teeth, Barhit went to work. For a change, he was actually grateful for his often so annoying uncontrolled temper today. He had dealt out a worse blow than he'd actually wanted. His prisoner had hit her head on the railing and had blacked out. Therefore, he didn't need any more threats or restraints but could heave the she-elf into one of the dinghies at the rear with some effort, thanks to the small weight of these people.

He didn't even bother with the multiply knotted ropes but just cut them with another dagger so that the small boat slipped into the water by itself. Always keeping an eye on the rest of the ship, he jumped down as well.

The other crewmembers had fortunately not realized where the weapon that had killed the elf had come from. A few of them ran ashore rashly, the others hurried to finish preparing the ship for departure, fearing that a whole army would rush them any minute.

Barhit would have reached the eastern shore before the other elves would come back. For now, the ship gave him enough cover. By the time, the elves would spot him and reach the Amon Lhaw, he would be out of reach.

One of the burns broke open once more when he allowed himself a satisfied laugh, but he hardly even felt it. For the first time since his fatal decision to not immediately kill this savage of the North when he'd had the chance to after Lossarnach, everything went exactly as planned.

For a moment, Tarisilya had the hope that it had all only been a bad dream when she fought her way out of her dazed state and felt that she was laying on swaying, hard wooden planks, heard the noise of water surrounding her. Just a very realistic dream, sure; she'd fallen asleep in the middle of the deck, and everything else had never happened. Soon, she would be in Gondor, with her husband …

When she turned her head aside, pain exploded behind her forehead. She instinctively tried to grab her temple where she felt dried blood, but a rough rope around her wrist stopped her hands. She was wide awake immediately. Tearing her eyes open, she looked straight into the bright morning sun and quickly had to turn away again. She tried to sit up but that headache allowed hardly any movement. The left side of her face was swollen and throbbed angrily. Barhit's punch had bruised her cheekbone, maybe even broken it.

And that wasn't all the bastard was planning for her by a long shot. Her heart was racing, her breath going faster and faster. She tried to tell herself in vain that she was at least still alive. She had never been in a situation like this and was completely overwhelmed. Her family had protected her from getting into danger all her life, and on her dangerous journeys straight through two warzones in the war back then, her loyal Mearh-mare Manyala had saved her from orcs and hostile Men. This was even worse than the fight in Rohan after her wedding.

Only now that she could no longer hope for the Galadhrim to help her, she realized how much misery she was really being in. Barhit had killed one of her kin without batting a lid – a memory that wanted to cause such cruelly deep grief in her immediately, such terrible anger that she had to keep herself from screaming out loudly. There was no doubt, that guy would make good on his threats. Scared, she listened to the noises of the surroundings.

Yes, there he was; she could hear his short, hectic breathing and a horse's hoof pawing on wet grass. The clanking of metal … Even more weapons.

If he was being distracted right now and she could untie this knot somehow … Quickly, she had to realize that it was useless. The rope was so tight that her hands were bloodless, almost numb. With her lids still half-closed, she forced herself to look towards where the noises were coming from. She was lying in a small boat, right at the shore of Nen Hithoel. In the distance, she could still make out the Argonath, and the ship that had apparently left immediately after Barhit's attack.

And on the other side of the lake … She had to fight nausea when she spotted the blood-covered corpse there. There was no sign of the other Galadhrim; they'd apparently been distracted – or maybe fallen victim to assassination as well.

Barhit was standing next to a strong white horse tied to a tree at the shore. Several bags were fastened to the saddle. The horse seemed exhausted and aggressive; it had surely not just been standing there for a few minutes. Barhit had redressed and cleaned up in a haste, to improve his cover further without a doubt. He was just unfastening a bow from the saddle and strapped it on. His movements seemed impaired; every now and then, he moved his right shoulder and took a haunted look around, but they were completely alone.

Even if the rest of the Galadhrim came back, they wouldn't be able to reach her over here, as Tarisilya realized with a new shudder. Maybe they were indeed dead already. At least, it would be already over for them then …

Fear was already overwhelming her again. She should have tried to escape but the fear paralyzed her so badly that she could hardly move a muscle. Even if she'd managed to, he would have caught up with her immediately, and then …

Then what? He could long have killed her. The sick pleasure that some Secondborn took in humiliating their victims wasn't exactly news to Tarisilya. She had had to witness it up close, with regard to her own husband of all people. The memory of his broken glance, the fear of every touch, even hers, that he'd long been unable to shed, was still very present in her mind.

She doubted that someone like Barhit knew that if he maybe wanted to give in to such a low instinct, he wouldn't even have to bother with killing her anymore. Maybe it was better that way. Not only her two best friends in Gondor, but her husband, too, were probably long dead, and she was next. In the end, it would be a relief to close her eyes for a very long time. Without Legolas, she didn't want to carry on in these realms anyway …

Tarisilya froze. There had been something, a feather-light touch on … not on, in her belly. That was impossible; it was far too early for that. Surely just her imagination. But it was enough for her to really realize what she had been thinking there for a moment.

"I'm sorry." She realized only belatedly that she had said it out loud, in a whisper, quiet enough. Talking to her baby for the first time, something she'd always avoided so far, out of fear to get disappointed again, if something would happen to this child, too. Out of fear that the connection to this tiny being inside of her could grow too quickly, too strong, although what she felt whenever this vague, gentle throb was pulsating in her soul that was the unborn's, long surpassed all feelings of love that she had ever felt.

For the first time, she realized consciously how big her belly had really become by now, how tightly it pressed against the Mithril shirt. It was her child in there, an independent, sentient being … "I'll take care of you. Nothing is going to happen to you."

This baby was a part of her husband living inside of her. No matter what she might have to go through soon … She couldn't allow herself the comfort of saying farewell to her life and taking her child with her. Even though the thought of maybe having to be without Legolas for a long time was taking her breath away, she was being needed here. There was no giving up, not now and not if this terrible suspicion would really come true. And until then, there was still hope.

With this newfound energy, she started to pull on the ropes again that didn't budge an inch though.

"Don't bother." Barhit had finally noticed that she was awake. After watching her efforts in amusement for a moment, he jumped inside the boat and bent over her.

Tarisilya tried to get her arms up instinctively, to push him away, to kick him, anything to fight him, especially when Barhit drew the knife that he had already been threatening her with the whole time. Maybe he didn't want to bother with some kind of game after all …

"Was my first warning not clear enough?" With perfect aim, not even looking, Barhit found the wound on her thigh that he had caused on the ship. Thrusting the tip of his weapon into one edge, he moved his hand in a flash.

First, it didn't even really hurt. Only when Barhit withdrew and Tarisilya saw his hand and the blade being full of blood, the shock subsided. It felt as if someone had poured acid on her skin. Every resistance forgotten for the moment, she curled up on her side with a moan, trying once more to free herself so that she could press a sleeve of her uniform on the wound. Though it hadn't nicked an artery, every blood loss could be fatal for the child.

"Do you really think you will become the leader of Gondor?" she snapped at Barhit who was watching her with visible satisfaction. "How long does it take a man like you to admit defeat to himself?"

He didn't lose his smile for even a second. "You don't have to worry your pretty head about that anymore, elf maiden. You won't be alive to see it."

This time, she saw him approach but that didn't do her any good. Her right leg didn't want to obey her properly anymore, and Barhit had his weapon ready at hand. "Don't touch me!"

"Or what? Will you lecture me, Princess?" With his free hand, he braced himself on her thigh whereupon fresh pain flashed through her leg as the wound margins were being further torn apart.

Tarisilya tried in despair to break loose, to use her arms as well as being tied up allowed it. Maybe she could punch the man strongly with her elbow, the way she had learned it from her husband – it felt like that had been an eternity ago. When the knife blade suddenly pressed against her throat, she paused immediately.

"Personally, I don't mind seeing a little more blood before I send you to your people in pieces, pretty bird, so you better cooperate." The scornfully polite form of address was forgotten. "Of course, if you prefer to die immediately …" Barhit let go of her leg provocatively as if he was only waiting for her to try and push him back again, giving him a reason to stab her.

Tarisilya stared at him with bottomless hate on her face for a few seconds and turned away then.

"I knew you could be a good girl." To her surprise, Barhit retreated and pulled her to her feet, yanked her out of the boat roughly, and pushed her ashore. He pulled her along to the horse impatiently by her restraints and mounted. "We've got a long way ahead of us, so don't give me any trouble." With the same rough movements, he heaved her upwards so that she came to lie across the horse's shoulder.

Before Tarisilya could even think of freeing herself from the uncomfortable, painful position, Barhit startled noticeably. From the corner of her eyes, she saw something thin cutting the air that hit the ground next to the horse, only barely missing it. A Lórien arrow. The Galadhrim.

Hopefully, she raised her head, trying to look at the opposite shore, but Barhit immediately grabbed her hair and pushed her down again.

A second later, the coldness of metal was pressed to her throat – the blade of a dagger. She screamed and tried to dodge it, but then the arrow bombardment stopped abruptly and she realized that Barhit didn't even want to kill her, not yet. He only needed leverage to escape.

Without removing the weapon, the enemy spurred his horse on, putting it into a quick trot, heading towards the foot of the waterfall. She could feel and smell that cold sweat was on his forehead once more, could notice how he kept on looking back over his shoulder. Slowly, he seemed to understand that he couldn't win this fight after all.

For Tarisilya, that wouldn't make a difference though. With tears endlessly streaming down her cheeks, she didn't even really see which path down her kidnapper had chosen. No matter Barhit's fate, that she herself would survive this day was becoming more unlikely by the minute.