Heirs of the King

by greenleaf-in-bloom

A six-book series, not chaptered. BOOKS ONE THROUGH FOUR COMPLETE! From after the WR. In Gondor, there has been relative peace for some time, but a shadow has been rising in the North, and in Gondor, it seems the King's family must act.

4. Book Three: Curtain of Darkness

Prologue

'My King.' 'Malgalad. How are the attacks going?' 'Very well, Your Highness. The last report said they are very optomistic. The Methnan forces are inexperienced and weak. We will avenge our men.' 'How many did you say were killed when they attacked us, Malgalad?' 'Twenty-two, Your Highness. Two scouting parties.' 'Aye. I would like to speak with the relatives of those who died, Malgalad.' 'I'm afraid that's not possible, Your Highness.' 'What? Why?' The eyes of Eomer's councillor gleamed, and he set a cold hand on the shoulder of the King. 'Because I say it isn't possible, Your Highness.' 'I understand.' 'Is it possible?' Eomer's eyes dulled yet more. His voice thick, he responded monotonously. 'No. It is not possible.' He somehow missed seeing the cold, triumphant yet unsurprised smile on his councillor's face.

Galadon was beginning to enjoy the game he played here as much as he had enjoyed questioning prisoners at his fortress. The King, of coruse, was completely blind to what was happening to him. Whenever he asked about the men who had supposedly died, 'Malgalad' would smile coldly, and the fool 'King Eomer' would be unresisting to his rare skills in coercing. Of course, Methnan had never attacked Rohirrim men. And of course, they were completely innocent. But Galadon didn't like innocent people, and if he didn't like them, they ended up the way that ridiculous turncoat Rilhir had.

Curtain of Darkness

Rain fell heavily, but the rider and horse did not halt. Too urgent was the errand to be slowed by something as small as the weather. Had an earthquake split the ground apart at their feet, the horse would have continued on towards the City. The City of Minas Tirith in Gondor, which was known as the greatest city of Men, was indeed the destination, and the rider had not stopped for days. Exhaustion was weighing down the horse's speed, or the two would have been a blur, barely distinguishable through the sheets of rain and the heavy winds. But the rain poured on, hurtling down from the sky, and eventually, the horse slowed its pace, much as the rider begged it to go on. The horse was fatigued, and had it been any other horse, and this any other rider, and the errand any but what it was, the noble steed would have fallen long before. But this was not any other horse, this was a horse of Rohan, and an intelligent one. It sensed the need of the one it bore, and rode on through the gale. Although slower now, it still carried its burden at a pace which told any that the message was a matter of life and death. Sharp blue-green eyes shone out from beneath the sodden grey hood, searching the land ahead, begging to meet someone. But no...after everything that had happened in the last eighteen months, security was tighter, and the fields were empty. Lightning made a connection from earth to dark sky through the torrent. Following it was thunder, booming across the fields and echoing dimly in the ears of the rider. At last, far ahead, the sharp eyes found what they sought. The Gates of Minas Tirith were ahead. The sleek brown steed gave its last burst of speed, then very close to the City tripped. Without a word, rider and horse fell and for a moment all was still. No longer did the steed carry any burden. By the time the messanger had crawled over to the horse, it was too late, but no tears fell. The loss of the horse wounded the one who loved to ride, but the horse was not the rider's own. Now it was with its true master, in the lands where none living had been. Not desiring to join the noble steed, the lone figure left its body, stumbling toward the Gates. The Guard saw the approach, and murmered surprise to each other. The messanger bowed, ignoring the downfall that drenched the grey robes and hood. 'I wish to enter the City.' 'Who are you?' 'I am a messanger of Methnan. I need to speak to the King.' 'Very well. You will be required to lay aside your weapon to enter the Inner City. It will be held for you until your departure -' 'I know.' 'Enter, stranger.' The messanger laughed softly. 'Thank you. But I am not a stranger here.' It was then that the messanger drew back the hood, and exclamations of surprise and welcome were issued, and the gates swung open. Only one man seemed unsurprised, one the messanger did not recognize at first. The guard Pernathos smiled and whispered softly, 'Welcome back, Aeargil.'

She walked slowly through the City, staring at places she had not seen in over a year through the lessened rain. She wanted to hurry - Elbereth, she wanted to run, to sprint, to scream - but she was exhausted. More than anything she wanted to see Eldarion. Once again she wondered what had come over her. What could have possibly possesed her to leave Eldarion, and with such harsh words? Of course he had had to go after Celebros. The boy was like a son to him. Again, too, she wondered if he would want to talk to her. Her actions and words had been unforgivable. She tripped, and leaned heavily against a stone wall. The streets were so close to empty it made her wonder whether something had happened more than she had heard. Finally she came to the enterance to the Inner City. Four Guards, none of which she knew, stood there, still and solemn. She unbuckled her swordbelt and handed it to them, also giving over seven knives. Two from her boots, two from her sleeves, three from her belt. Then she paused, and they nodded to her, opening the doors to the Inner City. 'Where is the King?' she asked one of them. 'The King Elessar, Prince Eldarion, and Lord Celebros are in the Hall. But it has been ordered that none should disturb them.' 'Very well,' Aeargil said with a nod of her head, and the doors closed behind her. She glanced around and headed for the Hall. Two guards stood outside the entrance. Their eyes widened at her, and she let her desperation show through. 'The King has ordered that none should disturb him,' one began uncertainly. 'Let me in,' she pleaded without further ado. 'If you don't, my people may die.' They did not argue, and opened the doors. In the center of the familiar room was a circular table. She recognized all three figures at it fondly, their backs to her. The King started up out of his chair, but when he saw her face he stood still and startled. Eldarion turned. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally his eyes fell on her and widened. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Celebros smile and nod greetings to her. Eldarion sat frozen. Slowly, she moved forward, controlling her weak, stumbling legs. The only sound was her footsteps. They echoed through the Hall. After an eternity, she reached the table and stood, staring at Eldarion. There was something about him now. Something had changed in his face. He seemed to have gone through more than he should have. He stared back at her, eyes wide and half-disbelieving. Uncertain. For a long time, there was only silence. Then Eldarion stood so quickly his chair almost fell over, and he embraced her tightly. Tears stung her eyes, and she heard him whisper her name, just once. Then everything fell onto her again, the weight of the past days, and she whimpered softly, trying to stifle the sound without success. Eldarion released her and pushed her back to arm's length, searching her eyes. 'What's wrong? Has something happened?' She wavered, trembling now, and Eldarion gently pushed her back into his chair. Celebros' eyes were misted over and troubled. 'Has Galadon attacked your people? What's happened, Aeargil?' 'Not Galadon,' she choked, knowing how weak she sounded and knowing she was much weaker than that right now. 'It's all right, Aeargil,' the King said gently, coming forward and putting a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. 'Calm down.' His voice was even more soothing than she had remembered. 'What's happened?' 'Rohan,' she breathed, blinking off exhaustion. 'Rohan... attacked us. Forty dead, nine of them children...our forces are falling back. We don't know why, we don't know. They just... came one afternoon, burned a village...nothing like what I've ever seen before...it was awful...' King Elessar's eyes were full of barely-contained shock and disbelief. 'But we're allies,' he breathed softly. 'Are you sure it was Rohan?' 'They had the Mark...and they were proclaiming that everything they did was "in the name of Rohan" or "in the name of King Eomer"...we need help, Your Majesty. We were taken by surprise. My people haven't gone to war in decades, and our forces are inexperienced. Even Galadon has never openly attacked us. He has taken people, he has sent spies, but nothing like this.'

Eldarion stared out the window silently. Aeargil looked at his back, not wanting to be the first one to break the silence. It had been present for two hours now, since she woke up again. Finally she steeled herself. 'Eldarion,' she began, but he cut her off. 'I really don't understand you, Aeargil.' 'Eldarion, I -' 'He almost died, you know. He almost died more than once. And when he woke up after being comatose for a week, he couldn't see. He was blind.' She was silent, knowing that he wouldn't let her complete an apology. His voice was bitter and hard like she had never heard it before. Her shock and horror increased with Eldarion's words. 'He began to forget what people looked like. They tortured him, Aeargil. They tried to kill him. Nothing can change what he went through. He's never going to be the same. He's withdrawn. He hates being around people. He rarely talks to anyone but my father and I, and then he's quiet.' His voice was cold, bared steel. 'And you wanted me to leave him to them. You wanted me to abandon him to that. His father's nothing to him, and he's nothing to his father. I've always had to be there for him because Malgil didn't exactly pick her husband well. But you wanted me to leave that, and leave him to die. How could you?' Now his voice wavered and broke, and she could see his shoulders shake. 'How could you?' 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Apologize to him,' Eldarion cried, his voice accusing. He turned to face her, finally, his face tearstained. He didn't bother to dry it. 'Does he know?' she asked, her throat suddenly dry. 'Of course not,' Eldarion laughed mirthlessly. 'Do you think I could have told him, in addition to everything he went through, that you didn't care about him? You would have left him to die?' 'Eldarion,' she whispered. 'You can't forgive me for what I've done, I know. But -' 'Got that right,' Eldarion said, and seemed to sneer now. Aeargil was suddenly frightened. She had never seen him this way before. 'He's as close as a son to me, and what they did tormented him, so it tormented me. And you didn't care. You'd have had me wait in Methnan for the news that he was dead, that he had been found abandoned in the orc-tunnels near Imladris, and by the time they found him it was too late. Or maybe they found him, but he died later from the durthond overdose. He was addicted to it, you know. Or maybe he survived a while, but the fever killed him. Or maybe the place where the burned the back of his neck with magic. Or maybe one of the three broken ribs had punctured his lung, and that killed him. Or maybe the slit on his throat was deeper than they had thought. Or maybe we would wait for news and find none. Maybe he would never be found. Or maybe the orcs took him. Maybe his frostbite killed him. Or he could have stopped breathing. Starvation, too. They didn't like to feed him. He could have given up the will to live. And I would be sitting and waiting there for the news of his death, and my father, and my mother, and Gwalas, and Cundariel and Tasarian, Elladan and Elrohir, and Snaga. And Pernathos and Malgil and Caladin, and everyone. Everyone except you. He could have died, he should have died, there wasn't much hope left in us that he would live! He almost did several times!' His voice had risen sharply; he was shouting now. 'AND YOU DIDN'T CARE!' 'Oh, Elbereth, what have I done?' she whispered, and shuddered, weeping almost silently. 'Eldarion...' 'No, I'll never be able to forgive you,' he hissed. 'Never.' 'I'm not asking for forgiveness,' she whispered. 'I'm not going to try to defend myself - what I did, there is no defense. But I'm not the same now, and neither are you. I'm just asking for a second chance. Please, Eldarion.' He searched her face a moment, then the rage on his face melted into nothingness. He sighed and shook his head slowly. 'I'll think on it, you can be sure,' he said unhappily. 'But it is going to be different, if I can do it. I can't forget what happened. Much as I want to, I see Celebros every day, and he's scarred from it. All over his face, all around his neck, his arms and hands, everything. He's still got a bit of a limp, and every once in a while he'll wince when he thinks no one's looking and touch an old wound. Everyone knows, and gives him their looks of pity, and he hates it.' 'I know,' she whispered. 'I saw. I saw him.' Eldarion looked out the window again. 'I have to go,' he said quietly. 'I'll talk to you later.'

'Father.' Tarmamethnan nodded to his son dully. 'Yes, Lorgan?' 'Nine more wounded, one more dead, Father. They attacked a farm, out on the borders of the forest. Silmarien took them, to see if they can be healed.' 'Can they?' Lorgan hesitated. 'Three of them, father. The men all fought, and one died, but three were virtually unharmed. But the two women and four children have all been burned badly. One of them is expected to die, the second-youngest child.' Again, the hesitation. 'Father, she is five years old.' Bitterness and sadness were mingled in the aging man's face. He nodded slowly. 'We must fight back more than this, my son. It is like cruel boys kicking dogs. We are whimpering and trying to run, but we are no true threat to Rohan.' 'Aeargil will have reached Minas Tirith in Gondor by now.' 'Yes, I suppose there is hope in that, and all my thought is bent on it now. But it is our last hope, Lorgan, my son, our last resort. We must call for all the countryfolk to come to the City.' 'Father, do you think the Gondorians will come?' A twisting smile of both pain and fond memory came to the king's face. 'You do remember Celebros, Lorgan, do you not?' 'Of course I remember him, Father.' The man slumped in the throne and sighed, his twisted smile not fading. 'I would feel safer if I had Aeargil at my side,' he sighed. 'I am still ill at ease when I think of her off so far. I have no doubt that she is safe, if her Eldarion is remotely like Celebros, and the boy did say he looked up to his uncle. Man, now, I suppose. Celebros Telcontar is a boy no longer, but he will be remembered. Bitter I was when Aeargil returned at last crying that he had been captured, along with her other dreadful news.' Finally the king, known as Tarma-methnan, although this was but a title, answered his son's question, and his twisted smile grew at his own words. 'They will come.'

Celebros shook his head, smiling. 'Aeargil, I don't blame anyone for any of that. Anyone here, at least. Everything was happening fast. Awful things happened, and they can't be changed. No one could know what the right decision was. If I had been able to contact Eldarion then, I would have asked him not to come.' Aeargil gaped. 'What? Why, Celebros?' 'It was too dangerous,' Celebros said, still smiling a bit, eyebrows raised as if this was obvious. 'He could have been killed. I already thought I was going to die, so I didn't want anyone else to be put in danger. The thing that Eldir told me that made me happiest was that the first party had turned back. He was going to kill them.' 'But I still feel -' Celebros raised his hand to cut her off, and even as he did that, she saw the scars on his fingers and winced herself. 'Aeargil, please. Eldarion feels much more strongly about this than I do. I'll talk to him, if you want.' 'It might just make him angrier. He was furious with me, Celebros. He was practically screaming. It was frightening.' 'Well, if you want me to speak with him, just give me the word. Has King Elessar talked to you about sending out troops yet?' 'Yes, this morning. He said that they would sent two hundred fifty. He wanted to send more, but I beat him down -that's more than fine. If Rohan is corrupted, you'll need people here.' Celebros nodded and looked at the ground, seeming to consider something. 'What?' she asked. He looked up sheepishly. 'Oh, I was just wondering if my father was going. I guess I'll have to ask.' 'I've never met your father. What's he like? Do you see him often?' 'Elbereth, I haven't talked to him for months. He avoids me, you know. He might as well be dead for all we see each other. Fifteen minutes walk, and not a word in almost a year. I'm really something of a disappointment to him. Eldarion and my mother think I don't know that, but it really doesn't matter to me that much. I've known it for a long time. My mother, now. I talk to her more, but still not much. My parents are very busy, of course. I've met your father, but what about your mother?' Aeargil smiled, looking suddenly far away. 'My mother died when I was twelve,' she said quietly. 'She was always sad, really. Father wanted to make her happy, but he never really got over her death. She died when my brother Eadon was an infant. My father raised him very well.' 'I'm sorry.' 'Oh, I don't really think about it much anymore. There's no changing it, and it was more than thirty years ago. Did you ever meet my brothers and sister?' 'I met Lorgan,' Celebros said, smiling at the memory. 'Well, he's the second-oldest; he's two years younger than me. After him came the twins, Barad and Elleth, but Barad lives in Eryn Lasgalen now. Tarrilas is my only sister, and Eadon is the last. Lorgan and Elleth are in Methnan the most now. Barad hasn't visited in years, although we do occasionally get a message from him, and Tarrilas and Eadon and Lorgan's daughter Silmarien - she's about your age - they're always off on some adventure. Silmarien never seems the adventuring type, but she likes it well enough.' 'They sound nice. I hope I get a chance to meet them all some time.' Aeargil laughed. 'I think you'd get along with them,' she said, and there was a noticable difference in her face - it was as if someone had lit a light in a room that had been dark for too long. 'Silmarien especially - she's never been close to her mother, so Lorgan mostly raised her. She's very quiet, but she's dangerous with a sword in her hands. She can't shoot a bow worth anything. She's distant, though, cold.' Celebros nodded. 'I didn't know Lorgan was married,' he mused. 'Well, her name is Ariel. But they don't live together anymore - they grew apart. It's quite rare for that to happen among us.' Celebros nodded again, not sure how to respond to that. There was a silence, and then Aeargil stood from the chair. 'Well, I'd better go talk to Eldarion. I do wish you'd let me apologize, though.' Celebros looked exasperated. 'All right, if it'll make you feel better. But don't expect a response. I already told you it's not your fault.' 'I'm sorry, Celebros.' Celebros smiled. 'I do hope Eldarion's calmed down - King Elessar hates it when he gets upset.' 'Has he gotten like this before? I've never seen that side of him.' 'Oh, you'd be surprised. He threw a fit once when I got lost in the Outer City - I got caught up in a bad neighborhood. And he exploded at his father once, too. He didn't want me to go out orc-hunting. King Elessar didn't either, really, but I certainly wanted to, and it needed to be done, so he said that I could. Eldarion went mad. Started raging about how I was too young to be 'sent out alone'. It was really quite funny to watch. It was one of the only times I saw the King unable to fit in a word. Generally if he has to say something, the other person will hear it, but -' Celebros laughed and shook his head. 'It's been a while since he's gone off like that, though. I rather thought he might have gotten over it.' Aeargil, smiling, shook her head as well. 'Mind if I come by later?' she asked. 'Not at all.'

'Eldarion,' Aeargil said quietly, and he turned from watching the sun set, melting into the horizon in a fiery blaze of red and yellow and orange. 'Aeargil,' he said, nodding stiffly and turning back to the window. 'Eldarion,' she said again, pain in her eyes. She stepped up to right behind him. 'Please.' He was silent, but he flinched as she spoke his name. 'I can't forget it,' he said finally, without moving. There was a long silence. 'I talked to Celebros,' Aeargil said, voice almost pleading. 'Good,' Eldarion said, silhouetted against the dying embers of the sun. 'I told him everything,' she continued in a rush. 'Every-thing that happened. And then we talked for a while. He's lonely. But you were wrong.' 'What?' Eldarion said, turning around. Aeargil stared soberly into the shadows of his face. 'You said I didn't care, Eldarion,' she said softly. 'That hurt. That hurt.' 'You deserved it,' Eldarion whispered, but he looked miserable. 'I know,' she said simply, and Eldarion turned around and embraced her as he had in the Hall the night before. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, and she felt him tremble. 'I'm sorry.' And she echoed his words back, feeling his hands, warm and strong against her back. She buried her face against his shoulder, and felt a teardrop fall on her neck. She pulled back, and Eldarion, eyes shining with tears, reached out and brushed her cheek gently, as if afraid she might break. She reached up with both hands and took his, pressing it against her face for what seemed like forever. The last shafts of light passed into the west. Aeargil turned to look out the window then at the City. 'It's beautiful,' she said quietly. Eldarion reached out and gently turned her face so she was looking at him again. 'You're beautiful,' he whispered, and drawing closer to her she felt his breath tickle her cheek. She reached out a hand slowly, and without looking he met it with one of his. She looked up at him, and he bent his head so his lips could meet hers. The moon rose slowly, casting pale silver light and shadows of steel.

King Elessar's eyes were troubled at Eldarion's words, but as the Prince of the City, his son was also the Captain-General, and as the son-in-law of the King of Methnan, Eldarion under-standably felt reponsibility. After the discussion, Celebros and Aeargil and Faramir and the other captains left. Eldarion, though, sat at the table, as if deep in thought. The King sat there too, at the head of the long table, and waited. Finally Eldarion spoke. 'You don't want me to go.' Startled, King Elessar didn't reply to this for a moment. At last he spoke the truth. 'As much as I may dislike the idea, the right and the choice are yours. You have been trained how to fight, Eldarion, my son, but you have not truly fought. The Men of Rohan are strong, but perhaps can be convinced to show mercy if it is shown to them. I will do my part from here, and you must do your part, whatever it may be.' Eldarion nodded, then was silent for a moment. 'I need to go. I was harsh and unfair to Aeargil when I spoke with her yesterday at first, and she is going back to her people, if only for a time. Celebros has met her father, and thinks highly of him, and I would like to do the same. If only I could do it in a happier day, then perhaps...' He sighed heavily. 'I understand,' his father said quietly. 'You must lead the forces, then. Go with all speed. You will leave tomorrow, near noon. Eldarion...please, be careful.' Eldarion nodded, and stood and walked from the Hall, but the King remained there, and it seemed that years had fallen onto his face at his son's going.

'You don't have to do this, Eldarion!' 'Yes, I do. Aeargil, please, listen to me. I want to meet your family in any case. I can't just let you go there again, and stay behind. I want to help, Aeargil, I don't want to stand idle. And...I don't want you to go without me again.' 'Eldarion, you could be killed! I couldn't live if you were hurt or worse because you didn't want to leave me!' 'Aeargil, don't do this to me. I already told Father I would lead the troops. There might not even be any need for us. By the time we reach Methnan, Eomer might have called off the attacks - my father -' 'Please, don't. The King will understand - the last thing my father intended was to make you feel obliged to come, to make you come and risk death -' 'Aeargil, I'll be fine! Nothing will happen to me - I can fight, I can shoot a bow...I'll be fine.' Tears ran down Aeargil's face, and Eldarion's was filled with pain and anguish. He came over to sit next to her. 'Please, Aeargil, believe me.' He raised his hand and wiped tears from her face, but more spilled from her eyes. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he held her tightly.

'I just can't believe he decided to do it without asking me first.' Celebros shook his head. 'But you have to see what he means. He's like that. He knew what your reaction would be.' 'Celebros! Do you mean you agree with him?' Celebros held up his hands in surrender. 'I just meant I see where he's coming from. He wants do whatever he can.' 'But he could fight here. If Rohan attacks here -' 'Rohan won't attack us,' Celebros said quietly. 'No matter how much Eomer has been corrupted, he isn't stupid. Rohan's forces aren't defenseless, but if I may say so, our army has always been more experienced.' 'I just wish I could stop him. I don't want him to fight. If something happens to him...' 'I know,' Celebros sighed. 'He practically raised me. I couldn't stand it if he got hurt any more than you could. But he won't.' 'I wish I was as sure as you are. I just keep imagining awful things...' 'Aeargil,' Celebros said gently, 'he needs to do this. It's what he wants. He doesn't want to stand by and do nothing while people die, while his soldiers and your people die. He couldn't do that. It would destroy him. If I were him, I would do the same. He's the Captain-General of the City. As it is, actually,' he said as an afterthought, sighing and flushing a bit as he said it, 'I asked the King if I could go to fight, too, and he forbade me.' 'Celebros!' 'I don't want to do nothing either,' Celebros said hotly. 'My father may be hiding again, but I'm not like him.' 'No one said you were like your father,' Aeargil said quietly. 'But you're needed here.' 'For what?' Celebros asked bitterly. 'What do they need me for here?' Aeargil looked at the ground, searching for the right words. At last she said, 'Celebros, you know more than anyone the treachery of the world. If the King is to make negotiations with Rohan, he will need you here. And besides,' she said softly, and looked suddenly sober and seemed to fight emotion off her face, 'it wouldn't be a good idea for both you and Eldarion to go into battle.' Celebros looked subdued. 'Aeargil, please, don't make him hurt about this any worse than he already hurts.' Then he would say no more.

Eldarion didn't smile at his parting with Celebros. It was a sober one, and beneath them in the City, over two hundred men were saying goodbye to their families. Too many of them would never see the City again. 'Be careful, will you?' Celebros asked quietly. 'Don't let anything happen to yourself.' 'I'll be fine, Celebros,' Eldarion assured him. Then more softly, 'I promise.' 'That's a significant promise,' Celebros muttered. 'I won't forget it.' 'You won't have reason to remember it. Listen, Celebros. Keep an eye out, all right? It's not safe anymore.' 'When has it been safe?' Celebros demanded. 'The orcs in the Grey Wood getting closer and closer, and now the bandits from Elbereth knows where all over the Fields. They killed a guard last night.' 'I hadn't heard,' Eldarion said. 'But I guess I don't have to remind you to be careful. You always are.' 'You'll like Aeargil's family,' Celebros assured him. 'Lorgan especially, I think.' Eldarion nodded. 'Well, I have to go,' he sighed, looking out the window. Celebros nodded and closed his eyes. Eldarion set a hand on his shoulder. 'I'll be back before you know it,' he promised.

Weeks had passed for the men of the City. A few hours, perhaps, from Minas Methith, a rider approached, bearing a white flag with a strange blue symbol. Aeargil peered at it, then calmed the men. 'It's ours!' she cried out. The rider slowed, holding the flag high, and the man by Eldarion's side waved the Gondorian sign back. Eldarion and Aeargil both dismounted and approached, and the other man dismounted too, setting his flag in the ground on its pole. Aeargil gasped as they came closer, eyes sparkling. 'Lorgan!' she cried, and sprinted the last few steps to embrace her brother. 'Aeargil,' Lorgan said quietly, eyes closed. 'You have no idea how worried we've been -' 'You were worried? We weren't even fighting -' 'But the men of Rohan are everywhere now -' 'You were fighting them directly, though -' Lorgan laughed, and they pulled apart. Aeargil was smiling widely. 'Lorgan, this is Eldarion. Eldarion, my brother Lorgan,' she said, coming back to where Eldarion stood, hanging behind a bit, and pulling him forward by the hand. Lorgan smiled. 'I've heard a great deal about you,' he said quietly. 'How are your people in the south? How is Celebros?' 'As good as can be expected,' Eldarion answered, nodding and shaking his brother-in-law's hand. 'How are your people faring here?' Lorgan lifted the flag from the ground, whistling to his horse and motioning Eldarion and Aeargil back the the soldiers. 'Father's called everyone inside the City except for the fighters. There's been a lull in the fighting. They're planning a larger-scale attack, that is no secret. We're frightened. We don't know exactly how many of them there are. They've been holding back. They're spread all over for miles. Our spies tell us some went into Rildor a bit and didn't come out. The evil has not left there entirely, and perhaps has spread all the way to Rohan. Perhaps even into Gondor, meaning no offense, Prince Eldarion.' 'Bandits, murderers, cover the Fields,' Eldarion agreed soberly. 'I'm afraid that treachery is widespread, perhaps even among my own men.' He looked Lorgan straight in the eye. 'I can't fully trust almost any of them. A select few - ten perhaps, out of two hundred fifty.' Lorgan nodded. 'Some of ours have already turned,' he said quietly. 'Brothers on opposite sides, fighting each other - children with fathers on Rohan's side and mothers on Methnan's - parents with children opposing them. Aeargil, I have to tell you something. Dinalben killed his wife and sons a week ago,' Aeargil gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, eyes filling with tears. 'He killed Chila and the children?' she breathed. Lorgan, looking miserable, nodded. Aeargil started to cry quietly. Eldarion wrapped his arms around her gently, closing his eyes, and she rested her head against his chest. 'Chila and I were children together - I've known her since before Mother died - Mother and her parents were close friends -and I taught the oldest boys how to read and write Sindarin...' Aeargil's breath was coming in short gasps between sobs. 'How could he? That filthy turncoat - that bastard!' 'Shhh...' Eldarion whispered in her ear, and Aeargil cried even harder, her small form shaking against Eldarion's larger one.

The news came to Celebros in the afternoon, when he was sitting in his chair by the window and reading. At first, when the messanger came to his door, his mind leapt to Eldarion. But the messanger's news was from a different direction. 'Lord Celebros?' He had gotten used to the 'lord' title. No one seemed to know its origin, but it had become standard, and nothing he said could get rid of it. 'Yes?' He wanted to scream out. He was certain he knew what was coming, and was thus hit by the news harder than it might otherwise have. 'Your father, as you know, was on guard outside the City.' Startled, he nodded. Was? Caladin was supposed to be on guard until tomorrow morning. 'Yes.' 'It is believed he was attacked by bandits of Rohan. He was on the border between our lands. He is in the Houses of Healing, and he is not expected to live. Your mother the Princess Malgil is already there, as is the King Elessar.' Shocked, Celebros could only nod at the man. He stood for a moment before the door, mind racing, then put out his hand and fumbled for the doorknob. Opening it, he sprinted blindly through the hallways until he found himself before the doors of the Houses of Healing. He stood there a moment and took several steadying breaths, then opened the door. Immediately the scent of athelas leapt out at him, and his breath instantly became easier. He walked forward as if in a trance into the other room. His mother and the King were both kneeling beside a bed, and lying on the bed, half-hidden from view, was his father. Blood was caked onto the left side of his face. There was a deep wound on the side of his head. His eyes were closed. His breath rose and fell unsteadily, and it did not seem that he was asleep. Deaf to his mother's cries and his grandfather's quiet words, Celebros walked slowly toward the bed. His mother looked up, eyes red from sobbing, and hurried over to him, throwing her arms around him. He stood stiffly, numbly, looking at his father. He saw out of the corner of his eye King Elessar's dark, anxious look. Malgil pulled back, letting Celebros walk forward rigidly. This was impossible, inconceivable. This was... His father opened his eyes just as Celebros reached the bed and stood staring. The King, kneeling beside him, took an already bloodsoaked cloth and reached up to continue cleaning the wound, but with startling strength Caladin reached up and grabbed his father-in-law's wrist. 'No,' he forced, his voice barely audible. The King stared into Caladin's eyes, and slowly lowered his hand. Celebros' mother let out a wail of despair. 'Celebros,' his father whispered. 'My son. I am sorry. I always...' His voice faded, and Celebros found himself again. He shook his head furiously. 'It's all right, Father. Everything's...no...' 'It's not all right,' Caladin grated, and coughed, spattering blood on the white bedsheets. 'I never realized how terribly I - I always treated you. Eldarion's been better at caring about you. But when those men on horses came pounding up...' As he shuddered, a tear ran down Celebros' cheek. 'I thought about you. And I realized then that I hadn't seen you in almost a year, even though we only live about a fifteen-minute walk apart...and I never came after those times you were hurt to see if you were all right...and I wanted to tell you I'm sorry.' He looked at the King, eyes dimming, and whispered, 'Take...care of them...for me...and tell Eldarion...tell him thank you.' Then he looked at Celebros' face and smiled, a true smile, a proud smile, and closed his eyes, and did not open them again. Silent tears crept down Celebros' face. He and the King both stared at the body of Caladin, and the only sound for a moment was the sobbing of Malgil. The King stood then and walked to his daughter. She buried her face against his shirt, and let him lead her from the room, both understanding through greif Celebros' need to be alone with his father.

Dark emptiness lay over the City. Pricks of light that had lay scattered over Minas Tirith at nightfall now had been extinguished. No people walked the streets below. Celebros figited before the open window, staring into the dark, fighting the insane impulse. But finally it overcame him, and he went to the table, pulling on the black cloak that lay there and pulling the hood over his face. He walked out of his rooms into the dimly lighted hallway and then to the armory. He emerged almost twenty minutes later. He carried in his arms a sword, two knives, and thick studded leather armor. Silent as shadows, he slipped into the stables, finding the best horse there, one named Windscream. Taking also a saddle, he led the steed to an old, unused stable with a haystack in the corner. He covered his saddle and blades and armor there, and tied Windscream. Then he returned to his rooms, and slept.

Fog blanketed the Inner City before dawn, but there was only one to see it. Atop the Tower of Ecthelion, Snaga stood staring out at the morning. The horizon was first covered by a thread of grey. Slowly pink took over, and then a cloud of splendor hung over the mountains as the sun rose. The fog burned slowly away, and Minas Tirith began to awake. Snaga lowered his gaze slowly as the sun threw out its light. No matter the years he had spent among Men, no matter the time he had spent seperating himself from Orcs, he was one still, and the sunlight burned his eyes. He turned from the sight to find he was not alone after all. As the sun had risen, a tall man had come behind him in silence and watched. Recognizing each other, they nodded their greetings. Faramir smiled. 'Hello,' he said quietly, looking past Snaga at the sun before bringing his gaze back to the small orc. 'Good morning,' Snaga replied. 'It's quite beautiful, isn't it? It has its own slow magnificence.' 'Yes, it does,' Snaga agreed, looking back over his shoulder for a moment. No matter how it stabbed at him, it was a breath-taking sight. 'Still, I would prefer watching the full moon rise over Ithilien,' Faramir sighed, looking suddenly wistful. 'Have you seen it?' 'No,' the orc said slowly. 'I have been to Ithilien only once, and breifly.' 'Then you have missed the flower of all nightfalls,' Faramir told him, eyes smiling. 'It is a sight to see indeed.' 'In that case, I hope that I shall one day get the chance to see it.' There was a long silence, and then Faramir looked at Snaga questioningly. 'What is worrying you, my friend?' he asked quietly. 'Something grave is laying on your mind heavily.' 'I am worried about Celebros,' Snaga said, lowering his eyes. 'The death of his father has been very hard on him. The two of them spoke to each other very rarely, but Caladin apologized in his last moments.' Faramir sighed. 'Yes, I agree. I weigh it among my concerns as well.' Snaga sighed heavily and added, 'And I am also worried about Eldarion.' Now Faramir echoed the sigh. 'This, too, is weighing on Celebros. He is afraid he will lose Eldarion as well. Elbereth protect the Prince! If he is injured, then Celebros' wrath will be terrible. He will strike out quickly and mercilessly. For everyone's sake, I hope Eldarion is all right.'

Eldarion glanced over the wall, then ducked as three arrows narrowly missed his head. 'Too many,' he gasped to the other First Troopers, 'move to the left. Slowly! We have to get to the Hall!' Carefully stringing his bow, he moved a few feet to the left, then stopped. The others followed suit, but Eldarion shook his head. 'Keep going; I'll catch up.' They continued along, and he took a deep breath, drew back the bowstring, and stood up, releasing the arrow. An arrow flew past him in retaliation, nicking his cheek. He flung himself flat onto the narrow catwalk. A trickle of blood came from the small cut and ran down his face, dripping to the wood below him. Crouched, he scrambled to the left to meet the others, who had moved with remarkable speed. Bringing another arrow to his bow, he motioned for the others to stop. They, too, strung their bows. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the men; his men, and saw the one right next to him smile grimly. Eldarion gave the signal. As one, they rose quickly and fired. He heard cries, and the returning swoosh of a release. The man next to him fell back. His troop ducked back. Eldarion knelt by the fallen man. 'He's still alive,' the prince muttered to the other men. One crawled over. The man on the ground shuddered and opened his eyes, staring in disbelief at the shaft penetrating his chest. He looked then at Eldarion, pain misting his wide eyes. 'My wife,' he gasped, pain and anguish painting his words as blood bubbled out of his mouth, 'my children. Can you tell them -' Convulsing, he clutched Eldarion's arm. 'I'm going to die, aren't I?' he whspered, and Eldarion had no choice but to nod; his throat restricted. 'Please, my lord, tell Elen what happened, tell her I love her and the children.' His hand trembled, and he sighed and move no more. 'He's dead,' Eldarion said, letting out his breath slowly, and motioned for the other men to move on, for they had stopped just ahead. The man closest to Eldarion did not move, although he was the only one. 'What about you, sir?' he whispered fiercely, seeing Eldarion remaining in one place. 'You cannot stay here. We have to reach the main halls!' 'So go,' Eldarion snarled, unable to feel charitable towards the man for caring. 'With all due respect, no sir,' the soldier said stiffly. 'I will not leave. You have a reason for staying. If you have a plan, then I can help. If you are considering some mad plan of sacrifice, then I will do everything in my power possible to stop you. It is my duty, Prince Eldarion of Gondor.' Eldarion sighed as if relieved of some burden and nodded. He looked once at the almost-black stormclouds. It may have been morning, but the night seemed to be approaching before it should have. 'Right. What is your name?' 'Aros.' 'All right. Aros, my plan is to stop the center man, the commander, and shoot him bad enough to injure him severely but not kill him. They'll try to get him to safety. It'll distract them a while. If we killed him, they'd ignore it; there'd be nothing they could do. I hope to be able to get a few shots in in the turmoil.' Aros nodded. 'Sound plan. I'll back you up. Just tell me where to shoot, and I'll shoot.'

Celebros sat stiffly in the chair. He stared at his hands on the table in silence as the King spoke. Finally he broke in. 'His sword,' he said quietly. 'He didn't have his sword. Where is it?' He forced himself to look up at King Elessar. Even though he had rarely spoken to his father, there was one thing he did know. His father's sword was his prize. It had been passed down, father to son, for generations. It had been made centuries ago, and was the most intricate blade that Celebros had ever seen. On either side of the blade, near the hilt, was carved a sun and a Quenya inscription. Celebros had been taught as a young boy what it meant, but had not seen it for years. It was the first Quenya he had every learned. Now he knew a good deal, but this stood out, this inscription. Peace lies not with the sword, but with the tongue. The King looked at him for a moment. Then at last he answered. 'They took it,' he said softly. 'The men who attacked him took his blade when he was down.' Celebros gritted his teeth, holding in the furious scream he longed to release. 'Celebros,' the King began, but Celebros shook his head and stood. 'No,' he said, and then more firmly, 'No, leave me alone. Leave me alone.' He turned on his heel and strode out into the chill of the morning.

'And it isn't just that he'll be angry, either,' Snaga said softly. 'He will want to avenge his father.' 'I agree,' Faramir said, staring at the ground. 'Meaning...' 'He'll leave the City,' Snaga finished firmly. 'He is angry.' 'He has a right for anger,' Faramir said slowly. 'Whoever those men were, they killed first and asked later. But if he leaves the City, he is in as much danger as Eldarion.'

It was a moment before Eldarion made a move. Aros wondered if he was afraid. It was hard to tell; the Prince's face was hard and grim. Determined. Sad. Then he nodded quickly and stood. Aros drew back an arrow. 'There!' Eldarion shouted, pointing. Aros released, and the arrow flew faithfully. Pulling another to his string, he fired. Hoarse yells and cries filled his ears. Another arrow. Another. Another. He had fired off six arrows in quick succession when there was a clunk next to him, and he realized Eldarion was down. With a cry, he dropped behind the shelter of the low catwalk walls. The Prince was flat on his back. A thin-shafted black arrow protruded from his chest near his right shoulder. 'No!' Aros yelled desperately, bending over Eldarion. His eyes were open, fixed unafraid on Aros' face, but in great pain. The front of his shirt was already stained with a sick red. Breathing fast, Aros glanced down the narrow catwalk to the left. There was no one there. To the right was the soldier's body, a few paces away. But no one else. Eldarion's pained dark eyes flickered and closed. 'No. No. No,' Aros moaned. 'No, no, no, no, no! No!' Carefully he touched Eldarion sodden chest and felt the shallow breaths make it rise and fall. He sighed heavily, still breathing fast. Removing his hand, he braced himself against the floor, but it fell into a small pooling something, sticky and warm...blood. Eldarion's blood. He lifted the prince's limp head and tried to pull him along the floor, but did not get far. Eldarion was too large, and was dead weight, and already he was tired. Again he tried unsuccessfully. It was useless. 'Help,' he called out weakly, hoping against hope that someone in the main hall would hear. The entrance was not far...the screams and yells of soldiers echoed off the walls. 'Help us, someone. Help!' His voice rose stronger in urgency and fear, and he saw movement to the left. Someone had exited the halls and was darting, crouched silently, toward them. 'Prince Eldarion?' a voice gasped, and moaned and Aros' frantic nod. 'How badly is he hurt, Aros?' It was Prince Lorgan, Aeargil's brother. 'Badly. He was shot, I need help with him. We need to get him to Tarmamethnan, now.' 'My father is in the halls with Aeargil. We should be able to get him there.' 'We have to hurry. He isn't going to last too long. The arrow -' 'All right.'

I hope Eldarion's all right, Celebros thought wildly to himself as he saddled the horse. I hope Eldarion's all right. Why are you doing this? What do you hope to achieve? The half of him asking this was crushed as Celebros started to put on the armor. I hope to avenge my father and get my sword! You're going to kill them. You're going to kill someone. They killed him! They killed my father! He buckled the swordbelt and pulled on the black cloak, fastening it with the silver brooch. It was a very intricate fastening. Eldarion had given it to him. It was shaped like a tree, branches spread. He pulled up the hood, covering his face. So you want to right their murdering by becoming one of them? I'm not a murderer! I want to avenge him! I want my sword! He patted Windscream's neck and leapt into the saddle.

The morning was slowly fading. Snaga and Faramir were still anxiously discussing the problems in the courtyard. 'Could he really do that, Snaga? You know him better than I do. Could he really kill them?' 'He can kill, if he feels it necessary,' Snaga said grimly. 'Has he killed Men before?' Snaga shook his head. 'No. But his anger has been held at bay for so long. Anger at Galadon for the death of Rilhir and the suffering of his friends. Anger at the Galadil for taking him, because when they hurt him, they hurt Eldarion and the rest of those he cares about. Now anger at the men who killed his father. But he rarely shows anger, and when he does, it is not for those who caused him suffering, it is the suffering of others he cares about.' 'But King Elessar would not give him permission to do such a thing.' Snaga shook his head. 'No, the King would never give him permission, so he will leave without it.'

Tarmamethnan looked gravely at Eldarion. The prince, his son-in-law, was lying on a cot in the dimly lit hall, the white sheet beneath him stained scarlet. Aeargil stood anxiously behind her father, staring at Eldarion's face as Tarmamethnan removed the arrow and quickly bound the wound. The hall was silent except for yells and cries that indistinctly soaked through the walls. Aros sat on the floor against the wall by the bed, his head drooped. The man had stumbled in exhausted, and collapsed when Eldarion had been laid on the cot. Tarmamethnan bent down onto one knee beside Eldarion, looking intently into his face. Then without a word, he touched the prince's forehead, started a bit, and stood. 'Father?' Aeargil whispered. Her voice trembled. The King turned to her, his eyes sad. 'Father?' she whispered again, more frightened. 'What is it?' He looked at her miserably and shook his head. 'I cannot do anything for him,' he sighed. 'It may heal naturally, of course, if it was not poisoned, but I do not know. I am sorry, Aeargil.' Aeargil gazed desperately into her father's deep eyes, then turned her gaze to Eldarion. Stepping up next to his bed, her shoulders shaking, she stared into his pale, unmoving face. Then her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, clasping his cold hand, and bowed her head over it, quietly sobbing. Tarmamethnan stared sadly at his daughter. A messanger ducked in and came up to him, looking forlornly around. 'Lord, we've lost the gates,' he said quietly, bowing. Aeargil's shoulders shook harder, and Tarmamethnan sighed. Her father motioned the messanger and the aides to follow him, and they left in silence. Now the only other one in the room was the sleeping Aros. Aeargil drew her silver sleeve across her eyes and took a scrap of cloth from the foot of the bed, wiping blood gently from Eldarion's still face. She stared longingly at it, frozen into an expression of grim surprise. She kissed him gently. A minute later, a group of eight men came in the same door Eldarion, Lorgan, and Aros had. The Third Troop, bloodstained, exhausted, and filthy, paused a moment. There had been twelve in each troop when they set out three hours before. One of them cradled a mangled arm. That one looked up first, staring numbly at Aeargil. His gaze shifted wearily to Eldarion. Recognition and shock dawned in his grimy face. 'Prince Eldarion!' he gasped, and scrambled towards them like a wounded dog. The other seven, too, hurried over behind the first, all talking loudly. One of them had a nasty slash across his face. Another, with a fractured leg, was supported by a man with an arrow in his left arm. They all needed to be treated immediately. 'He was shot,' Aeargil explained, her voice choked. 'You need to be treated. Can one of you get the King from the next hall?' The man with the slashed face moved away to do this, and several others helped the badly wounded into cots. Tarmamethnan, followed by the slashed man and three aides, strode in hurridly. Aeargil shot Eldarion another look, then moved to help her father. 'The Third Troop, Your Highness,' the man with the ruined arm said, nodding his head in a half-bow. 'Child,' Aeargil's father said softly, 'please wake Aros. I need some help with a few of these.' Aeargil only had to shake Aros' shoulder. He started to his feet and looked wildly around, his eyes resting on Eldarion and becoming grimmer. 'How is he?' he asked. 'Unless he heals naturally, he...' she wavered, but took a shuddering breath and continued. 'The Third Troop - Father needs your help. Only eight left, and all of them injured.' Aros flinched, and stared at her, eyes wild. 'Is Elos here?' 'Elos?' 'My brother. He was going to transfer to Third.' His voice was frantic and hoarse. Aeargil watched him search through the men quickly. Then, 'He's not.' It sounded shocked and disbelieving. 'He probably didn't transfer in time,' Aeargil suggested, hoping it was the truth. 'Probably,' Aros muttered under his breath. 'All right. Yes. Your father needs my help?' Aeargil, I'll be fine! Nothing will happen to me - 'Yes,' Aeargil said, now distracted. 'Yes. We all need help.'

His horse was steady now. He knew where his father had been posted, so he would begin his search there. He only hoped, deep inside his cloud of fury, that he knew what he was doing.

'Then we need to get to King Elessar. We need to tell him what we suspect - we need to stop Celebros.' Faramir nodded. 'I agree. But it may be that Celebros cannot be stopped. And what if we are wrong?' 'I saw him yesterday, Faramir. I do not think we are wrong.' The two of them went immediately to the Hall, and found there the King Elessar. It only took one look at his blazing yet despairing eyes to tell them what they needed to know. His words confirmed their fears. 'Faramir. Snaga. Celebros is gone.'

Dried blood stained the grass, and Celebros felt a wave of fury. No one else had been positioned in the spot where his father had been attacked. Leading away from the spot, away from the border, and into Rohan, were the tracks of five horses. He leapt onto the back of the uneasy Windscream and followed the tracks.

'If only we had come earlier -' 'It wouldn't have done any good. He left this morning, right after he left here, we think. He stole a horse yesterday and took a sword and armor. He left here angry. I tried to talk to him, but he told me to leave him alone, and left. He must be stopped.'

Hours and hours of misery and fury and uncertainty passed with no event. He lost the tracks twice, and had to backtrack. He was forced to stop and rest after sliding out of the saddle, and exhaustion took over everything else. Blackness slid over his vision, and he sank into a restless sleep.

Eldarion's first sense was nothingness. Dark, silence, numbness. His second was heat. Not the cold that he last remembered, nor the sharp, searing pain... Slowly he awoke. Motionless, he lay in still darkness and quiet. He didn't remember...the last thing he remembered was... what? First Troop. A man had been shot, and he had ordered them back. One - Aros, a half-elf and not a Gondorian, had stayed with him. They had stood up and shot and... And... There was nothing more. But beyond a hazy veil of darkness, he saw something, felt something, remembered... Pain. He had been hurt. He slowly opened his eyes, and the dark, silent world was annihilated. Above him was a high, slanted ceiling. Feeling seemed to be slowly returning, and pain near his shoulder. A soft voice was singing in Sindarin words he didn't understand and didn't try to understand. He flexed his hand and turned his head. Aeargil sat against the side of the bed. Now her soft song stopped, and her shoulders shook with soft, heartbroken sobs. 'Aeargil?' he said, his voice coming out rough and unsteady and pitifully quiet. She whirled around, and seeing his eyes open let out a soft cry, touching his cheek and wiping tears from her face. She could not, however, wipe the look of pain and worry and anxiousness from it, from her beautiful eyes. She stroked his dark hair gently, running her fingers through it. Eldarion lifted a weak hand and touched the bandages bound around his chest. 'What...happened?' he groaned weakly. 'You were shot,' Aeargil whispered, her eyes darkening and another tear running down her cheek. 'Badly. You've been unconcious for three days. We've been so worried that you...' Her voice broke. 'Oh, Eldarion...' He was silent a moment. Then, 'Three days?' he whispered at last. 'Three days? What happened?' 'They pulled back,' Aeargil said quietly. 'Into the woods... they had too many injured. We sent scouts out everywhere, and none of them found anything. They're on their way back to Rohan. They were outnumbered. But they killed...' 'How many?' Eldarion forced out. 'My father lost forty-four, almost a sixth of our force. The City lost fifty-three. Almost all the rest were injured. They burned the west part of the catwalk. Then they retreated when we sent everyone able out as a last defense - over three hundred to their two hundred, and we were better armored. And then they vanished.' Eldarion didn't speak for a long time. Then, 'Ninety-seven dead?' he breathed. He grimaced and closed his eyes. 'We almost lost you too,' Aeargil whispered. Eldarion nodded and winced. Aeargil touched his hand, still resting on the bandages, and closed her eyes, starting to cry again. 'You've still got an awful fever,' she said quietly, and touched his forehead with a cool hand. 'And the arrow fractured two of your ribs.' Eldarion did not open his eyes, but sighed. Aeargil took a damp cloth and lay it on his forehead. For the moment, the Prince of Minas Tirith slipped back into oblivion. The pain was consumed, and for the moment he lost himself in the black nothingness of dream sleep.

Darkness swirled around him, a torturous black cloud, and the whisperings of the wind spoke in his ear. 'Why?' he asked aloud, although his voice did not disturb or slow the endless windsong. Screams of the dead and screams of the living, softness of death and hardness of dying, begging for death and slipping from life - What? 'Where am I?' 'You're where you are, of course, my boy,' a voice said, a familiar voice, two familiar voices blended into one. Eldarion. Caladin. He turned around to find the source of the voice, and screamed. He woke with a start, unable to remember what it was that had made him scream.

'But where would you have gone, if you were him?' 'I do not know. I have never known that kind of feeling, that connection between father and son.' 'But Celebros and Caladin's connection was different. Caladin didn't understand his son, and Celebros didn't have any desire to see his father if his father didn't want to see him. Their connection was barely existant, until the end.' 'How did your father die, Faramir?' Faramir was silent for a moment, and Snaga shook his head. 'Never mind. I apologize.' 'No. No, you have a right to know.' 'I do not wish to cause you pain.' 'It's fine, Snaga. My father was plagued with troubles no man should have to go through. The death of his eldest son and dearest, Boromir, was not the first. My mother died young, and he was saddened by her passing. It was very hard on him. The War of the Ring took its toll on his heart. He was bitter with anguish and loss. He...was more like Boromir, and I was very different from them both. My father wanted me to be more like my brother, and although I loved and respected my brother, I could not compare to him. After Boromir's death, he grew impatient with me, and his final words to me were resentful. I was near death when I returned from battle, and my dreams then were constant and dark. He wished for us to die together, thinking that my death would be soon and no longer wishing to live himself. I was taken from him and revived, but he burned himself to his death, and would have burned me with him. Barely I was brough back from the edge of death, and in my healing learned of his deeds, and met Eowyn.'

Much as he tried, tired as he was, Celebros could not sleep again. He lay flat on his back, imagining or remembering terrible things. What had that dream meant? Eldarion and his father had somehow been the same person. Was Eldarion dead? It would take a few days at least for the news to get to the City, even if it would come by a messanger bird. Or was the dream just mocking his fears? Indeed, there were two things he cared about now. He wanted Eldarion to be all right, and he wanted to get his sword, whether he died doing it or not. Now, more than ever, he wished his father was alive.

Aeargil didn't look up from Eldarion's peaceful face as her father entered the room. She did not need to feel his questioning gaze on her back to decipher what he wanted to know. 'He woke up,' she said quietly. 'But he's so weak he can hardly move. And his fever has gone up.' 'But he did wake up,' Tarmamethnan said gently. 'For now, weakness must be expected.' Aros ducked in from the catwalk. He darted immediately over to Eldarion, and Aeargil let her father tell him what she had told. The half-elf's eyes met Aeargil's and she shared the emotion in them - misery and worry and weariness. Then he turned to the King. 'All the men of the City wish to wait to return home until Prince Eldarion is well.' 'All of them?' Aeargil asked, startled. 'These men are valiant,' her father said, smiling a bit from some memory of pride and bravery. 'They would follow the Prince to the Morgoth's gates, were he going there himself. I am not sure which I would consider more loyal - those who would turn back if he ordered them, or those that would follow him whether he forbade them or not. Then have them led back to Minas Methith.' 'Thank you,' Aeargil added quietly to him. 'For staying with him when he told you to go.' Aros looked surprised, and flushed. 'It is our duty, and none would think of doing otherwise.' 'All the men fought well, but the rest obeyed him, and had you done so as well...' Her voice faded, and in the sudden uncomfortable silence she looked back to the still face of Eldarion. Aros moved toward the door, but hesitated, and stopped, sinking into a chair. Tarmamethnan knelt by his son-in-law and unwrapped the linen slowly. The wound was not closed yet, and the area around it was swollen. A sick yellow surrounded the area. Poison.

Faramir looked at the ground. 'I can't tell,' he said quietly without looking up. 'The prints aren't very clear.' 'Where else would he go?' Faramir shook his head, looking up from the dirt. 'We can't be sure, Snaga. Anger. Pain. Death. There are too many things going through his mind, too many memories haunting him to make him predictable.' Snaga's eyes narrowed, shaking his head and thinking hard. 'He wouldn't consider us following him,' he said softly. He glanced at Faramir. 'I think he came here, and followed the prints. He wants to be quick and certain.' Faramir leapt back onto his horse. 'Hurry. I don't know if he'll wait when he finds them.'

The prints were clearer now. Celebros found several items at one point that made his heart contract. A half-buried silver necklace, obviouly belonging to a noblewoman, was only one of the signs that the bandits had killed again. Bloody handprints in the grass, and a small wreath of white flowers, still fresh. He wondered who this woman had left behind her. Children? A husband? Brothers or sisters? Parents? Hate boiled inside of him, coursing through his veins. A small voice inside of him whispered that he was doing the wrong thing. A louder voice said that he was right. He allowed himself two hours of rest that night. Building a small fire, Celebros searched until he found a small flower of the same kind that had lay near the bloody handprints. He twirled it in his fingers. What kind of place was this? Why did things like this happen? He stared at the flower a moment. Then he sat up and threw it into the fire. It withered and crumbled. A curling wisp of black smoke danced toward the starry sky. Celebros let himself fall back to the hard ground and stared at the heavens.

Snaga looked at the shadowed form of Faramir. His eyes were very tired. Shadows from the firelight flickered and danced across his lined face. 'We're not going to catch up with him, are we?' Snaga asked faintly. Faramir glanced up from the flames and stared instead at Snaga for a moment in silence. Then he sighed very heavily and shook his head. 'No, we're not. Not before he catches up with them.' Snaga bowed his head. 'It was too much for him,' he said at last. 'It was a trial. He...what will happen to him, Faramir?' The Steward, staring at the fire again, did not answer.

In the dream, he was watching terrible things happen, and he was doing nothing. He woke silently, cold sweat on his forehead, shaking. What could this mean? What was it? Celebros. Eldarion. His grandson, his son. This was too much, and not only for him. For all of them. They were failing. He turned his head to look at Arwen, lying next to him, sleeping peacefully. The sun had not yet risen. It was early, too early. He needed sleep. But he could not dream. Not again. Not that dream. 'Eldarion,' he whispered, sitting up slowly, trying to still his body. Still, tremors ran through him, uncontrolled, unchecked. 'Eldarion.' Something is wrong, he thought to himself. My son...my son is hurt. What am I doing? What am I doing here? He had seen the faces of the parents who had lost children. He had seen it on his own son. No parent should live after the death of their child, he remembered Eldarion saying dimly. It was a different sort of pain, losing a child, than losing a parent. Losing a parent was expected. But a child...one whose blood is your blood, one who you watched through life...no. He had never felt it, never known it. He had expected to know it. He had expected to die long before the death of one of his blood, one of his line. Many times, too many times. Celebros ...more than once he had felt blind panic and horror and despair. 'Their first assessment was that the boy was dead.' That still tore at his son, and would forever, he knew. For a brief, horrible moment, he had thought Celebros was dead. In a sense, Celebros had been raised by his uncle. Although not wanting to think it, he had wondered whether it might have been better if Caladin had never apologized to his son. That moment, a connection had sprung between them, something that had not been there before, and Celebros had known what it was like to have a father, and to lose him the moment he gained him. Eldarion. His thoughts had been ever on his son in these days, these awful days. Elessar hoped that he had made the right choices. He hadn't been like Caladin, had he? He remembered what Eldarion had told him of Caladin's first reaction to Celebros. He hadn't cared. He also remembered the day Eldarion had been born, and the sense of joy he had felt in that moment. He had not been like Caladin. Yet still...that lingering doubt. 'Eldarion.'

Aeargil hated herself for thinking it, but her thoughts kept straying back to the argument Eldarion and she had had back in the City. If only she had insisted...if only he had listened... if only he hadn't been so noble...But that was who he was, really. Was. That's who he is, she thought fiercely. He'll be all right. He promised. And Eldarion always keeps his promises.

'Be careful, will you? Don't let anything happen to yourself.' 'I'll be fine, Celebros. I promise.' 'That's a significant promise. I won't forget it.' 'You won't have reason to remember it. Listen, Celebros. Keep an eye out, all right? It's not safe anymore.' 'When has it been safe? The orcs in the Grey Wood getting closer and closer, and now the bandits from Elbereth knows where all over the Fields. They killed a guard last night.' 'I hadn't heard. But I guess I don't have to remind you to be careful. You always are.' 'You'll like Aeargil's family. Lorgan especially, I think.' 'Well, I have to go. I'll be back before you know it.'

Eldarion didn't open his eyes. Memories echoed in his head. That's a significant promise. I won't forget it. When has it been safe? I guess I don't have to remind you to be careful. You always are. Not anymore, he thought to himself, and then wondered vaguely what he meant as he slipped back into nothingness. There was no light for him to slip from. He went from darkness to darkness, wandering in untraveled and empty places.

He wondered if life had ever been different than this. He followed the tracks, a feeling of complete emptiness over him sometimes, not being able to remember happiness. He thought of Rilhir, and Tasarian, Cundariel and Gwalas, Snaga and Aeargil and Eldarion. He thought more of his father. Eldarion, too, of course, but his concern for his uncle had faded, and he felt a dim sense of horror at realizing this. Only dim, though. Hatred and determination...these were the only unstifled emotions. The rest were like muffled voices through a thick wall. The tracks were fresher now, and there was no sign of death. Where they had camped, they left unhidden firepits and signs. He was getting closer. He would catch up in the afternoon tomorrow, perhaps, or the evening if he stopped to rest. Evening, he thought to himself dully. Time to think, and cover of darkness to sneak up in. Maybe I won't kill them right away. Maybe I'll wait and only kill the one. Maybe not. It doesn't really matter.

The hawk fluttered in through the window unnoticed, and landed on his shoulder, startling him out of a deep reverie with a gasp. He untied the short, grubby letter from its ankle, unrolling it hastily. As he read it, his hope faded into horror. King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor, also Aragorn Arathorn's son Grave news; Eldarion your son has been injured. He was shot in the shoulder with a strange arrow. There is an area of purpling coloration surrounding the wound. It is also swollen and has sent him into a state of feverish unconciousness. He wakes perhaps once or twice a day, sometimes fevered or unable to speak. The muscles in his arm, shoulder, and neck are limp and do not seem to work. The arrow must have been poisoned, and we here do not know what it is. Rohan has just retreated. We believe the Methnan'rim and your remaining soldiers are safe. There are many dead of all our men. I believe the count is fifty-three of your Citymen dead, and nearly all the rest injured. It will be weeks before they are well enough to return. The only one whose life is uncertain now is Eldarion. I have sent also a messagehawk to the King Eomer. Perhaps he may tell us the poison and its antidote. We do not know what to do. We have tried all we can think of. We can do nothing more without assistance. Your Ally, Tarmamethnan also King Malril Elmith's son

He read the letter again, and again, and then let it flutter to the floor. The hawk fluttered its wings in agitation and flew over to the window, perching there silently, silhouetted against the red sun. Uncountable minutes later, Arwen walked into the room. 'What's wrong?' she asked softly, hesitating at the look on his face. She saw the letter on the floor and his dim look, and gasped. 'Not -' She hurried over, picking the hawk's message from the floor and scanning it. She gasped again, eyes huge and sparkling, and let out a soft, shattered cry. She sank to the floor next to his chair, and he set a hand on her shoulder gently. After a long moment, he said hoarsely, 'Rohan never uses poison.' We can do nothing more without assistance. 'Eldarion,' he whispered.

Days passed, and Eldarion seemed to be much the same. Once or twice a day, he would wake breifly. Sometimes he was unable to speak, and only occasionally would he eat or drink. But surrounding the wound, the poisoned area had almost doubled, and had darkened almost to purple. In those days, Aeargil left Eldarion's side only twice. She managed to gather that the poison was more severe than they had at first hoped. Eldarion woke less frequently, and for shorter periods of time. His fever burned on. No medicine, no herbs of healing seemed to help. One night, Eldarion awoke lucid. Darkness blanketed the world he woke into. He could see nothing in the darkness. It was very like to his dreams, except by his side a soft voice cried hopeless words of miserable anguish. A gentle hand lay on his own. Instead of heat now, his chest and shoulder were enveloped in a strange, sharp chill and numbness. Pain was gone. He felt tired and weak. He took a deep breath, and heard a soft, trembling voice whisper, 'Eldarion?' He tried to speak her name, but found himself unable indeed to make any sound. A sigh escape Aeargil's lips, and he felt her hand tremble. 'You're awake,' she murmered, voice shaking even more, half-relieved, half- fearful and anguished. Gently she raised his head and kissed him. His head was limp, the muscles in his neck affected by the poison. He tried to lift his hand, but it only twitched and would not move. He contained his grimace, but winced. 'I love you,' she whispered. 'Eldarion? We sent hawks to Eomer and King Elessar asking if they know what the poison was, and what the antidote is. I love you. You know that, don't you? I've always loved you.' She held his limp hand tighter, and vaguely Eldarion felt a teardrop on his palm. He drifted for a moment that lasted an eternity. Then he felt a dull, cold ache in his chest, yet a fiery one. He closed his eyes, mind blissfully blank. Then he opened them again. It took all of his little remaining strength, but he nodded in answer to Aeargil's question. He saw, rather than felt, her head rest on his shoulder, carefully avoiding the healing wound. With a sigh, then, he slept. Oblivion swept him away for a moment with the sigh of the whispering wind. But Aeargil was awake silent until the dawn broke.

Evening had fallen. Celebros crept in the shade, having seen the fire and leading Windscream. He had made up his mind. He had a plan, although it would be hard for him to carry it out without being found out.

Faramir turned to Snaga. 'These tracks are more than a day old,' the orc reported miserably. 'He'll have caught up with them by now. It's too late, Faramir.' 'Don't give up, my friend,' Faramir said softly. 'There is something about this night. It is heavy and light at the same time. We cannot give up. We must keep trying. Hurry!'

He stood outside the circle of light for a while, just watching the five men who sat around the flames talking. Although their voices were not loud, they didn't seem to be trying particularly to remain hidden. 'Well, all I'm saying is, we have enough right now to march up and demand -' 'You're drunk, Rothin. And anyway, who died and made you our leader. I'm goin' to follow Tarel's lead whether or not -' Everyone shot a look at the silent man in the scarlet shirt who sat just outside their circle at the name Tarel, and then the first man cut him off loudly. 'I said I'm only saying, I'm just suggesting we could. I don't want to be no leader.' 'Elbereth save us all of us if you were,' the second man said over him. 'Shut up, you two,' one of the quiet men said, although not the one they called Tarel. He had long brown hair and strange eyes that looked constantly sad and desperate and hurt. 'Just shut your mouths, or we'll be heard.' 'We already have been, it seems,' another man said quietly, his gaze meeting Celebros'. He had black hair, and a short, neat mustache and beard. His eyes were sharp, and at his waist was a broad axe, gleaming silver. The two arguing men spun around with the rest, going for their weapons. Tarel, however, made a sharp motion, and they lowered their blades, though not sheathing them. 'Well?' Tarel said, voice soft and dangerous. 'You clearly weren't trying to hide. Your name, stranger? Your purpose?' Celebros moved forward into the firelight. His grey eyes traveled slowly over the five men, finally resting on Tarel. 'My name is Celebros,' he said quietly, standing very still. His hands were balled into fists, although none of the others seemed to notice. 'My purpose is to join you.'

The hawk flew past Malgalad onto Eomer's shoulder. The aging king looked at it for a moment, then raised his hands slowly and untied the message. Malgalad came over next to the throne, looking at the message over Eomer's shoulder. 'What is this, Malgalad?' Eomer asked finally, looking up at his councillor. 'This king calls our attacks unprovoked, and speaks of the Prince of Gondor being poisoned. I do not understand. They attacked us. And we do not use poison, do we? Is this your doing?' 'He's a liar,' Malgalad said silkily, his breath hot on the King's face. 'He lies to me,' Eomer agreed quietly, eyes unfocusing. 'We used no poison.' 'No, we used no poison.' 'What?' a voice came from the shadows. 'Father, are you all right?' 'The King is fine. He does not need your aid,' Malgalad hissed, but the young man strode out of the shadows, bowing his head and going onto one knee to kiss his father's hand. 'Elfwine,' Eomer said softly. 'More news?' 'Father, are you all right?' 'I...yes, I am.' Elfwine's eyes were concerned. He glanced at Malgalad darkly. 'You may go,' he ordered the councillor. Malgalad nodded, bowed to the Prince and the King, and departed into the shadows quickly, although Prince Elfwine did notice that he grasped his shoulder as he turned, looking pained. 'Father, you were saying to Malgalad we used no poison, but - what is this?' Elfwine cut off, looking at the hawk and the letter. Eomer looked startled, and glanced down at the letter. 'It's from the King of Methnan. The kingdom you're attacking. Isn't it?' 'Yes,' Eomer said, reading the letter. 'It says that Prince Eldarion was shot with a poisoned arrow by our men! What the devil is he doing there?' 'We used no poison,' Eomer repeated softly, eyes dimming. Elfwine's eyes narrowed in anxiety and worry. 'Father, Malgalad said that you ordered the commanders use poisoned arrows. Don't you remember?' The King's face clouded. Elfwine's expression closed. 'You gave no such order,' he said flatly. 'Did you?' 'I - no, I - he must have - have misunderstood,' Eomer finished, looking confused. 'It's - well, I'll have to see whether we know the cure for whatever he ordered them to use.' Elfwine turned back to the letter. '"Unprovoked attacks, killing women and children..."' He looked at his father's dim eyes with disbelief. 'What in Elbereth's name has happened here?' he whispered. Eomer did not seem to hear him. Galadon did, from his refuge in the shadows of the room. He liked shadows.

'Any news?' Tarmamethnan looked up from the scrolls laid out before him on the carved oak table, pain in his eyes as he gazed at his eldest. 'It's too soon, my daughter.' 'They will answer. They must! The King Elessar is learned in lore and healing, he must know what -' Tarmamethnan cut her off. 'Aeargil...' He couldn't bring himself to say what he was thinking, couldn't even think it without pain blossoming in his heart. He may not even last that long, he may die tonight, he may never wake again. He may not recover, perhaps the antidote - if there is one at all - perhaps it only halts the effects, instead of reversing them. Instead he said quietly, 'He hasn't woken again, then?' 'No,' Aeargil whispered, turning her head to hide her tears, although they remained in her choked voice. 'He hasn't moved at all. You can barely see his breathing any longer.' 'He is weakening,' Tarmamethnan said gently, looking away from her shaking shoulders. 'Aeargil...he may not last.' He had not meant to say that. Why had he said that? Aeargil tried without success to stifle a sob, and turning, fled the room.

'Left, boy. You always strike from the left. Try again.' 'I can't strike left. Not the way you're teaching it.' 'How would you suggest you get in on my left side?' 'Well, one handed, for starters.' Dareth laughed. Celebros had disliked him since their first meeting. He was extremely condescending and sarcastic, and very stuck-up. 'One-handed? Little bugger, I'd like to see you try.' 'All right.' Having expected Celebros to turn down the offer, Dareth's smile faded slightly at the emotionless grey eyes. Then he chuckled. 'Just don't blame me if you get whopped, bugger.' Celebros did not bother to tell him not to call him 'bugger' - after all, he hadn't listened for the past six hours of the afternoon. 'Ready?' 'Readier than you are, bugger. You're holding that thing wrong.' 'I'll do it my way and you do it yours.' Dareth laughed again. 'Okay,' he said. They repeated the exercise, and Dareth frowned. 'How did you do that?' Celebros shrugged, expressionless. 'My uncle taught me,' he said blandly. 'Where's this uncle of yours?' Dareth asked. 'Sounds like a remarkable fellow.' 'He was,' Celebros said shortly. 'Past tense?' 'I suppose so,' Celebros replied, letting a tinge of emotion enter his face, not quite reaching his frozen eyes. 'Sorry,' Dareth said. He truly sounded it. Celebros hated him even more.

In Minas Tirith, night was darker than ever before. Or so it seemed to the King. He sat in a hard chair, sleepless, exhausted. It was as if someone had pulled a black curtain of darkness over the night. Nothing was right. Nothing. Four days. Four long days had come and gone without news, without food, without sleep. Sleep... It was as if a voice was whispering in his ear. Sleep... He did, and even as he fell from the black world for a time, he dreaded what dreams might come.

'Eldarion!' This was an unfamiliar place. Where was he? This was not Minas Tirith. He called out again. 'Eldarion?' Perhaps his son was here...wherever this was. He had a feeling. There was a voice from behind him. 'Is that my name?' He turned, recognizing the voice, and then the face, of his son. 'Eldarion.' 'Am I?' his son whispered, eyes misty and distant. 'I can't remember.' The dark pools cleared, and his eyes focused. 'Father?' he whispered. 'Are you dead?' Elessar asked, afraid of the answer, and certain of it. Of course he was. 'Dead?' Eldarion laughed, and when he looked back at his father his eyes were clear and sparkling, full of joy and youth and laughter. 'Not yet. Not if I can help it.' 'But this is only a dream.' Eldarion's eyes sobered, although the half-smile did not fade from his confident face. He lay his right hand on the King's right shoulder. 'What are our lives, then, but dreams?' his son asked him. 'What is the world we live in but a dream of all things great and small? What small accomplishments do we know? These are the things that Middle-Earth is made of, Father. Don't give up on me yet.' A strange look crossed his eyes, and he smiled again, confidently. 'You know,' he said quietly, 'we're not alone here.' 'What do you mean, here, Eldarion?' 'We aren't alone in this world.' His eyes lost some of their laughter, and sadness crept in. 'No one is - not even -' 'Who?' his father pressed. 'Celebros,' Eldarion said simply, and then smiled again, broadly. The dream ended, and King Elessar woke again in his uncomfortable chair, hungry and tired and worried. The darkness was not at an end.

Eldarion woke again, breifly. He had had a very strange dream, and it left him with vague misgivings - something was wrong, at home. He could feel it. If not anything else. His entire body felt numb now, except for the strange heat and chill. He heard, as if far away, a door open and close, and running footsteps. He opened his eyes. Aeargil halted beside him, her face far away and anxious, laying a hand on his forehead, although he could barely feel it. 'How do you feel?' she asked, but her face was crumpled in worry and her voice faint and hopeless. She shivered slightly. 'It's so cold...and I am so hot,' he murmered, lips and tongue feeling heavy and thick. 'Yes,' Aeargil whispered. Her eyes were red. She looked as if she had been crying. 'Celebros...' Aeargil looked desperately as if she wanted to say some-thing, but couldn't bring herself to. 'He's...not alone...' 'No,' Aeargil whispered. 'He's all right. He's not alone.' 'I dreamed...' he breathed almost inaudibly. 'I dreamed that Father...thought I was dead...told him...' 'It was only a dream, Eldarion. Hush, love. It's all right. Save your strength.' 'Not a dream...what then are...what then...' Aeargil lay a finger across his lips, and he fell silent. 'Please,' she whispered desperately. 'You're weak right now. You need to save your strength.' As if to confirm her words, Eldarion coughed hard, his body wracked by it. He tasted his own bitter blood in his mouth. 'Sleep,' Aeargil whispered, stroking his cheek gently, and he obeyed.

Dareth sunk the tip of his sword into the heavy dirt, panting. 'Need a breather?' Celebros asked, still performing his complicated twists to an invisible opponent. Dareth glared at him, but his look faded into curiousity. 'Which of them taught you that one?' he asked. 'What one?' Celebros responded, still letting his blade dance. 'The - the flip, so that the hilt goes around your hand, and then you take it again, and slash horizontally.' 'The spiral?' Celebros asked, demonstrating. 'The twist and slash? Or was it in more than one motion?' 'That third one, the third one you just did.' 'No one taught me that. I did it myself.' Dareth looked at him, eyes smouldering. 'Little show-off,' he murmered, having forsaken 'bugger'. His eyes softened again. 'Could you...' he began, as if he was defying the moral grounds on which he stood, '...teach me?' Celebros half-smiled. 'You've got the gift, bugger,' he said devilishly, although unable to summon up the proper satisfaction he would normally have, 'but you don't pay enough attention to the forms. You have to watch my eyes, and pay attention to which you're doing. I've been told my weakness is that I pay too much attention to them.' 'I wish I had that weakness,' Dareth muttered, having chosen to ignore the 'bugger'. Celebros' smile faded, and he strode forward. 'My weakness in the blade killed one of my friends,' he hissed. 'Don't wish that. Don't ever say that again.' Hatred was burning in his eyes, and Dareth saw it, and was afraid. 'Tarel!' Earil called, managing to keep the quiet dangerousness in his voice while shouting for the leader. Tarel turned. 'Yes?' he answered, coming over to his second. 'Watch this,' Earil demanded. 'Again, boys,' he added to Dareth and Celebros. Dareth groaned. Celebros turned away sharply to pick up his dropped blade. 'Is there a problem, Dareth?' Tarel asked, disgust apparent in his face. 'I can't face him, Boss,' Dareth muttered. 'He's too good.' 'Is he now?' Earil asked softly, and smiled coldly. 'Then I will fight him, with your permission, Tarel, and yours, Master Celebros.' Tarel nodded curtly. Celebros' lip curled. Earil walked forward and unsheathed his sword. It was a pale silver, almost white. A single ruby was set in the hilt, and gold traced the center of the blade. Earil bowed, not taking his eyes off Celebros. Celebros did the same, but while there was a faint hint of confidence in Earil's, confidence covered every inch of Celebros' face. Even the way he stood, the way he held his sword, were strange. 'I do hope you are not as foolish as you seem, child,' Earil whispered so that only Celebros could hear. Celebros answered him equally quietly, and very cooly. 'You saw my blade- work against Dareth and were impressed. See it now at a fuller extent - or a lesser one. The fool is the one who underestimates his opponents.' Earil leapt forward, his blade dancing to and fro, quick as lightning. There seemed to be both more and less control in his motions than Celebros had ever seen. He stepped forward, and Earil smiled, obviously thinking that this would be easier than he had thought. Celebros quickly took that notion from his head. He thrust his blade forward, and to the side, pushing Earil's sword that way, and twisted his wrist. His sword arced up high, and Earil's fell from his grasp. Celebros stepped on it, resheathed his own blade, and stared levelly into the man's furious and startled and disbelieving eyes. 'I am no fool,' he said softly. 'And I am not a child.' He reached down and lifted Earil's sword. Earil took it silently.

'I don't understand. What can this mean?' 'Maybe he was forced.' 'There is no logical explanation for this, Faramir.' 'I agree that there is none I can think of. We couldn't have - he wouldn't really join them. They killed his father!' 'But he has. He has, my friend.' 'I wish we had brought a messagehawk. The King Elessar would know what to do.' 'Celebros is incomprehensible. I think that some of the things he does have surprised the King as much as anyone else. He is a shrewd judger of hearts, the King, but Celebros is different. He is completely unpredictable.' 'Snaga, you don't - you don't think -' 'That he joined them to find out which one killed his father?' the orc finished, looking sharply up. 'It is the only thing I can imagine him truly doing now.' 'Then there is still some hope, if we hurry on. If that is indeed his plan, he will try to gain their trust first. They will not travel night and day, even if he did.' 'But we cannot either.' 'We can travel faster.' Faramir smiled grimly. 'Much as I dislike admitting it, I am more hopeful now than I was before we found this.'

Far away from the troubles of the south, Eldarion dreamed of black things, darkened places, and wondered what was happening to him. He would wake, once a day or less often, more likely than not to find Aeargil at his side, or that guard - the guard who - what was his name? The Prince could not recall - it had been a long time ago, and it no longer mattered, that name - he was unable to speak, so he would never again have to know it. He had established this much himself, from the continuously red eyes and the sad faces. They said that there was no way yet to be sure if Rohan or his father knew and was responding, but he had seen his father's eyes. The King of the Reunited Kingdoms would know a cure if there was one, and his father had thought he was dead, in the dream. Hopelessness had been in his eyes, sadness and loss. He had not met his father again through dreams, and had a feeling he would not again, whether in dreams or in waking. He regretted it, although he regretted more knowing that he had broken his promise to Celebros. In the dream, he had known something more about the boy, but he could not recall. Celebros, I'm sorry, he thought to himself through the endless hours of waiting.

Just to hold on to hope one more second, one more hour seemed an accomplishment. Word had come from Rohan that they would try, but none had come from Faramir. Of course; there was no way to communicate, but this silence was forbidding and unbearable. The King longed just to mount and ride, but he had promised himself and his Queen and his people never to do that again, as he had several years ago, at the beginning of the ordeal. As he recalled it, he had been stabbed by an orc then. On the other hand, it had led him to meeting Snaga... Snaga, one of the only two people now who could save Celebros' soul.

Celebros, lying on his stomach on the ground, lifted his head enough to rest it on one palm, unable to sleep. Earil was the only other one not asleep - Celebros had the feeling he didn't sleep much. Celebros ignored him, tracing shapes in the dust with his long fingers. 'You really ought to sleep,' Earil said at last. 'Tarel's going to push us tomorrow. We haven't set any examples for a while.' 'I thought he said we would wait until I was trained in.' Earil sighed. Celebros kept drawing pictures, not looking up. 'Celebros,' he began - he had not called him 'child' since they had fenced three days ago - 'I think more likely he's going to leave it up to you, to teach Rothin and Dareth and Luc how to do this properly. You're better than I am, although that has more to do with being a natural on your part. Tarel's a natural. You're lucky he refuses to fight any of us. I've seen him with a blade. I don't know which of you is better.' 'I'm flattered,' said Celebros, not sounding it, now scratching words into the dust, Sindarin and Quenya and Numenorean. Earil came over and looked down at them, translating slowly. 'You have a gift with language too, I see,' he said quietly. 'I can't even understand all of that, and I was one of the best translators.' 'Some of it is Quenya,' Celebros admitted. 'Don't know why I'm writing that. It's nothing, really.' 'Could you read it to me?' Earil's voice had a strange tone to it. Celebros, still avoiding looking at the man, shrugged. 'I suppose. Though small and plain we know it seems -' 'I thought as much,' Earil said, cutting him off. 'Do you know where that was from?' 'A dagger,' Celebros said. 'I've seen it.' 'Don't be ignorant,' the older man snapped. 'That dagger was destroyed years ago.' 'I've seen it,' Celebros repeated stubbornly. 'Silver, a pattern of vines twisting their way about the hilt, a single curling leaf below the finger groove. Glimmering bright as if the light of the moon itself was drawn to its beauty. Entrancing, capturing, they said years ago, and would say no more. So I know no more. Though small and plain we know it seems...' A dreamy tone had come into his voice, but he stopped speaking abruptly, as if he forgot that he was saying it out loud. Earil looked slightly unnerved. 'That blade is best if left untouched,' he said quietly. 'If it still truly lives, hope that you never have to see it again. It drove him mad, they said. I never saw it, and hope never to have to.' 'It's there,' Celebros said softly. 'I don't have a choice. I see it all the time, and I can't stop going in there.' Earil did not respond, and Celebros looked up from the drawings in the dust at the other man. 'Sometimes, I think I was wrong,' the younger whispered. 'I can feel it. I... I was taken and tortured, a few years ago. You'd probably guessed. The scars are too many to be mere mishaps.' Earil nodded silently. 'And I...I'm not sure if I was meant to die then, and the reason I'm so plagued by misfortune is like compensation. Like punishment for cheating death. But still, I don't want to die, and I never have. My friends...they care about me, but they avoided me more and more before I left. They knew that I preferred solitude most of the time, or Eldarion. But he's dead now.' Celebros' eyes screamed desolation. 'He must be, by now.'

Tasarian glanced over at his sister, sitting by the window, standing up occasionally to pace in miserable useless fury, and then eventually sinking back into the chair. He was worried, Elbereth knew, for her and the King and Faramir and Celebros and Eldarion, Snaga and Malgil - everyone. But she was silent, saying nothing, and he could not read her eyes any longer. He had noticed that more, lately. He could not tell what she was thinking. A knock came at the door, and both of them twisted around to stare at it. Tasarian stood from his own seat and walked to answer it, not sure if he wanted to run, not sure if he wanted to answer at all. They only came for news, now. No one came except for news. It was Gwalas, looking exhausted and worn. 'Come in,' Tasarian said quietly. 'Sit, my friend.' Gwalas obeyed silently, sinking into the extra chair and glancing at the empty one beside him - the one where Celebros or Eldarion usually sat. He leaned back and closed his eyes breifly, then opened them again. 'The King got a message from Elfwine,' he said firmly. 'He thinks something is wrong with his father. He wouldn't say more about that. He might have found a cure for Eldarion. He isn't sure.' Cundariel turned back to the window wordlessly. 'What?' she said after a very long silence. It was the first words she had spoken in hours, and her voice was rough and low. 'It's a complex mixture, I understand - he had to bribe the man who made the poison to find out - but he isn't sure whether it will really work. It's a new kind of poison, something the councillor or someone made.' 'He might not last that long - long enough to get it to Methnan.' Tasarian's voice was anguished. Gwalas nodded, eyes closed again. 'The King is...it's indescribable. They're sending one hawk with a small sample of the antidote, a rider with more, and another messager bird - some other kind, smaller and quicker - with the method to make it.' 'And is there any word about Celebros?' Cundariel's voice almost broke. 'No,' Gwalas said. In that one word, his misery and agony and tension were forced hard. Tasarian clenched his teeth tight and waited a long while longer.

It was a young woman they found, little older than Celebros, and Tarel pointed her out to them from a distance. 'I have a better idea,' Celebros said quietly. 'You're doing this as a protest, to encourage fear. Her death will encourage only anger. We catch her, hold her, and let her free, all the while letting her think that we mean to kill her, and letting her escape seeming like a mistake at which we are infuriated. She carries the word back to the city, and panic will spread.' 'You don't want to kill, do you?' Luc asked. He sounded almost incredulous, but a bit admiring. 'Much as I dislike it,' Earil said, meeting Celebros' eye steadily, 'he is correct, Tarel.' 'Indeed,' Tarel said quietly. He did not look pleased, but not displeased either, just...soft and dangerous. 'You do the honors, Celebros. How long do you suggest we hold her?' 'Several hours,' Celebros said quietly. 'Inspire fear in her. It will be best for our cause.' Tarel merely nodded, and Celebros mounted, motioning for the others to get down. They did so, and he rode forward, pretending to be unconcerned and calm. The woman was on foot, wearing middle-class clothing, looking about with sparkling eyes. She drew in a startled breath when Celebros approached. 'Who are you?' she asked, in a slightly breathless and frightened voice. 'I am only one,' Celebros said quietly. 'Where do you go to, lady?' The woman did not answer, but the frightened look diminished, if it did not vanish entirely. 'What is your name? Where do you come from?' 'I am of Minas Tirith, or once was,' he replied. 'My name...what a strange thing to ask for.' 'I only wish to know what to call you.' 'Do not call me,' Celebros answered, dismounting. 'Follow me.' He stared into her eyes. She saw something strange there, a deep sadness, and did as he bid her to. 'Where are you leading me?' 'You must trust me, lady, whatever may happen. You must trust me. I do not mean to hurt you.' She drew back more, then looked curious and came up to walk beside him. 'Marilen,' she said quietly, looking up at him. 'My name. Marilen.' 'I advise you not to be so free with your name, lady.' 'Please, don't call me lady.' 'Don't tell them your name,' he said quietly, and looked her straight in the eye for the first time. She shivered, but stared back at him. He reached out and grasped her upper arm. Later, a long time later, she would find five bruises where his fingers and thumb had been. His eyes were urgent and... something else. 'Just trust me.' There was a very, very long silence but for the sound of their footsteps in the high grass and those of Celebros' horse. 'Who -' she began, but it was that moment that Dareth and Luc sprang up, one grabbing either of her arms. She screamed, eyes widening, trying to fight them. Tarel stood nearby, and Earil, watching the process. Luc tied her hands and gagged her, not very tight. Earil looked away. Tarel, however, shifted his hard gaze to Celebros, and smiled. He bowed, a half- mocking motion, and said something sharp to Earil. Celebros did not hear it. Something was frozen in his mind. Marilen had trusted him, and he had betrayed her. Hadn't he? Hadn't she? Perhaps not.

Marilen's struggling had faded. It was night now, and Celebros was on watch. Tarel had told him that it was up to him when they should free her. Luc had finally fallen asleep. Celebros crawled over to her. She was awake, and a look of such betrayal and fear was in her eyes as he approached that he could have screamed. Slowly, he untied the gag, and before she could speak or scream put a hand over her mouth. 'Shh,' he commanded. 'Quiet.' He untied the ropes around her wrists next. 'I'm so sorry,' he whispered. 'They were going to kill you, and I had to convince them.' She didn't move for a moment, then nodded mutely. 'Take one of the horses and go back,' Celebros continued in a low voice. 'But could you do me a favor? Could you send a messagehawk to Gwalas Windleaf in Minas Tirith and tell him something for me?' She stared into his eyes. The moonlight was reflected in them, and they looked sadder than ever. Marilen nodded slowly. 'Write this. "Caladin's boy is still alive, and plans to be for some time yet. I'm sorry. I have to do it." All right?' Marilen nodded again, and repeated his message quietly. Then she looked at him strangely. 'You're Lord Celebros, aren't you?' she said quietly. 'Aren't you?' 'Yes,' he said, his throat constricted. 'Don't tell anyone you've seen me, and don't sign the message to Gwalas. All right?' Again, she just nodded. She looked at the ground, then said quietly, 'I'm sorry about what happened - all of it. We heard, in Edoras. But there's still some hope. There's a rumor that Elfwine sent some antidote.' She stopped suddenly, seeing the confusion in his eyes. 'Oh, Elbereth,' she said, her voice deadly quiet. 'You haven't even heard yet, have you?' 'Heard what?' Celebros said. 'Something about Eldarion?' She avoided his eye, standing and starting to walk toward the horses. He grabbed her arm, and she looked at him again, then pulled away. She mounted Luc's horse and looked down at him again. 'He was shot with a poison arrow,' she said softly. 'Thank you.' Then she was gone, and he was left standing there and looking after her, even after she was long gone.

The hawks had arrived within the same day - one at dawn and one at dusk. Lorgan had been the one to receive the first one, the one with the detailed description as to how to make the anitidote. Aeargil had gotten the second one. The problem was, Eldarion was so close to dead that all were afraid it might make no difference. Aeargil had immediately given the small portion to Eldarion, and Lorgan had taken the first message to anyone and everyone who might be able to help. The rider would not arrive for another nine days, nine long and terrible nights. When he did at last, things had already happened, things of such importance that not everyone would remember the arrival at all, or would think it of little importance.

Gwalas was awakened early by a large and magnificent messagehawk. He blinked wearily, then his senses sharpened and he nearly tore the message in his haste to open it. He unrolled it slowly, wanting and not wanting to read. He didn't recognize the handwriting, and it was in neat, childish script, as if written by someone who had been taught how to write early but had never used the skill very much. It read:

To Gwalas Windleaf Minas Tirith From Marilen Marthien's daughter Edoras

I do not know you, but I have met someone who apparently does. He begged me not to write any more than he asked me to, but I fear he is in danger, although I cannot be sure. We in Edoras heard of his father's death, but still we wander the plains. A death of a noblewoman has been heard of by the same men who killed Caladin son of Mardin.

Gwalas almost stopped breathing. This woman...she had met Celebros, and recently, by all accounts. He frantically continued reading.

I was out one afternoon three days ago as I write this when I came across a young man on horseback. His eyes were piercing grey, and he refused to tell me his name, but dismounted and bid me walk with him. He insisted I must trust him. He mentioned a 'they', and I was just asking who they were when two of the bandits leapt up and grabbed my arms. That evening, I observed the Lord Celebros and the bandits working together, at least to some degree. He was very cold toward them, all but one. I was confused, frightened, and betrayed, but unhurt. I did not think they would kill me. I saw the look in his eyes when he insisted I trust him. That night, when he was on guard, he waited until the rest were asleep, then took off my bonds. He apologized, and told me to take a horse and go, but bid me to tell you this: "Caladin's boy is still alive, and plans to be for some time yet. I'm sorry. I have to do it." I promised I would. I guessed who he was, and told him I had heard and I was sorry, and that there were rumors of Prince Elfwine sending an antidote to Methnan. He was confused. I told him before I left that the Prince Eldarion had been shot with a poisoned arrow. He just stood there, not moving, and at last when I looked back I could not see him. I am confused as to the Lord's action's, but I give you my word now that I have told no one save the Prince Elfwine, and he as well as I give you our words that we will tell no one else. I would ask you to send me a message, if you would be so kind, if you hear anything about the Lord Celebros. Thank you.

Gwalas sat frozen for a minute, phrases seeming to jump off the paper and tear a hole in his heart. I observed the Lord Celebros and the bandits working together, at least to some degree. He was very cold toward them, all but one. Caladin's boy is still alive, and plans to be for some time yet. I'm sorry. I have to do it. I fear he is in danger. 'Elbereth Gilthoniel,' he sighed. 'No, Celebros.' His chances were limited. He could copy this message and send it to Faramir and Snaga along with one of his own. He could even send a message directly to Celebros, although that would arouse suspicion...maybe he could write it somehow in a way that only Celebros would understand. Together. All but one. Caladin's boy. Plans. Do it. In danger. Gwalas stood up slowly, and decided to pay a visit to the King Elessar.

Faramir looked at the tracks appraisingly. 'We're gaining on them. They slept here last night, but -' Faramir caught sight of a new track, something he had not seen before. He swore suddenly and loudly. 'One of the horses went a different direction,' he moaned to the orc. 'One of the horses, and we don't know if it's Celebros or not!' 'He won't leave them until he's avenged his father. One of the others must have left. It doesn't matter.' 'All right,' Faramir said, a bit resignedly. 'It wouldn't make sense for him to leave them now. You're right. But I wish I could decide.' 'I already have, Faramir, my friend,' Snaga replied with some satisfaction. 'If Celebros has left them, he is no longer in danger, yes? Come along.'

'I didn't realize she had taken it until it was already gone!' Celebros said loudly, for the third time. 'I'm sorry, but there was nothing I could have done about it! I couldn't stop her - she was too quick.' 'It doesn't matter, Tarel,' Earil said, also loudly. 'We can take turns running.' Tarel looked angrily from one to the other. 'YOU will take turns running,' he snapped. 'The two of you. Celebros, you first. Luc, ride Earil's horse, and Earil, ride Celebros'.' Earil shrugged at Celebros to show that he didn't enormously mind getting dragged into this. Celebros flashed a very unenthusiastic and weak smile. All but one.

The small dose of antidote did virtually nothing for Eldarion - nothing visible, in any case. He had not moved at all in three days, had not woken in four. Lorgan found the ingredients listed in the message, all but one - a certain herb native to the south. They despaired.

Earil was still riding and Celebros still running when they stopped that night. Celebros lay down still when they set up camp, not eating, having only a small portion of water. When the rest were asleep, Earil came over and sat down next to Celebros. The young man's eyes were open wide, reflecting the stars and the sky. There was silence a moment. 'You didn't have to do that.' 'I don't want you suffering for what I did.' 'So you did offer her the horse,' Earil said, his voice quiet and unsurprised. 'That was kind of you. And rather stupid.' 'I couldn't kill her,' Celebros whispered, closing his eyes. 'She reminded me of someone I knew once.' He almost said the name, but it died on his lips. Aeargil. He wondered in the silence that followed if Aeargil was dead too. He couldn't imagine her without Eldarion, with Eldarion dead. Dead. A tear leaked out from Celebros' closed eyes, and Earil whispered a Sindarin prayer. 'I'm sorry,' he added after it. 'I'm sorry, mellon nin.' Celebros opened his eyes again. They sparkled with unshed tears still, and he smiled a bit. 'Thank you.' 'You're a good person, and you didn't come here to join us, to kill,' Earil whispered. 'That man we killed, on the border of Gondor. Was he your father?' Celebros stared at the man in disbelief. 'He looked like you,' Earil said softly. 'Tarel doesn't remember, I expect. He...I wish I could be like you.' 'You could,' Celebros said almost pleadingly. 'I'm not good. And I did come here to kill. And I will kill, whether it's you or Luc or Tarel. I have to do it.' 'I couldn't,' Earil said flatly. 'I couldn't ever be good like you. Look at you - you're angry. You're young. You've been hurt. But you haven't killed yet, and you won't. Don't betray yourself and your friends.' 'One of you killed my father!' Celebros whispered fiercely, a light coming into his eyes. 'I watched him die, and the last thing he said to me was that he was sorry. He never cared, Earil. He never loved me, until he died. I lost him, but he had lost me years before then, when I was a child. My uncle was the one who cared, the one who loved me, my uncle and my grandfather. And now my uncle's dead, and my grandfather doesn't understand. He'll never understand.' 'So your grandfather...' Earil continued slowly. 'You're Celebros. Celebros Ithilron Telcontar. Son of Caladin. Grandson of the Elfstone King Elessar Telcontar.' Celebros didn't answer for a moment, and then he nodded slowly. 'Tarel will kill me,' he whispered. 'I will die, if he finds out. Or perhaps be held ransom.' 'He will not find out,' Earil said, his voice quietly bared steel. 'I will not betray you, Celebros son of Caladin, if I am held at swordpoint and told to. I was not the one who killed your father, I will tell you that now. I have heard of your deeds, Celebros, from Edoras where I lived until a year ago. I have heard and I have cared. But not until now did I understand. I saw the scars, and I saw your face, and I wondered, but I did not know, mellon nin. And now I do.' Celebros smiled and sighed, closing his eyes in relief and weariness. 'Do you...' Earil began slowly. '...know Faramir?' 'Yes,' Celebros said in some surprise. His voice was quiet now, as if he was very close to sleep. 'I...' Earil began quietly. 'I knew him. We were children together. My father and mother, you see, did not live together - my father in Edoras, my mother Minas Tirith. I lived with my mother until I was fourteen years. I met Faramir when I was four. He was lonely - his brother he loved, of course, and would play with him when Boromir would allow, but Faramir was young and Boromir had more to do - his education, learning his history and his duties. So I would play with him. I left, when we were fourteen. I saw him once since then, when your grandfather came, and I visited Minas Tirith. My mother moved to Edoras then, after the war, and I have lived there until a year ago. Then I met Tarel...' His eyes grew sad, and he shook his head, looking away to the dark horizon. 'I made a mistake there. I am older than I look, you see - my mother was half-Elven and my father had some Elven and Numenorean blood in him as well.' Celebros nodded. 'I don't see Faramir much. He spends his time in Ithilien, mostly. But I see him once or twice a month, when I'm in the City, and when I'm not...' His face closed, as if shutters had been pulled, and Earil saw that and did not speak any more. After a while, he sighed heavily and moved away.

Lorgan entered Eldarion's room to find virtually no change, except for the fact that Aeargil was asleep. She had been there for days, not leaving to eat or sleep. She just sat there, crying or whispering something that no one could not hear. Her head was currently resting on the bed. She was holding Eldarion's cold hand in one of hers, her head pillowed on the other, still half-sitting in the chair. Lorgan stood there a moment, staring dimly at them, then turned and left. There was no need to wake Aeargil to report his continued failure. He walked down the narrow, dim hallway in silence to the room where the rest of them were gathered; his father, his daughter, his brothers and younger sister. 'She's asleep,' he announced into the continuing silence, and sat at his place on the table. It was round, with eight chairs. One had been for his mother, at first, but Silmarien now sat there, beside him, and Tarmamethnan on her other side, and Barad and Elleth, and Tarrilas, and finally Eadon. Normally, Aeargil would fill the space between himself and Eadon. Silmarien sighed. Lorgan reached out and took her hand silently, and she took the King's. Tarmamethnan reached out to Barad. The circle continued in slow silence and sadness. Last Eadon reached hesitantly across Aeargil's chair and grasped Lorgan's hand. A family circle, with missing links. Lorgan wished it were that easy. After a moment, as if released, they all stood and seperated, each going to do what they needed. Finally, only Silmarien and Lorgan stood in the room. Silmarien hugged her father tightly, and he returned it. 'What am I going to do, sweet?' he whispered to her. 'Whatever you have to, Ada.'

The King had heard the news from the north - Eldarion had not woken now for days. He was dying more surely than ever. And still, Elfwine had written. The only problem was, Eomer's son had not known that cetyl only grew in the south. He was sending a supply, of course - a large one. But it would take several days to get there, and Eldarion might even already be dead. I would know, he told himself fiercely, I would know when my son died. I would know. But he didn't. He could not tell. He was not sure. And he had heard the news from the west, from Gwalas, from Marilen. Gwalas had come into his room, face crumpled, handed him the letter, and left promptly. King Elessar had read it, moving his lips as he did so - not quite silent and not aloud, afraid of both. Then he had set it down on the table and buried his face in his hands. My son is dead, my son-in-law is dead, my grandson is fading, my daughter is mourning, my life is worthless.

The cetyl arrived four days after the first messagehawks had - four days that seemed like four years. Eldarion's face was grey, and the poison had spread up his neck and down his arm and chest. It covered half his body - a sick-looking colored area, like a bruise, and the wound swollen beneath careful bandages. Aeargil was sitting in silence when Eadon entered with a strange look in his eyes. 'He's still here,' she said. That was the only phrase she had repeated in nearly six days near hearing ears. He's still here. 'Aeargil, King Elessar - he sent the cetyl we needed.' Aeargil looked puzzled, as if uncertain what that meant. Then her composure shattered, and she took a deep, shuddering breath and started to sob. Eadon came over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. 'Shhh...' he whispered. 'Shhh...'

Celebros felt lightened the next morning. It was cold and clear and faraway. The sun was just rising, and the rest were asleep - Earil sitting with a hand on his sword hilt. Something jarred in Celebros' mind. That was what Eldarion always did, when he fell asleep by mistake. When he was woken, he'd sit up quickly and stiffly, then settle back down, and it would always make Celebros laugh. How long has it been since I laughed? He couldn't remember.

But to the disappointment of the Methnan'rim and the Gondorian soldiers in Minas Methith, the antidote brought close to no visible change at first. It seemed to simply keep the prince alive for one day longer, and one longer. It prolonged the agony of helplessness. Then Aeargil told her father when he entered one morning six days after the antidote had arrived, and several after the rider had come, that the poisoned area was shrinking - more and more rapidly as time went on. It was only a matter of time before he woke again.

Celebros watched the band carefully and from a distance for the next several days, even Earil. Luc and Rothin were stupid - they had no sense of strategy. Luc was keen on details but missed the main point, and Rothin missed it all - he seemed to be in a perpetual state of oblivious drunk stupidity. Dareth was not the brightest star in the sky, but he was quiet, and he saw things, and he was strong. Tarel was entirely too cunning for Celebros to maintain a sense of calmness. He saw every-thing, heard everything, and was wickedly precise with the sword. Then there was Earil. Earil was strange. That was all there was to him - he was entirely a mystery. But he was neither good nor bad. Celebros wasn't sure whether he was up to a direct confrontation with Tarel, and would not risk it. He had no time for uncertainty. Earil was not a man who would turn entirely to Tarel, but neither, Celebros guessed, would he turn entirely away unless it meant his life, or Celebros'.

The King Elessar breathed again. His son was healing - slowly, they said, very slowly. He will never be entirely as strong in that arm. He will never fully recover from the arrow- wound. His son was healing.

'Cundariel.' She looked up from the paper. 'Yes?' 'You haven't eaten.' 'I'm not hungry.' 'In three days!' Tasarian persisted more loudly. 'You haven't slept in over a week! You haven't talked in hours at least, and then it's not talking. I'm going out, Tasarian, I'm reading, that's all, Tasarian, no, Tasarian, yes, of course, dear brother.' His voice was a bitter imitation of hers. 'You weren't even this worried when we thought Eldarion had no chance, or when Gwalas got the letter!' 'Something's wrong, all right?' Cundariel said, setting down the paper and putting her fingers to her temples. 'Something isn't right, and I don't know what it is?' 'Dreams?' 'No. Just a feeling.' 'That's what it's been for me, but starving yourself won't help Celebros.' 'I'm not hungry.'

'Aeargil,' Lorgan said, interrupting the long silence. Aeargil opened her eyes slowly. 'He's waking up.' She nodded, glancing at Eldarion. 'He's getting stronger,' she whispered. 'I knew it was only a matter of time.' 'Shhh...' Lorgan said, and leaned over to whisper in his sister's ear. 'What do we tell him, if he wakes?' 'I don't know. I'll decide then.' Aeargil's voice was soft but steady. She had started eating again, although the added news that the King had broken to them was weighing on her. She was glad that the King Elessar had not told them before. Celebros, why? she wondered silently. He might as well be dead for all we see each other. Fifteen minutes walk, and not a word in almost a year. That was cruel, and unfair of her to remember, but she did. But still...she couldn't believe it. He plans to avenge his father Eldarion's father had written. He plans to avenge his father and take back what is his - the sword passed down father to son for generations. He may succeed. It was the last three word that chilled her. He may succeed. Eldarion opened his eyes slowly. He didn't speak or move for a moment, and then he whispered something. 'Oh, Elbereth.' It was almost a gasp. He blinked several times. 'Oh, Elbereth Gilthoniel, the light.' Aeargil half-started, but Lorgan had already leapt to the window and pulled the curtain on it. Eldarion sighed. 'Thank you,' he said. His voice was - almost normal. Softer than usual, with a strange hint in it, but almost normal, almost... calm. 'Eldarion,' she whispered, and he lifted a hand and touched her face. He seemed very weak. She took his hand and held it against her cheek, and he smiled a bit. He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, they were clearer. 'How long has it been?' he asked, his voice sharp and strange, pulling his hand weakly away from Aeargil's. She exhaled slowly. 'Since the last time I woke up,' he clarified. 'Three days? Four?' Lorgan glanced at Aeargil, but she did not say anything. He looked at Eldarion sadly. Eldarion was looking between the two of them uncertainly. 'Twenty-two,' Lorgan said quietly.

It was dusk; a cold, hard, brown dusk. Winds blew through the fields, making the already-small campfire flicker, and die once an hour or so. Celebros stared at it, memories fickering through his head. The embers died again, and Celebros looked up to find Tarel looking at him hard. 'What's bothering you?' he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. Earil turned around, Dareth glanced up from where he was crouched by the saddlebags, and Luc and Rothin glanced dimly from their places across the fire from each other, a bit closer to Celebros than to Tarel. Earil was almost next to Tarel, although he looked as if he wanted to move away, and stood across from Dareth. Finally Celebros spoke, his cold grey eyes meeting Tarel's level brown gaze. 'Dreams,' he said, simply and half-truthfully. 'What drove you from Gondor, Celebros?' the man persisted. 'You aren't a poor man - that's a fine horse you've got there, and good clothes.' 'I stole the horse,' he said quietly. 'I lost everything that I had but one person, and I threw that last scrap of hope that I had away.' 'Regretting it?' 'Yes.' 'Leaving us soon?' Celebros smiled a bit, staring at Tarel although Earil's gaze was harder. The young man's smile was cold and sharp. 'I don't know.' 'Hope not,' Tarel said, looking around at the others scornfully, although also avoiding Earil's eye. 'Your blade's a far shot better than these men's. Where'd you get it?' 'Stole it.' 'Ah,' Tarel nodded grimly. 'That's the best way to get the best swords.' 'Did you steal yours?' Celebros asked blandly. Tarel shrugged. 'One of the two.' 'Could I see it?' he persisted. Dareth held up a sheathed sword from the saddlebags, pulling it out slightly to show off the sun carved onto the blade, near the hilt.

In Methnan, Eldarion woke from an uneasy sleep. Aeargil had at last left his side to spread the news, and he was alone in the room. 'Oh, Elbereth, no,' he whispered.

Celebros took a deep breath, steadying himself, feeling the world twist about him. How many times had he seen that blade? He had never been aloud to touch it, but it was always there. Twelve years, every day, it would be strapped to his father's belt, whether he had been on duty or not. And even after I left, he still wore it, Celebros thought to himself. That's his blade. That's his. Caladin's. My father's.

Cundariel woke with a start from the chair by the fire. Tasarian was still awake, at the table near the window. He looked up. Cundariel stood. 'Celebros -'

'What is it?' he heard Dareth ask in a rough voice, as if from far away. He set the sword down, looking at Celebros. 'Which of you fought the man who owned this?' he asked a bit unsteadily. 'Which of you -'

'Celebros, Elbereth -'

'I did,' Tarel cut him off, standing up and nodding his head slightly. Celebros stood as well, and Luc and Rothin slowly followed suit, uncrossing their arms and looking around as if to ask what was happening. Dareth remained crouched by the saddlebags, head twisted to look at Celebros.

'Celebros, Elbereth help you -'

'My name,' he whispered to himself, 'is -'

'Celebros, Elbereth help you, no! Don't -'

'- is Celebros Ithilron Telcontar, son of Caladin, son of Mardin, son of Echelir, son -' He stopped, and said it louder. 'My name is Celebros Ithilron Telcontar, son of Caladin.'

'Celebros, Elbereth help you, no! Don't do this, don't -'

He moved forward, feeling as if he were made of metal - moving slowly and heavily. Every moment echoed in his ears, ever breath seemed to scream at him. He raised his arms so that the forearms faced Luc and Rothin on either side, slamming -

'Don't do this, don't become one of -'

- slamming them out to either side, hardly feeling the blow connect with the two faces, but hearing the crunches with agonizing detail.

'Don't do this, don't become one of them!'

Eldarion sat up slowly, wide awake, breathing hard and feeling his entire body tense, as if waiting for a blow.

The King Elessar opened his eyes, and closed them again. He knew in his heart that it was too late.

'I am the grandson of King Elessar.' He kicked Dareth hard, in the face - the startled, wide eyes seemed to slap him. He saw Earil begin to draw his sword, and Celebros drew his too. 'No.' He said it loudly, but Earil ignored it - the blade was half out - it was more than half - He was still hearing the loud, sick, satisfying crunch, still knowing that he had very solidly broken Dareth's nose, still feeling hatred course through him. My apologies, mellon nin, he thought to Earil. He was suddenly moving very fast.

'NO! No, no, no, no, no, no -'

Gwalas sat frozen in the chair by the window.

He flung himself between Earil and Tarel, pulling out his sword and slamming it into Earil's face. Soundless, Earil crumpled. Oh, Elbereth, let him be all right, Celebros thought. He gave Tarel time to draw his blade, and they threw themselves into a fierce dance of silver and moonlight and blood.

Later, Celebros would not be able to recall what was going through his head at that time. All that he knew was that he felt intense hatred, and he did not see Tarel's face when he looked at it, but someone else's entirely. He was panting. Would it never end? They were perfect equals, he and Tarel, and he didn't know how long they had been fighting. He gasped, thrusting his blade into Tarel's arm, and Tarel screamed, but began to fight one-handed. Blood soaked his tan shirtsleeve. The stolen sword broke, and he ducked, lunging over Dareth's still form to the saddlebags. His fingers curled around the unfamiliar hilt, and he unsheathed it, holding it so tight that his knuckles were white. Slash - thrust - parry - block-slash-parry- blockparryblockslashthrustslashslashslash - Tarel was clenching his teeth, his arm hanging limp and bloody at his side. Father. With a roar, Celebros attacked even more fiercely. Tarel moaned and fell back. The clashing song of steel and silver dance of moonlight halted. Tarel's sword clattered from his hand, and he sank shuddering to his knees. Both looking dazed, Celebros walked forward to where Tarel knelt clutching his bloody arm. He lifted his blade and placed it at the kneeling man's throat. 'Where...did you learn...to fight like that?' he gasped between groans and ragged breaths. Celebros neither answered nor moved. 'Do you know...what that inscription means?' Tarel hissed, trying to conceal the wild fear in his eyes. 'Do...' He shook his head, unable to finish whatever he had been about to say. 'I know what it says,' Celebros said softly, breathing hard, 'and I am not to judge its meaning.' 'Do you...' Tarel began again, but shook his head again. Celebros raised the tip of his sword. A trickle of blood ran from a pinprick in the man's throat. 'You won't bring your father back this way.' 'Offer me whatever I want,' Celebros whispered. 'Anything you want, you shall have,' Tarel hissed, his eyes darting to a spot behind Celebros. 'I want my father back, you worthless bastard,' Celebros hissed in reply, pulling his blade back quickly. Then someone caught his wrist. Furious, Celebros whipped his head around - - to stare into the deep, solemn eyes of Faramir.

Cundariel sat for a moment silent and tense, and then sighed.

Snaga stood silently behind him, looking around at the four motionless forms. One - the one across from the man slumped over the saddlebags - was stirring slightly. The man Celebros had fought was kneeling, silent, eyes frozen wide in terror. The man by the bags and the other two had extremely thoroughly broken noses. Celebros' face suddenly changed, as if reality had been slammed back into him. He gasped, his sword dropping to the ground, staring at Faramir unblinkingly. Then he looked away, wrenching his hand from the firm grasp, and stumbled away a few steps, toward the stirring man. Next to him, Celebros collapsed to his knees, and then curled into a ball, knees to his chest, head on his knees, gripping his hair with his hands tightly.

Tasarian rose from his chair. 'It's happened, hasn't it?' he whispered. 'Has he...' 'Whatever it was,' Cundariel breathed, 'it's all over.'

Celebros looked up dimly. Faramir was muttering something to himself. Tarel had his wrists tied, and Snaga was tying the still-unconcious others, leaving Earil alone. Time seemed to have passed without him... Earil was sitting up beside him, and Celebros became aware that he was speaking to him. '...all right? Celebros? Are you -?' 'I'm...' Celebros whispered, and shook his head. 'No.' 'Are you hurt at all?' 'He didn't touch me. Not once.' Earil nodded silently, and lifted his chin acknowledgingly to Snaga as the little orc approached. 'So you're Snaga,' he said quietly. Snaga glared at Celebros a bit and nodded, and Earil held out his wrists.

'I'm not going back,' Celebros said quietly as Faramir saddled his horse. Faramir glanced back at him. 'You are if I have to tie you up, too.' 'I can't, Faramir.' 'Celebros, what you've done is in all rights -' 'I don't care.' Earil, wrists bound a bit more loosely than some of the others, nudged Celebros. 'You've got to come back,' he said almost pleadingly. 'You have to help me. I don't have any proof otherwise that I was trying to -' 'What you were doing was trying to help him, and what he was doing was against the laws of these countries.' Earil was silent. Faramir sighed. 'What's your name?' 'Don't you recognize me, Faramir?' Earil whispered, his eyes fixed on the tall Steward's face. 'Don't you recognize me?' Faramir searched his eyes, and narrowed his own a moment. Then he gasped and grabbed the other man's shoulder. 'Earil?' he whispered. 'Earil?' 'The same,' Earil said quietly. Faramir closed his eyes. 'I never...' he muttered, shaking his head. 'I never thought, I never knew...why, Earil? Why this? Why them?' He gestured towards Tarel and the other bandits, who were waking at last, very slowly. 'He told me...' Earil breathed, looking at Tarel, avoiding Faramir's sad, strange gaze. But then he shook his head, made an indistinct sound in his throat, and sighed. 'I don't know.' 'It's been so long...' 'More than sixty years.' 'I thought you had gone. I thought you had gone years ago.' 'I couldn't leave without Isilphir. And when she died... I don't even know anymore.' 'Come on, Celebros,' Faramir said, still looking at Earil with wonderment. 'I'm not going.' 'Morgoth take you, Celebros!' Earil exploded. 'Are you blind? You joined us. You joined us, and in doing that forfeited your life. Your grandfather may beg you off, may forgive you, but you don't have a choice.' 'Where are we in Rohan?' Celebros asked, ignoring everything they had just said. 'Near the southeast border,' Earil answered. 'We circle, a bit off every time. I've made nine loops since I joined them. Why does it matter?' Celebros looked away and shrugged. 'Celebros,' Faramir said, his voice hardened and tense. 'Come on.' 'We're a horse short.' 'Snaga can ride with you. He still doesn't like riding alone, even if he can.' 'Celebros,' Earil said quietly. 'It's no use.' Celebros slumped slightly, turning to look at Tarel. The man was staring at him, hatred and some degree of respect in his eyes. I did do it, didn't I? I got as far as I could. I convinced them. I acted my part, even if I didn't finish my job. And I don't want to now, Celebros realized. I don't need to now. I hate that I ever could have needed to. He mounted the horse.

'Did you hear about Eldarion?' Snaga asked. 'Celebros?' 'Marilen told me a bit. Do you know if he's dead?' Why did I ask that? Of course he is. 'I'm not sure. I haven't gotten any news - any at all.' Snaga made an indistict sound after that. 'I don't think any news we would have gotten would be good. I...am sorry.' 'She said that Elfwine had sent an antidote. She said that she was sorry. As if she didn't think it would work.' 'Or perhaps it was too late, or she thought it was.'

Eldarion's sleep was restless. Aeargil had, after a deal of persuasion, agreed to take shifts watching him, although she often "forgot" to wake someone else when her shifts were late. Other times she would stay after her shift had ended, and insisted on being gotten immediately if he woke. He woke much more often, and although he was tired much of the time, and weak, he was getting stronger.

'Don't worry,' Celebros said quietly. 'I'll go with you, and you shall come to no harm. Not unless they kill me too.' 'I did terrible things,' Earil half-snarled. 'You have no idea...' 'Did you kill?' 'No, but I stood by as others did.' 'Did you try?' 'No.' 'I did.' 'I know. But you didn't succeed.' 'A bitter thought. I couldn't be what he wanted me to be when he was alive, and I couldn't even help him when he was dead.' Celebros laughed. It sounded cold and empty and ruthless. 'Help him?' Earil whispered. 'You think avenging someone helps them? You just about died, from what I heard. What was the name of the man who did it?' 'No, don't try that. It wouldn't work. I'd want him to be killed, because otherwise he'd kill again.' 'Not if he was a prisoner.' Celebros laughed again. 'But you never met Eldir.'

Eldarion felt like kicking something, but decided against it. He was frustrated. It had been what seemed like ages, but he still couldn't stand without help, still couldn't use his hands steadily - they would shake and tremble. Still couldn't stay awake for the whole day. Couldn't use his arm right. Couldn't move his head without having to clench his teeth to stop from crying out with the pain in his neck. It hurt so badly to use his arm, or to shift the tiniest bit, or to turn his head in the slightest. He sighed in resignation, and tried to sleep again.

'Oh, dear Elbereth.' The towers of Minas Tirith seemed to throw themselves at Celebros. 'It's beautiful,' he whispered. 'I'd forgotten how beautiful it was.' Earil laughed. 'You haven't seen it in a couple months, I haven't seen it in sixty years, and I had not forgotten.' Near the gates to the Inner City, the King appeared. Celebros fell silent. The King's gaze lingered on him, and he did not speak directly to any of them. 'This way,' he say quietly, turning around and walking away. He lead them to the Hall, where many chairs were drawn to a circular table. He sat down and indicated that they should do the same. Snaga and Faramir half-pushed a frightened-looking Tarel into a chair, and sat down one on either side. Earil sat by the King, and Celebros resignedly sat behind him, staring at the table, uncomfortably aware of his grandfather's eyes burning into his skull. After a moment, the King began to speak, and Celebros liked it even less than silence. He didn't address any of them - he just spoke. He spoke as if to all of them or none of them. Earil glanced at Faramir, but the Steward's eyes were only on the King. Celebros didn't hear a word of it - his mind was a sort of haze. I tried to kill him. I tried to kill. I would have killed a man if they had not stopped me in time. He didn't know how much time passed, just that it was long, but when he finally looked up, he realized that the room was empty except for he and the King. He looked back at the table, staring at his hands trembling there, and heard his grandfather move into the chair Earil had occupied. He had a strange feeling that they had been sitting in silence now a very long time. He felt the King's hand under his chin, pushing it up, and very unwillingly looked up into the deep eyes. There was a very long silence, and Celebros sat frozen for what seemed like an eternity. Then King Elessar withdrew his hand and turned away, his shoulders shaking silently. For the first time, Celebros found the strength to ask his grandfather a question. 'Eldarion,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 'Is he...' 'He's healing. He'll be fine.' It was a stiff, sharp voice that the King was using. There was another silence, and then he continued. 'But dear Elbereth, Celebros, you could have thought about what you were doing first.' 'I thought I knew. I...' 'Do you have any idea what we went through here?' His voice was a deadly whisper. 'Do you have any idea what you did to us - with Eldarion almost dying, you had to add that to everything - you had to - Elbereth, I don't even know how to put this.' Celebros wanted to run, to turn and run. His grandfather's voice - his kind, understanding grandfather - was harsh and rough and angry. And suddenly Celebros understood. He opened his mouth, but he was cut off. 'Gwalas and Cundariel and Tasarian wanted to talk to you. They are in the third garden. Since you didn't seem to care very much about what I had to say before, I assume you missed what I told you all. You will all report here at nine.' Celebros didn't move. Then, after a moment, he rose and walked from the room. He did not, however, head toward the third garden, but instead toward the aviary. If Eldarion was alive, he needed to tell him some things. He needed to...to do something, Elbereth burn it! The aviary was close to empty. Atop the fifth-tallest tower in the city, there were very few messagehawks to start off with, and most were being used in frantic attempts to find out if their families had been killed in Methnan. Celebros felt a shift of guilt - what if by doing this, he was preventing someone from doing just that - but he took the smallest hawk he could find, letting it perch on his shoulder, and went to his own rooms. It felt decidedly empty there, and cold. He wondered vaguely where Earil was, and decided to find out as soon as he'd sent the hawk. He sat at his desk, brushing dust off of his things, and poised his loaded quill over a sheet of clean paper. Dear Eldarion, he wrote...

'Each of you undoubtedly has your own story,' Faramir said, standing and leaning against the table, both palms flat. The King sat at the other end, silent, not seeming to make eye contact with anyone. 'You will tell them one at a time to the King and I. Understood? We will not tell any of the others what you have said, nor will we pass judgement until we have heard every side. You first.' He indicated Tarel, who stood silently and sullenly and followed the Steward and the King into the corner. Earil leaned across the table to Celebros, who was staring at it as if it held all the secrets of Middle-Earth. 'Tell him the truth,' he whispered. 'Don't try nobility - sacrificing yourself - tell the truth.' 'He'll know if I don't,' Celebros murmered. 'He sees it in the eyes. I can't -' He cut off, shaking his head. 'He'd know.' Hours seemed to pass as Tarel told his side, glancing over to the others, who Snaga was watching intently. Once or twice he gestured, or seemed to get angry, but mostly he just nodded as he spoke. Dareth was next, and his story was not quite as long. He motioned almost wildly toward the table, looking fearful, and finally fell silent for a while before returning. Both Rothin and Luc's stories were extremely short. They seemed to think an awful lot and talk very little, indicating their noses. Celebros didn't notice - he was staring at the table still. Earil went next, and Celebros noticed that he gestured very little, talking in a quiet, sober voice, glancing his way several times. Faramir watched Earil's eyes adamantly, unmoving. King Elessar nodded slowly. Then Earil muttered something to him, and he stood and walked over to where Faramir and his grandfather waited. It seemed to take hours to get there - he felt as if he were made of lead, or as if he was dreaming, walking and never getting closer. But then he was sitting in the chair, gripping the arms so tightly that he could feel them being imprinted in his skin. 'I stole the horse and the sword the same day as my father died, that night, when the streets were empty. I left immediately after I left here the next morning. I went first to the spot where Tarel had attacked, finding the horse's tracks and following them. When I found the band...I sat for a few minutes and watched them, until Tarel saw me and asked me who I was and what I wanted. I said I wished to join them.' Celebros was aware that his voice was quiet and flat, and almost winced. He glanced at the table, where Earil was looking intently at them. 'They were amazed by my swordfighting abilities. I fought Earil - he was the only one who I did not instantly hate - and won. He and I talked. After a long time, he confronted me. He knew that I was...' A lump rose in his throat, and he continued slowly. '...that I was the son of the man they had attacked. He told me he wouldn't tell Tarel. I told him things, after he guessed. He said he admired me, because I was good. After Tarel saw Marilen and said that we should kill her, I said I thought it would inspire more fear if we captured her, making her think that we would kill her and then letting her escape, making it look like an accident. They agreed. I went to lure her to them. I told her to trust me, but didn't tell her who I was. They caught her. I let her go on my guard that night, asking her to send Gwalas a message...' Celebros opened his eyes, not remembering having shut them. Faramir nodded to show that it had been received. 'She said she was sorry, and guessed who I was, and said that Elfwine was rumored to have sent an antidote, but I suppse she saw that I didn't understand. She told me about Eldarion. 'I watched them, I don't know for how long, and Tarel watched me - perhaps Earil too, if for different reasons. I trusted Earil to some extent, with my life if not with my true purpose, although I know he must have guessed it. He had told me he had never killed, although he had stood by while others did, and that he never planned to kill. 'When I decided it was time, I attacked...I had my blade raised to kill Tarel when Faramir grabbed my arm from behind. I don't remember what was going through my head. All I wanted was to kill, and then to die. When he grabbed my hand, I dropped my sword. I realized what I had almost done...what I had been about to do...but I didn't want to come back here. Even if I didn't want to kill, I wanted to die. I thought Eldarion was already dead. I didn't want to come back. Earil persuaded me not to run. I had to tell the truth to you. He couldn't...' Celebros found the lump in his throat, and could not continue. There was a silence, in which the King and Faramir glanced at each other, eyes strange. Then Faramir nodded, looking back. 'Go back to the table, Celebros,' he said quietly. 'We need to decide.'

'I don't know. I don't know.' The King was shaking his head, back and forth. 'I don't know.' 'From what the others say, Tarel has killed more than fifteen people. He's the one who organized almost all of the killings on the Fields.' 'I know. He and those other three - I already know about them. They're all murderers. But Earil, and Celebros...' 'I know. I don't know how to do this. Earil isn't innocent, but he hasn't killed, and he isn't evil.' 'He isn't wholly good, and he isn't even remotely evil. Tarel doesn't seem to like him.' 'I can't say for Earil. I can't decide that. We were children together. He was the first child, aside from Boromir, that I ever knew. Father didn't like him. I don't know why. We would sneak into the City to play when Boromir was in his lessons. He moved when he was fourteen, and I didn't see him until you were crowned again. I thought he was dead.' 'What about Celebros?' 'I don't know, King Elessar. I couldn't judge him. I could never...I...' 'I don't know how we can possibly do this.'

'Tarel Nenelya, Luc Mithurin, Dareth Lachel, and Rothin Rileni. You are, from this day forth, to be considered prisoners of Gondor. The four of you are sentenced to life in the prisons of Minas Tirith. 'Earil Eanar and Celebros Telcontar. You are sentenced to three years of confinement. You are both forbidden to leave Minas Tirith until the three years are up and the King accepts that you have paid your price. Any violation of this sentence will bring you subject to resentencing. Is this understood?' 'Yes.' All six of them said it, four glaring at the other two. Earil set a hand on Celebros' shoulder. Both their faces were impassive. Both realized that they were getting the easy way out.

Dear Eldarion,

I don't know how much you've heard of what happened, and what I did. I've heard very little, having only returned to the City yesterday. I tried to write earlier, but found myself unable to. Now I have been sentenced. I was lucky, as was Earil. Both of us deserved worse than what we got, which happens to be three years confinement in the City - unless, your father tells me, I'm instructed to leave on duty. I suppose that in a way I've been made a guard of the City, without watch duty or the like. Not allowed to leave without the lord's permission. I feel guilty - I don't know whether I should. Tarel, the man who killed my father and countless others, and the other three have been sentenced to life in prison. They had all killed before, but Earil stood by, and I was about to kill. I would have killed, had Faramir not stopped me at the last possible instant. I hope that you and Aeargil and the men are doing well. I heard about your ordeal, to some degree. Have Aeargil give my regards to Tarmamethnan and Lorgan and all the rest - or do so yourself. I am glad you are well. Love, Celebros Ithilron Telcontar Caladinsson

He watched the messagehawk fly out the window into the night, and turned back to face his three Elven friends. Gwalas, Cundariel, and Tasarian were all there, looking mildly annoyed in two cases and completely impassive in one - Cundariel being the one, and understanding his desire to finish his letter before talking to them. Again, however, their conversation was stalled by a knock at the door. 'Come in,' Celebros called, his face sober. Earil opened the door a bit. 'I'll come later,' he said at seeing the three, but now a look of annoyance crossed Celebros' face. 'I said come in,' he insisted. Earil shrugged and sat in the last empty chair. 'Earil, this is Gwalas, Cundariel, and Tasarian.' Each nodded politely. 'Now, to business,' Gwalas said after a moment's silence. 'Celebros, you're going to talk, and if you stop talking before you've finished you will find yourself in quite a predicament.'

Eldarion handed the letter to Aeargil so that she could read it as well, his face strange. He sighed, and turned his head slightly. 'Greetings from Celebros,' he said to the rest of the family. Lorgan smiled faintly, and Silmarien glanced at him. Aeargil made an indistinct sound and handed the letter back to Eldarion. He took it carefully, and without wincing. It still hurt to move his arm or neck or the like, but not near as much. 'I'm sure he's fine,' she whispered. 'Yes,' Eldarion agreed flatly. He gestured to indicate that Lorgan and Tarmamethnan could read the letter too, if they wished. Lorgan took it, and handed it first to his father. Tarmamethnan nodded gravely as he read it, and gave it back to his eldest son. 'Celebros has a good heart,' the King said quietly. 'He may hurt, for a time, but he will be all right.' Eldarion nodded dimly. 'He always is,' he whispered.

It was three days after the letter arrived in Methnan that Eldarion started to walk again. It was an extraordinary feat, after weeks and weeks of being unable to. He couldn't go far, or for long, and he stumbled a good deal, but he could do it with little pain. It took a lot of effort, and he would often fall asleep rather soon afterwards, but it made Aeargil a good deal happier, and it seemed to cheer up Eldarion as well.

Celebros, meanwhile, was growing rather restless. He shouldn't have been bother about being forbidden to leave the City, but three years seemed like a very long time. He rarely left the City as it was, except orc-hunting, of course, or trips to Ithilien, and he had visited Edoras once...but it was the fact that he wasn't able to even if he had wanted to that bothered him. Earil visited virtually every day, often as not bringing along Cundariel or Gwalas - Tasarian would also come occasionally, but Earil seemed to unnerve him somewhat. The most significant visitor he had in the two weeks following his sentencing, however, was the King. King Elessar came one evening twelve days after, and Celebros let him in with some surprise. It had been years since the King had visited him in his apartment. Most of the time, if he was wanted, he would be called to the Hall. Celebros stood a bit stiffly and uncertainly, face emotionless, as the King sat down in a spare chair, looking into the flickering flames a moment before speaking. 'You don't have to stand.' Celebros didn't move, just stood there almost wilfully. A pained expression flickered across his grandfather's face. 'Please, Celebros. Sit.' It was an order. He did. 'I wanted to talk to you.' Go ahead, Celebros thought to himself, not sure why he was doing this. I deserved all I got and more - why do I feel this resentment? 'That sword.' The King gestured to it. Celebros was wearing it, despite the fact he wouldn't have to use it for at least three years, in all likelihood. 'How much do you know about it?' 'What do you mean?' 'About its history,' King Elessar pressed, staring Celebros hard in the eyes. Celebros shifted in his chair, unable to pull his gaze away. There was something unnerving about the way his grandfather was looking at him, something dead solemn. 'Just that it was made in the north, and given to my great-great-great- great grandfather.' My father's father's father's father's father's father. His name was Corel, and he was a innkeeper. He married a half- Elven woman whom he met in his travels, in Imladris, and received the sword soon after. He gave it to his son before he died on a hunting trip, and told him to give it to his son, and to pass it along father to son for all the ages. Celebros thought the rest of this to himself, but did not say it out loud. 'An Elven smith of Mirkwood, when it was still called that,' the King said quietly, 'forged it in secret. His family had been killed by orcs, and he had been injured. He could no longer fight well, or shoot a bow, but planned to do his best and die that way. He made it with precision and care, carving in last the words and the sun. He meant by it that what he was doing was something he hated, and he hoped that the sun would rise after his death on a better world, and that he would have changed it for the better somehow. He knew that peace was the way, and that killing lead only to more killing, and added the words, barely understanding himself what they meant. Three years he worked on this blade, Celebros. Three long years he perfected it. And then he went into the wild. 'Corel - yes, you do know who that is - found him dying near the mountains. A hunting party of orcs and Wargs had come onto him, and he had not fought them. The blade remained in its sheath, untarnished by their black blood. The Elf had been taken for dead, his blood pooling around him, but he had somehow managed to climb to his feet and start off towards Imladris. Thus Corel found him - given up, bleeding to death. He told your ancestor his sad story, and Corel wept with him, and he gave to this strange Man his sword, this thing that was three years of his life, and told him never to use it, only to take it, and pass it on saying the same. 'The Elf died then, and Corel remembered his words. He brought the body to Imladris, and Lord Elrond had it buried. I saw the grave. It is unmarked, with a headstone bearing the same words as are marked on that sword. They did not know his name. 'Corel returned to his inn in this City with his wife, who was with child. He named his son Er-Teldagor, meaning, as I'm certain you know, roughly one ending battle or one last battle. He taught his child the importance of peace. 'One day, when Er-Teldagor was almost of age, Corel gave him the blade and left Minas Tirith forever. His body was found apparently unmarked in the Greywood. It is not known what the manner of his death was, for Corel was not an old man, or ill. He was very sad, for most of his life, because he knew that he could not end war. He never did use that blade against any living creature, and told his son to do the same. 'Er-Teldagor married and had six children. His oldest, a son, was not a peaceful child, despite his father's vain attempts to teach him the pointlessness of death and war. When Er-Teldagor was dying, he asked the second-oldest son to come to his bedside and take the blade, to be passed on to his son when the time came. This child was only fifteen years old, and his name was Elisil. 'Such a fit of rage took the oldest son that he tried to kill Elisil. The younger boy unsheathed the blade, telling his brother to stay back. The older leapt forward, and Elisil, terrified, moved his arms too late to protect himself. The eldest boy was impaled upon the moving blade. It was the first blood the sword had ever tasted. 'But the older brother did not die. He learned his lesson, however, and refused the blade. He married, and taught his son the meaning of peace, and died. Elisil too married, and had three sons and two daughters, but when he died he insisted his sword go to his older brother's eldest son, and his own children did not disagree. 'This child, Echelir, passed the blade carelessly on to his son Mardin, who knew the meaning of peace well, but he did not insist on it remaining unused, and Mardin, who became a Guard, killed orcs and more with it. He fought under me, your grandfather, in the War of the Ring. He was a young man, and naieve. He lived through them unmarked, but the blade was stained with blood, and it was only five years before his death and when his son Caladin was ten years that he found the family's story and the tale of the blade. He was horrified at what he had done, and did not tell his boy of the story, knowing how Caladin revered tradition and would be appalled at the breaking of such a sacred one. He moved the files to the libraries of the City, where I found them. 'Caladin took the blade at his father's death, and used it for many things. He did not understand what he was doing, and thought rather that he was doing honor to such an important heirloom by using it for his purposes. Not knowing of the history, and knowing that his son was not so eager to become a Guard, he did not teach him as Mardin had also neglected to. He insisted that his boy know the carving. He would give it to his child when he died, he decided. 'But when he was killed on the border, the sword was taken. His son, furious at the murderers, followed them, and planned to avenge his father and take the sword. He joined them, to find out which had done the killing, and when he did, he was only just stopped in time from killing again with the blade.' The silence in the room thickened. Celebros looked to the King's eyes suddenly young and horrified, as Elisil perhaps once was when he realized what he had almost done. He drew the blade slowly and stared at it, holding it in both hands. He slid his left hand on up the blade, mouthing the translation silently, not even noticing when he drew a line of red blood across his palm with it. He looked up at the King, eyes shocked. 'Now, you know,' King Elessar said softly. He reached in silence across to lay a hand on the shoulder of his frozen grandson. Celebros stared unseeingly at the same place - at emptiness. 'Take it to heart, Celebros, my boy. Don't forget it. And one day, tell that story to your son. All of it.' He rose, standing a moment by Celebros, hand still on his shoulder. Then he removed it and walked from the room. The door shut quietly behind him, leaving Celebros absolutely frozen.

Eldarion returned to the City two weeks later at the head of a force four- fifths that which had left Gondor. Celebros, not being allowed beyond the gate, stood silently amidst a loud and large crowd right near it. He didn't fight his way to the front, or to the back. He stood, letting himself be jostled by the other people. There were hundreds there, waiting for husbands and brothers and sons and fathers. Several were simply there hoping that the message they had received had been a mistake, and that one of their family had not truly been torn from their midst. Earil pushed his way through to his friend. 'Well, you're in a right cheerful mood,' the man observed dryly. 'They said that Lorgan was coming too,' Celebros said in a strangled voice. 'They said for a while, at least.' 'What about his daughter?' 'No, just him. Aeargil too, of course, and Eldarion, and two Methnan guards who will accompany Lorgan back whenever he returns. Elos and Aros.' 'They're close,' Earil observed. The crowd was cheering and chanting incomprehensibly. Celebros shook his head, silent. 'What's wrong with you, Celebros?' his friend asked abruptly. 'You've been acting strangely for about two weeks now.' 'Nothing. Nothing, I'm fine.' Celebros looked suddenly nervous. The gates opened, and the cheers faded slightly. A long, thin, and ragged line of men came. At the head were three tall figures. All the men were filthy, but these three looked much more so. Lorgan, flanked by Elos and Aros. And Eldarion and Aeargil were behind them. Both looked very tired. Eldarion was pale beneath the dirt, and very thin. Aeargil also seemed to be slimmer. They passed through the gates in a sudden quiet, and then the noise started again. It seemed louder than before. Roars and cries went up. Celebros winced. 'Something is wrong!' Earil insisted, having to nearly scream in Celebros' ear to be heard. 'It's not too difficult to see that, mellon nin. Be careful. Have you been drinking?' 'A bit,' Celebros yelled back. Earil laughed, although Celebros couldn't hear it. 'Not too much. A couple glasses.' Earil shook his head. 'Three!' Celebros screamed. 'It was only three glasses! I swear it!' 'On what?' Earil asked, still laughing. 'On Elbereth's good name, and my father's!' 'All right! Just three!' Earil roared. 'Come on! We'll lose your Eldarion otherwise!' They fought their way through the crowd, Earil ahead, until he felt a sharp rap on his shoulder. 'Here!' Celebros shouted. 'Shortcut!' He indicated a very narrow alleyway and ducked into it before Earil could respond. Sighing, he followed. Before long they could talk in regularly-toned voices, getting farther away from the crowd. Celebros was running. 'We'll never catch up if we walk!' he insisted. 'We had to go quite a bit out of the way to find a clear path, remember!' 'Yes, my friend.'

Eldarion finally found a good place to dismount and stable his horse, and indicated that Aeargil, Lorgan, Elos, and Aros should do the same. They did, and Eldarion insisted on brushing down his horse himself and giving it water before leaving. By the time that was done, most of the men had passed and were stabling their own steeds. Eldarion sighed. 'Wonder where Father is,' he muttered to Aeargil. Lorgan jumped and started to laugh from behind them. Eldarion turned around. A strange, dark-haired man who he had never seen before was standing and grinning there, and Celebros was next to him, shaking his head in amusement. Eldarion looked at his nephew searchingly. Celebros was still looking at the dark-haired man. There was something strange, something wrong about them both. There was an air of something that Eldarion most decidedly disliked. 'And who is your charming friend?' Lorgan asked dryly. 'Oh!' Celebros said, glancing up as if he hadn't remembered precisely who he was with. 'This is Earil. Earil, this is Lorgan, Aeargil, Elos, Aros, and Eldarion.' Celebros paused. 'I'd say which was which, except I'm certain I'd get Elos and Aros mixed up again.' Elos grinned. 'That is Aros, I'm Elos, this charming young man is Prince Lorgan, that charming less young man is Prince Eldarion, and that charming lady is Princess Aeargil.' Eldarion frowned, and attempted not to laugh, at the "less young" note. Earil did not contain his amusement. Celebros didn't even seem to notice it. He stood a bit stiffly off to the side, looking decidedly out. Eldarion couldn't put a finger on what was wrong. 'You'll have to excuse the Lord Celebros for his lack of mirth,' Earil said rather pompously. 'He swore to me that it was only three.' 'Glasses or bottles?' Lorgan asked. Ah, Eldarion thought rather worridly. That's what it is. He's drunk. 'Glasses,' Celebros said, glaring at Earil. 'Big glasses,' Earil added helpfully. 'Really big glasses.' 'You never had a sense of humor before we got sentenced,' Celebros noted in a peculiar tone of voice. 'You were always extremely solemn. It's almost as if you're having more fun now.' 'Well, before we were sentenced, I still thought I had to find out what I was going to write on my prison walls that would occupy me for the rest of my life.' Earil looked a bit sheepishly at Eldarion, who thought to himself, Why does Celebros get along with this man so well? Was this one of the men who stood by while his father was killed? He found out later, of course, that Earil was a very likable man who had simply made awful choices, and had Faramir and his father and Celebros reassure him that the man was not a bad fellow.

Several days after Eldarion's return, Tasarian realized that he had not seen Celebros for a while and decided to remedy that. He knocked on the door of the apartment. There was no answer for a moment, and then someone called, 'C'min.' He did so. Celebros was lying back on his bed, hands folded under his head, staring up at the ceiling with a look of content on his face. Immediately, Tasarian realized something seemed off about the young Man. 'Hello, Tasarian. How are things this fine, fine afternoon? Lovely day.' Celebros smiled in a very strange way. Tasarian narrowed his eyebrows at the young man. Yes, there was definitely something off about him. 'Why are you looking at me like that?' Celebros demanded, sitting up. 'Hm.' He looked faintly pale, and touched his head as if he were dizzy. 'Have you been drinking?' Tasarian asked quietly, with a touch of amusement. 'No,' Celebros said, shaking his head vigorously for a moment, then groaning. 'Well...yes. But that isn't relevant.' 'How much wine did you have?' 'The bottles are over there.' Celebros pointed into the other room, lying back on his bed, utterly failing to maintain any shred of dignity by almost giggling. 'Bottles? As in more than one?' 'Seven and one-half, to be precise.' Celebros, looking oddly proud, grinned awkwardly. Tasarian stood and walked into the other room. 'Looks like eight and a half from here,' he called, recounting the bottles. 'Oh, someone else drank the other one,' Celebros said vaguely, waving his hand. 'Who?' 'Someone. Doesn't matter.' 'You're just trying to make me think you drank one less. You're completely drunk.' 'Are not, and am not.' 'Celebros...' 'If I'm admitting to drinking more than seven, wouldn't you think I'd admit to drinking more than eight? You get to a certain point and it doesn't matter. And anyway, that was this morning. I'm fine now...' Tasarian puzzled over this a moment. 'Then who was it?' 'Don't remember,' Celebros said ruminatively. 'Could've been anyone, really. Who wasn't around?' 'I didn't see anyone - I was with the Guards. Start listing people it could have been.' 'Cundariel. Gwalas. Faramir. Snaga. Earil. Eldarion. King Elessar.' Tasarian almost spluttered at this, but Celebros wasn't done yet. 'Elos. Aros. Lorgan. My mother. Aunt Rillien or Tariel. Aeargil. Pernathos. You.' 'All right, I get it, you really don't know.' Celebros looked a bit disappointed that he had been stopped. 'Although I rather doubt that Aeargil would be stupid enough to drink a bottle of wine, things being how they are. Might harm the baby.' 'Yeah,' Celebros said offhandedly. 'It wasn't you, either, was it?' 'No,' Tasarian said flatly. 'And Snaga and Faramir left this morning for Ithilien, early.' 'I said it was this morning.' 'You are very, very drunk.' 'Seven and one-half.' 'I'm going to get Eldarion.' 'It might have been him.' 'Elbereth, I hope not. Aeargil would throw a fit.' 'It could have been the King.' 'You aren't drunk enough to really believe that, Celebros. I said I was going to get Eldarion, and I mean it. Just be lucky I'm not getting Gwalas. He'd give you one of his horrible concoctions to sober you up.' 'How do you know that that kind tastes horrible?' Celebros asked with a mischevous grin. 'Has he ever given you one?' Tasarian chose to ignore that question, leaving Celebros laughing.

'Eldarion, Celebros is drunk.' 'Oh, Elbereth save us, not again.' 'He's done this before?' 'Last time it was three whole bottles. Don't you remember when he didn't turn up for dinner that time and I went to fetch him?' 'Well, he's done it again.' 'How many this time?' 'He says seven and a half, but it looks like it might have been eight and a half. There's nine bottles, one of them half-full. He says it was someone else drank the eighth one. He couldn't tell me who.' 'Sweet Elbereth! That much could kill him! It must not have been strong at all, if he's still able to talk. I bet the eighth was Earil, if it was anyone. That man is a bad influence.' 'I disagree. He doesn't discourage Celebros from doing things, but he listens. You know how Celebros is - he doesn't like to tell people things, but he's told Earil some, at least. More than he's told me. I couldn't say about you, but still...' 'He doesn't tell me much. He thinks I overreact.' 'He thinks right,' Tasarian muttered. Eldarion chose to ignore that comment, if he heard it. 'We'd better get Gwalas, too,' he sighed. Tasarian grinned a bit wickedly. 'Have you ever had one of those things he gives you when you drink too much? Nasty, they are. Gives you an awful headache.' 'I've had to have it a couple times, actually,' Eldarion admitted. 'Last year, and before that.' 'Once or twice, myself,' Tasarian said. 'I never usually drink much, but I have a couple times, and I've resolved never to again while Gwalas is around. Cundariel always calls him up. She worries about me far too much.' 'Well, she has reason,' Eldarion said quietly. 'What's that supposed to mean?' 'It's supposed to mean that she worried about you for thirty years, and she's still used to it,' Eldarion replied, voice quiet still but sharper. Tasarian sighed. 'Yes, I know,' he said simply. 'I'll get Gwalas, and you go make sure Celebros doesn't try to fly or something.'

Eldarion did not bother to knock at Celebros' door. His nephew, however, was not trying to fly. He was asleep, his face pillowed with one hand, the other stretched out almost lazily. His face was peaceful - more peaceful than Eldarion could remember seeing it for years. Since the Galadil, at least. He looked younger, and more quiet, more innocent. Eldarion closed his eyes breifly. When he opened them, though, he saw the scars again, and wanted to scream. Why did they haunt him so much? Why, in these rare moments of peace, did he have to remember everything? A cruel voice spoke inside his head. Look at that on his neck, Eldarion. On his face. On his arm. Those are your fault. You were too slow, too selfish, too weak. He suffered that for you, to help you. He said so himself, not even realizing how much you would suffer for those words. I'm shattered, because you think that I would betray you. You don't believe that I would endure years of torture and a slow and painful death to save you. You think I'm not sane. You don't believe me, you question my credibility, after what I've gone through to save you. What I've gone through to save you he had said, although it was only in Eldarion's mind that the 'you' was emphasized. That hurt, Celebros, and I'm glad you don't know how much. I'm glad you were honest, because I deserve that pain. You did it for me. You shouldn't have. You didn't deserve that. I would sooner have them kill me and spare you what you went through, even if you wouldn't yourself. I couldn't have held up under that torture, he knew. I would have caved into it eventually. I would have lost my mind. I would have betrayed you, Celebros. I would have killed you. What am I saying? What am I thinking? Eldarion's mind roared. He walked slowly over and knelt beside Celebros' bed. 'Who are you, and who am I?' he asked the sleeping form. 'Do you know?' I don't, he added to himself. I thought once that I did. I thought I knew everything. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. When my father told me... he thought, and then said it out loud. 'When my father told me there was an assassin in the City, and he was looking for you, I was confused. I didn't know how someone could want to hurt you. You were young then. You were seventeen, and naieve sometimes. You were still innocent, in your own ways, although solemn, and mature. I could see it in your eyes. And when you were blind, I wanted to give you my eyes. When you were dying, I wanted to trade with you. I always thought that I would be the first one to die. But I've thought again. Maybe I thought wrong. You're wanted by so many people, Celebros. And you're half-Man. Not even Numenorean Man, just Man, from your father. I have Elven blood too, twice as much as you do, and twice as much Numenorean, and I can expect, if I die of age, to live to more than three hundred. But you, Celebros - you can't. I hope I never see you die. I hope that I die before you do. Because I couldn't live after that. I wouldn't care about duty, about what I needed to do for the Kingdom. I would die. Or I would want to.' Eldarion hesitated. He had almost forgotten where he was. He looked back at the sleeping form of Celebros. 'I could never be as strong as you, Celebros. I could never be as strong or as good or as quick. I will never understand how you have done what you have done, and there is nothing I can ever say that will be apology enough for what you went through.' There was a knock on the door, and Eldarion started. 'Come in,' he called. Gwalas, looking extraordinarily perturbed, and Tasarian, looking almost amused, came in as instructed. 'Ah,' Gwalas said. 'He is asleep, then. I don't know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.' 'Well, I think it's lucky for him,' Tasarian said, glaring at the other Elf. 'He won't have to drink that awful stuff.' 'The taste is punishment for drinking too much,' Gwalas muttered. 'Technically, I could make one that tastes like honey. But I do not and I will not, unless, of course, I decide that I feel like having more than three glasses of potent wine.' Tasarian glared even more. 'You mean that taste is really just -' 'It tastes different for everyone,' interrupted Gwalas, 'because I can't give some people some things.' Eldarion shifted and looked back at Celebros. What Gwalas meant, he knew, was I can't give Celebros durthond. He knew that taste, the bitterness and foulness of it, and knew that if Celebros ever tasted it again, he would be instantly addicted again. Why Gwalas gave anyone durthond was beyond him - partly because of the taste, of course, and partly because it had some healing powers. It would not be in Gwalas' nature to add something simply as punishment because it tasted bad. 'Well, if Tasarian was telling the truth and it was really seven and a half bottles, I'm leaving this here,' Gwalas said, setting the copper cup he was holding down on Celebros' bedside table. 'He'll need it.'

In the dream, the mist seemed complete, and so did King Elessar's despair. After he woke, he didn't understand it - things had been righted, things had been wrapped up. Celebros was back, if depressed - he had heard about the seven-and-a-half incident, or overheard about, rather. Eldarion was better - still weak, still tired, and he saw it, but that would improve. Aeargil seemed all right, in any case - she worried incessantly about everything, and Eldarion worried over her. Don't, Aeargil, he would say. Please don't. There's no point, and besides, the baby. Lorgan was not at all how the King had imagined him - he was quieter, more like Celebros, and sadder. It was wrong for someone as young as he was to be sad. He was more like Celebros than anyone else seemed to realize. He had the same hurt, the same ache in his eyes - green eyes, sharp and full of emotion. You could read his thoughts by staring at them - they smiled and laughed alone, without any sign of amusement touching his mouth, and they screamed and sobbed when the rest of Lorgan's face was smooth. So much like Celebros, the King thought. So much like my grandson that it frightens me. For his sake.

The day was bright, and Celebros sat watching it from his chair. A full and unopened bottle of wine sat on his bedside table. His sword belt was not around his waist - the end could be seen dangling from the chest at the end of his bed. Once every half hour or so, he would stand and pace, open the chest to see the glimmering sun on the unsheated blade, and sit again. A knock came on the door. Celebros sighed and decided to ignore it. No one today, he decided - not Eldarion, not Earil, not Gwalas, not the King himself. It came again, more loudly. Celebros sighed. 'Go 'way,' he said, probably not loud enough. He didn't care. There was another knock, and then silence. It sounded like pure gold, if gold sounded at all.

'I feel,' Gwalas declared, throwing down his quill in aggravation, 'like hacking that boy to pieces.' 'He didn't pretend not to be there, at least,' Tasarian observed, looking up from his fingers, which were dancing around as if they had minds of their own. 'Earil, you said he said to go away?' 'Go 'way,' Earil said, imitating Celebros' voice - a deliberate, soft groan. 'What, dear Tasarian, in Elbereth's name are you doing?' 'Game I used to play,' Tasarian said abruptly, letting his fingers slow and stop. 'Why so quiet, Eldarion?' 'Why so quiet, Eldarion?' Eldarion mimed. 'Because I feel like it!' 'Have you been at the wine stores?' Gwalas asked, frowning. 'No!' 'I suppose you feel like it too, Lorgan,' Earil said in a faked cheery voice. Lorgan nodded mutely from his corner. He seemed to be doing nothing at all - Eldarion at least was moving, shifting in his armchair, looking at them as they spoke. Lorgan simply sat, looking at nothing, seeming not to even be there. He was wearing his hair rather oddly - pulled back from his eyes with a dark leather band. He looked pensieve - but almost relaxed, languid. 'Tasarian, you're doing it again!' Earil complained. He looked utterly lazy, stretched unconcernedly out in his chair. For the moment, he sounded for all the world like a three-year-old. 'Knock it off, Earil!' Eldarion grumbled. 'I'm thinking. Valar help us all from fools!' 'You know, before Celebros and I got along, I called him a fool,' Earil said thoughtfully, scratching his chin and taking a swig from the bottle sitting next to him. Gwalas was eying it in an odd way. At his words, even Lorgan looked up, and Eldarion glared. Tasarian stopped his finger- game, and Gwalas straightened. 'What did he do?' Tasarian said after a very long and silent moment. 'He beat me up thoroughly in a swordfight,' Earil answered, his face brightening, his voice suddenly very happy. 'Then he told me he was no fool, and he was not a child. I'd called him a child too. Did I already say that?' 'No,' Gwalas said offhandedly, looking back at his paper and quill and ink slightly distastefully, as if each was some sort of repulsive toadstool that smelled dreadful if touched or turned skin blue. 'Earil, that is not "just water",' Eldarion said. 'Is too.' Gwalas stood abruptly, snatched the bottle, and drained it. 'Oh,' he said, eyes unfocusing. 'Not water.' The others stared at him. Lorgan then made an indistinct sound in his throat and went back to staring at nothing.

Celebros felt like kicking something. But preferably something soft. His foot already hurt from kicking other things.

'Father?' Silence. 'Father?' A pause. 'Elfwine. Yes?' 'Father, something's wrong.' 'With what?' 'You - and Malgalad.' Another silence. 'Father -' 'Malgalad tells me that you sent antidote to Methnan.' 'Yes, of course.' 'You did not think you needed to consult with me first?' Silence from Elfwine this time. 'You think you are somehow above these - oh!' 'Father, are you all right!?' Eomer groaned. Then, 'Yes. Yes. I am fine. I apologize. Of course. You didn't need to ask to - oh! My head...I am sorry. I feel...strange. Call Malgalad for me, Elfwine.' Elfwine was silent and still a moment, then he bowed. 'Yes, Father, Your Majesty,' he said, unable to conceal bitter resentment in his voice. His father did not seem to notice or care.

Celebros stared resentfully at the still-full bottle of wine. What will ONE LOUSY GLASS hurt? he wondered. What is just one? An awful lot, imbecile, a voice in his head said. It sounded very much like Earil. Oh, dear Elbereth, I am tired. I had better sleep. He stumbed over his bed and fell into dark dreams of mists and despairs that seemed to consume him.

The King Elessar was not sleeping, as one should be at half past three. He had been, indeed. But his sleep had been restless. He had had the dream about the mist again, and woken drenched in cold sweat. He had fallen asleep again then, and dreamed of very strange things indeed, things he did not understand. Three people, two males and one female, two small and one larger. They were speaking, but nothing came from their mouths. They were pale, and thin, and dead-looking, but he could not see their faces except for the little girl. She had shoulder-length, slightly curly silver-blond hair and eyes that hurt to look at. She was so small, with so much knowledge and pain. The three figures were familiar and yet not at all so. The tall male - not a boy, but a young man - stood tall and still, except he had an arm curled protectively around each of the children's shoulders, as if they were all in great danger, and he wanted to save them. A fourth figure seemed to be there sometimes, but not as wholly as the other three. He was taller than the children, but still young. His form looked like smoke, or congealing dust, or a shadow, and it flickered. For most of the dream, he was gone altogether, and the rest he was barely there at all. His skin was darker, and once the King thought he caught a flash of black eyes. It was impossible to tell. The strange thing was that they just stood there, image slightly dimmed as the dream went on, as if they were fading, or were never real - which, he had to remind himself, they more than likely weren't. It was just a dream. But nothing seemed to have been just a dream recently. When he woke from that, he felt strangely cold and empty, as if something had been taken away. He felt he could sleep no longer. Come out of the shadows, Elessar, he chastised himself. Come out of hiding and show your face. His eyelids flickered and closed, and he fell once more into sleep in the hard chair.

A man, lean and muscular, running ahead through the fog. A voice, from an unknown source, singing in gently Sindarin words that the King did not bother to listen to. A feeling, haunting, like mirrors and daggers and cloaks. What does that mean? he wondered, but no answer came, just the music, and he began to follow the man ahead, who showed no signs of slowing. 'Help me!' a voice screamed from behind - a woman's voice, a young woman, innocent and terrified. The running man did not so much as turn or flinch. The King hesitated and did the same, starting to run faster, but the figure kept going farther into the fog, getting farther and father away. 'Wait!' he shouted, but his voice was lost in the singing and another scream from behind. 'Help me, please! No, no, no, stop!' A terrible sense of wrongness came over him, and he started to slow. The figure vanished ahead of him, too far ahead, and he felt a wrenching in his chest. He had lost. The music grew mournful and wailing came from behind him. He whirled. There was a girl standing there, silent - young, perhaps fourteen, with black, straight hair and dark blue eyes. She was silent. Behind her was a void, a black emptiness. She stood on the very edge, staring at him with unnaturally wide eyes. The wailing from the blackness stopped suddenly. 'Who are you?' he asked the girl. 'I am,' she said, and smiled. 'I am.' 'What? You are - what?' 'I am, and shall be, all that does not happen, and all that you would have not happen. All that causes pain, all that might or shall or would. I am.' 'This is only a dream.' He felt a sudden need to say that, to reassure himself, perhaps, he didn't know. But the girl threw back her head, tossing her hair over her slim shoulders, and laughed. It was a cold, merciless, empty, terrible sound that did not fit her at all. It belonged to something evil - something awful. 'How long can you run, Aragorn?' He started. It had been years, so many years since he had been called that name. The girl's voice was different, deeper, menacing, rumbling with power and disgust. 'How long can you hide, King of Men? How long can you hide in the shadows before facing what he is?' 'What do you mean?' he whispered. He felt suddenly young and powerless. The face of the girl rippled, and the hair became shorter, although still long, and dark brown, and the shape grew, and towered, and the eyes melted into the coldest brown he had ever seen. 'I am the Eldurhir,' a rumbling, laughing voice said, shaking him to his very bones with its loud harshness. 'And I will win, Aragorn son of Arathorn, because you are a Man and he is not what you think.' A sound of running footsteps came from behind him. He whirled, and -

In Minas Tirith, in Gondor, Aragorn son of Arathorn, the King Elessar, woke with a start in a cold wooden chair.