A/N: Wow! Thank you so much everyone for the great response to the prologue and first chapter. The reviews mean so much to me and I hope I will not disappoint you. I thought it might be nice to start on an upbeat note, though it's not always going to be such lighthearted fun as we go. Remember, this is a horror story. These chapter grow darker, and this one is, ahem, on the more sobering side.

WARNING: Blood and icky stuff appear in this chapter. If gore grosses you out, you may want to pass on this story.

The Hunting Trip

Chapter Two: Troubled Dreams

Eowyn never slept well. Even now, when the darkest days of war were long behind her and her life should have been considered serene and blissful, Eowyn had trouble finding comfort in dreams. No, that was not really true. She enjoyed dreaming, when it came to her. It just seldom did. At least, not without the long struggle of laying restlessly within the confines of her bed. And only when she could get her mind to cease its constant droning at her – things to do, things not accomplished yet, things done but still worthy of consideration. All ruminated within her brain.

Not that she really minded her insomnia much. It often came in handy, especially when her task-level was at its greatest. She often used the time to read important documents, or to make notes to her secretary, or to various ministers. There was never a shortage of duties to be completed. And invariably, the act of taking on these tasks wearied her enough that her mind was quelled and she was able at last to drift off to slumber. But never before the wee hours of the night. And never for very long. For after a few hours of rest, she would awaken with the staff and begin a new day. Perhaps she would not be fully refreshed, but she was always rested enough that she could function with efficiency, and that would have to do, for she was unable to force more upon herself.

She easily could have blamed her insomnia on the children. Though they required many more hours of rest, and indeed did sleep it, they were not always consecutive hours. Her children were fitful sleepers (an indication to her that they had inherited her trait). As such, they often awakened in the night. The fact that their nurse was a sound sleeper often made them turn to their mother to quiet their fears, or dreams, or general restlessness. It was troublesome, these interruptions, for Eowyn was possessive about the time she was given alone. Those hours were her opportunity for quiet contemplation and reflection. She often set her goals and priorities then. Yet, there seemed to be little choice. Despite the fact that the nurse was not easily roused, she was well-suited to her job, and the children seemed to adore her, and so Eowyn saw little reason to release the quiet woman from her employ simply because she had good sleeping habits. And though it might have helped had he contributed, Faramir was not an option for aid with the nightly wakings either. Eowyn endured, and in the end, she did not terribly mind, really. She was their mother, after all. In her own way, it brought joy to her heart that her children still sought her out for their comfort.

Eowyn knew she truly could not blame her sleeplessness on her offspring. Truth told, in all her near twelve years of marriage, she could count, with the combination of both hands, the number of times she had slept restfully for an entire given night. Sleeping indeed was a rarity for Eowyn.

So, it was no surprise that she found herself restlessly drifting through the halls of the King's Palace at Minas Tirith in the early hours, seeking ways to occupy her mind until dawn, when the rest of the world would catch up to her. Of course, it would have been different had she been in her own home. There, she would have simply stolen away to her study to bide her time. But here, in someone else's home, she had to regard her fellow residents and not wander too aimlessly, for fear of rousing someone. She did not want to be blamed for causing others to prematurely rise, especially when her want was nothing. And it was pointless to wake others who obviously needed so much more by ways of sleep. She could not imagine how they could do so, but she respected them all the same.

Even Faramir astounded her at times. His sleep was never hindered. Never. Lay his head to the pillow, and he was quickly, if not instantly, absorbed into dreams. It used to irritate her, early in their marriage, that he could sleep just at the thought of it, and she had many times found him capable of drowsing in nearly any location or position. How could he do that, she had wondered, when I struggle so just to give in to peace? And yet, she had learned to accept it as one of their many differences. It certainly was one of the minor things that came between them.

Here in Minas Tirith, she had fewer choices to chase away the churning of her mind. She and Faramir had been relegated to a single sleeping chamber, which was not a bother, as it is what they shared in their own home. But as she would have fled their room and gone elsewhere in their own manor, there was no place offered to her here. At first, she considered just staying in their room, lighting a lamp at the desk, and pretending that Faramir was not present. However, she had eliminated that idea when her late-arriving spouse strolled in with the noticeable smell of alcohol upon him as he made his apologies. He had obviously been partaking in some revelry with comrades, which was not so much offensive to her as it could have been. She had suspected as much earlier when he had departed after the banquet. His occasional outings with comrades was another point of difference that she had long overcome in their marriage. It did not do to grow angry at male acts of companionship. Still, at times this infrequent behavior nagged at her, though she was hard-pressed to say why. Tonight, she chose to ignore his play, but there was a price. As a result of his consumption, Faramir's sleep was punctuated by very loud snores. The racket interrupted her meditations and made it impossible to think. Annoyed, she left their room.

She started to search for the library. She had admired the large collection of books there and knew something might be found to busy her distracted mind. But a problem existed: she could not remember where that room might be. The palace was immense, and somewhat maze-like in its design. Was it down these steps and to the right? Or past that flight and down the next? She remembered the terrace that stood off the library doors. Perhaps, if she could find that? But then again, this was not a time to be strolling the grounds. And once there, how would she return? She abandoned this idea as well.

Yet in the darkened halls and back stairs that dominated the palace, there was one place she was certain she could find. And that is where she drifted in this restless hour.

She slowly crept into the room. Glancing about the darkened space, she could see drapery billowing to the breeze of an opened window in a far corner and the brightness of the rising moon casting light into the windows and giving features to the figures and furnishings within the quiet chamber. Four beds took up various places in the room, the furthest away from the others belonging to that of the nurse. Eowyn could hear the subtle snores from that end of the room and knew her appearance would not disturb the matronly governess. The other three beds in the chamber exuded the quiet breaths and sounds of Eowyn's slumbering children.

Stepping into the space, she paused to look about. She was in the nursery. Or actually, in the room that would some day be a nursery, when the time came for Arwen and Aragorn to conceive a child of their own. And today it was a nursery, for her brood of young ones had taken over the space in exceedingly fast time. She chuckled to herself as she thought of the anxious expressions on some of the more uptight staff members of the household. She knew they had not even had a sampling yet of the rambunctious nature of her three boys, and already they appeared terrified. She knew before this respite was complete, there would be many among them who would well be pleased to see her children go. She laughed. Perhaps this would give them practice for what their own futures may hold, for Eowyn doubted a child with elven blood would simply be still and malleable. Furthermore, she had heard rumor that children of that race held onto their impetuous youth much longer than those children of men. Eowyn smiled wickedly at that. Would that not be a sight, to see a child of fifteen still locked in the body and conscious behavior of a five year old? What a handful that would be for the more uptight of staff persons, she thought. Yet she could not know for sure what the children of Aragorn and Arwen might be like, for they would also be half-human and Arwen had relinquished her immortality for the sake of love. Only the future could tell what those offspring would be like.

Despite the flightiness of her sons, Eowyn sensed the former Ranger's joy at being surrounded by children, and she feared the milling gossip she had heard about the King's desire for a family was true. He had easily jumped into the fray of their gaming that day and became their adored 'uncle' in quick measure. He laughed eagerly at the pleasure of their role-playing games, joining in on their battles as they fought evil armies and he offered strategic attack plans. Faramir was just as much responsible for his pleasure, taking on the role of dark lord, and kidnapping the maiden Arwen to be used as a hostage. Eowyn had to admit, it had been a joyous thing to watch them all play together. But while Arwen was kind, and gentle, and contributed in her own way, she also looked a bit ill at ease when she locked her eyes on Aragorn's face. Eowyn could see that there was something between them, yet she was not sure what it was, for when removed from Eowyn's children, the King and his Queen fell back into the romantic glimmer of a couple in love. Arwen most readily adored Elessar, this could not be denied. Eowyn had her suspicions, but she would not voice them. Arwen's secret would remain hidden unless she chose to reveal it.

Slowly she walked through the room, stopping to gaze upon each bed and to consider the figure sleeping there. She loved to watch them like this, and often on nights in her own home she would come to stand vigil over their beds.

At the first lay Denomir, their eldest at ten years of age. Long brown tendrils curled about his face, and Eowyn, as she looked on him, was torn by her love for this child. Reaching down, she brushed a lock away from his face so she could see him more clearly. Born into the mind of a very wise soul, her eldest never ceased to astound her with his prudent wisdom and mature insight. He was the handsomest of the three, looking most like his father. But with that the similarity ended. And while Faramir adored the child, there had always been a small, almost indiscernible rift between them. It had been there always as near as she could tell, and it was growing. Eowyn knew that she would need to guard this relationship carefully as their years progressed, for although not as physically gifted as his father, Denomir had her sharp wits and was able to compensate his lack of outward skills with mental finesse. It was a trait that often Eowyn had to keep in check herself, and she knew she would have to school her eldest in coping with it if she held any hope that her household would remain placid.

She looked across the room to where Léogel slept. He was eight years old and quite proud of that fact. While being a quiet child, he was easily the bravest, and also the most physically capable among them. Faramir told her he was reminded of his brother when he gazed on this one, and though she had never known Boromir, what she had heard of the warrior she could see in her son. His hair was the lightest of the three, and had an almost reddish cast that could only have come from his Rohan ancestors. He was physically strong and could already best his elder sibling at sport. He never complained and only voiced his concerns when dire occasion required it. This child was her angel, and he openly adored her. He was the one who would look back to see where she was in their party. And he was the one who would leave small gifts of fallen birds' nests or intricate pebbles at her dressing table. He was the one to always make sure he kissed her goodnight, and often she heard him peak into her room when he thought she was asleep, just checking to see if she was still there, she supposed. This child would be the most distressed if something were to come of her, and her chest burned a lump of pain at that possibility, and his fate. She could only surmise that his fears stemmed from her near death experience with the birth of his younger brother.

Turning her attention to Theomund, she smiled at the puckish face of her four-year-old son. Curly brown hair haloed his head. She laughed as she reflected that the quiet repose of this small child was the extreme opposite of what he lived in his daylight hours. The house came alive with this one, and he was a force all his own. Loud and personable, this little boy was friends with most everyone, most assuredly his siblings, and Eowyn mused that even the most stern among the King's household would be doing the bidding of this small soldier before their time was done. He was a persuasive moppet, and he refused to step down from his wonts, which of course, caused all strife in the end. He would not be tamed, and Eowyn reckoned that for as much turmoil as he offered, she would not want Theomund any other way. He made her laugh, and he knew it. He used it as his weapon, and half of the time it worked for him. But she also saw through him, and for that she knew there would be future misgivings. Fortunately for the boy, his father was oblivious, and any whim could easily be had under his father's watch. This child, this beautiful, playful, loving child, had been the center of more discussions and arguments between Faramir and Eowyn than the other two combined, and she worried that he would be the undoing of them, for neither could concede the others point so far as to direct the child in consistent direction. She paused at his bed, glancing a kiss to his brow and pulling the stray blankets back up to his chin. A tough future lie ahead with this one.

Rising, she made her way to the open window. The light breeze flitted the gauzy drapes in their breaths, raising and lowering the fabric as it sailed on the air. A rocking chair was bathed in moonlight that filled a square before the window, and Eowyn sat in it as she gazed out on the gardens of the King's palace. The warm air brushed against her skin, soothing a stray hair from her face, and she allowed her mind to drift. She was very much in need of time to think and she was looking forward to their break, even if it was not fully all she desired. She would make it work, for what she really needed was a departure from everything that life had become. She wanted to free herself from all other thoughts so she could focus on just one, and that she would have easily surrendered if she could.

Her mind had been troubled of late, and though she knew not how to resolve her problems, she could at the very least, prepare herself for the possible outcomes. This trip they would take could give her that time, and she sorely yearned for it.

Alone with her thoughts, surrounded by her children, she could not help but let her mind go to her darkest of fears. She was often reminded of it in moments like these. She closed her eyes, and thought back on the birth of her youngest child.

It had been a perilous event, one they never could have predicted. She had borne the first two children with seeming grace, easily birthed without too tiresome of labors. Both children had come into the world healthy and whole, and Eowyn had recovered her vitality and figure in record time with each. But the birth of Theomund had not been so blessed. Troubled by bleeding early into her pregnancy, she had been confined to bed during most of the nine months. Uncomfortable and bloated, she had longed during those hard months for the child's entry into the world, not knowing that it could get far worse before her time was done. Awakened in a pool of warm water, her pains came on suddenly and with fierceness. Faramir had been beside himself, fretting until the midwife arrived, and even then there was no sanity to be found. The baby was breeched and had to be turned for the survival of either she or the child. Racked in pain beyond any known relief, she labored for hours until her body had opened enough for a hand to be inserted. And then Eowyn's suffering truly began. With as much delicacy as could be had, the midwife palpitated and prodded and pushed to maneuver the baby to a position that would bring him out, finally forced to scoop in and twist the unborn form to a place that could deliver him. And all the while, Eowyn's screams of agony echoed through the house. Hoarsely crying out to the gods to stop this torment, her fevered pain was beyond comprehension, and she saw death's lights flash before her eyes more than once on that day. No man could ever have endured such torture, she was sure, and it was sheer desire to live that kept her alive.

And Faramir, she remembered, had been right there with her. It was not required of him. Men were often dismissed from the scene when the delicate act of childbirth occurred. Yet Faramir would not hear of leaving, stroking her face and hands with cool cloths during the whole of her gruesome labor, consoling and encouraging her as the hours progressed. And even after his son was born, he refused to stray from her side, whispering softly to her until she slept. Only then did he grant a look at his newborn son. He smiled as she awakened, cradling their baby boy in his arms.

But the worst was not over. Infection set into Eowyn's body, and she limply fell into empty dreams as she fought for her life. The weeks that followed were vague memories to her, as healers invaded her home, and round-the-clock vigil was posted at her bed. And though she remained comatose through nearly it all, she knew Faramir stayed with her, holding her hand, stroking her face, telling her of their children's progress and antics. She remembered that, and perhaps it is what brought her back. She could not know, but he must have had fear to deign so much attention on her. It was not his norm to hover so. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought how he must have feared for her. And her children. Poor Denomir and Léogel! Old enough to be aware of her fate, they were still too young to lose a mother. It must have been terrifying for them. She felt a tear trickle from her eye as she considered their horror.

Forcing herself to push it away, she told herself, But I did not die. I breathe still. I am here for them. And yet, the fear that such a thing could happen again sent cold chills down her spine. It must never come again. So over the years, she had guarded herself carefully to assure that another pregnancy would not occur. And that had done damage to her marriage, for often she had pushed Faramir away when his needs were great. But she was certain that if there were a next time, another pregnancy, she would not live. The fear of it was enough to remove any desires for more children, and enough for her to risk the whole of her marriage.

A sense came upon her that she was being watched. She felt eyes upon her, and nearly jumped out of her chair when she opened her own to see her youngest standing at her side. "Theomund," she whispered. It was a trait of this young one, such stealth he possessed. It was not the first time she had been startled by his sudden appearance. Gasping at her fright, she brushed the tears away from her face and she reached around to scoop him up into her lap. "I did not hear you, my love. What troubles have you?"

The child's sleepy face was betrayed by wide, tearful eyes. Careful of his voice (for he had often been told that he spoke too loud), his lips quivered as he whispered, "I had a bad dream."

Cooing to this answer, she pulled him closer to her breast. "There, there, my sweet. It is all gone. I am here now."

A sniffle escaped him as he nuzzled in closer, finding comfort in her arms. "It was very scary, Mama. There was a witch, and she was trying to take you and Father away." He whimpered, and Eowyn knew it must have been a horrible nightmare. Theomund rarely cried over dreams.

"Hushno more of that," she softly said, rocking him gently in her embrace. Slowly, she felt him relax in her grasp, drifting back into dreams, quelled by the love she could never deny him. As she thought on his fears, and hers, silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

****

From within the confines of a wagon, deep in a forest of pine, an old woman cried out as she yanked herself free of her nightmare. The words of an incantation rang in her ears as she bolted upright from her troubled sleep. She was awake! A sheen of sweat gleaned her face as her heart slowed to a normal pace and her breathing grew less labored. She sighed her relief at being release from the horrors that had gripped her soul.

Her mind reflected on the images that had played in her vision and she realized the most recent part of the dream had visited her again. The dream had been evolving over the last few months, and the newer scenes made her focus on their details. She pondered their messages as she replayed them again in her mind.

Getting up from her pallet, she lit the lamp at the table and pulled out the stones that were part of her tools to foretell the future. She needed confirmation to know if this most recent premonition was real. There were parts in the dream that frightened her beyond any of the prior dreams, and she needed to know more about finding the sources revealed to her there. She had already put into task the effort to retrieve an elf. That had been shown to her weeks before in the dream, and although the risks for such a thing were great, the reward in the end would be far greater. With fortitude she told herself that her sons could not fail her in this. But that was not what troubled her. It was the other that she questioned. She suspected she knew, but she wanted to know with more certainty before she acted to attain the second and third items she would need for this magic.

Casting the stones, she studied the positions in which they tumbled and she scowled at the answer. It was ambiguous. A means of two roads, the stones said. Hesitantly, she considered this. She wished for a better answer, but she knew she was unlikely to receive it. Pausing to consider her next query, she gathered the stones once again. Freeing her mind of all other thought but the question, she threw down the stones for a second time. What of the Protected Place told to her in the dream? Was it near? Her eyes grew wide as she read the smooth pebbles before her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was close. It would be found. Now growing excited and more resolute in her convictions, her hands shook as she picked up the stones one last time. Posing the question in her quailing mind, she dropped the stones into the circle of cloth one last time. And what of HIS body? Who would be the host for him? she asked. With an expression that masked all her fear, she read the answer: The one who bares his resemblance. Tears streamed from her eyes as anguish pressed on her. She knew what this meant. All these things she had seen in the dreams and she knew they were true. She no longer had doubts.

Panic gripped her. Time was running out! The full moon would be upon them in less than a week and it would be many years before the time would be right again. She did not have the luxury to wait. Her body was failing her and she knew she was slowly dying. They would need to hurry! Her future was grim! She had to succeed, and in her twisted mind, she told herself she did this for her family. They would be torn apart without her. Never mind that some would die before they were through. She could not help that. Those who would live would need her help. She must protect them. She must protect herself. There was much to be gathered and that Protected Place in the dreams must be found. They were close. She could feel it. She knew.

She heard a shuffle of feet and soft voices outside her wagon, and then a soft thud as an object was dropped. Stepping away from the lamp, she drew to the curtains and stepped from the vardo. Before her stood two men, and at their feet was the body of an elf.

Scorn marked her features as she looked upon the corpse. Glancing up at her sons, she grimaced and shreiked, "It is dead! What have you done?"

"It could not be helped," said the younger of the two. "We did not know the one would fight us so. We failed..." He looked down as he said it, and for an instant her heart was touched with pity for her child.

But then she remembered her dreams and the stones, and anger erupted in her at the setback this caused. Letting her vexation spill from her lips, she uttered caustic words. Had the two men heard them as she truly spoke them, they may have recoiled and fled. But her magic worked upon them and she knew they would hear only soothing and gentle tones, though the message beneath could not be hidden. They would know of her anger. "Failure? Yes it is, but it is not I who loses in this, but all our tribe! Perhaps you should think on this, yes? I am only puri dai, while you are our leaders. You know there is danger for our family! How do you think we can save them? Perhaps you will think it is time to rejoin our clan?" she asked in the way of her role. It was not a direct response. One was not expected of her. But it was the way of their people to seek out her wisdom. As puri dai she had told them she did not approve, though she had only hinted at this with her words. If they read her correctly, they would see that she had told them that they could no longer tarry and she could forgive their error only if they found a way to make this right again. It was a complex means of communicating, one an outsider might not understand, but beneath all the layering of this speech, the fact was that their society was matriarchal, even if they did not openly show it. And as a sorceress of darkness, they followed her will as she easily manipulated them in this simple guise.

The two brothers looked at each other as they pondered their reply. At length, the elder said, "We will find another elf for your magic, Mother – do not have fears! We shall gather what is needed to keep our tribe together. It is time we met again with the rest of our family. We will set off to regain them. They should only be a day or two ahead of our route."

Smiling at him for being able to read her intent, she said with a sneer licking her words, "I think that is wise. You are good to think we should gather. We will be stronger as one. With all helping, we should be able to accomplish our goals." His eyes told her he had heard this as a beneficent statement and he smiled at her for her forgiveness.

Turning her eyes from her sons, she bent down to the body that lay before her.

"Do you think there is anything here that is of use to you?" asked the younger.

Pulling out her choori, she thrust the sharp weapon into the elf's chest, cutting through cartilage and bone with a strength that belied her frailty. She reached into the cavity and thrashed twice more with the knife. Her fingers emerged pulling out a still heart. "Only this," she said as her fingers gently cradled the bloody organ. Moving to her vardo, she began to climb inside.

"Is there nothing else?" said the young one.

Pausing to think, she reconsidered and smiled. "Yes. Yes there is one other thing. Cut off its hair. I can make a talisman to make the next one resistant to flight. Otherwise, do what you will of it. This body is worthless to me," she said as she stepped inside.

She could hear their commotion as they finished the job she had ordered. But she did not want to think about them for now. She had an elven heart before her, and that possessed her attention. It was not as potent as it would be if taken from a living creature, and she did not have nearly all the ingredients she needed to make this magic great, but it would do for now. With this heart, she could stave off some of the effects age brought her tiring body. Small though it would be, it was a start. She placed the heart on the plank at her bench, making sure she turned to face the four compass points before doing so. She lit a fresh candle and placed it before her, then turned to dim the previously lit lamp. From a drawer above the bench, she pulled out a handful of salt and with it created a circle around the elf flesh. Grasping the choori again, she forced her mind to go blank. And then when she was calm enough to proceed, she started to say the dark words that channeled the spell. She called to the elements to conjure her sorcery, and uttered them in time to a rhythm only she could hear. Locked now in concentration, she lifted the knife, unaware of her actions as she fell into trance. Raising and lowering the knife in violent strokes, she slashed the flesh into pieces as dark words spilled from her lips. The voice that escaped her throat was deep and otherworldly. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and her whispered words grew louder. The sound resonated within her tented wagon as the spell took hold. An ethereal light illuminated the interior of the vardo as she reached the frenzied pinnacle of her words. The beating sound echoed within her mind, and she drove the knife into the board as her chest heaved with panted breath. Then swiftly, it stopped. Pulling herself away from the trance, with glazed eyes she looked down and saw the destruction she had made. Her hand reached out and crushed the cleaved flesh into her fingers. She lifted pieces of the elf's heart into the air, as if in offering, and then she slowly brought them down again to the circle. With shaking fingers stained in red, she lifted a ragged piece of the bloody flesh, and brought it to her opened mouth, smearing the tissue into her lips as it passed. She ate of the flesh and the magic in her black spell was complete.

vardo –covered wagon

puri dai –tribal elder

choori – hook-shaped knife

Did I say dark? I guess I meant pitch black. You'd better get a flashlight as there will be much more to come. However, like the elves, we can't live without the light, and snatches of it do come in the next chapter. Don't forget to review!