Mor Cuivië

The sun slipped in through the bedroom curtains, promising a bright and beautiful day. Sunlight crept slowly over the king's face, bringing consciousness. Aragorn yawned and rolled over in bed to kiss his wife good morning. The moments with Arwen before the day began were always the best, but he was disappointed at finding the covers empty. He sighed, wondering how late he had slept. Arwen occasionally rose early and let him sleep. Pulling back the covers and donning his robe, he left their bedroom in search of his queen.

The chamber hall was wide with seven doors leading to adjacent rooms. On the walls hung long, colorful tapestries, some with dizzying designs while others had simple, yet elegant patterns. To his right was the washroom. He was rarely found here, but he knew Arwen was overly concerned with cleanliness, bathing more often than anyone. But the room was empty, the washtub dry.

Reentering the hallway, something wasn't right. It was too quiet. "Arwen!" he yelled, but there was no answer. He checked every room for signs of anyone having been in here and found everything untouched. This was strange; usually the corridor was bustling with servants.

'Don't be stupid,' he thought to himself. 'There is a logical explanation for everything. Everyone is already at the Hall of Feasts waiting to serve breakfast and you are making them wait. And you don't want to have to hear it from Arwen. Get going.'

Aragorn left the bedroom chambers and stepped into the sunlight. The sun felt warm on his face and fresh air felt good in his lungs. As he stood, the clear blue sky fell suddenly gray and the clouds moved swiftly blocking the sun, casting Pelennor Fields into shadow. Minas Tirith became cold and a chilling wind rustled his hair. Aragorn tried to rationalize the phenomenon, but he came up empty-handed. A gut feeling warned that no good was likely to come of it.

He could see no one walking the grounds, reminding him he was alone. He had a deep longing to hold his bride close and run his fingers through her hair, so he started across the Citadel.

Emptiness lingered throughout the city. Silence was all that could be heard, when suddenly the birds in the aviary were set off. Aragorn froze. Their chirping was more like screaming and made Aragorn's hair stand on end. He waited a moment, but the birds continued. Against his better judgment, he went to check it out. Secretly he hoped to find Arwen, but by now, as long as there was someone in there he did not care who it was.

He slowly opened the aviary door and stepped inside. The birds instantly fell silent. Their heads turned, watching Aragorn's every move as he passed between the rows of cages looking for signs of anyone tampering in the aviary. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but if no one had been in here what had scared the birds?

He turned around to leave and noticed a large cage that held only one small bird. It looked very out of place and when he moved closer the bird made no movement. He tapped the cage and still it did not move; its eyes were wide open, unblinking. He unlatched the door and reached for the bird and the rest of the birds began chirping again. Aragorn jumped nervously at the sudden noise. He tried to close the latch quickly and fumbling with the latch he bumped the cage. The bird fell off his perch and landed with a thud on the cage floor. Leaving the cage unlocked, he made for the door to the aviary.

Outside, a wind had picked up blowing his hair in his face. Aragorn's heart was racing. Something strange was going on and he didn't like it. It did not make for a good start to the day. He just wanted to find his wife and salvage what was left of the morning. He would get a servant to take care of the bird later.

He walked slower with the wind tugging at his clothes, but he was nearing the Hall of Feasts when he felt his path veering to the left—towards the greenhouse. He fought back, but try as he might, his will could not contend with that of the wind's and he soon found himself on the doorstep to the greenhouse. Aragorn stood there, unwilling to enter. He did not care what was on the other side and he wasn't going to stay to find out. His only desire was to hold Arwen in his arms—now. He was not in the mood for any more nonsense. He turned to leave, but the wind swelled in opposition and threw him against the door. Given no alternative, he entered.

His blood ran cold at the sight inside the greenhouse: every plant had wilted and died, not one was left standing. Aragorn moved solemnly among the rows of flowers, ducking beneath several hanging plants. The air was stale and heavy and smelled rancid, making it hard to breathe. On the back shelf he noticed a single white rose that was in full bloom. He moved closer and reached out to touch it when it turned black and crumbled into ashes. Aragorn could stand it no longer—he had to get out of here. He had to find Arwen.

The wind had lessened but it had grown considerably darker. The sky was black and lightening danced in the clouds. Thunder rolled so deep that Aragorn's bones rattled. He quickened his pace and in moments was inside the Hall of Feasts.

He had entered the kitchen. The ceiling was vaulted, supported by thick crossbeams. The immense room had six fireplaces set into the far wall. No fires were blazing and the long counters were clean; no food was out. It looked like no one had eaten breakfast or even been in here at all. He passed through the kitchen and into the dining hall where the ceiling was higher and there was a long table in the center of the room. Several smaller tables surrounded the large one and Arwen was not seated at any of them.

This made no sense at all. How could everyone have left without a trace? Where did they go? What was the explanation for the events in the aviary and greenhouse? But none of that mattered now, his priority was to find Arwen. A last idea struck him, one last shred of hope at finding her. He left the Hall of Feasts heading for the White Tower.

The weather was still dreadful and the lightening was hitting the ground now. A bolt of lightening struck the White Tree as Aragorn passed, the force sending him to the ground. He could feel the heat from the raging fire on his face. Getting to his feet he ran for the doors to the tower almost tripping on the steps.

Inside it was quiet and somber. He walked the hall listening for any sound of anyone being in here, but all he could hear was the echo of his feet against the stone. He passed the two rows of statues and thought he could see torment in their eyes. Aragorn ran his hand over Arwen's throne. "Where are you?" he whispered. "I need you."

He heard a door open and shut to his right and looked up—the door to Denethor's secret chambers! Someone was here! He ran up the spiral staircase taking the stairs in threes, but he never caught up with the person he was chasing. It seemed an eternity before he reached the top and saw the door that led to the secret chamber. His breathing came in rasps as he pushed the door wide open—

"Arwen!' he yelled and his legs almost gave out. Arwen was lying on the floor of the small chamber—dead. Aragorn rushed to her side with tears running down his face as he knelt beside her, cradling her limp body in his arms. Her flesh was cold to the touch. Running his fingers through her hair he was filled with anger. He would get revenge on whoever had done this.

He looked around for the man he was chasing but there was no one else in the room. He could not have escaped, Aragorn entered through he only door in the room. He looked back at Arwen, her expressionless face, her pale skin, her fragile body. He noticed the red stain on the stone floor from the blood that poured from the gash in her side. Aragorn placed his head against Arwen's and wept. "Meleth nín, don't leave me. I'm sorry . . . so sorry . . ."

Aragorn kissed Arwen's hand and laid her gently on the floor. He picked up the dagger next to her and placed the tip of the blade against his heart and—

Aragorn bolted up in bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Arwen woke up at his sudden movement and rolled over.

"Are you alright?" she asked snuggling close. Aragorn looked her in the eyes and fought to rid himself of the image of her dead body lying helplessly on the floor. She was safe and unharmed now. He silently vowed never to leave her side.

"I'm fine," he said forcing a weak smile. "I love you," he added and kissed her, gently running his fingers through her hair. Together they settled down and went to sleep.

A/N: For those of you who care, the tile is Elvish for Dark Awaking. I would appreciate a review. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but we are to act like adults, not mules.