8. For Love Is Strong As Death

Aragorn leaned forward in his chair and leveled his gaze at Ghayur. "An embassy in Minas Tirith is certainly a reasonable request," he said. "For one thing, it would ease communication between Gondor and Harad, and I think that such communication will be sorely needed in years to come. I am certainly prepared to grant an embassy in return for increased shipments of peppercorns. However," he added as Ghayur's smile widened, "I am not prepared to let those peppercorns, or any other cargo, pass uninspected through any of Gondor's ports."

"That is absurd!" Nasir cried. Ghayur grasped his vizier's wrist and gripped it in a way that looked most painful.

"Silence your monkeyish tongue," he said to Nasir. "If you do not know when to speak, then remain silent. I must apologize for the vizier's outburst," he said to Aragorn. "But I find that his objection, though crudely phrased, is not altogether invalid. Word has reached me that Gondor receives goods in trade from Elves and Dwarves, and those goods pass uninspected into your fair land. Why then do you not trust in the goods delivered by Men, who are of your own kind?"

"The Elves and Dwarves of whom you speak are known to be friendly to Men and to Gondor," Aragorn replied. "Whereas you are, if no longer precisely an enemy, not yet fully an ally. Furthermore, you have admitted to employing poison to rid you of people you found inconvenient. It would be sheer madness not to inspect any cargo imported from Harad, especially edible cargo."

Ghayur was about to reply to that when the door opened and one of the aides moved swiftly to whisper in the ear of the master of the trade depot. The master nodded, then raised his hand for attention. "My Lord Elessar," he said, "an urgent message awaits you in the antechamber. Are both sides amenable to a brief recess?"

Aragorn and Ghayur both nodded. The master rapped sharply on the table to make the recess formal, and Aragorn hurried out into the antechamber. A young man in the livery of the messenger stables of Minas Tirith was waiting for him. When Aragorn arrived, he leaped to his feet and bowed. "My Lord, I bear a message from Lord Faramir."

Aragorn felt the blood pound a little harder in his veins at the thought of an emergency that Faramir could not handle without sending an urgent message to Poros. "Deliver it."

The messenger placed a sealed letter in Aragorn's hand. The seal was that of the Prince of Ithilien, not the Steward's seal that Faramir used for everyday business. Even more curious, Aragorn broke the seal and read the letter, written in Faramir's strong, flowing script. He read it over twice to assure himself that what he had read was in fact there on the page and not some horrible, heat-induced dream. When he had finished, he summoned Peredur and bade him read the letter out loud, so as to be absolutely certain.

Peredur had no sooner stopped reading than Aragorn took the letter from him and strode furiously into the negotiation chamber. He slammed the letter down on the table and glared at Ghayur. "So," he said through gritted teeth, "have these negotiations been a complete farce? Was your intent ever to draw my attention away from Ithilien?"

Ghayur regarded him silently for a moment, then leaned forward. Enunciating each word, he said, "Do explain this outburst, King Elessar. In what manner have I caused offense?"

"My Steward, Lord Faramir, reports an assault upon his land of Ithilien by soldiers clad in armor of Harad," Aragorn replied.

Ghayur's face grew stern. "I ordered no such assault, King Elessar."

"I am sure you did not. Such directness is not within you, Lord Ghayur. Perhaps there were those among your loyal staff who received wisdom that an assault upon Ithilien would be met with favor by their Lord Calif."

Ghayur glanced at the assembled Haradrim. "I could not answer one way or the other and maintain my honor."

"Your honor." Aragorn bit back a scathing insult. "I believe I know something of your honor, Ghayur. The same honor that compelled you to poison Maruf the Sea-Born, your liege lord."

"Maruf was an enemy to the greater interests of Harad," Ghayur said. "And of Gondor, for that matter. His removal, while unfortunate, was necessary."

"Your Lord placed his trust in you, and you betrayed him," Aragorn retorted. "It seems that I have been foolish enough to do the same and must pay the same price. Do you value these trade negotiations at all, Ghayur?"

"I believe them to be necessary to improve the glory and splendor of the land of Harad. Therefore, they are of great value to me."

"Then tell me, if you wish them to continue, what has become of the Lady Éowyn and her children?" Aragorn said.

Ghayur blinked, but quickly regained his composure. "Such knowledge is veiled from me as the sun veils the stars."

"In that case," Aragorn ground out, "these negotiations will proceed no further until I have satisfactory answers to my questions." He signaled to Peredur and the rest of Gondor's delegation and strode out of the trade depot towards his encampment.

Ghayur turned to Nasir and raised an eyebrow. Nasir returned his Calif's gaze, and his slight smile was lost in his mustache.

The sun beat down upon Éowyn's head, and a bead of sweat rolled slowly down her brow and into her eye, where it stung. She blinked and shifted Olwyn's limp weight in her arms. Elboron trudged quietly at her side. They had walked briskly through the night, when the activity had kept them warm in the surprisingly chilly air. But then the sun had risen, bringing blinding light and ferocious heat to a land with neither shade nor shelter. Éowyn had rationed the water carefully, but there had not been much to begin with, and the skin was alarmingly light. Olwyn had collapsed some time ago, and Éowyn carried her daughter. Olwyn lolled against her, too parched even to whimper.

Elboron began to wobble, and Éowyn grasped his shoulder to steady him. He must keep walking as long as possible. Éowyn could not carry both children, and she did not know what she would do when Elboron's strength gave out. She hoped vaguely that a source of water would appear, but she did not dwell on such a faint chance. Instead, she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground in front of her, willing herself to take just one more step, and then another and another. Every now and then, Éowyn raised her eyes and glanced dully at the shadow of the Ephel Duath far on the horizon, just to make sure they were still walking west.

Elboron stumbled again. Éowyn moved her grip to his arm, gently but firmly tugging him along. He would not last much longer in this heat with no rest. Éowyn lifted her heavy head and looked around once more for any source of water or shelter. Once again, she saw none. There was nothing else to do but continue walking.

Éowyn thought longingly of the cool, fresh water that she had once drawn in dripping buckets from the wells scattered over the grounds of the manor house. She remembered how she had hated carrying water as a child, and then she thought about the last time she had bathed her children, just before they had gone to pick blueberries. Olwyn had splashed water all around the tub in her excitement, and Éowyn found herself regretting the waste of that bath water. She scolded herself for not planning for their escape from the beginning, saving a portion of each water ration. "My cousin Théodred says that provisions are the importantest part of being in an éored." Someone important had said that once, but she could not remember who it was or why they had said it.

A sudden weight jerked at her arm, pulling her out of her dreams and nearly dragging her to the ground. Elboron had fallen to his knees. Éowyn tugged at his arm. "Get up, baby," she murmured. "You have to walk. There is no place to rest."

"Water, Mama?"

Éowyn fumbled for the water skin and gave Elboron a sip of warm, musty water. Obediently, he struggled to his feet and managed to walk a few more steps before he collapsed once more. He scrabbled at the ground, but did not rise. Eventually, he lay still, panting.

Éowyn stood where she was and looked around. There was nothing but scrub land as far as she could see. The shadows of the mountains did not seem to be any nearer. If there was no hope of relief in the immediate future, then perhaps the chance of pursuit had also lessened. Perhaps it was safe for the children to rest. Éowyn set Olwyn down next to her brother and propped both children up against a rock that offered the best shade available. Then she removed the dusty, voluminous shawl, and spread it over them like a tent, to serve as both shade and concealment. Finally, she left the water skin at their side, in case they should wake.

She stared at the little bundle for a long moment, then felt her feet begin to move. Almost from habit now, Éowyn stumbled westward towards the mountains, telling herself that she was going to discover a creek or a stand of succulent plants or even a slow, unwary lizard that would provide enough moisture to fuel the children through another long march. She would bring her prize back to them and revive them, and then they would continue their walk to Ithilien and freedom.

This idea sustained her for nearly a dozen steps. Then, without warning, the ground rushed up to meet her, and she knew nothing more.

Though not directly set upon the Great River, Minas Tirith was close enough to it to receive significant amounts of traffic. Merchants streamed in and out of the city, as did messengers and anyone, lord or common folk alike, who had business to conduct with the Crown. After they had removed their armor and packed it on the backs of their horses, Haytham, Thano, and their followers entered the city as easily as did any of the merchants. Once inside the gates, they paused in the corner of a plaza to take in their surroundings.

Thano could not stop staring at the great white city and its thousands of inhabitants. People walked through the streets with long, confident strides. Children ran and played. Some men and women sat idly in doorways, playing at dice or talking about nothing in particular. Shops displayed a rich variety of objects, and on nearly every street corner, one could buy hot morsels of food, fresh vegetables, or flowers. The dazzling color and strong smell of the city made Thano's head spin. He wondered if Nurn would one day boast a city as wonderful as this one.

"It is an astonishing place, is it not?" Haytham said. "To think that it was nearly destroyed but eleven years past."

"Where shall we go first?" Thano asked. "I do not see how we will ever reach the Citadel through all these hordes of people. They will turn against us, and we are sorely outnumbered."

Haytham laughed. "Do not fear," he said. "We are not entirely without friends in the White City. The Calif set spies inside it, even in the Citadel itself, a year ago. And certain of those spies were chosen by the hand of Lord Nasir himself. They will aid us when the need arises."

"And when will that be? I feel the need this very instant."

"When darkness descends to veil our faces, then we will discover our friends," Haytham said. "In this instant, I can provide what aid you need. Come, I will take you to an inn, and you shall enjoy the riches of Minas Tirith."

"An inn." Thano considered the idea. "Is it proper for a Lord to visit an inn?"

"The inns of Minas Tirith are fit enough for its own King," Haytham replied. "All the Men of Gondor live as Lords. Come, let us see this city. Perhaps you may find some trinket to delight the lady who waits faithfully for your return."

Thano followed Haytham, straining to see everything. He stared at the long, flowing dresses on the women and at the earrings, necklaces, and bracelets that glittered in the light. He had only to wait until dark, and then they would steal the Elf of Gondor. And after that, Thano was sure, all this finery would be his to bring home and lay at Wen's feet.

Doronrîn glided silently through the corridors of the Citadel, pausing for a moment to listen to the music that came faintly from behind the door of the Steward's apartments. Faramir sought to soothe his fears by playing his viol for hours every evening. The mode was strange to Doronrîn's ears, but she found the melodies plaintive and haunting. She would have stayed to listen to the end of the piece, but the Queen had requested her presence that evening. If Faramir's escape was music, Arwen's was companionship from the only other Elf in the city. Doronrîn had to admit that such companionship soothed her spirits as well, and continued on her way to the royal suite.

Just past dusk, a fire broke out in one of the kitchens. As the staff worked to contain it, a page reported that the drying area in the laundry was also ablaze. Soon, the chambermaids' dormitory and a storage room were burning as well. With four separate fires roaring where none ought to have started in the first place, Húrin of the Keys decided to summon the Steward to the scene.

Ninniach babbled happily as she wriggled around on a quilt on the floor. Arwen and Doronrîn had fed her, bathed her, and dressed her in a fresh gown and napkin. Now she could play for a while before her bedtime. She twisted her body and flopped over onto her back. Pleased with her effort, she crowed and laughed.

"She makes so many sounds now," Arwen said. "Sometimes, I feel as if I can almost understand her speech, as though it is a language that I do not know, or that I have forgotten."

"Perhaps it is a language," Doronrîn suggested. "Perhaps it is the language that the first Elves spoke when they woke by the shores of Cuiviénen. We have all forgotten it, save in the earliest years of infancy."

"I like that idea," Arwen said, "though it makes me sad."

Ninniach, bored with the view from her back, rolled over again and looked at the pattern of the quilt on which she lay. "Ah, boo," she said. Arwen giggled.

"That does not sound very much like the speech of the first Elves to me." She rose from the small table, picked Ninniach up, and settled down in the window seat to begin soothing the baby to sleep. Doronrîn picked the quilt up off the floor and folded it.

"Infants make many noises," she said. "Both my daughter and my son loved to sing a single note for as long as they could sustain breath." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes sparkled. "When Legolas was that age, he would sometimes let out a string of high squeaking noises. The King declared that he sounded just like a little mouse when he did that."

Running footsteps sounded in the corridor. Both Arwen and Doronrîn looked up, but nothing happened. "I suppose it cannot be too serious," Arwen said. "Faramir would come to inform me if anything were truly wrong." She looked down at Ninniach, who was half asleep in her arms, and delicately pushed a finger into the little mouth. "I think I feel a tooth coming."

"Then the peaceful evenings will soon be at an end," Doronrîn observed. "Fortunately, there is a remedy for the pain. Pour a large glass of strong wine. Dab a little on the baby's gums. Then drink the rest in one large swallow."

Arwen stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "That is wonderful! I shall have to remember it and tell Éowyn."

"I am sure she is already aware of the trick. Most mothers learn it in due course."

Arwen moved from the window seat and laid Ninniach in her cradle, then spread a lightweight purple scarf over the cradle's bow to mute the light from the wall sconces. For a moment, all was still in the royal suite. Then a cry came from the guard outside. Metal clashed against metal, the guard cried out again, and there came a loud pounding at the door. Ninniach woke up and began to cry. Doronrîn, instantly alert, seized her knife from the table. Arwen pulled a sword down from where it hung on the wall and moved to stand in front of Ninniach's cradle. Doronrîn spied the heavy slab of wood propped by the door and ran to grab it.

Before she could bar the door, it burst open, and a troop of armed Men swarmed into the room. Reflexively, Doronrîn stabbed one in the hip, just below the edge of his breastplate. He toppled to the ground, yelling in pain, and one of his comrades tripped over him. Arwen extended her sword and moved it deliberately in a wide arc, trying to keep the Men from approaching the cradle. Doronrîn moved to her side.

Arwen parried a wild stab from a Man in front of her, but another seized her hair and jerked her away. One Man feinted at Doronrîn's blade, then dodged around her arm to grab at her waist. Doronrîn twisted in his grasp, reached around, and slashed at the back of his knees. He went down, but another man had circled around behind the cradle. He grasped the back of Doronrîn's girdle and pulled hard. In a swirl of skirts, Doronrîn fell backwards over the cradle, which rocked wildly and tumbled a crying Ninniach out onto the floor. Doronrîn landed hard, and found herself unable to move her right leg. Pain flared from her hip, and the leg lay at an awkward angle.

Beside her, Arwen lay gasping from a kick to the stomach that had knocked most of the wind from her body. The intruders hauled both women to sit more or less upright against the wall, a blade held close to each slim throat. "Your leg," Arwen gasped.

"Dislocated," Doronrîn replied, "but not broken, I think."

A handsome young Man who appeared to be in command of the intruders moved to stand before the women, forcing them to look up into his face. "This is a most interesting conundrum," he said. "I had come seeking the Queen, a beautiful, dark-haired Elf woman in a city of Men. I had not intended to find two such Elf women. Which of you is the Queen, I wonder."

Neither woman answered. On the floor, Ninniach screeched in terror and outrage. The commander turned to one who stood at his side, staring at the Elves as if struck dumb. "Thano," he said. "Bring me the baby."

"Yes, Haytham." Thano scooped Ninniach up roughly and set her in Haytham's arms.

Haytham smiled at Arwen and Doronrîn. "This squalling brat is surely the Princess Ninniach, the Rainbow of Gondor. One of you is her mother, and therefore the Queen. Shall we see if this babe is wise enough to know the Elf who gave her life?" He deposited Ninniach in Doronrîn's lap.

Doronrîn petted Ninniach, rocked her, and whispered soothing words to no avail. Ninniach arched away from her and howled. Haytham picked the baby up and handed her to Arwen. Arwen held her close. Ninniach, recognizing her mother's scent, stopped screaming, though she trembled and whimpered because Arwen was afraid. Haytham's face split into a wide grin.

"Take her," he said. Thano hauled Arwen to her feet, and the troop of Men escorted her out of the suite. Doronrîn had a glimpse of the bloody body of the guard outside just before the door closed. Haytham squatted down in front of her, gripping her jaw in one large hand.

"What will I do with you, hm?" he asked. "I should kill you, for you are a witness to what we have done here. And yet . . . " his voice trailed off, and he gazed at Doronrîn's sweaty, battered body. He rubbed his palm over her thigh, and her skin crawled at his touch. "The Queen is for the Calif. Thano will give the golden Princess to Nasir, and he has his own woman who waits faithfully for him. But what of Haytham? Should Haytham not have a prize as well? An Elf-woman of my own."

His eyes dilated with poorly concealed greed. He moistened his lips with his tongue and took a deep breath. Doronrîn tried to swallow her terror. Her heart pounded as if it would leap from her chest. Haytham moved his hand slowly from her thigh up the bodice of her dress to squeeze one of her breasts roughly through the fabric. Doronrîn tried to squirm away from his touch, but he held her fast.

"Take your hands off me, spider spawn," she spat.

"Such words, from such a lovely mouth," Haytham said. "A woman's mouth has better uses than cursing."

Doronrîn glared at him. "All that you will ever have of my mouth are my curses and my teeth."

Haytham's face twisted in shock and rage. "I should slit your throat for that remark, Elf woman."

"Do that," Doronrîn said. "And then I will be reunited with my husband in the Halls of Mandos."

"Very well. A wife's loyalty should have its reward." Releasing her breast, Haytham reached behind him and drew his sword. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, and Doronrîn saw his blade flash down.