A/N: Well, it's been some time since my last update, now. After 26 chapters, I'm out of prewritten work, so things will be coming a bit more slowly what with editing and typing and so. I'll try to keep them nice and long, at least! But of course, with new work means I could use much more help with unclear passages and grammar errors, so comments are extra appreciated. Tolkien owns the good stuff; I'll claim the idiocy.

Aragorn pulled his horse back into camp, ignoring its rolling eyes at the faint scent of Warg permeating the forest. Something was out there that had nearly frightened the two animals away, but it had not yet revealed itself to the tired bipedal hunters. Legolas had agreed to take first watch and allow the others to catch back up on their sleep, now that they had a good idea of the trail and the hobbits appeared to be out of immediate danger with their escape from the orcs. Once he arose from his well-deserved nap, Aragorn knew he would have many things to fret about, concerning Merry and Pippin's miraculous escape, their captors, and the evil wizards and Wargs that the horseman had spoken of, but for now the ranger was much more concerned with finding a comfortable square of ground that was far enough from Gimli to spare him from the dwarf's nocturnal kicking. A steel-tipped boot to the Dunedain's empty stomach had twice served as a rejoinder for his "horrible snores," although Strider had trouble believing that anything could top the shorter member of the fellowship's rasps. The ranger felt his oft-broken nose, knowing that this blocked nasal passage was the cause of his companion's complaints. If his sister could be believed, this would be the only likely opportunity he would have to fix it. In truth, a ranger's amount of downtime was preciously small, Aragorn admitted to himself, and Tasana was probably right. If he had to go through the painful practice of fixing his nose, it was best to do so before the bones had completely ossified anyway. Fingering the tortured feature with gritted teeth, Aragorn snapped it back into place. The procedure had become easier with as often as he had to do it, but it still hurt, especially if the Dunedain thought too much about just what he was doing to his own face. Lying down with another small whimper, his back to the snoring dwarf, Strider hoped to finally get some sleep.

It was not to be, however. The whinnying of their horses and the following panicked hoof-beats as the beasts ran from an unseen terror outside of the camp. Aragorn shot up from his half-daze to watch as Legolas halted in his last minute pursuit. "What was that?" asked Gimli, who had also just been awakened. "Not that I'm particularly sorry to see the end of those creatures, mind you." Rough, stumpy fingers were raised in a rude gesture in the direction of the running mounts, and the dwarf's grip tightened upon the handle of his axe. "Bloody horses. At least a Warg would stand and defend," he muttered with a series of dwarvish curses.

"Forgive me." Legolas hung his proud head. "I fell asleep on watch, and the horses fled at the sight of an intruder. He left before I could get a good look at him, but whoever it was, he was draped in a gray cloak."

"You think it was the wizard the Rohirrim spoke of?" Aragorn asked, shaking off his sleepiness for a precious few more minutes. The elf shrugged, unwilling to make eye contact. "Do not worry so, Legolas. Any of us would have done the same. At least you were quick enough to scare our night visitor away." He patted the elf on the shoulder reassuringly. "Get some sleep without so much regret. I'll stand the next watch."

"Are you sure you've gotten enough rest, Aragorn?" Keen elven eyes at last looked into his gray ones. "Look, you've broken your nose again." The archer proffered his longtime friend a handkerchief to bind his bruised nostrils.

"I can answer for him, Master Elf," Gimli spoke up before the ranger could wave Legolas away. "He hasn't gotten much sleep, nor have I, with that racket he's been making. You must have been exhausted to fall asleep to that. I don't blame our sneaky friend from running from this fellow. You sound like a pack of trolls," he directed gruffly to the human. Although he was as irascible as ever, Gimli was nonetheless showing support for his companions. "We may not get warning of an intruder, but at least Strider will scare them off."

"There is nothing we can do but trust to luck," Aragorn said, and then continued quickly before either of his companions could add an inevitable gibe about his snores. "I will set what traps I can, but in truth, none of us are properly awake to defend our camp. We must simply sleep fast."

Gimli required no more words, and sank down where he stood. Legolas patted Aragorn grimly upon the shoulder before finding a spot of his own. "May luck be kind to us then," the archer muttered before drifting off, his back against a tree and his eyes closing slowly. Normally the elf would have slept with his eyes open, in his usual state of meditation. It was a sign of how exhausted the three hunters were that Legolas was out cold in an almost mortal-like sleep. Aragorn, however, did not have much time to think on this as he, too, fell into deepest slumber.

The three did not awaken until late in the next morning. It had gotten too quiet for Legolas's liking, and the absence of any visible fauna had not stopped the sharp-eared elf from noting the sudden lack of sound, from tree and insect alike. The others were still snorting in their sleep, but there were quiet spots now. Not precisely silent, the archer clarified, for he could still hear breathing. He slowed his own breath, listening as hard as he could before opening his eyes. A snore. Gimli. A muttered name on the verge of intelligibility. Aragorn, dreaming of Arwen. A snuffle. Animal sounding. That was not from any of his companions, unless Gaundalan had returned. The young Warg was dead. They had seen the corpse. Who, or more precisely what, was out there, then? He opened his eyelids a tiny amount, scanning the brush.

There. A dead, twisted sapling that did not move with the wind. But how many accompanied the noisemaker, and what were their intentions? Moving quickly, despite his remaining drowsiness, Legolas edged in reach to jolt his nearest ally awake. "M'uggeroff, Gimi," the sleepy ranger mumbled incomprehensibly. "M'ot snorin'." He turned away from the elf, towards the bracken. It was moving more pronouncedly now.

"Estel, the twins will have your head for this, and Elrond your hide." The statement, said often enough during the Dunedain's reckless adolescence, still worked its intended effect, causing Aragorn's eyes to fly open and scan his surroundings guiltily. The elven archer gave his friend a half smile, shaking his head while holding a thin finger to his lips. "There's something in the brush. I don't like the sounds of it. Get Gimli," Legolas directed, pulling an arrow from his quiver. He remained on the ground as long as possible, attempting to pass of his earlier movement as the tossing and turning of a troubled sleeper.

Aragorn made a show of rising and stretching, knowing the archer would have him well covered from an attack, if any were to come. The black-haired man paused, staring at the sleeping dwarf as if unsure whether revenge would prove worth it, and then got control of himself and leant down to shake a blocky shoulder. Gimli had nothing even as comprehensible as Strider had had to say upon wakening, merely swinging a hard fist with a primal grunt until the short, broad hand found the long, broad axe. Using the haft as a crutch, the dwarf rose to his feet with a yawn. Aragorn had found it imperative to move away from him by this point. "What, man?" Gimli returned the Dunedain's stare with somewhat less amusement.

"Trouble. Though it would have had ample opportunity to strike by now, if that were its purpose." Aragorn leant over the moss-covered bushes. "Come out, you. We mean you no harm if you mean us none." No response. Aragorn rustled though the deadfall, but there was nothing to be found but half a paw print, carelessly left in uneven soil. At least this was enough sign to prove that Legolas was not going mad. "You pick an unusual time for games, my friend," the ranger spoke softly to their unseen visitor. "But I shall play your game, and beat it, if that is what it comes down to." Strider began piecing together a trail, motioning for the other two to follow him. Gimli did so grumblingly, grousing that even in this haunted, beast infested, dwarf hating forest, he could have easily slept another week.

"Only until something tried to eat you, Gimli," Legolas corrected him teasingly. "But these old trees have long memories. It might indeed be best to hold your axe a bit lower under their strong boughs." The dwarf followed his friend's eyes up through the branches. It was probably only his imagination that they seemed to be attempting to block out sunlight on purpose, but just in case, he decided to follow the elf's advice.

Wargs normally did not leave much of a trail for human hunters. Tufts of their fur would occasionally be removed by thick bushes, but most wolves would pick a single bush near the pack's den to brush out the spring blow with so that prey was not forewarned of a shaggy hunter's presence. Wide paws insured shallow tracks and quiet movement. Aragorn was not an average tracker, though, and their morning caller had not bothered to watch its step on the way out. It seemed almost too easy to follow the creature's trail. One of Strider's sister's Wargs would have walked right up to them, and a wild third party, even in a moment of panic, would have been more careful than this. It did not take a wolf's nose to smell a trap. But what kind? Whoever had been watching them would have had the trio at its mercy during the night. "Don't lower it too much, though," the Dunedain added to his friends' muted conversation.

Examining a clump of gray and black fur removed from a low hanging branch, Strider checked to make sure his own weapon was loose in its scabbard. "We're getting close."

"There," Legolas pointed. It was not a Warg that stood upon the craggy rock he pointed to, but the figure in gray nevertheless had a familiar quality to him. "That's the one who was in our camp last night." The elf hurriedly drew his strung bow.

"We move quickly, as a group." Aragorn kept his voice down, fearing that any minute now their target would turn around and spot them. The ranger and the dwarf moved into flanking positions as Legolas waited for Aragorn's signal to fire. The shot would be difficult. It would be best if he got a little closer. Edging slowly towards the wizard upon light elven feet, he kept his bow raised and nocked. His hands trembled. He had hunted on little sleep before, and this new bow should give no creak to announce his presence. It was as easy to draw as his old one, and the elf had always prided himself on being able to make any shot, with any bow, any arrow, any target. Almost any, at least. So now why were his fingers trembling like a young boy's? His sight was as keen as ever, yet the outlines of the hooded form seemed to blur. Legolas blew a stray blonde lock, limp with sweat, from his field of vision. The others were never going to hear about this, he promised himself. He just had to hold it steady a little longer, and then he could release. His arms hadn't burned like this in centuries. What was wrong with him?

At long last, he heard Strider's signal, a sudden war cry. He released the arrow thankfully, drawing a second on reflex. His first shot had missed, going high and wide of its target. Legolas attempted to fit the second arrow to the bow, but the string had snapped. But how could it have? Nothing had stung him. Yet, he saw anxiously, the bowstring was no longer there. No matter. He had other weapons. The elf tried to draw a throwing knife, but despite how often he polished and oiled the damn things, they were stuck fast in their sheaths. If I must die, Legolas prayed desperately, please kill me before the dwarf sees me in this foolishness.

The beleaguered archer might have let loose an amused laugh, had he known how similar his companion's thoughts were. Only a few steps into his charge, Gimli had tripped over his axe handle. Aragorn had thrown his sword, and in the process of avoiding the ill-aimed blade, the dwarf had not minded his own weapon. Swearing volubly at the ranger in order to reassure the Dunedain that he was fine, Gimli had missed seeing the wizard turn towards his companions, a puzzled expression on his weathered face.

"Who are you people?" a voice at once familiar and strange came from the wizard, who revealed robes of brightest white beneath his cowl.

"Gandalf?" Strider hastily scooped up his broadsword, clutching the pommel tightly. Fumbling, he returned his blade to its scabbard.

"Gandalf," mused the old wizard, turning his polished staff in his hands. There was a faint glint of recognition in his eyes, and something fainter that just might be read as amusement. "They used to call me that: Gandalf the Gray. But I am Gandalf the White, now." He smiled at the ranger. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli. Now I remember."

"You could have remembered before you used such powerful magic upon us, Gandalf," the elf stated, picking up his mysteriously reappearing, oddly whole bowstring.

"Or a bloody big sword," Gimli added with a miffed glare in Aragorn's direction.

"Powerful magic. I saw you trip over your haft," he replied in a whisper. Mortified, the dwarf nodded his agreement. "But how did you return to us?" Strider asked the wizard.

Gandalf proceeded to tell the three hunters of his fight with the Balrog, his journey through a place outside of time, and subsequent return to Middle Earth, with stops in Lothlorien and Rohan before coming to these woods. His friends were awed of course, but as Gandalf offered to whistle their horses back, assuring them that Merry and Pippin were safe with a friend of his, there were a few quiet whispers between the others. "Tasana and Boromir never hear of this." Aragorn hid his twitching, embarrassed half-smile in a greeting to the young brown Warg that had followed Gandalf since his return to life. A youthful northern male from the fringes of Mirkwood, Cer'yaken had shown great promise, in Gandalf's estimation. Great promise for what, the wizard refused to reveal.

"Naturally. Neither does my father." Legolas knelt briefly beside the ranger and the northern wolf before taking up the bridle of his gray gelding and marveling at the wizard's Rohirric stallion.

"Don't tell the hobbits then, or all those and more shall soon have news of it." Gimli added, measuring up the Warg before deciding it too small and untamed to properly bear his weight.

"A most fortunate thing they are with friends of Gandalf, aye?" the elf offered him a hand up for their mount.

"Indeed." Gimli looked about the forest before turning resignedly back to the horse he shared with Legolas.

"You know, it is possible that he actually did use magic, and we're overreacting because we're tired." Two iron stares greeted the Dunedain's attempt at logic. "Just don't let Arwen know either, right?" he sighed.

"Not a word." Legolas made as if to seal his lips with a thin, callused hand. Gimli nodded empathetically. "Not to a single soul."

"It's time." Tasana awoke to a cold nose against her back. Gonaki always knew exactly how to find the most sensitive square inch of her skin and place the chilliest piece of living flesh the healer had ever had the misfortune to encounter directly against it. She rolled towards his nose, knowing from long experience that the alpha enjoyed completing this prank by stepping on her hair.

"What?" she growled sleepily. The black wolf had avoided her hair this morning, at least.

"You said you would join me. Do you still feel capable of it, zwiero?" The Warg's posture was redoubtable, but for once he seemed neither playful nor angry in his challenge.

"I told you I'd run with you once he has healed." The woods woman stroked her patient's still-sleeping form. Boromir had had a bad night of it. All too often, he had had bad nights. Even with sleeping potions steeped in painkillers, his sleep was fitful and agitated. If Tasana held him, it seemed to calm him somewhat, but she could feel her lover shudder against her from time to time. Shivers caused by no Wargish nostrils wracked his body on the worst nights, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

Gonaki looked upon the man with a critical eye, recognizing his discomfort and sympathizing despite himself. "There is nothing you can do for him. The mind and body are interconnected. Until he thinks himself able to heal, he will not. There is no point in you remaining here, for your pity will only lengthen the process."

"That's sweet of you to try to make me feel better, but I know how to recognize a fever, old wolf. I've dealt with these before." Chev'yahna buried her hand in the rough fur behind the alpha's ears. She had intended to merely ruffle them, but the Warg recognized her need for comfort. He leaned into her, allowing his human pup to wrap her arms about his furry neck. There were some things one had to tolerate when dealing with zwiero, after all. Especially females.

"You stink of a den-mother's fear. Even his poor nose must sense it. Come with me, and let him heal on his own without such distractions. Mithilira will keep an eye on him." Gonaki reassured her.

Tasana wavered. Perhaps the old alpha was right, and she was keeping her beloved from healing. Had Boromir had a bad reaction to the willowbark? She didn't believe so; she had had a bit of it herself after a particularly sleepless night. Still, giving him a few days without sleeping potions or other herbs would let him recover a bit of his own strength back. She had not saved her warrior from the orcs with the intention of killing him through kindness. "How long will we be gone?"

"As long as it takes us," the black Warg replied obliquely. Tasana gave him an irritated stare. She trusted the pack, more than she trusted herself in many matters, but she didn't intend to leave Boromir without aid for longer than she had to. Gonaki returned her look with yellow-eyed indifference, a brisk shake of his ruff substituting for a shrug. "Shall I predict the length of the next hunt, as well? I know not what to expect from my brother."

The healer bit her lip, considering her options. "If you insist, I shall go with you, but I'd like to wait until he reawakens before we leave." It was the wolf's turn to give her an impatient stare. "Do you hunt when your pack mates sleep?" she questioned him.

"I hunt when I am hungry," he returned irritably. "And when my pack needs me to. They need me now, Chev'yahna. They needed us long ago."

"Aye, but so does Boromir." The woods woman absently reached to stroke her lover's hair. Gonaki snuffed impatiently. He repeated his awakening method upon the sleeping human before Tasana could object, or move her hand. Boromir's eyes flashed open, and he jerked away from the Warg. "Unfair, Gonaki," Chev'yahna growled, trying to ease her wounded warrior's fears. This process was made more difficult as she tried to bury her pique with the Sekrahc.

Boromir had automatically reached for his missing broken sword at the chill touch of the Warg's nose, but eventually Tasana's quiet, calm presence placated him. "What was that, love?" he asked her.

"The giant puppy is being irritating again," she replied, making brief eye contact with the mischievous alpha.

"Aye, she is," the black wolf deadpanned. His tongue was lolling in laughter, but he did not flick his ears back in rebuke when she looked him in the eye. Gonaki was a friend, and Tasana could not forget that.

"The reason he woke you though, - well, really the reason we woke you, though I would have preferred another method – " she started awkwardly.

"As would I," Boromir added sardonically. She leaned forward at his soft tug upon her arm and kissed him. "Much better," he murmured with a sigh. "But you were saying?"

"I'd prefer to continue this," Tasana whispered back, her body resting lightly upon his wrapped ribs.

"Come, now," her lover kissed her softly. "One shouldn't bother a bedridden man and then expect him to forget the matter out of hand. Though I must admit you do come up with some very nice distractions." He smiled, resting his forehead against her own.

The woman tried to turn her head away, only to meet the gentle resistance of his hand against her cheek. "Boromir, my darling, you know that I love you, don't you, my lord?"

"I do, just as you know I love you in return." A sudden light, at once teasing and hopeful, came into his eyes. "Have you decided to accept my proposal, Tasana?" She shook her head gently.

"Not yet. And that is all I shall say on that topic today." She placed a finger against his lips to ward off questions.

"All right then." Kissing the admonitory finger; Boromir laid his head back and regarded her bemusedly through half-lidded eyes. "What is it then?"

Tasana did not want to tell him. When he smiled like that, with a hint of mischief in his eyes instead of pain, for once, she did not see how it was possible for her to leave him. She glanced waveringly towards Gonaki, but the alpha simply stared at her, with his usual mix of condescension and sympathy. There was need in the old Warg's eyes as well, though, a plea for help that could not be denied, although she knew not exactly how her aide would prove useful. If she could not heal Boromir, when her duty required it and her skill offered her the means to do so, what help could a human woman be in pack affairs? "The Sekrahc requires me to accompany him," she murmured a last into his shoulder, unwilling to look into her lover's warm hazel eyes. "I know not how long we will be gone."

"Is the whole pack leaving?" Boromir pulled her face up, seeking her worried eyes. She shook her head.

"Just me, Gonaki, and a few of the older hunters. Most of the pack will stay here with you and Mithilira." Boromir's expression required further explanation, so she added nervously, "She's pregnant. That's why she can't come with us. 'Naki didn't want to risk the pups, but he wanted a seer to come to the meeting. That's why he needs me. Oh, Boromir, I don't want to leave you," Tasana cried, throwing her arms about his neck. He stroked her hair, clinging tightly to her.

"I don't want you to leave, either. But it's just a few days, after all, isn't it?" he sounded as if he were attempting to assuage himself as much as her.

"I presume so," she said dubiously. "But I don't know for certain. And I don't want to leave you like this. Will you be all right, with the Wargs?" His mouth was twisted in that old self-mocking half-smile, but he placed his fingertips gently against her trembling lips.

"Just don't tell me your wolf-mother will take care of me, and I suppose I can tolerate it." His hands flicked away from her. "Now don't make a scene. I can't stand long good-byes." Mutely, she nodded, kissed him soundly, and withdrew before she could fully surrender her senses to his arms. "Gods, woman, leave, before I make a fool of myself!"

"I'll be back shortly as possible. Don't die on me," she said, following after her alpha.

"The same goes for you," Boromir called after her. He laid there, on the edge of death, alone save for beasts he barely knew. And yet, it was the woods woman he feared for, with proper cause. It did not take a seer's talent to see that Sahnchanc's lands were sure to prove dangerous.

Wargish Glossary-

Gonaki- the alpha of Tasana's pack, also called 'Naki

Sahnchanc- the alpha of the Isen pack, Gonaki's brother

Sekrahc- Alpha male

Zwiero- bipedal creature, may also be used as plural or adjective