This chapter is dedicated to Thundera Tiger, who has returned to us from the murky world of Real-Life! Also to xx embyr, who has rescued me from the depths of Sindarin Bad-Grammer Dungeon (I'll keep the use of it down to a minimum, anyway, before the PPC arrests me). And a big hand of applause to my new beta, Jen Littlebottom, who'll be the only reason y'all won't be throwing rotten tomatoes at me.

Chapter Seven: To Gather

"That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands. You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so."
- Elrond, Council of Elrond, Book II

"Are you sure she is coming?"

"Aye, my Queen. Though she has sent no reply, I would not be surprised if she had overtaken the messenger in her haste to come here," Éomer assured Arwen. "I happened to give her a handsome stallion for last year's New Year. No offense to you or Gondor, dear Queen, but he is thrice as fast as any steed of Minas Tirith."

Arwen smiled fondly, though her heart did not seem into it. "I remember that horse, and I believe your claim. We shall postpone the council, then, until she arrives. And no need for apologies, my friend, for all of Arda knows of the speed and prowess of Rohan's horses."

"Thank you, my Queen."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Éomer, we have known each other for at least half a decade now. Why in all of Arda are you suddenly addressing me with a title? We are friends, Éomer, or at least I would hope so. Would you have me calling you King all the time?"

He managed a lopsided grin. "Please, no. I'm sorry, Arwen. I am uneasy, and a Rider who senses menace wishes to understand it and protect friends and kin from it, yet it seems I can do neither. In such occasions we lapse into formality to hide our discontent."

Arwen's face turned serious at his words, and she sighed, looking distantly out a window. "If it is any comfort, dearest King of the Mark, I share your unease. The elves are closer to Arda and to that which grows upon the land than other Races, and at present the land whispers restlessly. It is not evil that the trees sense. It is… a menace, yet not even so. I do not understand it."

"None of us do, Arwen," Éomer said soothingly. "Have hope. Aragorn and Faramir can take care of themselves." Ever since meeting them, Éomer had respected the two men for their skills in battle and their hardiness. During rare spurts when nothing too pressing required his attention in Rohan, he would go on small excursions with the two in Ithilien. After a particularly sweaty day of trekking and hunting, he had once complained that the King of Gondor and his Steward must be elves in disguise, for they were happily setting up camp without the slightest hint of weariness, whilst Éomer had immediately collapsed beneath a tree and did not move again until he could smell dinner. Being a Rider for most of his life, Éomer was by no means a stranger to strenuous activity, and he had surrendered to his protesting muscles when the two hardly seemed fazed. His two companions had only smiled in amusement at his exhaustion.

"I know; better than any wife knows, I think," she whispered. "For years before the War he would disappear into the Wild, and each morning and evening I would look out from Rivendell and hope to see him coming home. It broke my father's heart, and my brothers', seeing me on my balcony or at the door, but I would love no other. I see those years now as a trial for our love as much as a test for Aragorn's worth. I cannot bear the thought of losing him now, where we thought the hard road would have ended." Éomer noticed that in one hand she was clutching the green stone Aragorn had worn ever since they met upon the plains of Rohan- the Elessar, the namesake of Aragorn amongst his people.

"Speaking of Elves and Dwarves," he spoke up gently, wishing to divert the distant-eyed Queen to a less painful topic. "How are Legolas and Gimli faring?"

This brought a smile to the beautiful elf's lips. "Gimli claims that he can get Legolas out of bed by tomorrow morning for breakfast. I told him that though elves heal quickly, the son of Thranduil had only just returned to us from death's door; I doubt even my husband could get him well by then." Arwen had turned slightly towards him when she said this, and Éomer saw pain flash by briefly in her eyes at the mention of Aragorn. But the Queen of Gondor had strength to rival Éowyn's, and it was gone in the next heartbeat. "The dwarf was adamant, though, so now we have a wager. For the first time I would not mind losing."

Éomer snickered. He rarely did so, for it was a most unbecoming sound for a King, but he decided that there was reason enough to justify a little snicker. "Alas, though I agree that it seems Gimli will lose, I do not doubt he will try his best- Dwarves are the most persistent of races, methinks, except for perhaps a Hobbit deprived of food. I fear Legolas is in for an unpleasant time."

~*~

Indeed, the Lord of the Elves of Southern Ithilien was at that moment being introduced to the very disturbing notion of having a dwarf for a nursemaid.

"Now, be sure to eat all of it. I don't understand how elves heal so quickly when they hardly seem to eat anything, but we shouldn't take any chances with such a fragile person as yourself, should we?"

Legolas glared balefully at the Lord of Aglarond, who placed a steaming bowl of gruel and herbs on his bedside table. Gimli only smiled in a most smug manner.

"I am hardly an invalid, Gimli," he said in a quiet voice, the glint in his eyes promising unspeakable tortures to whomsoever would dare treat him like one- the stunted creature before him, for example.

"Really? I haven't noticed."

"The minute I get out of this bed-"

"Which will not happen if you refuse to eat your food."

"-you shall consider yourself lucky to merely be dangling from a parapet by your beard."

Gimli's innocent smile only grew wider. "That tone may impress some of those lordlings back in Mirkwood and Ithilien dear prince, but I am a dwarf, and you have not the physical strength to carry out your threats, nor are you any longer able to daunt me with your unearthly glares."

Legolas' irritation rose two octaves, partly because Gimli's words were true. The dwarf had long since built up a resistance to elven glares. Most of the time Legolas counted this a blessing, for it meant that Gimli could hold his own when he visited South Ithilien, but in times such as these, he regretted using this method so much that the dwarf was no longer cowed by it. He also cursed his own weakness, for in the dwarven world (or so Gimli had explained to him) one could challenge a dwarf's position of authority by means of physical combat. This rarely happened, for most dwarves preferred the physical task of mining and working on metal and earth rather than leadership (despite the wealth that came with it), and leaders were burdened with administrative duties that hindered them from doing such things. There was also the ingrained sense of loyalty that ensured that dwarves would only question their leaders' judgement if the entire clan was at stake.

In any case, as Legolas was evidently a long way from being able to challenge a snail to a duel- well, perhaps a snail, but definitely not an orc, and Gimli was far more challenging than an orc- he contented himself with letting his imagination roam free on what he could do had he been able to even stand.

Glaring at Gimli again, he reached over and picked up the bowl, ignoring the stabbing pains from his arm and shoulder. He was ravenously hungry, which told him better than his eyes how injured he was. His wounds had been treated with expert care, for many of the old practices of Númenor survived still in Gondor, and Aragorn had added his tutelage from Lord Elrond to that considerable store of knowledge. Consequently, the healers in Minas Tirith were some of the best in the world. Earlier that morning, Ioreth had come in to change his bandages – and what a fright she had to see that he was already awake; it seemed that Arwen had not thought to tell her about the incident in the previous night – and he had inquired about his injuries. Apparently he had dislocated both shoulders, fractured his left arm, and broken an ankle as well as a handful of ribs (one of which had been dangerously close to piercing a lung). When the bandages came off, he himself felt slightly nauseous at the sight of his usually smooth, unmarked skin covered in blackish-purple bruises, at least in the parts where his skin hadn't been torn off completely. Those wounds had actually been healing nicely, thrice as fast as they did on humans, so he shuddered to think what they had looked like when he had been brought in.

"Are you going to Arwen's council?" he asked Gimli. Arwen had appeared around an hour after sunrise and had spoken quietly with Gimli. When the Queen left after a brief word with Legolas and a chaste kiss on his cheek, Gimli had told him that Arwen was holding a council later in the day with Aragorn's advisors to discuss what to do about Gondor in her King's absence. Legolas knew that he had probably also been a subject of their conversation, for they could have spoken about the council in his hearing, but he knew and appreciated Gimli's understanding of his pride. Legolas would have insisted that he was 'fine'. Gimli would have been very honest, which was what Arwen needed, but doing so in the elf's hearing would have pricked his pride and caused a shouting match.

"Perhaps." Gimli said casually, as if saying that the future stability of Gondor was far less important than his friend's wellbeing. And perhaps for Gimli, the elf prince mused with wonder, it is. He still spent most of his days amazed at the level of friendship he had reached with Gimli after only knowing him for less than a decade.

He sipped the gruel, drinking it from the rim of the bowl like a cup instead of using the spoon, and setting it down just as his weary arms began to tremble. Gimli raised an eyebrow in a half-bemused (at his stubbornness to admit his weakness, probably), half-concerned expression, but Legolas ignored him as the small intake of food made him only too aware of the knot of pain that was his body. He remembered the night before, waking up to the decidedly unwelcoming sound of a degenerating conversation between his eldest brother and Elladan. It was fortunate that he had woken ahead of Gimli, for the first few seconds of being in the conscious world had been wracked with intense pain. The loud argument between the other two meant that they did not hear the hiss of pain that had issued from Legolas. Tears had welled up in his eyes as wave after wave of stinging, throbbing, unrelenting spasm of pain washed through him, stealing his breath. He gritted his teeth as Gimli came to, forcing himself to ignore what felt like hot metal rods beneath his skin, and the dwarf only became aware of the state his friend was in after he had thrown those knives at Derinsul.

That had very nearly been a fatal mistake, for him as well as Derinsul. Seeing that the Crown Prince of Mirkwood and the Lord of Imladris were a hair's width from challenging each other to a duel to the death, Legolas and Gimli had spontaneously acted. Gimli had used the shaft of his long-handled axe to suddenly knock Elladan's legs out from under him (making sure to hit at the right angle and the weakest spots- Gimli had learnt much about the elven physique from sparring with a certain elf prince) whilst Legolas took his knives from where they lay on the table and had thrown them with the precision of centuries of training.

And it was because of these centuries of training that he knew his throw had been dangerously off the minute the second knife handle left his fingers. His heart nearly melted with relief when he saw that somehow they still found their mark: Derinsul's garments, and not flesh. To his sharp eyes though, they had been an inch short of their intended position on the wall and far closer to his brother's skin than he would have dared. And that little act had almost made him lose the contents of his stomach as a fresh wave of pain and nausea gripped him again.

And now…

He hurt. He was weak. He felt like he had not eaten anything for months. He couldn't remember the last time he had drawn breath without a spasm of pain lancing through him.

As if to top it all off, he was getting a very rude introduction into the rudiments of Dwarven medicine.

It was not, by far, the first time the elf had been grievously injured. But in the past, Aragorn had always taken full responsibility of healing his friend. Legolas had grown used to the Man's methods; upon seeing that his patient was on the road to recovery, Aragorn would coax said patient into doing more and more apparently 'necessary' activities that exercised muscles and eventually got the patient out of bed.

It seemed that Dwarves had a refreshingly different approach to convincing a patient to leave the comforts of his chamber. In Aragorn's absence, Gimli had enthusiastically taken over the role of ensuring that Legolas' health returned with all possible speed.

And 'speed' in capital letters.

It was unnecessarily brutal, in Legolas' opinion. The healers' ethics that Aragorn learned under Lord Elrond had taught the man to remove himself slightly from the present when he treated a patient, lest his own emotions get the better of him and trouble his concentration. Because of this, Aragorn had never thought to use his patients' own weaknesses against them. Gimli had no such inhibitions.

He stepped around Legolas like the elf was made of glass. He spoke to him like he was a helpless child. He fetched everything Legolas asked for. At first, it amused the elf, and he had assumed that, in his worry, Gimli was becoming slightly too protective. He had appreciated the Dwarf's concern, and perhaps at first Gimli had been overly anxious about him. But once he saw that his friend was recovering well on his own, his efforts to 'be of service' became outrageous. At first Legolas tolerated all of it with amusement, convincing himself that he would not be baited by the Dwarf and that he was getting the better of the bargain. But when Gimli had tried to spoon-feed him, his irritation had brimmed over and he snapped.

It had been a good four hours since that had begun, and Legolas was beginning to understand the full intent behind the Dwarf's seemingly extravagant show of concern. If there was anything that Legolas despised with all the length, depth and breadth of Arda, it was losing his self-reliance. He strongly disliked depending on others, and did so only when he was already operating at full capacity and needed others to handle other tasks. Gimli's apparent enthusiasm to 'help' Legolas with even the simplest of tasks (the elf was beginning to suspect that Gimli would have moved his arms for him if he asked) had been no more than a ruse to, literally, irritate Legolas out of bed.

And the amazing thing is that it's working, he thought as he shifted his legs slightly into a different position. When he had first woken up, the legs had been numb and unmovable. Then they were on fire as skin and tissue raced to grow back. Under Aragorn he would have been able to move them around dinner. But one "Are you sure you do not require another blanket?" too many had made him forget his injuries and instinctively kicked out with one foot (thankfully not the one with the fractured ankle). The kick had been weak, and the pain that followed nearly made him lose what food he had managed to get down, yet it had forced him to re-evaluate the true speed of elven recovery. After that, he could move both legs slightly every few minutes, and did so to improve the circulation and exercise what muscles were left intact.

Perhaps I should give Gimli a gift after this, he mused. But the Dwarf would not accept anything too ostentatious, and would probably pretend to not understand what the gift was for. But he will get one, if I must weld it to his beard, the elf thought with determination. Perhaps a special batch of that strong wine he has taken a liking to. Or another book of Lothlórien lore. So engrossed was he in wondering what to give his dear friend that it took him a moment to notice that an errand-runner had arrived and was passing on a message to Gimli.

"Queen Arwen sends word that Lady Éowyn of Ithilien has arrived," said the breathless young boy. "And that the council will being shortly in the one of the council chambers, if you will consent to come."

"Tell the Queen that Lord Gimli will be attending," Legolas said before Gimli could speak. The errand-runner bowed and ran out again.

"I take it you are determined to have me go?" said the Dwarf gruffly, glowering at Legolas.

"Yes, I am," the Lord of South Ithilien replied firmly. "You will have to speak for me also. Unless you wish to carry me there? I thought not. This will undoubtedly involve South Ithilien in one way or another, and I trust you to look out for the wellbeing of my people."

Gimli sent him a glare that said that he knew Legolas only wanted him to leave the Houses of Healing – for the Dwarf had not gone outside since Legolas had been brought in – but the task had been discreetly given. Unable to take part in the council, he had just given Gimli the responsibility of looking after the interests of the elves of Ithilien; as unlikely a representative a Dwarf may be for the Elves, Gimli was actually very good at it. His strong friendship with Legolas had given him an acute awareness of the wants and needs of the Eldar race, and he was not tied up in the political maneuverings and intrigues of his friend's court that sometimes hindered Legolas. If anything else, the simple fact that Legolas had personally charged him with looking after his people meant that Gimli would do so to the best of his abilities.

"Very well, have it your way- for now," the Lord of Aglarond growled, giving him a final glare that now said "You'd better be in your bed when I get back, or else".

Maybe I'll surprise him by getting up for dinner.

But what he said was, "Thank you, my friend,." Those words were heartfelt and purposely ambiguous. He was thanking Gimli for representing him in the council, for being beside him as he recovered, for bringing him back from the soulless coma that Elladan was convinced he was in (he had so far found no evidence of Gimli actually rescuing him from the dream world, but he was quite certain that he would have stayed there if he had not grabbed hold of Gimli as his friend was being awakened), and for obeying his instincts and riding out to find him. His eyes said all those words the both of them would have been embarrassed to voice, and the Dwarf understood, nodding and clasping his hand warmly before departing.

"Elf-friend, where would I be without you?" the elf prince said softly, his eyes becoming distant. Unwillingly, he shifted his gaze to the open window, gripping his bed sheets tightly even as he was enveloped by the song of the Sea.

~*~

Faramir.

The name reverberated through Éowyn's thoughts as she drove her horse ever closer to the stone City shining white beneath the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful summer day, and the world was bright with colour, but the vibrancy seemed to shy away from the pale woman, and the warmth of the sun did not touch her.

Faramir.

She vaguely remembered leaving the manor and management of Ithilien to Beregond. She had barely read the slip of parchment that the messenger from Minas Tirith had borne before ordering her horse to be saddled and briefly talking to the Captain of her husband's Guard. During the long ride she had read the message again and again, and the anxiety in her heart had hardly lessened. The words in the message were light, undoubtedly meant to not alarm her, but it also told frankly of the massacre of Aragorn's Guard and the missing men.

It could not have been coincidence that the King and Steward of Gondor were missing, whilst the rest of their party had been slain. Éowyn had lived in Gondor long enough to know that there were any number of people who would have motive for the kidnap of the leaders of the strongest nation in Middle-Earth. And not necessarily men; she did not dare think that all the minions of Sauron had disappeared with their master's destruction. No, there was a reason Aragorn and Faramir had been taken, and her heart clenched at the thought of what her beloved might be subjected to.

Faramir.

Ever since she registered the contents of the short letter from her brother, she had one sole thought in her mind: Get to Arwen. The Queen would know what to do. Éowyn hated being helpless, yet she would be first to concede that there were others more learned than her, and she had long since learned that charging straight into a battle one did not know was foolish, and more often than not ended with one losing one's head to a beardless hillman.

She rode past sparsely vegetated land, uphill onto the main Gate. There, the wardens spotted her and opened the Gate. Obviously she had been expected; Éowyn smiled slightly at the thought of her brother's uncanny ability to predict her actions. She rode up the familiar roads, winding through the Circles. Ever since marrying the Steward of Gondor, she had spent a considerable amount of time in Minas Tirith, and was getting to know the City almost as well as her beloved Rohan.

Finally reaching the Seventh Gate, she nearly flew off her mount and ran to her brother, who had obviously been waiting for her. A stable hand came and took Finesse away.

"Éowyn, we miss you in Meduseld," said Éomer, embracing her fiercely. "Lothiriél sends her love."

"What has happened, brother?" she asked anxiously, stepping away from him. "Know you yet what has become of my husband and the King Aragorn?"

The King of the Mark shook his head. "Nay, we have received no ransom, nor found no clue as to what may have befallen them. Yet we are sure that they are, for the moment at least, alive. If they had been killed, their bodies would have been left with the Guards."

Éowyn nodded impatiently; it was basically what the letter had told her. "There were no other survivors?" she said, still horrified at the news, and her horror only increased when her brother paled slightly- a veteran of battles, very little could affect Éomer.

"Nay, only Lord Legolas, as I stated in my message, and we were almost too late. He is in the Houses of Healing now, and well on his way to recovery."

She nodded. She was very glad that the elf lord had lived; she had often visited the fair realm of the elves in South Ithilien, and had warmed more to Legolas than any other elf there. Her husband also had a close friendship with the elf, for Faramir held a great love for the Firstborn, and the two would often go hunting in the woods of Ithilien (usually only notifying her after the event, much to her annoyance). But she could not help thinking of the men who had died. None had been the Ithilien Guard, but she had difficulty in believing that the men she had met only two days before were now dead.

After a moment, Éomer took her arm gently. "Come, Arwen is about to hold a council." Together they made their way into the Citadel.

~*~

Arwen took the seat at the head of the long table in one of the Citadel's council chambers, trying not to think about the man who should be sitting there instead of her. She was wearing her usual mask of calm authority, despite her weariness and the gnawing worry in her heart. Though only a select few were attending this conference, most of whom were trusted friends, it was also a somewhat formal occasion.

"Friends, we are here today to discuss a recent event that we have so far succeeded in keeping from the people of Gondor." she spoke, serene and in control. "King Elessar is missing." Her husband's various advisors stirred, but rumour had made them suspect as much already. She held up a hand for silence and continued

"Attending the council today are King Éomer of Rohan, as a close ally of Gondor and an important witness to an important event; Lady Éowyn of Ithilien and wife to Prince Faramir, who is also missing; my brother Elladan, Lord of Imladris, who is also a witness; Derinsul, Heir of Eryn Lasgalen; and Gimli, son of Gloin and Lord of Aglarond, who is another witness and is also here on behalf of Lord Legolas of Southern Ithilien." Derinsul shot a sharp look at Gimli, but the Dwarf ignored him. The advisors only nodded, for many of the individuals mentioned were well-known in Minas Tirith due to their close friendship with the King.

"Early yester-morn," she continued. "before dawn, mute evidence of a massacre was found near Emyn Arnen. Some two dozen Guards who had been escorting the King during his state visit to Ithilien appeared to have been slaughtered. Each man has been identified and accounted for by King Éomer and Lord Elladan. Prince Faramir and Lord Legolas had been travelling with them back to Minas Tirith when they were attacked. By what or for what reason, we have not been able to ascertain. King Elessar and Prince Faramir were not amongst the bodies- there is no evidence on whether they are dead or alive, though reason dictates that they are alive, or else their bodies would have been left with the Guards. There is only one survivor: Lord Legolas, who was barely rescued in time when King Éomer and his Riders, along with Lord Elladan and Lord Gimli, arrived at the scene." She beckoned for Éomer to speak.

"I had a sudden desire to visit my sister in Ithilien," he began. "Lord Gimli heard of my plans and traveled with us, desiring to see his friend the Lord Legolas. We decided to stop for the night in Minas Tirith and inquired about the King, wishing to speak with him if he had time. Lord Elladan was at the Gate when we arrived, so we asked him about King Elessar."

"A shadow befell me then, though I did not know the source," Elladan took up the story. "I have some little measure of foresight from my father, the Lord Elrond, and I urged we journey to Ithilien as quickly as possible. We took a less-traveled route on my advice, and came upon the scene."

Éomer described what they had seen, the way the bodies had been savagely mutilated and thrown about, the pattern in the dead, the last stand the Guards made, and the most likely place Aragorn and Faramir had been when they were taken. Quite a few of the advisors paled, for Éomer was very graphic in his descriptions. Even Arwen was horrified, for before Éomer had tried to reveal as little as he could about what had been done to the Guards. But she kept her face steady. It was not time to falter yet.

When he finished, she spoke again. "Now we must decide what should be told to the people, and see to the organisation of search parties. We still hold out hope that the King and the Steward are alive. We do not know the reason behind their abduction; there has been no ransom note, nor message of any kind concerning them."

Gimli coughed. What alerted her was not the cough, but the way Elladan and Éomer suddenly turned their sharp gazes to the Dwarf, though little but their eyes moved. Something was amiss here.

But they had a council to get through first. The advisors had many questions, most of which they had already prepared answers for. Arwen, Elladan, Éomer, Éowyn, and Gimli gently steered the advisors towards deciding to withhold the truth from the people for the moment, and say that the King was still on his state visit. Though Gondor was strong and prospering, she still had many enemies on either side of her Walls who would take advantage of the lack of leadership whether or not they had anything to do with the kidnapping. Over that day and the next small search parties would set out discreetly to start combing through the woods of Ithilien and surrounding areas. Arwen assured them that the families of the murdered Guards were aware of the need for discretion, though it had pained her to explain it to them.

After two tedious hours of formality and subtle maneuvering, Arwen drew the meeting to a close, claiming weariness from grief. The advisors nodded sympathetically, and assured her that they would help in any way they could. Massaging her temples, she headed out of the room, supported by Elladan.

Half an hour later, she and Elladan stepped into the royal apartments, where Éomer, Éowyn, Gimli, Derinsul and his elven companions were waiting. All conversation stopped when she entered.

She nodded at them, rubbing her hands together in a business-like manner. "So, the real council begins."

~*~*~

Author's Notes:

First of all, many apologies for the long delay in getting this out. As I explained in MisInformation, the exams finally caught up with me, and I had to do battle with two-hours-and-a-half papers for days- at least all that fic-writing gave good practice for improvising. LOL. And a big welcome back to Thundera, whenever she reads this. You've been sorely missed!

All right, we're just getting people in position here for the next part. Taking a cue from Maggie Theis' "Perchance to Dream" (a beautifully-crafted fic, might I add, and I really hope she doesn't mind) I've decided to split "Mirrors" into three Parts. We're nearing the end of Part I, with another chapter or so to go, and then I'll try revising the previous chapters as well as add a little explanation about these dreams for those of you getting confused. I know I promised hobbits for this chapter, and I apologise to those disgruntled by their absence. This is the first half of what was growing into a real long chapter, so I split it into two, and unfortunately the hobbits ended on the other side.

By the way, I think it's worth mentioning now that the emotions of the characters have been purposely intensified. It's tied in with the dreams, and ultimately, the mystery prisoner. Apologies to those who think I'm having Legolas recover too quickly. I may slow it down a bit if too many protest.

She'll probably smack me silly for this, but I'd like to plug Jen Littlebottom's fics; particularly "The Sinking of Númenor", "Swordmaiden", and "The Key". They're really good and well-written, and look at well-known events/people from a different perspective.

Anyways, many thanks again to my readers and reviewers; your encouragements are very heartening and make me feel that this fic is really worth the trouble. The speed at which some of you pounce on a new chapter really amazes me. (PS- is it just me, or are there *a lot* of Faramir-Aragorn duo fans out there?)

Reviewer Responses:

acacia- did I give Faramir anything but grey eyes? A big oops if I did. And as tempting as it is to tell where this cave system is, I think I won't, just to be evil *evil grin for emphasis*. Yes, there seems to be a lit of Spelunking-Lovers out there. Thanks for liking my chapter! You actually lightly touched on something I'll be using in the future there, but will say no more.

xx embyr- a very horrifying thought had occurred to me when I read your review: are Elladan and Elrohir prankster duos just a transplanting of the Weasley twins? It certainly seems so. I'm not horrified that it's HP btw, as I really like the series myself and am anxiously counting down the days to Book 5, but the fact that no one seems to have noticed before. Oh dear. And thank you for suggesting the site. I wasn't aware of it, no, and it's been a jewel! Thank you very much!

Lirenel- will deal with Faramir in the next chappie (I've written it already, and has been sent to Jen for betaing, so it should come out soon), so hold on tight!

Aria- love the pom-poms sweetie. The Aragorn-fighting-Hook idea has interesting potential, though; reminded me of the Pirates of the Caribbean movie coming out. And don't worry, we'll find out everything eventually (well, maybe not everything). Thank you!

Joy gonzalez- Thanks!

Silian- is that a WOT reference I see before me? *pokes* And I'll get even meaner towards Legolas in the next Part. He's sort of a main character, but with a very specific function in the plot. And really sorry about cutting it in half anyway; it was giving me headaches trying to proof-read it. Thank you!

IceAngel- *gives hug* whew, no death threats yet. Hobbits and Faramir will be served in the next course. Thanks!

Sairavanie- Thank you very much! And *ahem* didn't you say you had a sequel?

Jen Littlebottom- see what nitpickering so well got you? *hugs* Thank you!

French Pony- *gives cup of tea to soothe tiredness* Thanks for liking my story, and finding the energy to tell despite being tired!

e- hold on to yer Hobbits, sweetie, here we go. And don't worry, the next one is already being beta-ed.