This one's dedicated to all out there suffering from author's block (including yours truly)…

Chapter Eight: For Council

"I thought that I saw a white figure that shone and did not grow dim like the others. Was that Glorfindel then?"- Many Meetings, Book II

"So, the real council begins. Gimli?"

Nodding, Gimli rose and began to tell the real story. He told of his dreams, of riding to get Éomer, then the mad dash to Minas Tirith. He told of the meeting with Elladan, and riding towards Emyn Arnen. Through his tale Derinsul wore openly an expression of sheer disbelief, but strangely did not interrupt. This was, in Arwen's opinion, a positive symptom of growing open-mindedness.

"A moment, Gimli," Éomer spoke up. "I just remembered something. I had been intending on using the usual road to Emyn Arnen when you told me to take a lesser-used trail that cut through the forest. When we neared the site you stopped me, got off the horse and ran right to where the… the massacre was. You've explained your dreams, yet though they indeed warned of what befell Aragorn and Faramir, I did not think they gave you such specific details. How did you know where to go?"

Gimli looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I do not know how to answer this, Éomer, save that I knew, somehow. I… I do not know how, save that I just knew."

"This is-" one of Derinsul's companions began, disbelief and scorn on his face.

"Silence, Thavron!" said the other, as Derinsul shot the outspoken elf with a glare. Thavron looked abashed, and did not speak again.

But Arwen's eyes were on the shifting Dwarf. Gimli is troubled by something. Yet knowing Gimli, he would speak to none but Legolas about it, if even him. He was undoubtedly already greatly troubled by this onset of dreams that no dwarf had ever had to face before, at least to Arwen's knowledge, so the Queen decided to let him be.

"Very well," she said. "Now we know what has happened. We agreed beforehand to steer the advisors into approving small search parties, as well as to keep the full truth of Aragorn's disappearance from the people." The story that they presented to the advisors was as close to the truth as they could get whilst preventing questions that would only waste time. Gimli had only been too happy to let Elladan get the credit for the 'intuition', and Éomer's riders had agreed to stay with the story that they were on a leisurely visit, and had not raced a quarter-way across Arda to get to Minas Tirith at the bidding of a Dwarf. A letter had been sent to Lothiriel from Éomer and Arwen, explaining the situation and the fact that her husband would be staying for a while. Arwen and Éowyn had both insisted that he didn't need to, but Éomer had steadfastly refused to return to Rohan and abandon his friend and his brother (he thought of Faramir as such, as he was married to his sister). The whole business had been Arwen's idea. As much as she loved her adopted people, and trusted her husband's advisors, she also knew that the unusual circumstances called for having as few people know the truth as possible. What she had done with the councilors was something her father had taught her: There are times, especially during war, when one has to choose between the truth that will need much explaining, or a story that will be more readily accepted. The best commander uses both. "We must now decide on the search parties. They must be small, and of trustworthy men who can be told about the situation."

"If they are to be small, why not use those who already know?" Éowyn suggested. "My brother's éored, for one. Siblings of the Guards who were killed who are also in the Guards."

Arwen nodded. "I was considering that. Very well, the Rohirrim that came with Éomer can sweep the forests. The Guards who were killed were of the older generation in service, and some did have siblings who are either regular soldiers or Guards also."

"My éored can be ready to depart by nightfall. It'll be best to leave then, I think, under the cover of darkness," Éomer said. "I wish to go with them."

"The Guards will depart later, perhaps before dawn." Arwen looked seriously at the King of the Mark. "Be wary, Éomer. We have seen that whatever is responsible for all this aims to get men of rank, and will not hesitate killing those defending him."

"Which is why I am going also," Éowyn spoke, pointedly ignoring her brother's sharp look of protest.

Arwen sighed. She had gotten to know the White Lady of Rohan over the years, and knew that Aragorn himself couldn't argue with the woman when she used that tone of voice. "If you promise to be wary."

"Lady Undómiel?" Derinsul spoke up for the first time that day. "My warriors and I would like to help with the search also."

More for her to worry about. Still, she could not ask him to stay in the City. Aside from longing for the trees, Derinsul undoubtedly felt that some avenging of his brother was in order, and restraining him would only be slighting his honour. "Very well. You shall go with the Gondorians then. Elladan, you have become quite well-known here amongst the soldiers and the Guards. Will you consent to lead the Gondorian party?"

Her brother looked slightly surprised by this, but nodded his consent. "If you believe they will follow me, Arwen, then yes."

"I do. Gimli, I do not doubt that you wish to join the search parties also. Will you go with Éomer, even as you arrived?"

Gimli bowed in proper Dwarf fashion. "You know me too well, Arwen. If Éomer and Firefoot will have me again, then yes."

Éomer laughed. "I think Firefoot is more fond of you than you think, Gimli son of Gloin. If you will not believe that, then know at least that I will welcome your company."

"Then it is set. The Rohirrim will depart at sunset. The Gondorians will follow before dawn. Now, to the areas we will be searching…"

~**~

He could hear them. They had heard his song. The voices he thought he would never hear again. He had hoped that they been able to depart, had been freed from their imprisonment, but he could hear their mournful cries now.

He trembled. He could still remember each face, that fateful day he saw them last; faces that had he knew must have long since been decayed by time and eaten by shadow. He remembered spending long hours reciting each name, afraid he would forget them. Maybe it had been a wasted effort, for either by his own accursed elven mentality or some sorcery he could still remember every detail of his companions.

He wished they had not been separated. He longed to reach out and touch them; but they were the only parts of the Gador–en-Goe that he could not access. The brief encounter with the little creature- a Hobbit, it called itself- had returned the deep yearning for company.

But he was alone.

No. Not quite.

~**~

He was falling… He could see the Heart of the Flame, but then…

"Faramir?"

Eyes that he hadn't known had closed snapped open. For a moment he wondered why he was sprawled on his back, looking up at a smooth cave roof, and seeing everything in an almost eerie greenish light. Then he caught sight of his pale and slightly bloodied King looking down anxiously at him, and memory returned.

For the first few seconds he sincerely wished it hadn't.

"Faramir?" Trembling hands blindly groped for his. Remembering Aragorn's blindness, he squeezed his friend's hand and said, "I'm here. What happened?"

"Don't you remember?"

Faramir frowned, sitting up carefully to avoid aggravating the throbbing wound on his torso. "I remember talking about that… beast," he shuddered, trying not to remember too clearly. "I remembered those eyes, and suddenly it was almost like I was before him again." Arda was marred... "The next thing I knew was hearing you call my name and waking. What happened?"

Aragorn told him of finding him unconscious, and the words he had said. Heart of Fire. But it wasn't the Flame… He felt cold, though the air around them was warm and humid. "I did not know I was speaking, Aragorn. I wasn't even aware of becoming unconscious. One minute I was talking, and the next, I was looking up at the ceiling." But the Heart… the Flame… everything had been Marred…

His King lifted a hand to massage the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I do not understand anymore than you do what is happening to us, my friend. But I sense an evil about this place, especially if it houses something akin to a fire-drake. But what should we do?"

The King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor was asking him what to do? "It is either stay here or search for a way out, and either could bring us to greater danger."

"Yet we must decide, and I fear that it must be your decision, Faramir. I am the liability here, and you will be able to assess our situation better than I."

"Dear Aragorn, the day you become a liability, a Dwarf shall sprout wings and the Sun will turn blue," he said lightly, seeing that the man who could command whole armies and wielded the knowledge of the Eldar was slowly settling into a depression of sorts. "As for our situation, there is little you don't already know. Both of us are injured, and I need assistance to walk as my left leg cannot support my weight. We appear to be trapped in a large network of caves and connecting tunnels, and there are dangerous creatures lurking in some of the caves. Add to that the transporting-tentacles, and the threat of a sudden quake. We either stay put or go forwards. If we stay where we are, there is a rare chance that someone- friendly or not- will find us, and get us out of this maze; if we move forward, we may find the way out, but equally we may stumble upon another creature or danger. What think you, Aragorn? Your Steward has presented the options and the situation, but you are still the King, whatever betide."

"Thank you, Faramir," said Aragorn, a faint smile on his lips. "I see I've underestimated how well you know me. Very well, dear Steward, here is my decision: we go forward. Decide which direction we shall go, Faramir, and we shall walk hither together."

"Very good, my King," said the Prince of Ithilien lightly.

"Thank you." It could have been a trick of light, of course, but Faramir suddenly got a glimpse of a grin on Aragorn's lips of a sort that he had not seen for a good six years. "I am the King, aren't I?"

~**~

Legolas opened his eyes, and frowned in puzzlement for a second before remembering where he was. He recognised the familiar wooden ceiling of his room in the Houses of Healing, and smiled at the beautiful view of the City during sunset through his window.

He sat up gingerly, surprised to find that he was hurting considerably less than he had expected. But his eyes had been closed; perhaps had fallen into a deep healing sleep. Testing his muscles by flexing them, Legolas shifted his position a bit. Hunger gnawed his stomach, another indication that his body had spent a good part of the day re-building itself. His legs, though movable, were definitely going to be unable to support his weight for a long time.

Pushing his limits a bit, he very slowly attempted to sit by the side of the bed. The first part of this endeavor was successful, for he managed to shift to the edge and his upper body gave him few problems. Bending his legs caused discomfort, but nothing he couldn't handle, so he pushed on. However, pain lanced through his legs as he tried to lower them to the floor. He had no intention of actually putting any weight of them, of course, just dangle them from his bed. But the very pull of gravity caused him intense pain. Breathing deeply and gripping the bedside table, he patiently waited for the pain to subside.

"What's this?" a familiar gruff voice said from the door. Legolas sighed, and looked up to face Gimli's tirade about stubborn elves and the stupidity of going beyond one's limits. But his friend's face held a proud smile instead. Which further proved Legolas' theory that Gimli's ignorance of elven healing ability would either kill Legolas or force his body to heal in half the time it normally took. He hoped his friend had enough wisdom to not mention the tactic to Aragorn, though; the adopted son of Elrond would probably go into a seizure.

"Here, I brought your dinner." Gimli set the tray on the table.

"Thank you, my friend," Legolas said with a genuine smile of appreciation. "How did the council go?"

"Well." Gimli gave him a brief account of the council with the advisors, then the real one with Arwen. "The Rohirrim have faster mounts, but they're not as familiar with the terrain of Gondor, so they will be searching north of the City, from Amon Din down to roundabout Emyn Arnen. The Gondorians will search the south, around Lossarnach and Emyn Arnen, maybe follow the Anduin downstream for a while; perhaps the attackers had taken Aragorn and Faramir away down the river." There was a note in Gimli's voice, however, that said that he did not agree with this idea.

"Gimli, what is troubling you?" Legolas asked bluntly.

"The Sea-longing has grown stronger in you."

"No, it hasn't." Legolas automatically lied. "And how would you know?" He immediately regretted that statement, for he knew that it insulted Gimli. "I am sorry, my friend, I did not mean that. But why do you think it has?"

Gimli sighed, the light of the sunset reflecting from his deep eyes. Legolas suddenly thought that there was something different about the Dwarf now. This was a very different person from the one that had set out from Rivendell with the Fellowship six years ago. Gimli had been changed, and Legolas had a feeling he had not been completely blameless in bringing about this change.

"I can see it, you know."

"See what, my friend?" Legolas asked gently. He had once likened Gimli's dark eyes to a deep cave; and now the light from the setting sun made it look as if a golden fire burned at the end of that cave.

"The Sea-longing in you. It grows ever stronger, even as I speak to you now." The Dwarf's face grew anxious. "I am torn, Legolas, for I have need to tell you something. But I must ask this: what is foresight? Aragorn and the sons of Elrond always speak of it, yet I have never truly understood what it is."

That was a strange question. "It is difficult for me to explain this clearly, elvellon, for I do not have that gift myself."

"Please, Legolas. Try." Gimli's eyes implored him.

"Very well." The elf bit his lip- a habit he had picked up from Aragorn. "I believe it is a message of sorts conveyed through dreams or visions- mental imagery for the most part; songs or voices speaking in riddles occur also, but they are rare, and often only for things of great import. It strikes at the most unpredictable moments, usually with time for the receiver to change the course of events. That is what distinguished true foresight with the workings of the Shadow; the latter often only gave the receiver grief and pain at, say, knowing of the death of a loved one yet being unable to do anything to prevent it. The elves believe that Irmo, the Vala of dreams and visions, is responsible for foresight."

"Now, let me ask you, Gimli: do you believe you have been blessed with this gift?"

Gimli closed his eyes, his face in anguish. It was answer enough for Legolas. "And you have seen something about Faramir and Aragorn, correct?"

"No." Gimli turned away. "Yes, them as well. But I have seen something worse of you."

A cold shiver ran down his spine. Gimli wouldn't be so pained if the news was good. But did he really want to know? For a fleeting moment he was sorely tempted to ask Gimli not to tell him. He knew his friend would agree, would keep his vision secret even if it destroyed him. But Legolas couldn't do that, not to his dearest friend. So he asked heavily, "What did you see?"

Those deep caves refused to meet his own. "I saw you standing in darkness, and the only light there was coming from you. The light was bright and glorious, yet at the same time terrible. Half your face was covered in blood, but not your own. In your hand you held a shard of glass, and your fist was clenched so tightly that blood dripped from the hand." Gimli went silent.

Legolas felt a cold chill run down his spine. "And know you what it means, elvellon?"

"Not completely," Gimli said evasively. "But whatever the message, it cannot be good."

He felt somewhat relieved; for some reason, the fact that the vision could not be interpreted fully allowed him to dismiss it more easily. "Do not worry over it then, my friend," he said with a small comforting smile. But deep, deep in his heart, he felt a deep knell, and knew without knowing that Gimli's vision would come true.

~*~

Why did you not tell him? A presistant voice in his mind asked, even as Gimli took his place on the comfortable chair placed right next to Legolas' bed. It will happen, what ever you do.

Perhaps, he answered. But I will do all in my power to stop it.

Aloud he said," Legolas, could I ask you to do something for me?"

"What is it, Gimli?" the elf asked softly, obviously already on his way to sleep.

"Tomorrow I shall be going with the Gondorian search party. I would ask you to remain in the City whilst I'm gone."

A small smile graced the immortal face. "Normally I would protest most vehemently, but in the light of my current physical state, even I am not foolhardy enough to go riding when I can barely sit on my own."

"Thank you, my friend. Now sleep; I assured Arwen that I would have you up by breakfast, and you will need plenty of rest for such an endavour."

"Oh, was that what you two were whispering about?" Legolas chuckled. "I'm gratified to find that you have such trust in my healing abilities. I think I will go to sleep now, if only because I will not be able to do so once you drop off and begin snoring."

Deciding that throwing something at the Elf would only lead to Arwen stripping off his skin, Gimli settled for tussling Legolas' hair – which, he once belatedly discovered, utterly irritated the elven prince – and was rewarded when an arm reached out in response and gave him a good hard punch on the shoulder.

~**~

A visible change had come over Merry the past few days; the Hobbit had begun laughing again, a sound that Pippin had sorely missed, and would even jest with Elrohir. At first Pippin was glad, thinking that perhaps the travelling was finally having a good effect on Merry. The new Merry was a lot more like the innocent, carefree Hobbit that had once spent summers frolicking in mud piles with Pippin, though much to the chagrin of his parents.

Now that his worry over Merry had lessened, his own troubles seem to have begun surfacing. The talk with Elrohir had relieved some of the burden that had been growing in his heart, but with each hour it became heavier again. Had he been able to see himself, he would have thought that his face grew graver and grayer daily, and the light in his eyes was becoming dim, like it was being blanketed by smoke. He was beginning to feel as if the War of the Ring had only been yester-year; six years of rest felt like it had not passed. Old muscles injured by that great troll in the Pelennor Fields ached. He was tired, continuously anxious, and he would constantly remember that dreadful Eye that confronted him when he had foolishly looked into the Palantir of Orthanc.

One night, they set up camp near a cliff of a hill that apparently marked the start of the Misty Mountains. All was usual, yet Pippin was even more uneasy than usual, and it seemed to him that shadows flickered at the corner of his eyes. He thought he could hear voices in the wind, but they never formed any intelligible words. Around him the world looked strangely colourless and lifeless, and he both longed for the sun and feared it in his heart. He was, had he known it, the closest he had ever come to feeling what Frodo had experienced all those years ago during the Quest of the Mount Doom.

It occurred to him, of course, that perhaps he should consult Elrohir about this, but for some reason he could not quite bring himself to bother the elf with what, in his mind, was simply a symptom of stress. Besides, he couldn't even put to words what he was feeling, so how was he to convey it to Elrohir?

So, as was his habit of late, he wandered away from camp in an effort to clear his mind and anchor his thoughts. He was careful to keep their fire in sight, his hobbit-sense overriding even the shadows in his mind.

Suddenly his foot struck something hard. Glancing down to see what it was whilst rubbing his painful toe, he saw the curved edge of what looked like a large stone structure was hidden by dense vegetation. Pushing back bushes, vines, and dead branches, he saw that it was a giant dish. Clearing away more vegetation, he saw that it was not a dish but the base of a large column. The smooth stone column stood as tall as the nearest tree, and was so covered in vines and intertwined with the forest life that he had mistaken it for just another tree.

Running his hands over the smooth stone- it felt like marble- his eye caught something else. It was a round disc, about the size of a Man's hand. It was transparent and clear, like glass, only when he tried picking it up, it felt like more like lifting a solid block of lead. Trying to get a better look, he held it up to the moonlight. The words "Fool of a Took!" rang through his head when, in characteristic Hobbit fashion, it slipped from his grip, fell, and broke in half.

It was a small, almost inconsequential noise, but somehow it reverberated through the small area of forest. The small crack seemed to be accompanied by a greater one, something akin to the splitting of rock and the rending of air in a place far away and long forgotten by Time.

The wind howled.

END OF PART I

~*~

Author's Note:

Again, a big thank-you to Jen, without whom this would probably be unintelligible. Her thesaurus-like mind has saved me from oblivion countless times. And many apologies again for the delay in update- took a one week trip that proceeded with a mega author's block.

Reviewer Responses:

Tammy- Thanks sweetie!

Nilbrethiliel- Yay, another lurker pulling back her hood! And send me a crate of 'em shapeshifters, maybe they'll be interested in a game of Snap *g* Thank you!

e- yes, I'm trying to give Arwen a prominent role in this story, and Éowyn. And who says I can't keep Aragorn blind… obviously I can't but I'm growing rather fond of him in that state *evil cackle* Thanks!

Acacea/acacia- like Arwen, I'm trying to build up some of the lesser seen characters. Gimli actually has a very special role in this story, and will be one of the only ones to have any inkling of what's going on. Not necessarily a good thing though, as you will see later. And I think I've been corrupted by the Theis sisters, for I'm suddenly awfully fond of Faramir.

Grumpy- that's a bit of a mystery at the moment, but will be revealed in due time. You could speculate on it, and perhaps try to figure out who the mysterious elf is *another evil cackle* Thanks for reading!

Lirenel- is that one of Miss Cam's mini-balrogs I see? I have to confess that I giggled for a straight five minutes at the image of Gomli wearing an apron, or a nurse's uniform (don't worry, he isn't in the story). Thank you!

Sairavanie- you're not the only one, dahling. Mine is no longer intimidated with a picture of the Balrog in a Baywatch bikini, so I'm going to go off to try something else. Thanks very much, and good luck with your fic(s)! *plus a 'gentle' prod*