Aragorn stood numbly in the all-too-familiar waiting area outside of the royal bedchamber in the Houses of Healing, too stunned by all of the events in the last twelve hours to do more than stare at the door that was preventing him from seeing what was happening inside. How many atrocities had he committed and caused lately? He'd basically allowed a complete lunatic to talk him into trusting him implicitly, enough so that the king had actually handed his children over and let Tanondor remove them from the protection of the guards. Then he'd lied to and tormented several innocent Men while said lunatic murdered a good Man, not to mention one of his most trusted advisors, and took off with Eldarion, Laurelin, Meren, and Gilraen to parts yet unknown. Faces danced around in Aragorn's mind, and not just those of his children. Lord Eärnil's death would trouble Gondor's king at some level until the end of his days.

Then, when it didn't seem as if the situation could get any worse, a strange and sudden illness had befallen Legolas. Aragorn didn't know if the horror of the circumstances were simply taking their toll on his husband's already stretched nerves or if his pain was the only the beginning of the elf succumbing to the grief of what was happening to their children. In a saner moment the Man would have known that Legolas wouldn't give up on them so easily but right then he was too horrified by the memory of his love keeling over in pain next to the lord's dead body to think about such things as logic.

Images flashed before Aragorn's eyes of his beloved husband wrenched over in agony, yelling at him even as he couldn't stand up to leave him behind to suffer through his fit in order to follow the still-fresh trail. The Man remembered staring down at the elf in his arms and never feeling so torn in his life; it shamed him to acknowledge that he'd had a very difficult time not following Legolas' instructions. After all, time was slipping away; there were clouds forming in the sky and the Man could feel thatit was going to start raining bythe next day, which would wash away the trail. Yet to leave Legolas behind in so much pain was unthinkable. How was anyone supposed to make a quick decision about something like that? Perhaps that was the Valar's ordained punishment for him losing his principles, acting so dismissive to his family and loved ones, and becoming a ruler who couldn't think for himself: giving him the ultimate choice between losing the husband that was his life or the children that he couldn't live without.

In the end it was Elrohir who had essentially made the decision for him. After a few moments had passed, the elf lord had realized that nothing – no verbal response, no change in body language, nothing – was coming from his little brother. He'd given him a hard assessing look and frowned when he had noticed Aragorn's hesitation. "Send your Men to track the children," he'd urged. "You need to stay with Legolas."

"I have already abandoned my children's lives completely to someone else's whims once today; you cannot ask that I do it again!" Aragorn had protested. Surely his brother had to understand that – Elrohir had to have already known how much the Man had to atone for his mistakes!

"Listen to me, Estel," Elrohir had said firmly as he rose to his feet and seized Aragorn's arm. "Legolas can't go anywhere except back to the Houses of Healing, where Elladan and I can examine him more closely and have help in getting all the supplies that we need. Unless you have some wizardry in you that I don't know about you can't stay by his side and go off at the same time. He needs you, Estel."

"I know," Aragorn had said quietly, looking over his brother's shoulder to see Elladan and the three hobbits swarming around Legolas. His heart had wrenched when he'd seen his husband trying not to let a pained grimace overtake his expression. "But he wants me to go after the children…"

That was when Elrohir's expression turned from one of sternness to one of paternal exasperation. Aragorn had been struck then at how much his brother resembled their father Elrond. "Of course he said that," he'd scoffed. "But that doesn't mean that you should listen. When was the last time you tracked anything more elusive than a deer or a rabbit?"

"It's…I supposed it's been years," Aragorn had admitted, taken aback by the statement's reality. It had been almost a year since he'd even gone hunting.

"You have guards here whose skills are fresh and minds can be more focused on the task at hand," Elrohir had pointed out bluntly. "The children will most certainly need their papa after they've been found but right now all they really need is a good and loyal person to find them. Meanwhile Legolas, though he may be too determined to say it, desperately needs his husband right now and as far as I know you're the only one that he's got."

He hated to admit it but Aragorn couldn't argue with the logic and wisdom of Elrohir's words. Taking one more look at his husband the Man had sucked in a deep breath. "Men!" he'd barked out at the guards. "As you all can see, the markings made by the cart are still fresh - they won't be for long and they will be washed away all too soon. Track the trail – find the prince and princesses – take the former Lord Tanondor alive unless it's a choice between my children's lives and his. I – we – will join you as soon as we can."

"Strider?" Pippin's tentative voice brought Aragorn back to the present, to that later point in the same nightmare. The hobbit touched his arm comfortingly while the other two gathered around them. "Is there…is there anything…"

"No," said Aragorn hoarsely. "You three have done more than enough already. If it weren't for you we wouldn't even know what was really going on. I would have completely alienated the guards; and the trail would have gone cold before I allowed myself to see that monster's deceit. I'm – I'm sorry that I didn't listen to your suspicions sooner."

"You can't go around making important decisions on your family's say-so alone," said Sam knowingly. "You…well, I'm not exactly sure how you go about making listening to everyone and balancing all of that against what you think is best. That's not really what I have to do when I act as mayor of Hobbiton, make no mistake about that. I don't envy you having all of that responsibility on your shoulders."

Aragorn let out a humorless and derisive laugh. "Yes, my responsibility to weigh the advice of others against my own feelings and instincts," he murmured self-loathingly. Almost two decades at the job and he'd gotten careless to the point of utter destruction. Sam probably wouldn't envy the guilt that came along with that either. "Valar, I've made a real mess of things."

"Don't say that, Strider," pleaded Pippin worriedly.

This wouldn't do; Aragorn suddenly know this with a fact. "Do any of you know where Faramir is?" he asked with sudden sharpness. It seemed that he had two choices before him again: to wallow in his own self-pity and worry his family even more until something miraculously fixed things or he hit rock bottom; or else to start doing what he should have been doing all along and actually act like a king for a change. It wasn't difficult to figure out that the latter was the healthiest, most useful choice for everyone.

"He went to the entrance o the Houses," reported Merry. "Beren and another guard are there; they apparently found out something helpful."

"Go down there Merry, please; and tell Beren to come up here," requested Aragorn with quiet hope. "If he's found out something useful I'd like to hear it for myself. Tell Faramir to go with the other guards to – to Lord Eärnil's home; have him inform her as gently as possible as to what happened to her husband, and make sure that he lets her know that I send my deepest regrets and sympathies, and will be visiting her later so that we can work out when we bury him with the highest honor."

With a quick nod Merry scurried off. A few more minutes of agonizing silence followed as Aragorn continued to stare at the closed door that separated him from his husband and the two remaining hobbits struggled to find the words that could offer him some peace of mind. Finally Beren entered the room alone. "Your majesty," he greeted Aragorn with a bow. "We have discovered who the culprit – perhaps culprits – is."

"Tanondor," stated Aragorn definitively. The guard nodded, subdued. "He is the only culprit; Lord Eärnil tried to protect my children from him and paid for his bravery with his life."

"From what his wife told us that's not too hard to believe," said Beren. "But Lord Tanondor –"

"He has no title now," said Aragorn a little too harshly. "But tell me more about what his wife said – she turned on him, I assume?"

"More like she finally felt safe enough to not let her fear of him control her anymore," Beren told him, his voice still betraying the horror he'd felt when the poor lady had confessed to him her miserable tale. "He was – insane, abusive, and unpredictable. That finger that he left for Princess Laurelin? It was his wife's – he just came home one day with a potion he stole from here to keep her from screaming too loudly and cut it off."

"Dear Shire," breathed Sam, unable to comprehend such a reprehensible act.

Beren put a supportive hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "She is safe now, as are the servants in their household who were exposed to such violence," he continued. "What's more, she was able to tell us where he's probably heading. It seems that Lo – that Tanondor is obsessively in love with Lady Almarian. Ever since the news came that Lady Nienor is dead he's been consumed with the desire to 'make things right for her'. I do not know if he's had any contact with her or not, or if she's involved in any way; that's why I left the possibility open that there's more than one culprit. But in any case he's most likely heading to Dol Amroth to give her a new life, complete with new children."

"Of all the children in the city and beyond…why did he choose the ones that would be the hardest to get?" wondered Aragorn dully.

The guard cleared his throat. "He…he believed that you and Prince Legolas caused Lady Almarian pain with your love," he explained regretfully, not liking to be that madman's voice with his already tormented king. "The prince and princesses are to be compensation for that."

Aragorn muffled a wordless cry with his hand and bowed his head. As the others silently debated in their minds whether to comfort him or give him space Merry came running back into the room with his wife in tow. "I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," the hobbit apologized. "Word travels fast in the citadel, as you well know, and our wives are wondering what's going on. Estella here got drafted to come and find out."

"We heard from the servants that Legolas was brought here," the hobbit lass offered nervously.

"Prince Legolas is the reason why you're here?" asked Beren in alarm. In truth he'd been too caught up in what Tanondor's wife had told him to think about why he'd been directed back to the Houses by the gate guards when he'd set out to find the king, beyond being told that the missing children weren't there. If anything were to happen to the prince, especially now…

Before anyone could tell him anything more, however, the bedchamber door opened and Elrohir emerged. "How's Legolas?" Aragorn demanded immediately. "What's happened to him?"

Elrohir's eyes darted to the rest of the people in the room. "Perhaps it would be better if all of you left us alone," he suggested before looking at the Man. "Estel, please sit –"

"Just tell me!" snapped Aragorn furiously before the others could obey the elf's orders. "They're going to find out soon enough anyway and I can't wait until they leave, and I can't sit down right now. Just say it."

"Legolas was pregnant," said Elrohir, weary and emotionally drained. "He was about a month along, which is why he didn't realize it."

Aragorn remembered that day in the Council meeting hall, the only time that he and Legolas had the chance to make love since before the twins were born. "Valar," he breathed. "All of this happened because he's pregnant?"

"Estel, he was pregnant," said Elrohir mournfully. Aragorn's heart broke at the implication. Behind him, Beren lowered his head, Sam and Pippin clung to each other, Merry wrapped his arms around his wife, and Estella sobbed aloud. Elrohir's composure wavered and he bit his lower lip in an attempt to keep it together for his little brother's sake. "I'm so sorry, Estel. We did everything that we could but the baby was so young and the stress was so great…we lost the baby, Estel. Legolas had a miscarriage."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The first thing that came to mind when Eldarion stared to come around was how rudely bright the sun was that morning. It was so intense that he could see it beating down on him through his closed eyelids. A strange thing to be sure, as he couldn't recall the hide-out chamber having any windows, let alone ones that would let in so much sunlight. Then again he really hadn't been paying too much attention to what that chamber was like at all, being too confused and (though he would never admit it) scared to care too much about his accommodations.

He groggily moved his arm with the intentions of throwing it over his face and shielding himself as much as he could from the sun's glare and heat. Unfortunately the limb in question just flopped about, apparently unwilling to obey any commands when it was still asleep. Figuring that he must have slept on it funny the night before Eldarion gave his arm a little shake and tried to ignore the unpleasant tingling that seemed to be made worse by the movement. If only a little tingling was the only disagreeable after-affect of his attempts to wake up his arm; but a few seconds after he first started the movement he became very aware that his shoulder was sore as well. In fact his entire body felt as if he'd spent the previous day riding a horse hard or endlessly practicing battle moves and sparring.

'That's probably because this stupid cot is so hard,' Eldarion internally reasoned, his mind slower than it usually was when he tried to think first thing after waking up.

A few more moments passed before Eldarion could process that no cot in the royal quarters was as uncomfortable as what was making up his bed right then. What's more, the cot that he'd fallen asleep on last night was the same one that he'd been sleeping on in his parents' bedchamber for the last month so he knew for a fact that it wasn't this stiff and painful. Placing the hand attached to the other arm full against the surface he pressed down. Whatever it was, it wasn't giving; the mattress was completely solid.

With as much effort as he could muster the prince rolled to one side and forced his oddly reluctant eyes to open and look down. He found himself face-to-face with…wood? He was lying on a slab of wood? And not even good-quality wood; the planks were sturdy enough but they were crudely assembled and obviously not well taken care off. So he fell asleep on a fairly comfortable cot in a windowless chamber in the citadel of Minas Tirith and woke up on a slab of wood with the sun beating down on him in what he was slowly beginning to realize was outside? How did that happen?

Eldarion moved his head gingerly, trying to get a better idea as to where he was without making his body any sorer. Thankfully he didn't have to look very far: lying so close to him that they could have touched noses if either felt so inclined was his oldest little sister. Laurelin's eyes were closed and she was very still – not how she'd been sleeping lately, with her nightmares and the way that she tended to cling to their ada and papa; had her chest not been moving up and down he would have been worried that she was dead.

"Laurelin," he hissed in a whisper. Eldarion didn't know why he was whispering but something told him that it would be a good idea until he understood the situation better. He laboriously reached out and nudged her. "Laurelin! Wake up!"

Laurelin sleepily tried to brush him away. "Leave me alone," she mumbled, still only half conscious.

"Laurelin, wake up," ordered Eldarion, an air of desperation lacing the edges of his commanding tone. "We're not in the citadel." He glanced up at the treetops that looked to be forming a circle around wherever it was that they were and told himself (not very convincingly) that it was all right that he didn't recognized any of them. What he couldn't ignore or rationalize, however, was hearing something that sounded suspiciously like flowing water. "Oh my."

The little girl's face scrunched up unhappily. "Stop it," she whined. Why did her brother feel the need to torment her so early? "Go away and let me sleep or I'll tell Ada and Papa on you."

"I'm not kidding around, Laurelin," said Eldarion a little angrily. The last thing that he needed right then was to have her acting like the little brat that she always was around him. "I don't think that we're even in the city anymore."

"What?" she asked, forcing her eyes apart to see for herself that her older brother wasn't just teasing her again. After several long moments of staring up at the trees and listening to the water she looked back at him, her luminous blue eyes shining with upset tears. "I don't know this place! Where are we?"

"Shhhh!" hissed Eldarion. "I'm sure that it's all right. I think," he wracked his brain, groping for answers. That was difficult to do, since it felt as if he were coming about of a long hibernation or an enchanted sleep. "Papa and Ada…they said that we might have to leave the city for a little while. Remember how they told us that we might wake up and be in Ithilien with Daerada and Grandpa Gimli?"

"But they're not here!" cried Laurelin in a frightened tone. "And this isn't Ithilien."

Eldarion couldn't argue with her on that point. "We're probably still on the way there and just stopped for a rest or something," he said more resolutely than he actually felt. After a few minutes of looking up at the trees in sight he still couldn't place them; they didn't even resemble any of the trees that were on any of the paths that they'd taken to Ithilien before. Besides, even if it was true that they were still on their way they should have met up with their daerada and Gimli by now and it was difficult to believe that either one of their overprotective grandparents would let them out of their sights for this amount of time.

But the last thing that he wanted to do was scare his sister into being even noisier when he still didn't understand what was going on. "Come on," Eldarion told her. "Let's go find Daerada and Grandpa Gimli – I bet they're around here somewhere."

It took a great effort on his part but Eldarion somehow managed to force himself into a sitting position. Grabbing his little sister's hand he slid off of the wood – the cart, he realized, he and Laurelin had been sleeping on a poor-looking cart – that they were on and landed fairly gracefully on his feet. Laurelin stumbled as he pulled her behind him but didn't fall.

Eldarion's heart sank when he saw that there were no signs of Thranduil or Gimli or any other member of their family being in that small clearing that was so obviously close by a river. Then he encountered a far more unusual sight that made him feel relieved and oddly petrified at the same time: one of Gondor's noblemen – he looked vaguely familiar to the prince; he could only guess that they'd met in some sort of official capacity before – sitting on a log, cradling one of Eldarion's baby sisters in his arms. By his feet on one side were two baskets, one empty and the other one next to it containing the other infant twin. On the other side were several traveling packs that looked as if they held enough food for all of them for at least a week. Eldarion didn't know what exactly to make of his last observation; as far as he knew no one had been planning for them to camp out anywhere for an extended period of time.

"My lord…Lord Tanondor?" asked Eldarion tentatively as the older Man gently said the baby that he'd been holding in the empty basket. Yes, he was almost totally certain that it was Lord Tanondor, one of his papa's advisors. That would explain why he looked familiar – the boy had spent more than a few hours with the Advisors' Council learning princely conduct, though he never before had encountered one on his own. Aragorn and Legolas had always been very good at not mixing their official business with family life, so it wasn't as if any advisor had ever been invited over for a meal or anything like that.

Tanondor looked up, surprised to hear the boy's voice and even more so when he saw Eldarion and Laurelin standing hand-in-hand staring back at him. "You two are awake," he noted.

Eldarion could have sworn that the lord sounded disappointed. "Yes we are," he replied uncertainly as he unconsciously squeezed Laurelin's hand a little. The girl leaned into his side slightly. "Um, I don't mean to sound rude or something but what are you doing here?"

"I was just feeding your sisters," Tanondor told him with a content sigh. He smiled down at the babies, both of whom had drifted off soon after getting their morning feeding. "They were both so hungry, and taking care of that turned out to be more complicated than I thought it would be! First it took me forever to find their food in all of these packs and then it was an issue of who got to eat first. I'm afraid that I still have much to learn about minding babies but once there's more than one of me things should get better. Honestly, one needs help when there are so many infants!"

"Yes," repeated Eldarion for lack of anything better to say. That inexplicable sense of unease that had been growing inside of him since he first woke up reached an all-time high; suddenly he passionately disliked that Tanondor was sitting so close to the babies, that the lord had been around the twins when there was no one else around to supervise. "Well, it's good then that there are a lot of people around to help out in Ithilien. We should hurry up so that we're there by the time that they're hungry again."

Tanondor shook his head distractedly. "We're not going to Ithilien," he said simply.

"Excuse me?" demanded the boy, perturbed.

"You heard me, Eldarion," replied the lord, apparently not liking being questioned.

"Did you just call me Eldarion?" sputtered Eldarion incredulously. It wasn't as if he minded being addressed without his royal title; but none of the nobles, wither they were on the Council or not, had ever called him anything but 'Prince Eldarion', 'my prince', or variations on that. He couldn't see any reason why that should change now, especially when there was already so much going on that he didn't understand. On top of all that he wasn't sure that he felt too at ease with the oddly acting lord speaking to him with such familiarity.

The lord in question just looked at him as if Eldarion had said the more profound statement ever uttered. "You're right," he said with excited earnestness. "I shouldn't be calling you 'Eldarion'. You can't use that name anymore – it simply won't fit now. You're a very clever boy, to think of something so important that I did not. Let me think…how about being 'Denethor'?

"Me…Denethor?" asked Eldarion dubiously.

"You're right once again," declared Tanondor with a definitive nod. "That name still sticks out too much; we can't have any of you children being very visible for a while. Let's see – well, is there any name that you'd prefer to have?"

This was absolutely absurd! Eldarion was getting rather angry. "I am Prince Eldarion Telcontar," he answered firmly, jutting out his chin in an equally proud and defiant gesture. "This is Princess Laurelin Telcontar; and those two babies are Princesses Meren and Gilraen Telcontar. Those names suit us just fine and we won't be needing any others!"

"Do not take that tone with me," warned Tanondor. It sounded to Eldarion as if he was trying to act like a parent and (in his humble opinion) doing a very poor job of it. "I am your father; it is up to me whether or not you all will require new names and I have decided that you do. I will not tolerate you arguing with me about this!"

"You're not my father!" shot back Eldarion, amazed and furious. Beside him Laurelin squeezed his hand even tighter, making his resolve steel. How dare Tanondor make such an obviously untruthful claim and upset him and his sister like that? "I am Elessarion, Aragornion, and Legolasion. That means, Lord Tanondor, that my sire father is Aragorn, King Elessar of Gondor, and my birthing father is Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, Ithilien, and Gondor. Not anyone else and most definitely not you."

"Not anymore," declared Tanondor fiercely. Strangely his tone and the way that he was acting reminded Eldarion of himself when, a few years ago, he'd planned to spend the whole day with Findowyn and she'd refused to keep some previous plans with Faramir and Eowyn: like he had everything all figured out and he was angry others for ruining it by not going along. "I am taking you four to the Lady Almarian. She and I are your parents. I don't want you to mention the king and the prince again – you won't have any reason to anyway, as you will never see either of them again."

Laurelin let out a keening cry and tugged on her brother's arm. "I don't like this!" she shrieked. "I don't want to be around that mean Man anymore, Eldarion – I want Ada and Papa right now! I want to go home!"

"Go home – I think that's a marvelous idea, Laurelin," concurred Eldarion, keeping a wary eye on the lord. The Man was obviously insane; knowing that his parents wouldn't have sent them off with someone like that the prince guessed that they didn't know where their children were. No danger that was in Minas Tirith could possibly be any more threatening than staying in Tanondor's custody for any longer.

Still holding onto Laurelin's hand, the boy marched off to the side to where the horses were and grabbed hold of their reins. Tanondor quickly rushed over to stop him but Eldarion, never one to give up easily, refused to let go no matter how hard the adult pulled. He pulled his other hand free from his sister's grip so that he could use both hands to hold onto their best way of getting away from the crazy lord. As their struggle grew more intense the older Man accidentally struck one of the horses hard. The poor creature neighed, shook his head and reared wildly – causing both of them to lose their grips on the reins – and ran off. Of course the other horse and the cart were forced to go along too.

"Look what you've done!" scolded the lord, watching in dismay as they vanished. "Now we're going to have to walk to Dol Amroth, as if that rickety old cart wasn't bad enough. How could you be so selfish, boy? Your poor mother has already been waiting for so long!"

Eldarion too was distressed about the horses' flight and too angry to be afraid about showing the person he blamed for it how he felt. "You are the one who's acting like a lunatic!" he yelled. "Anyone with half a brain would know that you are not our father and some lady in Dol Amroth isn't our mother! Aside from everything else, my sisters and I are all half-elves. You are clearly not an elf and, unless she is, that's that."

"You are not half-elves anymore," said Tanondor, his voice dangerously low.

"That's not something that you can just change," Eldarion informed him snidely, clutching at Laurelin's hand once more with the intention of having them both stalk away together.

"I can change it," countered Tanondor, pulling a knife out of his cloak.

Not just any knife; it was Eldarion's knife, the very same one that the stalker had used to attack him with in his bedchamber and then stole. The boy stared, shocked and disbelieving, at it and dimly noted that the blade was too red – too bloody – to glint in the sun like it normally did. If Tanondor had the knife then that meant…. "Elbereth," he gasped.

"The only thing that's overtly elvish about any of you are those tips on your ears," Tanondor went on, insanely calm as he gestured with the knife. "You won't be so half-elvish anymore once I cut them off."

Laurelin, who'd been helplessly watching her brother argue with the bad Man in growing alarm, then heard the strangest noise in her life: Eldarion actually let out an amused chuckle. He found this funny? Maybe the lord's craziness was catching.

Before she could speak, though, Eldarion suddenly shoved her aside, where she stumbled to a stop close by the babies' baskets. In a flash the boy had moved again, this time positioning himself between them and Tanondor. "You're not cutting my ears," Eldarion told him in no uncertain terms. "And there's no way that I'm going to let you go anywhere near my sisters again."

The mean Man who wanted to take them away from their ada and papa forever charged at Eldarion, his face twisted in anger as he held up the stained knife. Laurelin was too afraid to watch any more than that; instead she squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears so that the tips weren't exposed and so that everything going on was muffled. A few moments – she'd never be able to tell how many – later a horrible scream filled the air. No amount of coverage could have blocked it out and it chilled her to the bone. Seconds after that another cry, quieter than the first but filled with so much pain, came forth. He did it – she couldn't make herself look but she knew that the mean Man had really cut the tips of Eldarion's ears off! She was so upset about her poor brother that the rest of the word seemed to fade away…

A hand suddenly grabbed her wrist and Laurelin screamed.

To be continued…