Henvain shifted his aching shoulders a bit and sighed to himself, wondering if the day was ever going to end.

It felt as if he'd spent an eternity already, standing watch along the western shore of the Anduin while the first day of peace negotiations with the Haradrim went on behind him in the foothills of Mt. Mindolluin. His lookout point offered a spectacular view, perched as he was atop a ruined wall along the outskirts of Osgiliath, with the sweeping plains of the Pelennor Fields before him, and Minas Tirith gleaming in the far distance.

And Henvain undoubtedly would have been impressed, if he wasn't so hot and tired and annoyed at life in general. Reaching up with one gloved hand, he scratched the back of his neck and frowned at his own discomfort. Why couldn't he have been assigned a nice shady place, like Faelor?

He risked a glance down at the leafy forest to his right; his post stood right at the border of the woods, where the mighty trees dwindled down into brush and shrubs before melting into open, grassy plains. Somewhere in those nice, cool shadows was Faelor, keeping watch as many of their men were doing this day. And they weren't doing it alone.

When it became known that a patrol would be needed to safeguard the peace negotiations, Legolas had volunteered the skills of his people, the Mirkwood Elves who had been given a settlement in the woodlands of Ithilien. The men of Gondor were able enough, to be sure, but the best of them could not match the Elves for keenness of eyesight or awareness of the slightest sound. They were also able to come upon an adversary in perfect silence. They were the perfect sentries, and even though Henvain was rather disquieted by their foreign ways, he knew how invaluable their services were.

Thus it was that both men and Elves were now walking the borders of Gondor together, casting a careful eye at all that moved.

The sun was going down now, and when Henvain allowed his attention to wander for one brief moment during his constant lookout for any sign of Orcs, he couldn't help but wonder how the talks were going. The entire barracks - the entire city - was talking of nothing else. Most of the men seemed to think there would be no peace with the men of Harad. His brother Turwaith, particularly, had harangued their family the whole night before about how the King had put them all in danger by even allowing them to cross the border.

It wasn't pleasant for the young soldier to think of how awkward it had been last night to try and convince them that the Haradrim he'd seen didn't seem all that evil. After all, they had been in one battle together already, and the Harad men who had been with the peace delegation hadn't gone against their word. But no, Turwaith, the big hero of the family, had the last word - the Haradrim were evil to the bone, and their sovereign was making a mistake.

Of course, Henvain still didn't trust the men of the South completely, and thought the entire situation too complicated for his own tastes. Things seemed a lot simpler when the Haradrim were just enemy soldiers to be killed, and he liked things nice and plainly laid out. Now he didn't know what to think, and now at the end of the day he longed only for a nice cold ale and a chance to forget how tangled up everything had become.

A chance to somehow prove that Turwaith wasn't always right just because he was a war hero would be nice, too, but for now Henvain would gladly settle for the ale.

"Psst!"

Henvain blinked and glanced down into the bushes and trees that grew along the edge of his lookout perch. There was Faelor, almost hidden in the leaves, silently motioning to him to hurry down. Once Faelor saw that he'd been noticed, he disappeared into the foliage.

Startled, Henvain clambered down to the ground as swiftly as he could manage, his misery replaced with concern. Faelor had appeared very anxious.

He found his comrade fast enough; the tall man was crouched beneath the concealing canopy of new spring leaves, peering through them to the forest beyond. His entire form was tense, and in one hand he gripped his drawn sword.

"What's the matter?" whispered Henvain as he came to Faelor's side.

In reply, his friend pointed in the direction of the forest. "Draw your sword and get ready to fight," he whispered back. "Aranas spotted an Orc."

Jolted out of his complacency, Henvain quietly drew his weapon and bent down, staring with wide blue eyes into the woods.

After a few moments, Henvain saw some movement in the bushes, and a few moments later, an Orc came into view, sneaking very stealthily across the brush and tall grass. Not long after, three more appeared, their ugly forms crouched as they crept along, their full attention fixed on the White City.

"Spies!" thought Henvain, his grip on the sword tightening. Whoever was out to kill them hadn't wasted any time in trying again. At least the meeting place was a secret-

His thought were interrupted by a quick, shrill whizz!. An arrow sped through the air and pierced the neck of one of the Orcs, who gagged and fell to the ground. The other two jumped back with a growl, their swords at the ready, looking wildly around in amazement.

"That's it," Faelor said, not bothering to whisper now. "Come on!"

Bracing himself, Henvain followed his fellow soldier as they burst from their cover and charged the remaining Orcs.

Baffled, the creatures howled with rage at being discovered, and threw themselves upon the Gondorian soldiers, their weapons poised to kill.

Henvain had barely clashed swords with the brawniest of them when another arrow flew through the air, lodging itself into the throat. As the Orc gargled and clawed at the shaft with one grubby hand, a lithe, dark-haired Elf jumped into view from his hiding place, bow in one hand. Despite his wound, the Orc seemed barely daunted, and Henvain braced himself as the brute glared at him and once more lifted his sword. Before the blow fell, however, another Elven arrow sailed into the beast's skull, and he fell dead to the forest floor.

Henvain scowled as he watched the creature tumble, slightly disappointed that he hadn't even really landed a good hit. He was never going to get any battle scars at this rate. Once this thought had passed, he shrugged a little to himself and turned his attention back to the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to grouse later.

Between the two soldiers and the Elf, the final two Orcs were speedily dispatched, and soon Henvain, Faelor and Aranas were standing, disheveled and gasping for breath, above the bodies of their slain opponents. Well, Henvain noted with annoyance, he and Faelor were disheveled; Aranas looked as if he'd barely broken a sweat, and Henvain wondered idly if Elves were just not able to appear anything other than perfect.

Henvain sheathed his sword and prodded one of the Orcs onto its back with the toe of his boot. After peering at it for a moment, he pointed to its head.

"Looks like these are the same as those Orcs that attacked us yesterday," he panted. "He's got that same odd mark on his face."

"It would appear the assassins have not forsaken their quest for the Chieftain's life," said Aranas in his smooth voice, his large blue eyes troubled as he glanced about at the other three Orcs. "Doubtless they will send more spies, and continue to do so, until we vanquish them, or they succeed in their goal."

Faelor drew a deep sigh as he shifted his shoulders. "We'd best dispose of this lot and alert the King right away," he said, before shaking his head.

Aranas nodded, and swiftly slung his bow across his back in preparation as Faelor grabbed the closest Orc and began hauling him towards the nearest open patch of land to be burned.

As Faelor was dragging the creature away, he observed between grunts of exertion, "I don't suppose this is going to make those back home any happier to have the Haradrim about Minas Tirith. The people in the City aren't going to like the idea of bands of Orcs skulking about the river."

Henvain coughed as he squared his shoulders and trudged over to another of the Orc corpses.

"Can't say I'm too happy about it, myself," he muttered under his breath, then said nothing more as he went about his duty, trying to ignore the dark forebodings of the future now tumbling through his mind.

--------------------------------

The interior of the Haradrim's mountain cave glowed warmly with the light of the setting sun. Within its golden rays, the members of both parties of negotiators were moving about, gathering up their belongings following the conclusion of the first day's talks. A long table covered with burgundy cloth had been set up in the space for this purpose, and the men now hovered in groups along its perimeter, speaking with each other as they considered the results. The expressions marking their faces ranged from wearied but satisfied to wearied and suspicious. For all, it had been a long day.

The King had made his exit some time before, and Faramir stood alone at the head of the table now, performing his duties as Steward by arranging and packing up all of the meeting's notes and documents for later perusal and discussion. He carefully slid the sorted pages into their respective satchels, looking up from time to time to glance at the men around him as they talked. They were oblivious to his gaze, and Faramir supposed it was rude, but he was anxious to know how matters stood now that some words had passed over the table.

The Council members, not surprisingly, seemed as split as they were before, and were now standing a few feet away in heated debate. Not far from them stood Jadim and some of the high-ranking Haradrim officers, who were eyeing the Council members warily and having a tense discussion of their own.

Faramir sighed softly to himself and shook his head a little as he folded over the flap of the satchel and tied its leather cords shut. He felt they'd made some progress, but there was still enough hardness of heart on both sides to ensure many more days at the burgundy-covered table.

"Lord Steward?"

A bit startled, Faramir looked up to see Adir nearby, regarding him with a slight smile. The Harad chieftain had been dressed in his formal best at the talks, and had made his departure at the same time as Aragorn. Now, however, he stood before the young Steward clad in what seemed to be his everyday robes, his long white hair freed of its confining formal headdress and flowing free about his broad shoulders.

Faramir quickly collected himself and made a small bow of respect to the guest of Gondor. "Chief Adir," he replied politely. "I hope you are as pleased as I am with today's negotiations."

The elderly man of Harad nodded once. "Pleased, yes, for the most part," he replied slowly, still smiling, "but such matters as I am concerned with, I shall leave at this table for our next meeting. I have come to ask a favor of you."

There was a pause as Faramir considered these vaguely puzzling words. "As long as it does not breach accepted protocol, or cause me to be late to the side of my beloved wife who awaits me, I shall do all in my power to assist you," he answered in a light, diplomatic tone.

Adir laughed a little. "It shall not take long, you have my word," he said, putting out one hand in assurance. "Among my people, two leaders who have come together as we have done today share a drink at the end of the first day's exchange, as a mutual sign of trust and hope. I understand King Elessar has departed, and I have come to ask if you might do me the honor of acting in his stead."

Faramir swiftly thought this over; a voice in his head that sounded annoyingly like Tuornen's was shouting that the man of Harad was going to poison him. Hardened warrior that he was, Faramir could not completely ignore such a possibility, but neither would he flatly turn down such a request solely based on it. Surrounded as he was by Gondorian soldiers, Adir would not be foolish enough to think that he could do any harm to Faramir and live to tell of it.

"It would be my pleasure," said Faramir aloud, laying the satchel in his hand down on the table.

Adir beamed. "Good!" he exclaimed. "My son Jadim has arranged a place for us. This will take but a moment."

He indicated a place nearby where two chairs sat in a pool of golden sunlight. Between the chairs was a short rock, upon which sat a bottle and two small glasses chased with elaborate gold decorations. Jadim stood behind the rock, waiting, still clad in his formal robes.

"I watched as my father did this many times in his life," Adir was saying as they walked to the chairs and sat down. "It is a custom we have long observed, although I believe it is more of an excuse to have a drink after a long day of talking, than otherwise!"

He laughed, and Faramir joined him, nodding as he took his seat. "That would not surprise me," the Steward said, sighing as he relaxed in the warm sunshine. "Ah, that does feel good, after sitting in the cold shadows of this cave all day."

"So I supposed," Adir said, as Jadim poured some of the contents of the decanter into the glasses. It was dark red, almost black, and sparkled in the light.

"This is a very special wine of Harad, prepared solely for this purpose," Adir said as the last drops were poured. "This supply is the same as that used by my fathers for the last two hundred years. It has always brought us good fortune in forging and renewing bonds of friendship; I earnestly hope it shall continue to do so today."

Faramir watched the Chieftain carefully as he said this. It had always been his talent to discern the true heart of others; at times it was a gift, at others a curse, but at the moment he was highly grateful for the skill. Thus far, at least, Adir's words appeared genuine.

Jadim had stoppered the decanter, and as Adir reached for his glass, Faramir followed suit. To his surprise, however, it was Jadim who lifted the second glass.

Bewildered, Faramir glanced at the Chief, but before he could open his mouth, Adir began to speak.

"Pray do not be too confused, Lord Steward, this is also part of the ritual," Adir said in a kindly voice. "Often there is concern that the wine may be poisoned, so a beloved one is asked to sample one of the glasses. It is a proof of the true friendship with which the gift is offered."

Slightly startled, Faramir watched as Jadim drank the wine in the second glass. The Harad warrior swallowed the wine, glanced at Faramir with a somber expression, then set the glass down and filled it once more.

"A necessary procedure, I suppose, when the two parties are former enemies," observed the Steward with a sigh, reaching for the glass once Jadim had finished his task.

Adir took up his drink as well. "Alas, yes," he said in a melancholy voice. "Killings in this way during talks of truce were not unheard of among our tribes, although it has not happened for many hundreds of years now. That part of the ceremony is simply a reassurance, that trust has been rightly given."

Here Adir raised the glass, smiled at Faramir, and spoke a short sentence in his native tongue. After finishing, he said, "In the speech of your people, Lord Steward, the blessing I have spoken calls upon the benevolent spirits of peace to smile upon our meeting and grant us wisdom as we forge everlasting bonds between us. Now, we may drink."

Faramir downed the wine; it was sweet and strong, and tasted of a very extended vintage. It was not enough to affect his senses, but he definitely felt his cheeks flush.

He smiled and nodded as he carefully set the glass back down. "I certainly agree with the words of your blessing, Chief Adir," he said. "Although I highly doubt those who first crafted it ever guessed it would one day be uttered between a Chieftain of Harad and a Steward of Gondor."

"Indeed I would say not," laughed the older man as Jadim took the decanter and glasses away. He relaxed in the chair a little, settling back and folding his hands, his expression becoming contemplative. "It has only ever passed between tribal leaders of the Haradrim; you are the first man of a Western kingdom to hear it."

Faramir bowed his head slightly, a bit awed at such a thought. "I am honored."

Adir nodded back in acknowledgement. "It will not surprise you to know that many in my land feel I should not so break our tradition," he replied. "Harad blessings and loyalties, they say, should be for the men of Harad alone. But I have no fear, for there are other tribes among us who feel as I do, even if they cannot as yet follow us here."

Following the Chieftain's example, Faramir sat back in his chair as well, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun, which was almost touching the horizon now. "It is the King's hope, as well as my own, that should we come to a treaty of peace with these talks, that soon all of your people will consent to come under his protection. The idea that you are not alone among the Haradrim in wanting peace is an encouraging one."

The other man slowly nodded, watching the sunset. "I have given my life to the struggles of my people, Lord Steward," he said slowly, the weight of memory hanging upon every word. "And I cannot deny that I have fought long beneath the banner of the Dark Lord, and spilled the blood of your countrymen in my efforts. Sauron promised us much, and because we loved Harad and longed to see her free and powerful, we accepted that promise, despite the evil attached to it. Now Sauron has fallen, and we may choose to fall with him into nothingness, or live on beneath the banner of yet another ruler."

He sighed and turned to Faramir, a wistful look on his aged face. "I and my tribe have chosen to live on, and if it treason against my fathers as some have claimed, I can only pray that their spirits will forgive me. It seems a small price to pay for a chance to end the spilling of blood between us."

Faramir had quietly studied the Chieftain while he talked, trusting his well-honed instincts to detect any hints of falsehood. There seemed to be none; the older man's words were weary but sincere, and there was no guile in his warm brown eyes, only sad resolution.

Before he could respond to Adir's words, Jadim reappeared, his own expression dark and angry. Evidently he had overheard, and for a moment Faramir feared that the Prince disapproved of the negotiations far more than he had thought.

"Those are noble words, Father," said Jadim in a bitter voice as he sat on a nearby rock, hastily arranging his long robes as he settled down. "If only all of our people had the wisdom to hear them."

Adir gave him a look of paternal disapproval. "I will not force my will upon those of our people who do not yet follow us," he replied sharply.

His son scowled back at him. "They do not seem to hesitate to force their will upon us," he shot back. "And does not one, in particular, abandon his honor to-"

Now Adir turned to his son, his gentle eyes blazing. "I shall hear no such talk of my son and your brother," he warned in a stern tone, "no matter how much he may deserve it. He is still of our blood, and it is my hope that some small part of him may yet remember this, and persuade him to forsake his foolish path."

Jadim closed his mouth, although his eyes still smoldered as he regarded his father.

"As you command, my Chief," Jadim said finally, in a far softer tone. "But should we not tell the good Steward all we know of my brother's foul alliance? For this trouble shall be theirs, if a pact is made between us."

Faramir hesitated; as much as he wanted to know about Karil and the possible danger he posed to Gondor, it was plain from the look in Adir's face that the mere mention of the subject caused the old man great pain - pain the young Steward knew well, to his sorrow.

"Feel no need on my account," said Faramir gently as Adir dropped his gaze to the floor, deep in thought. Outside, the sun had set, and the cave was becoming dark. "I can see the matter causes you grief."

The Chieftain shook his head, holding up one hand as if to stave off any further words. "You are kind, Lord Steward," he said, taking a deep breath and facing Faramir, his manner composed despite the agony in his eyes, "but my son is right; in the name of the trust I would see between us, you should be told all there is to tell about what Karil has done. He has sworn a blood oath against me, and if my tribe and Gondor are bound in alliance, you shall become my friend and his enemy at the same moment."

Faramir considered this, despising the suffering the subject was causing the Chief yet aware that Gondor needed to know all that it may face.

"Very well," he said at length, leaning forward, "but you need say no more than you can bear."

Adir sat a little straighter in his chair, shrugging a bit, his manner becoming lighter although the gleam of sorrow never left his eyes. "In truth, Lord Faramir, there is not much to tell," he admitted. "Karil is my youngest son, and of the three born to me by my beloved wife, he has always been the one most loyal to Mordor. Most of us in Harad were men of our land first, allied only to Sauron for his protection and the promise of power; but for Karil, Sauron came before all others. As soon as he was old enough to swear the oath, he gave his soul to the will of the Dark Lord."

"It was so with many of our younger warriors," Jadim added, bending forward and folding his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. "They saw how close Sauron was to victory, and lusted for the fruits of triumph which soon promised to fall into their grasp. They knew nothing of the harsher aspects of war, only of easy victories against armies depleted by long struggle. Their thirst for blood grew by the day, and it led most of them to their deaths upon your Pelennor fields."

Adir sighed, and looked at Faramir with a sudden aspect of age and weariness. "After that battle, the few of us who had survived staggered home as best we could," he said. "Harad had so few young men left, I had hoped Karil would abandon his desires for conquest and help us rebuild. Instead, he and others who would not give up the fight fled into Mordor."

Faramir had been listening intently, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on his chin in thought. At Adir's last words, he nodded. "A fitting place, I suppose," he murmured. "There are certainly many suitable areas there where one could house an army, although we saw no living creature during our forays into the land last year. All of Sauron's fortresses are but barren rubble now."

Jadim shook his head. "Only his soldiers know where his army is," he said, sitting back. "Often we have sent men into Mordor to find him; they either never return, or else their corpses are found rotting on our borders after having been tortured to death. Karil means to stay concealed until he is ready to begin his revenge against all who opposed the might of Sauron." He paused, a gleam of seething rage flickering into his eyes. "Even if they are of his own blood."

Silence fell as a shadow of deep sympathy swept across Faramir's face. He sat motionless, studying the anger in Jadim's expression, and Adir's plainly evident sorrow. Memories of his own pain plucked at his mind, the agony of knowing that one he loved had wished him harm, and at that moment Faramir would have given much to know how he could remedy the anguish now tormenting these men of Harad. Yet he knew there was nothing he could do, except to curse Sauron in his heart for still being able to cause such suffering.

Outside, night had begun to fall, the sky turning blue-purple as stars began to wink into view. A few torches had been lit in the cave, but so far the light-bearers had been considerate enough to give the men their privacy.

Finally Adir stirred and looked up, forcing a smile upon his tired face; some of the sadness had receded. "That is all of Karil we can tell you now, I fear," he said, after drawing a deep breath. "He will strike again, of that I am certain, but from where, and against whom, I cannot say."

Faramir gave him a kind, appreciative smile. "I am most grateful for what you have shared with me, Chief Adir, and I am sure the King will be as well," he said softly, "even more because you have endured such sorrow to tell me of it. My heart sorrows for you both, that you have been thus torn from your kin. I shall pray that the way between you all may one day be made clear again, and Sauron's darkness be swept from your family forever."

Jadim appeared doubtful, but the old Chieftain's eyes gleamed with gratitude as he returned Faramir's smile and nodded. "My thanks to you, Lord Steward, for your words," he said, his voice not much above a whisper. "I pray as you do, but the matter seems to be out of our hands. We must leave that matter up to our gods, and do what we can with the task before us."

He stood, and as he rose Faramir and Jadim did the same. As they took to their feet, a solder of Gondor appeared at the mouth of the cave, his face glistening with sweat.

"Lord Faramir," said the soldier, delivering a proper salute, "King Elessar begs your attendance in the throne room at once, sir. He has asked me to say that an urgent matter has arisen."

The Steward's entire body tensed at these words; with Adir's latest revelations, a host of unpleasant possibilities raced through his mind as to what sort of urgent matter this might involve.

"Inform His Majesty that I will attend at once," he replied with a nod of thanks. The soldier saluted again and hurried out. Within moments, the hoofbeats of his steed could be heard faintly pounding away into the night, back to the city to deliver his message.

"My thanks for your hospitality this evening, Chief Adir, Prince Jadim," said Faramir with a bow. "I must now bid you good evening; I shall see you again tomorrow when our talks shall continue."

Adir smiled and gracefully returned the bow as Jadim nodded behind him. "It was our honor, Lord Steward," the Chieftain replied sincerely. "I wish you a good evening as well, and to your brave wife. I hope this summons that calls you away is not as dire as it seems."

Faramir had hurried quickly to the table, pulling on his riding gloves and gathering up his materials in an efficient but hasty manner.

"The last time the King gave me such a summons, it turned out to be a surprise birthday celebration arranged by he and Lady Eowyn," admitted the Steward as he settled his belongings in his arms. "I may have some small hope that this will turn out to be as harmless, but as my birthday was some time ago, I fear it will not be the case. Farewell!"

With those words, Faramir swept from the cave, his form soon leaving the warm pool of torchlight to disappear into the shadows of the night. Soon they could hear him following the messenger as he rode back to the City, the echoing thud of the hoofbeats growing fainter as he sped away into the encroaching darkness.

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Author's notes: Just wanted to say a big Thanks! to my reviewers-I really appreciate the kind words:)

Another new chapter soon!

Sue :)