A short time later, Faramir found himself in the magnificent marble throne room of the Citadel of Minas Tirith, holding a conference whose mood was as black as the night sky now fallen outside.

"It would seem they have already begun," he was saying in a sad voice, his words echoing throughout the enormous hall. As they rolled away across the elaborately inlaid floors and grandly carved walls of white and black stone, Faramir shifted his somber glaze between the members of his audience, who all now stood or sat before him in varying attitudes of concern.

Normally Aragorn would have been seated upon the splendid white marble throne of Gondor, located high atop a short flight of alabaster stairs at the head of the room. As this was a private meeting, however, he had foregone ceremony, and was situated at the head of the small table set to the side of the chamber, intended usually as a place for the King to take his informal refreshments. Aragorn had also doffed the formal velvets he had worn all day, clad now in rich but far simpler clothes as he sat, one hand covering his chin, deep in thought.

Behind Aragorn were Legolas, Eomer and Henvain. The Elf stood with his arms folded, his brow knit, while Henvain seemed unsure exactly how to place himself. His clothing was still much splattered with dirt and Orc blood, and he had spent most of the conversation, when it hadn't involved him, gaping as discretely as he could at the throne room. He had never entered it before.

Eomer had traded his formal court attire for far more comfortable woven garb, but his suspicious expression as he stood thinking over the matter was anything but relaxed.

Seated near Aragorn at the table was Gimli, who of all the participants seemed to be the most at ease. He also had removed his ceremonial armor and helmet, and was calmly smoking a pipe as he listened to the proceedings, his blue eyes keen beneath their bristling brows.

Rounding out the small group in the hall was Prince Imrahil. He stood close to his nephew, watching quietly, his aspect solemn and thoughtful.

Aragorn stirred himself from his contemplations. "The reports would appear to indicate that Karil's desire to murder his father has lost none of its strength," he said regretfully. "Should they discover his whereabouts, or witness his departure, our first Haradrim ambassador of peace may be assassinated before he leaves the borders of Gondor."

"They are sending scouts across the river on many fronts," offered Legolas. "Six of the other sentry parties were engaged this day as well, including my own. All of the Orcs that were slain bore the scorpion's mark."

Eomer shook his head, his long blonde hair shining in the torchlight. "It still feels foul to me," he admitted, glancing at each of his friends in turn. "I cannot yet trust that this is not all some Haradrim trick meant to lure and trap our men."

"I have considered that as well, my brother," said Faramir in reply. "Yet in my conversing with Adir this evening, I detected no guile in his speech or bearing. His desire for peace appears genuine; I do not think he is trying to trap us."

"Adir would not dare such a move when he knows his life, and the lives of all who are with him, would be taken once such a deception was uncovered," added Imrahil.

The King of Rohan's answering gaze was polite, but still clearly skeptical.

Aragorn looked at Henvain. "Your party was the first attacked, near sundown?"

At being addressed, Henvain snapped to full attention. "Yes, sir," he said, straightening. "They came right out of the woods, sir, and headed straight for the city. It wasn't just Orcs wandering the forest lookin' for trouble-they acted like they were sent to spy."

"And they will doubtless keep coming," sighed Faramir, walking around the table slowly, his arms folded. "Gondor is still rebuilding her army. We cannot patrol the entire length of the Anduin, even with the aid of the Elves."

The King rubbed his chin with one hand as he looked up at Faramir. "And Adir knows nothing of where his son may be hiding his army?"

The Steward regretfully shook his head. "He has sent men many times to find it during the past year, only to have them die or disappear," was the reply. "Karil laid his plan well; there are many places in Mordor where evil may yet hide, valleys and mountains where no man of the West has ever walked." He sighed and crossed his arms, placing the thumb of one hand against his lower lip as he thought.

There was a scraping sounds as Aragorn stood, pushing his chair back as he did so. "At least we know that he is not at Minas Morgul, or the tower of Cirith Ungol," the sovereign said as he began to pace slowly around the table, his hands clasped behind his back. "They were quite ruined and barren when our scouting parties searched them three months ago."

Gimli lowered his pipe from his mouth, a deadly gleam in his eye. "Let us take some of those accursed Orcs captive, once they show their ugly faces along our borders" he suggested in a low tone. "A short time alone with some of my Dwarves and their axes, and they'd be willing to tell us all, I'd be bound."

"The Orcs who attacked us may have provided answers, but it seems they are under orders not to be captured alive," said Legolas in response, a hard edge tinging his melodious voice. "All of those who did not fall in battle cut their own throats before we could take them prisoner."

Gimli scowled, somewhat disappointed, and went back to smoking his pipe a bit more thoughtfully.

The King mused upon this, then glanced at Henvain. "Did you observe this behavior as well, Master Henvain?"

Henvain nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir, I did," he said firmly. "They didn't think twice about it, either, and if they hadn't done themselves in, I think the other Orcs might have obliged them. Capturing any of them for questionin's goin' to be hard. Every time we meet them in battle, either we kill 'em, or they kill themselves."

"Hm." Aragorn ceased his pacing and glanced over at Faramir. The Steward was standing very still, an expression of deep contemplation on his face.

There was silence for a few minutes, broken at last by Faramir's very quiet voice.

"Unless," the Steward said softly, stroking his lower lip with his thumb as he mulled over his words, "we do not meet them in battle at all."

Henvain eyed him, confused. "Sir?"

Faramir remained motionless for a few moments more, then looked up, his countenance now more bright and alert. "The Orcs know where Karil has hidden his lair," he said. "They will never tell us - but they may show us, without even being aware of it. All we must do is allow them to enter and leave Gondor unmolested."

He stepped quickly over to Aragorn, his hands outspread as he explained his idea. "Consider this, sire," said the Steward, his words growing more resolute as he went along. "We allow a certain party of Karil's Orcs to cross our border, then harry them enough to drive them back into Mordor, but do no harm to them. Thus they will still live, and in time return to their master, with men of Gondor following their every step back to their lair. Once the location and size of Karil's army is known to us, we will have the means to end his threat to our borders, and the possible peace we are working to secure with Harad."

Henvain's eyes widened a little at the idea; Legolas, Eomer and Gimli appeared a bit surprised, but intrigued, while Imrahil seemed impressed.

The King pondered the proposal for a few moments. "It is a bold plan," he observed at length, studying Faramir keenly, "yet a small party may be successful where an army would fail. They would certainly be better able to avoid detection."

"My thoughts precisely," Faramir replied, smiling now as the maneuver grew more formed in his mind. "Karil's Orcs will assuredly return soon, perhaps even tomorrow; if all goes well, we may know the whereabouts of the army in a matter of days."

Aragorn studied him closely. "That would be welcome indeed," he said slowly, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Yet the journey would be most dangerous to those who set out upon it. Have you anyone in mind?"

A glimmer of hesitation flickered across Faramir's face before he spoke, as if he knew Aragorn would not like what he was about to say. "I have, sire," he said. After a moment, he stood straighter, his arms at his sides now in a pose of martial formality. "It is my humble request that you allow me to undertake it."

A somewhat startled silence followed, during which Henvain's eyes grew even wider.

"I would expect no less from you, my brave friend," said Aragorn with a quiet smile, as if his suspicions had been fully confirmed. "The need to resolve this matter swiftly is great; yet our negotiations with the Haradrim are also of utmost importance. Shall I conduct these meetings without my trusted Steward at my side?"

Faramir sighed slightly. "I regret the necessity of abandoning the treaty table, my King," he said, "but I could not conscience sending anyone but myself upon this dangerous mission. It is my plan; I would take the risk upon my own shoulders before asking another to bear it. If for some reason it should fail, I would sooner take the consequences upon my own head than see another to suffer in my place."

The King regraded him steadily, clearly turning the idea over in his mind.

"I also have spent most of my life learning the ways of stealth and secrecy," continued Faramir, pressing his case, "and feel confident of my ability to track the Orcs unseen."

Aragorn eyed him solemnly, and it was several moments before he spoke. "I am confident of that ability as well, my Steward," he said quietly, peering at Faramir, "yet it will still be a way fraught with peril, that will take you far from our protection and the side of your lady wife. Are you quite resolved to travel this hard road, not knowing what may lie at the end of it?"

The younger man gazed back at his sovereign, his features set with sober determination. A hint of sadness glittered in the depths of his blue eyes. "I have no illusions concerning what may be ahead of me, my King," he answered in a serious tone. "But in the hope of peace for my people and my City, I am prepared to walk the shadowed path. All of my life I have seen them suffer beneath the darkness of war; if by this effort I may end that suffering, then I shall willingly make it."

For a few moments after he finished speaking, Faramir remained still, gazing at his King with an expression of firm resolution. The others watched silently, impressed.

Aragorn studied him in silence, then finally nodded. "Very well," he said softly, admiration at his Steward's courage evident in his green eyes.

Faramir smiled gratefully and bowed his head in thanks to his King. Before it was fully raised again, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and looked up into the kind, concerned gray eyes of Imrahil.

"And here I thought it was impossible to be more impressed your courage," the Prince said in a proud, quiet voice, looking earnestly into Faramir's face.
"The thoughts of those who love you will be with you as you venture forth, Faramir. May the Valar watch over you and bring you back to us swiftly and safely."

There was a tenderness in Faramir's expression as he regarded his kinsman. "The courage was learned by your example, uncle," the younger man replied. "Will you do me the honor, sir, of taking my place as Steward, and counsel the King until I return?"

The Prince inclined his head gracefully. "I will," he answered, before looking to Aragorn, "if that is agreeable to His Majesty."

"Most agreeable, Lord Prince," said Aragorn as he looked at them. "But as willing as you are to take this upon yourself, Faramir, I would not have you go into Mordor alone."

Legolas now stepped forward, his hands behind his back. "The gifts of stealth and secrecy you may have, Lord Faramir," he said with a smile. "However, I wager the most skilled Ranger who ever trod Gondor's hills would find it impossible to match his eyes and ears against that of an Elf. As you are descending into the realm of the enemy, will you accept the aid of one Elf who will gladly travel there beside you, and watch and listen for dangers too far and faint for human senses to perceive?"

A smile lit Faramir's handsome features, and he clasped Legolas' arm firmly. "With pleasure, my friend," he said gladly.

The Elf smiled in reply, and turned to Aragorn. "I shall appoint another to take my seat at the negotiations," he stated.

"You will both be missed," said the King, "but few there will gainsay the dire nature of this matter, I am certain. It will do us little good to obtain a peace treaty with the Seventh Tribe if they do not survive their journey home."

The Steward nodded, then glanced over to see Eomer walking towards him, wearing a somber expression.

"You go into unknown dangers, sister-husband," said the warrior, stopping a few feet from Faramir and lifting his head. "My sword is at your service, should you request it, to insure your safe return to my sister's side."

Faramir regarded his brother by marriage for a moment, his entire aspect one of deep gratitude. Then he lifted his hand and placed it firmly upon Eomer's shoulder. "Your words are dearly esteemed, my brother," he said warmly in reply, "but as much as I wish your company along this road, I must ask you to remain here. Aragorn and Rohan have need of you; but more importantly, I would not have Eowyn bereft of us both."

The other man pondered this for a moment, then nodded with great reluctance. "Very well," he said with a sigh. Then he peered very keenly at Faramir and raised a warning finger. "But as that is the case, you must swear to me to return to us alive. Should you make her so soon a widow, I promise I shall follow your trail, even if it lead to the spirit land, and you shall take your punishment for so terribly wounding her heart!"

The words were stern but affectionate; none within their hearing would doubt the love that lay beneath them. Faramir smiled again, plainly moved, and heartily clasped Eomer's shoulder.

"You have my word," he said fervently. "I would not cause her a moment's grief for the wealth of the world, or cause you to go to such effort on my account, for I am certain I would never hear the end of it!"

They laughed, despite the grave nature of the situation, and those watching smiled. As the joyous sound died away, another noise caught their attention. It was Henvain, clearing his throat. The four Men, Dwarf and Elf looked over at the soldier, who was regarding them in an awkward but determined manner.

"Lieutenant Henvain?" said Faramir, in a kindly, expectant tone, releasing Eomer's shoulder.

The young warrior hesitated. "May I have permission to speak, sir?"

Aragorn smiled. "For the valuable service you have done for Gondor thus far, Lieutenant, most certainly," he said.

Henvain straightened a little, his grip on the helmet in his hand tightening. "Sir, as King Eomer's offer of protection cannot be accepted, may I volunteer to accompany Lord Faramir and Lord Legolas into Mordor?"

Six pairs of eyes blinked at him in surprise. Gimli sat up straighter in his chair, smoke puffing from his mouth as he coughed.

"You wish to journey into Mordor, Lieutenant?" asked Faramir, with diplomatic astonishment.

Henvain seemed to pause, then nodded once. "Yes, sir, if I may," he answered. "You'll need military assistance if things go rough, and three have a better chance of gettin' out of a scrape than two, sir."

Faramir studied him, his lips pursed in thought. "You have an understanding of the extreme danger of this mission, do you not, Lieutenant?" he asked, his voice now deadly serious.

There was a pause before Henvain said, "Yes, sir."

No words were spoken for a very long as Faramir studied the earnest young soldier before him. At length, Faramir stepped over to the young soldier, stopping directly in front of him.

"It is a courageous offer, Lieutenant Henvain, and one that is most appreciated," he said, his words quiet and stern, his blue eyes piercing as he looked into Henvain's face." I know your record; you are a good soldier. For this mission, I shall need you to be an excellent soldier. We must move quickly, and quietly, if we are to have any hope of returning. I know you will do your best, but the ultimate success of this journey must be our first consideration. If during our travels I esteem that your skills, though nobly offered, are not equal to the task, I shall need to relieve you of your duty and you shall return to the City, if it is at all practicable. Is this agreed?"

Henvain gazed at him without speaking as he mulled over the conditions, then nodded. "It is, my Lord," he said. "I'll do my utmost to protect you and Lord Legolas, sir, I swear it."

Now Faramir smiled. "I am certain of that," he replied, his manner more kindly now. "I would act thus only to spare your life, for we know not entirely what we will be facing yet." He turned to Aragorn. "For now, we should lay out the best way to execute our plan. It should be set in motion as soon as possible; tomorrow, if we find some Orcs who are cooperative."

"If our past dealings with their persistence are any indication, they will not disappoint us," observed Aragorn dryly. "Very well; let us discuss this plan and lay down the particulars, so that you will all set out with a clear purpose. You will be provided with all you require; with good fortune, you shall return to a promised peace with Harad, and the means to secure that peace for all time."

They gathered around the table, all settling in for a long evening of strategizing. Henvain sat down beside Legolas, a mixture of pride and bewilderment on his plain features, as if he was shocked to realize that he was truly to be part of this important enterprise, and about to take council with the King.

After Faramir sent for writing materials and enough refreshment to see them through the evening, he faced Aragorn with a sigh. "I fear, my liege, that the most difficult part of this journey for me may occur before stepping a foot outside the city gate."

An understanding smile touched the King's lips. "I believe I may guess what that may be, my friend," he said sympathetically.

"Yes," murmured the Steward with a slight nod, a melancholy light in his eyes. "Establishing the best way to accomplish this, and mapping out our tactics I may well manage. But how I am to make this known to Eowyn, and part from her at morning's light, I am powerless to say."

Behind them, the servants were arriving with the requested articles. As they set the table, Aragorn put a sympathetic hand on Faramir's shoulder.

"Such matters have plagued men of arms for countless ages, and I believe will do so for countless ages yet," he said lightly. "Come! We shall set our minds to the first matter before us. Perhaps when our discussion on that is concluded, your heart will have revealed to you a solution for the second."

-----------

Several hours later found Henvain in an entirely different environment than the one in which he had spent the better part of the evening. The marble halls of the Citadel were replaced with the cozy stone walls of one of Minas Tirith's more popular taverns, the Silver Tankard. The murmured words of war that had surrounded him were turned to the boisterous laughing and drunken shouts of his fellow soldiers and citizen of Gondor who now reveled around him, basking in the warm glow of the establishment's many candles, lanterns, and its large, inviting fireplace. Finally, the person he now faced across the rough, stained wooden table was not a high-born Elf or lord of Gondor, but his friend Faelor, who was now regarding him with a look of complete astonishment.

"You're going to Mordor?" the black-haired man gasped, the ale at his hand forgotten as he gaped at his comrade. The words were quietly spoken, as if they were a great secret, but there were none but Henvain and Faelor at the table, and those who were making merry nearby paid the two soldiers scant notice.

Henvain, for his part, answered Faelor's question with a look of open smugness as he raised his own tankard to his mouth. He was quite relaxed now, having switched his armor for far more comfortable civilians' clothing, and his eyes that had earlier shone with trepidation now positively glowed with self-satisfaction.

"Tomorrow, if all goes as Lord Faramir wants it to," announced the young soldier calmly before taking a drink.

"Astounding," muttered Faelor, looking down at the table blankly as he took it all in. "Only the King's best and most trusted soldiers are allowed to visit the black lands." He paused, then looked at his friend. "How is it you were chosen?"

Henvain scowled at him and set the tankard down with an irritated thump. "Well, now, it's not that unlikely an idea," he muttered. "I'm pretty fair with a sword, you know, and I got no problem with long marches."

The other soldier studied him, then nodded, a glimmer of skepticism still in his eyes.

The look on his companion's face fell a little bit and he sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "Besides," he mumbled, "King Eomer couldn't go."

Faelor smiled a little, as if he had suspected as much, then waved one hand at his friend. "Oh, go on, I'm sure you'll be fine. Better than us just sitting around here waiting for something to happen."

The grin returned to Henvain's face as his hand curled once more around his tankard's handle. "Yes, and for once one of them that's waitin' will be my brother instead of me," he gloated, his eyes dancing with delight. "Turwaith could only knock on Mordor's front gate; I'll be marchin' right on in! Maybe we'll even get in a scrap or two and I can finally get me some decent battle scars."

The other man looked a little shocked and uncomfortable. "You shouldn't say things like that before a campaign, you know," he warned. One of his hands was wrapped around his mug, and he moved its index finger to point at Henvain. "It's courtin' bad luck."

"Bah! Luck," was Henvain's dismissive reply before he downed another mouthful of ale. After swallowing, he continued speaking, a bitter cast in his eyes as he looked into Faelor's face. "Bad luck's what's kept me livin' in Turwaith's shadow my whole life. Now I've finally got some good luck, and I'm not worryin' that a few words are goin' to change that. Lord Faramir's one of the best soldiers in Gondor's army, and Lord Legolas can see a fly and hear it sneeze from a mile away. He'll let us know if danger's about, an' between the three of us we can fight through anything that comes at us. When I get back, I'll have gone farther into Mordor than any Gondorian soldier's ever been, and have done a service for Lord Faramir and Lord Legolas besides. Might even get a commission out of it, or a title!"

A chuckle escaped Faelor's lips as he raised his own tankard. "'Lord Henvain?'"

"Why not?" challenged the other soldier, leaning back and allowing himself to smile at the thought as he gazed pensively upwards. "Kind of rolls right off the tongue, don't you think? 'Lord Henvain'. With a bag or two of gold to go along with it, maybe. Hm."

He contemplated this for a few moments, then drew a quick breath and sat up, setting his drink firmly back on the table as he came fully back to reality.

"Yes, my friend, the next week or two is goin' to be the making of me," he declared, leaning forward, triumph evident on his features. He lifted his mug. "To the bright and shining future!"

"May you actually be here to enjoy it," added Faelor in a slightly concerned tone, knocking his tankard gently against Henvain's before taking a drink.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Henvain advised him, his mug poised at his lips. "If there's even a chance I can get back here and see the look on my brother's face when he knows he's no longer the hero of the family, I'll be willing to fight through the nastiest pack of Orcs Mordor can bring forth!"

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

At that same hour, in another part of the city, a far more quiet scene was unfolding.

All was dark in the Steward's bedchamber, save for the glow of the silver moonlight now streaming in through the large, open window. Seated upon the wide sill of the window, watching the night, were Faramir and Eowyn, their forms bathed in the bright, gentle light. They were informally clad, she in her gown, he in his leggings and a loose shirt laid open at the throat. He sat leaning upon one of the window's thick supports, his arms draped around his wife as she sat before him, her arms laid over his, her head with its cascade of golden hair reclining against his shoulder.

They had sat thus in silence for some time, until Eowyn sighed deeply, never taking her eyes from the stars as she shifted within her husband's embrace.

"You realize I shall never forgive you for this," she said softly, nestling down once more.

He echoed her sigh, still staring at the clear night sky. "And I shall never forgive Sauron, whose lingering evil still has the power to part me from your touch," he replied, more than a tinge of sadness in his voice. After a moment, he tightened his arms around Eowyn in a brief hug. "I pray you do forgive me, my Lady; I do this only in the hopes that it will dispel the need for any such future partings."

She paused, and very slowly sat up, her hands still remaining upon her husband's arms, her gaze downcast as she turned to face Faramir. "I understand your need to do this," she said, her hair stirring in the warm spring breeze. "I wish only that I could accompany you. I fear not to go into Mordor, and my blade is as able as that of any soldier of Gondor." She raised her head and peered unhappily at him.

In return, he smiled a little and laid the fingertips of his right hand against her cheek. "I have no doubt of that, my brave shieldmaiden," he said affectionately, gazing deeply into her eyes. "And I would have you with me, were it not for the danger that still abides there. I am willing to risk my own life in this venture, but I would not ask you to risk yours."

She looked at him, and lifted one slender hand up to her cheek to entwine it in his. "You would be asking me for nothing that I am not willing to give with all of my heart," she insisted, easing their joined hands down to lay together in her lap. "It will madden me to do naught but sit here and wait for your return."

Faramir gripped her hand, looking at her firmly. "Your duties while I am away will be just as vital as mine, my love," he assured her. "You shall be assisting the healers and learning their arts, a far more noble task than my own. You shall be tending to the garden and gaining its language, seeking to bring life instead of destroy it. You may give council and support to your brother, whose patience will be tested sorely by this trial of diplomacy, I am sure."

At this thought, she smiled, as he did.

"And you will be a beacon of strength and steadiness to our people, both of Gondor and Rohan, during this time of newness and change," he said, tilting his head and studying her with an expression of total love. "Look not to follow my tread into the black lands, I beg you, my Lady. Your way is now in the light, and your gentle efforts may do far more than mine to hasten the coming of peace."

At this, she dropped her gaze and sighed, frustration creeping back into her expression. "I suppose it must be thus," she muttered with disappointment. After a moment she lifted her eyes. "I shall do as you will, my Lord, and endeavor as much to accomplish our goal here as you shall be doing in Mordor. But I shall be with you every step of the way, even if you see me not."

He smiled gently at her words, his blue eyes filled with soft gratitude. "And I shall be beside you here," he replied quietly, "no matter how far or how long my journey may take me." He loosed one hand and reached up to lightly cup her chin in his fingers. "Every step I take will bring me closer to my return to you. Until then, the memory of this night shall have to sustain us both, through the many nights apart that lay before us."

Slowly she lifted her hand and caressed his arm, regarding him all the while with an expression of great tenderness. "Then let us leave the stars to their courses," she whispered, her eyes sparkling in the silvered light.

Gracefully he leaned forward, gently tilting her chin upwards as he met her lips with his. Smoothly, easily, their arms entwined about each other's bodies, their grasp pulling them together in a single, loving motion. Within a few moments their forms melted away from the pool of bright moonlight, slipping away into the warm shadows of their bedchamber.

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

On that same night, another pair of eyes were watching the stars, pale yellow eyes that saw no beauty among their hallowed lights, only an indication that his time of victory had moved one day closer.

Karil stood atop the tallest tower of his fortress, from which he could see the entire spread of the rocky-strewn valley and the Orcs and Haradrim who labored there. Their black figures heaved and writhed in the moonlight as they worked to complete their machines of war, weapons that would soon be launched against those who had defied Sauron's power.

A fierce smile split Karil's handsome face as he beheld the sight. Atop the tower, a cold, relentless wind blew, stinging his skin and taking the warmth from his body, but Karil did not notice it. As he stood with Masrak and saw the army of warriors he would soon unleash upon those who would enslave Harad, all thoughts fled from his mind save one: the punishment he longed to inflict upon his enemies. They would suffer as Sauron would have had them suffer, and through his efforts the strength of the almighty Dark Lord would once again be felt among the men of Middle-earth.

Wordlessly he watched, smiling all the while, wishing only that the night and the days to come would hasten on, and the day of Sauron's judgment come to hand.