"We need to run." In the light of the new threat, Amina's father ran to the bed immediately to get his daughter. Only bit by bit, he began to understand what this fire meant; he turned paler by the second. "People will lose everything …"

"Better their belongings than their lives. Huts can be rebuilt. The dead can't be brought back though."

In mild impatience, Aragorn pulled Arwen away from the window a bit and called the guard waiting outside the door. "Inform the village chairman. Most of the farmers are surely asleep already. He needs to wake them up at once. It's …"

He never got to finish the sentence as the door was being torn open right again, this time from the outside.

"Your Majesty!" Given the quickly approaching threat, the village leader had apparently woken up instinctively as well and stormed towards them, only half-dressed … with even more bad news.

"Your carriage! It's completely destroyed! And the soldiers …" The man's face was so white that it wasn't hard to guess what had happened. His hands were bloodstained. "Two men by the carriage, they're … I don't know what happened to the others. I tried to help them but it … No one has heard anything. Apparently, they didn't even fight back. What shall we do now? We have to put out the fire! But if these criminals are out to get us …"

Aragorn's expression just darkened further. He lifted Amina, who was still sobbing loudly, up in his arms himself since her father, after the long watch, didn't have enough strength to do it anymore, and nodded at the door. "There are too few people here to get enough water from the Erui anyway. It's useless and too dangerous to stay. The citizens need to leave the village. I'll ride to the capital to get help."

"You want to leave, Your Majesty? Now of all times?" The village leader stared at him in a combination of confusion and reluctance, with his mouth hanging open.

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Aragorn strode outside, his determination forcing the others to follow him. "I'm certain that this fire is man-made. The child was poisoned, my carriage has been turned to firewood, and my people were murdered. Don't you think that's one or two coincidences too much? This girl will die if she doesn't get better care soon. And someone has to get reinforcements. I think you'll agree that I can't send the Queen away alone with a sick child when these madmen out there are only waiting for a chance to harm her."

Aragorn turned his head to look back at Arwen again and again, making sure that she was by his side. Only the sight of the carriage – torn to pieces indeed – in the distance had him pause, and of two shapes on the ground next to it, of which they could only make out blurs in the dusk.

Arwen had no need for seeing the corpses from up close on top of everything, so she was glad that her husband had thought about that for her. That she had seen enough dead in her long career as a warrior didn't make it easier. And every shock could have consequences for her right now; to know that, she didn't even have to recall how Tarisilya had fared in Rohan back then.

"So, what do you think?" The King turned to the village leader again, with clenched teeth. They were losing time, but he had to make sure that the man understood and wouldn't complain loudly about his behavior later which would only have caused more turmoil among the people. "Where and how especially can I make a bigger difference? By leading the people to the river which you can do just as well? I'd rather save the girl before she dies even while we're having this discussion, and get soldiers who can put out the fire much more efficiently than the few guards that weren't killed by the Stewardaides. When I return, I will make sure that reconstruction starts as quickly as possible."

"You're right," the girl's father barged in. "Please, Your Majesty, don't let her die." With a trembling hand, he caressed Amina's forehead. "We'll make sure, the people will be safe."

The ruler nodded hesitatingly. "Forgive me. It's not the first fire anyway. The citizens know what to do."

"Good. Take care of yourself, all of you."

Visibly lost in deep thought, Aragorn looked around for his remaining people.

Some more soldiers had obviously been overwhelmed by the enemies in the woods, because there were only four of them who approached Arwen and him from there, noticeably shocked by the efficient attack coming out of nowhere and their friends' death. Just four men left of the large company that had accompanied them. Many people had died today once more.

This was something they would have to contemplate later. Only then could they allow themselves the self-reproaches, too, that one always suffered from after such a tragedy. "Two soldiers will stay here, the rest comes with us."

Aragorn gave Amina to one of the men and instructed the other to take care of the citizens who came running one by one, upset. The rest, he sent away to get the horses.

"Only three horses?" This time, it was Arwen who asked, puzzled.

"One of the men will carry Amina. You'll ride with me." Aragorn was already headed for the village edge, with his hand on the handle of his sword.

"But we'll be much slower then. If someone comes after us, they'll catch up with us!"

While Arwen followed him, she took a look around, again and again, to make sure that there wouldn't be an enemy possibly jumping out from some side street any second who was only waiting for a chance to run his sword through her heart. So she startled when suddenly, Aragorn firmly grabbed her shoulder.

There was the same expression in his eyes like back then, the night when she had told him that she was pregnant. The unbridled fear was choking him that his gloomy suspicion about something happening to her would come true today. "The horses that have been pulling the carriage are fast but none of them is Alagas. The enemies will get to us either way. What will you do without your sword, without your armor then?" He briefly rested his hand on her thigh, right above her dagger. "This won't be of any use to you then. You would be completely unprotected; one strike would be enough. If you come with me, I can at least protect you."

Seeing that she was about to flare up, he cut her off with a quick kiss. In spite of the heat of the fire spreading, she could feel him tremble. "There's no other way. Your life is more important than anything else. No matter what might happen soon, you will carry on, you hear me? Even if the men and I have to stay behind. Nauriel, no!" He pressed her close to him before she had even opened her mouth. "If I fall tonight, it doesn't make a difference. You, on the other hand, you have to save yourself, both of you. Promise me you won't enter any battle!"

"You can't ask that of me!" Arwen wanted to break away, wanted to scream at Aragorn in anger and get weapons and armor from one of the dead guards, just to show him that she could deal on her own. But suddenly feeling tears far too close to the surface didn't allow her to get out more than a choked sob. Aragorn's words had pictures form in her head that threatened to make her collapse completely for the first time in an eternity.

Aragorn gently took her face between his hands. "I have to, Nauriel." Putting one hand on her belly, he closed his eyes for a moment. "This is not about you or me, you know that. You're not only responsible for your own life. You told me that you'll take care of the baby, remember? Promise me you will do so, no matter what it takes." He could hardly bear the reproachful look in her eyes but forced himself not to turn away anyway.

Only when he let go of her, disappointed, even more agitated and discouraged, because she couldn't bring herself to take this oath, Arwen awoke from her shocked stupor and nodded, albeit hardly visible.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn pulled her close again. "Don't worry too much. We don't even know yet if they can actually trace us. After all, I know this area at least as well as these bastards." After a hasty kiss to her hair, he stepped away. "Come on. If Amina is still to have a chance, we can't lose any time."

When he lifted Arwen up in the saddle, so that she came to sit in front of him, he looked so composed as if they would only prepare for a short ride. Only upon a close look in his flashing grey eyes, one could see the flickering in them, far more aggressive than any flame.

The smoke blown towards the people by the light wind got thicker and thicker and clogged the airways painfully. Fortunately, the owners of the houses were located right within the woods, had all left their homes already and were running through the streets, distraught. A few children were looking for their parents. Several mildly injured people were being taken care of by helpers from the settlement. The leader had been right: The people had experiences with something like this. Still, every minute counted right now.

For Aragorn and Arwen, too. With a heavy heart, the King turned away.

"Go. Protect the girl and the Queen at any cost."

Due to the rash departure, Arwen realized only when their group had already been on their way for a while, and when her throat protested against its dryness, still being sore from the smoke earlier, that she hadn't remembered to bring a water bag. Until now, the fear for the village, the child, and especially her own baby had made her forget her own needs, but now it became clear that she really had to drink something.

Since Aragorn seemed to be completely lost in his concentration though, so that he could keep an eye on the path, the undergrowth, Amina and her at the same time, she hesitated to ask him. Finally, she turned to the soldier next to her who was riding solo.

"Of course, milady." The man handed her his drinking bag immediately. "Please, keep it. I have another one."

Their companions seemed to be among of the youngest members of the guard; Arwen couldn't remember to have seen them before this day. She didn't have the illusion that she already knew each of the countless warriors dedicating themselves to Gondor's protection though. These two who had probably not seen much of active fighting yet; they were visibly upset by what had happened in the village. The man was looking straight ahead most of the time, with his head slightly lowered, barely mindful of his job. Losing their mates had doubtlessly hit these people hard.

Arwen considered telling the man to concentrate more for a moment but then rather left him alone. Once all of this was over, once they would all be safe, she would seek a conversation with these two, to try and help them to process the evening. After taking another big sip of water, she fastened the bag to her belt and leaned back against Aragorn again, trying to rest a little because the long day started to exact its toll.

With her eyes closed, she was focusing her other senses more and suddenly realized something she should have noticed a while ago already, being the trained rider that she was.

The steps of Brego's gaits felt irregular. He seemed to stumble slightly, again and again, as if he was feeling drained, though he had had actually enough time to rest in Taur Adab.

Arwen leaned forward with a frown, with her arm still firmly wrapped around Aragorn's waist to not lose balance, and startled when she saw something in the animal's auburn fur that definitely didn't belong there.

"Aragorn, wait." Yes, it was also clearly showing in her slurred voice that her exhaustion was growing.

Aragorn immediately held her tighter when her grasp around his body grew weaker and she even threatened to slip away. "What is it? Is something wrong with you?"

But this time, it was even harder for her, giving him a clear answer instead of a murmur hardly audible due to the night wind. Worriedly, her husband put a hand on her cheek. The weak moonlight made it hard to tell, but she thought to see his eyes go wide when he looked into hers. "Nauriel, what is it? Your pupils …"

"There's blood …" Arwen blinked again and again. She tried to get the bag again, to splash some cold water on her face, but it slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground.

Aragorn ignored it; he let his eyes wander over her body several times. His hand searchingly stroked her skin, but of course, he couldn't find an injury. In his growing worry about her, he didn't even notice that Brego grew slower and slower.

"No, not me … Brego's leg …" Arwen had the disgusting feeling that the world was spinning around her. Aragorn's face blurred before her eyes. She couldn't be that damn tired …

Before Aragorn's eyes could follow her agitated gesture downwards, the man from before turned to Arwen again. "If Brego's not feeling well, you should maybe rather ride with me, Your Majesty." The little disturbance seemed to tear him from his apathy a little, but he still didn't look at her directly. Something about his behavior bothered Arwen more and more.

In her increasingly numb mind, she finally realized that something was indeed being very wrong when the horses of the alleged soldiers came closer and closer, cutting Brego off.

In their worry, Aragorn and she had blindly walked right into the trap.

Although Aragorn's mind was still refusing to accept danger coming from his own guards, he instinctively pulled on Brego's reins, firmly, so that the stallion stopped abruptly and couldn't be cornered. Which didn't create any possibility to flee either though, not as long as one of these men apparently turning against him right now had the girl in his arms. His hand wandered to Andúril immediately while he protectively put his other arm tighter around Arwen.

"Before you think about drawing your weapon, try to remember the precious cargo I'm dragging around here." The other man's scornful voice left no doubt about it: These weren't soldiers.

These men had let themselves be hired for his guard - not too long ago memory was serving Aragorn right - and hid their true intentions well. It had to be them who had killed their unsuspecting comrades. And now these ruthless criminals were threatening the child to intimidate him.

In this delicate situation, they couldn't expect to get any support. The Stewardaides had consciously waited for them to leave all villages behind before revealing themselves. There was nothing waiting along the rest of the road except for wide fields and woodlots that could have helped.

Almost casually, the false soldier ran his hand up the little girl's chest to her throat, a blade flashing in the pale moonlight. "Hands right where I can see them. The same goes for your little elvish whore."

Seeing as he had no choice, Aragorn slightly raised his arms. "Leave the little one out of this. Haven't you harmed her enough?" He was feverishly looking for a way out, but Brego's injury that came without a doubt from this blade as well would make them move far too slow at an escape.

And Amina's life was leverage for the Stewardaides that Aragorn had couldn't counter with anything.

On the idea of Arwen at least being able to get away, he had to give up the moment her head fell forward uncontrolled before she startled up again. Aragorn had been so unbelievably foolish, not interfering when she had accepted water from someone basically a stranger. He knew damn well that he couldn't trust anyone right now, especially not on a day like this. His mistake was now responsible for Arwen taken in something that he could only hope and pray of, it had been nothing but a simple sleeping draught.

The enemy dismounted, with Amina in his arms, and waited impatiently for Aragorn to follow suit.

That Arwen could hardly stand straight anymore filled him with visible satisfaction. "Take care of her," he told his mate in a cold voice.

"I wouldn't do that." The dagger came dangerously close to Amina's throat again when Aragorn made a move to get in front of his beloved. The child was fortunately still unconscious and didn't realize that the danger it now was in was even more acute. "Drop your weapons. All your weapons. Quick!"

When Aragorn let go of Arwen reluctantly, she immediately threatened to collapse. He wanted to help her, but another harsh order of the enemies stopped him.

His hand trembling with anger, he started to unfasten his sword's strap. He'd rarely felt so helpless in a battle. Amina's fate aside … A simple fall would cause a disaster for Arwen. That something could happen to the baby – that something might even have happened already because these people had just given Arwen some kind of drug – almost tried to drive him insane.

Still, he forced himself not to rush anything. "Let the girl and the Queen go, and I'll come with you without resistance," he offered as he put down Andúril on the grass before him and pulled his dagger from its shaft on his back as well.

Arwen wanted to flare up immediately, but she didn't have the strength to; she could hold on to Brego's saddle just in time.

Aragorn didn't have a choice anyway. He had to do everything to keep Arwen from being taken prisoner, especially given what the Stewardaides had already almost done to her last time.

"In their condition, they can't get help anyway. Leave them here."

"You hear that? The great, noble King is back to giving orders." The Stewardaid spat at Aragorn's feet in disgust and then just dropped Amina to the ground.

"See, that's much better." He kicked Aragorn's sword out of reach. "Elvish kitsch. Turn around, Elessar. Now. Do you really want to see blood first? If you care so much for your Queen, you better behave now. Who knows what else we can think of to do to her otherwise? You better spare her that torture."

The man waited only until his mate had seized Arwen and that shock had made her come back to her senses a bit; then he rammed his fist in Aragorn's back with all of his strength, right above a kidney.

Aragorn went to the ground, a loud scream on his lips; for a few seconds, he was completely unable to move. It felt as if something inside of him had exploded. His guts were cramping. For a moment, it almost got dark before his eyes, but his head was yanked up by his hair.

"Don't. You don't want to leave your precious wife alone, do you?" Audibly amused, the Steward pointed at Arwen who somehow managed to break loose thanks to a well-aimed dig of her elbow.

Her legs gave out from under her at her first step already; she went to her knees. With her dazed voice, all she could shout was Aragorn's name.

"Search the elvish whore. I'm sure she's got a weapon somewhere on her as well."

With a hard kick to his side, the Stewardaid stopped Aragorn's attempt of straightening up.

"You keep her hands off her, or I'll …" Aragorn couldn't suppress another scream when his words were cut off again by a kick to his ribs.

"Or what? Will you call your elvish friends for help? Since we made sure, they'll betray you very soon, I wouldn't count on them." With a burst of dirty laughter, the man started to bind Aragorn's hands, knowing exactly that he had caused him more pain with this remark than any punch could.

This was not only about Arwen and him. These people were out for much more blood.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

That was a chance he'd been missing for months.

Arwen had only very vaguely understood the enemy's terrible reveal. The effects of the sleeping draught in her blood made it almost impossible to still stay awake, to fight, even the enemy's hand that wandered over her body. She hardly even felt her own fear. A veil had spread over her thinking. It was as if every feeling was being sucked out of her one by one just to be replaced with tiredness. Even the worry about Aragorn and her baby felt duller by the second. The burgeoning panic when the enemy felt the dagger under her dress and yanked the fabric up rougher than necessary to reach for it, seemed to be someone else's. Still, she tried once more to push the guy's hand away, to swipe at him and kick him.

As an answer, he slapped her hard and let his dirty hand rest on her thigh for a moment before finally pulling it away, her weapon in it.

With some effort, Arwen managed to brace herself on the ground and get up a little. When she heard Aragorn call her name as the Stewardaid pushed her on her back, it was as if his voice was coming through a thick fog, quiet and distorted.

She forced herself to open her eyes but then wished she would just have given in to unconsciousness as she had to witness her husband being beaten unconscious with the handle of her own dagger.

She had to stay awake … There was no telling what they would do to Aragorn and her if she didn't …

But not even the desperate fear for her child helped. The last thing she felt was how her hands, too, were being bound as her last thoughts turned into a prayer to the Valar so that they would protect her baby. Then the blackness before her eyes consumed her.

Though King Elessar was in many ways a far more pleasant employer to Verilas than Denethor had been at the end, certain submissiveness couldn't be shed so easily.

While it was unusual that the King hadn't come back from his trip with his wife at the arranged time, part of the reason he had left the city was the good of the folk. Maybe the inspections of the villages were just taking longer than expected.

You didn't meddle with the affairs of the realm leader. These people usually knew what they were doing, unless they happened to have gone mad.

At least that was what Verilas tried to tell himself half of the night. Without success.

Because Elessar was not his predecessor. The way he was treating the citizens and his servants was very different from Denethor's behavior in his last few years. He was compassionate and showed foresight. Especially in a time when every divergence from the norm could mean trouble, he should be able to guess that his advisors would be worried about him not coming home exactly when he'd said he would.

When the sun came up, at last, the next day without there being any news, Verilas couldn't stand being in his chambers in the King's House any longer. When he told a servant to gather his colleagues in the meeting hall and another one to summon Faramir in Emyn Arnen, it crossed his mind for a second that the others wouldn't be thrilled about being woken up already. Shrugging, he continued changing his clothes. Under Denethor, he had been through worse than bringing some bureaucrats' wrath upon himself.

The Steward had only just arrived, the meeting hadn't even really begun yet; Verilas had only just got up to explain himself when he was already being interrupted.

With a very distraught expression, a servant held up a parchment. Under his thick red hair, the skin of the still quite adolescent-looking boy had turned ashen.

Verilas dropped back onto his chair. So he had been right. His King had now been in office for a year, and if there was somebody who should know that nothing better could have happened to Gondor than this man, it was him. He of all people had now failed miserably.

Since the coronation, he'd always had so much drive, as if not a day had passed since he had finished his political studies. Now he felt at least as old as he looked. He should long have stopped instead of biting off more than he could chew out of ambition and pride. He was a foolish old man.

"What happened?"

"A pigeon just brought this from Lossarnach. Here." The servant gave Faramir the letter.

The words that the Steward read out loud, with an unbelieving voice and conspicuously shaking hands, were of one of Aragorn's soldiers who had put on record some terrible events in Taur Adab on the evening before and announced the return of the King and the Queen to the city.

"They should long have arrived," one of the other advisors needlessly gave out.

Loud whispers arose.

"Maybe someone should go look for them", another advisor mentioned hesitatingly. Many of these people, too, were still being used to the conditions during the last of Denethor's years when decisions had been made without them and this council had hardly been more than decoration for the eye of the public.

But even men whose strengths usually lay more in law and theory had seen enough in the last few decades and especially in this last year of the Stewardaides to know when the time was short.

"I'll deploy several units who will comb the area between the village and the capital. They shall search every grass stalk for traces if necessary. Another group will leave immediately to help with the fire and conduct further investigations on site." Faramir already moved to get up, to put his words into action.

Unfortunately, he was met with the resistance so typical for these halls just like Aragorn so often was.

"Isn't that a little too much premature effort?" another of the advisors asked. "What if it's just a false alert? If the city is unprotected then …"

"And what if it's not? We can't just sit around and do nothing." Upset, Verilas got up to pace the hall.

This was the worst-case scenario happening. Maybe it was already too late for every help. And even if it wasn't, it was very likely that at least one life would be wiped out by the time the Queen was found as Faramir and he knew, being two of the few people at the court informed.

"New doubts about the King will arise if it goes public that he's having problems," the next man remarked. "There'll probably be flyers again."

"Will you rather wait for what will be written in the parchments posted everywhere if they can only find his body? We can deal with flyers, but not with a murdered King and Queen!" For the first time since Faramir occupied the position of the second leader in this room, he raised his voice without restraint. He only seemed to realize it himself when abashed silence spread and no one dared to look at him directly anymore.

With narrow eyes, he let his eyes roam over every single person present. When no further objection came, he nodded grimly. "I'll order the soldiers to keep quiet about this. The same goes for all of us. Send message to Emyn Arnen. Tell them I'll be gone longer than expected, but don't give them a reason."

Though no one said it, they all were relieved. In spite of all the incidents in the last few months: Minas Tirith had not been prepared for such a crisis. And no matter how many voices had been raised against the Steward within these walls recently, they were happier than ever to have him.

For the moment, the decisions about this realm would entirely be in Faramir's hands.