"What happened, child of the moon? I can see it in your eyes." There hadn't been a second of silence in East Lórien since Thranduil's departure. A pregnant elf pacing her talan endlessly made that even worse, especially when said she-elf was suddenly collapsing on the bed for no reason.

It had been mostly for Tarisilya's sake that Celeborn had stopped his soldiers when it had gone public that the King had personally left for Ithilien. Now he regretted this decision deeply. Maybe he wasn't even being needed as a voice of reason there but as a rescue squad. Thranduil and diplomacy, that had never been a particularly good match.

"I don't know. I can't trust my feelings anymore. And in our wedding bond, I still can't read anything but chaos." She gratefully leaned against him when he sat down next to her. Up here where no one was watching who could have misinterpreted such things once again, that was allowed.

"Do you remember the rings that Lady Galadriel gave to Legolas and me? In the war, I'd learned to hate them. I was glad when we took them off. Back then, I was naive enough to believe that there would never again be a reason for Legolas to get himself into danger. And that I would know it in my soul if it should happen, as should be the case after getting married. Now I wish we'd have kept them. Then I could be certain at least about what trouble he's got himself into this time." Her hand ceaselessly caressed her belly, in an attempt to find comfort in this one unshakable fact as all of the rest of her world threatened to go under.

"I'm sure this is not what he had planned either. In Gondor, many things have gone wrong that should never have happened." And even for Celeborn, in the light of these events, it was hard to stay neutral. The decision not to support the Prince in his plans hadn't been easy for him at all. It actually wasn't surprising that there was resistance even among his own people against that.

Galadriel and he had already had to deal with a beastly man-made murder of six elves a year ago though. Maybe that was why for them, it had been easier to get themselves together. And back then, the Dwarves had taken care of bringing the ones responsible to justice. Dwarves didn't have a problem with dead murderers. With the arrogance of not having to make such a call themselves it had been easy, pointing fingers at North Ithilien. Also, his wife and he wouldn't be staying in these realms for very long anymore. They would maybe see their former charges again soon, would be able to help them get over this cruel experience once the six of them were released from the Halls.

Legolas on the other hand was finding himself completely alone with his feelings of guilt, his wrath, his thirst for revenge, and his time on Middle-earth was far from over. The people that he'd lost wouldn't be with him again in the foreseeable future to make him understand that it had not been his mistake.

Maybe they should have gotten involved sooner instead of waiting for how things would develop, as usual. Instead of relying on the worst visions in Galadriel's mirror not coming true. "I'm sorry, child of the moon. We haven't been there for the two of you."

"Don't. We all left him alone, including me." She briefly squeezed his shoulder and only turned away again when the emotional serenity that he'd always been clinging to, covered up the depressing realization.

"In fact, I did it the most. He would have needed me. If now I have to feel in the weak mental connection that we still have left that he's in even bigger danger than before, that's probably a just punishment."

"Neither you nor your child will suffer from something that Men are being responsible for. I'll make sure of that." Celeborn got up, with his thoughts already with the soldiers that he had to regather.

"No, please …" Instead of being happy about this decision, Tarisilya suddenly sounded even more quiet and insecure. It had been long since the woods of Lórien had last resounded with the haunting, deep voices of the family of Vandrin. "I cannot be alone here." She drew her knees close and rested her head on it. The shaking of her shoulders only stopped when Celeborn came back.

"It would only make everything worse if he saw your warriors now. And I … I won't make it alone. Even here, one can feel how empty Lórien is. I can hear the birds scream for the elves in despair, and how the animals are prowling through the woods, looking for them. I can see the trees getting emptier and emptier. They're breathing out their life, aren't they? You don't need to say it, I can feel it."

"Tarisilya …" It was one of the rare moments when Celeborn addressed her with her name instead of her title. The words were failing him that he needed to express the emptiness inside of him, the certainty that it wouldn't take long now before he, too, had to say good-bye to Lórien like his charge already had.

But a few summers would pass until Galadriel would go west. He had considered staying here for another while, maybe in Imladris, help the elves with the work there … But in the end, the war had robbed him of too much strength for that. He couldn't stay behind alone here, with that very loneliness that had tortured Tarisilya for years. All that would have been left for him in Lórien was pain. No place in these realms, no matter how beautiful, would have been able to chase away these images of his dying home in his head.

"You know who was the first to tell me that? That everything is fading, even the golden leaves of the mellyrn?" Tarisilya turned her head aside, just enough to be able to stare at Celeborn from tear-stained eyes. "It wasn't him, actually. It was his book. His records. He can only really express himself when he's writing. I started doing it as well, on my way here. It helps. It's as if you saw yourself from the outside, like … well, like a watcher. As if that would help to change something about the pain inside. On some days, it's the only thing that makes the silence in this damn talan bearable."

"Erestor?" Celeborn asked carefully. He didn't know much about this old story between the two of them.

Erestor was in serious trouble though, that much was for sure. Maybe Tarisilya knew anything about him that would help.

"He's right among the Stewardaides. At first, I have doubted this madness that he's dedicated himself to, just like everyone else. And he did start this whole thing in a completely wrong way. But right now, he's the only one who still can make a difference. Who knows, maybe, if I hadn't hurt him so much back then …"

"Someone who lives in the past, doesn't have a future. Did no one ever tell you that?" Celeborn put his hand on her neck for a moment and shook her a little, like one might reprimand a kitten. Actually, he was just trying to make her laugh.

At least that worked. "Yes, actually. His Majesty Thranduil. Am I seeing a pattern there?"

"We're far removed relatives, remember?" Celeborn smiled back and then said good-bye for the evening before the workers in the settlement below would start to wonder what he was doing here for so long after nightfall after all. "Sleep for a while, will you?"

"I'll try. I just wish, I could show my baby better dreams than the ones that its father is dying in," she answered, already lost in gloomy thoughts again.

For now, there was nothing else that he could do here. Celeborn quietly closed the door behind him and sat down at the talan terrace for another long night watch, leaning back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the moon. He wondered if Galadriel was being in her garden as so often when the sun had gone down, to do the same. It had been long since he had last felt so alone; since he had wished for her nearness so much.

"Why can't you be with me right now, él nín?"

"I am. I always was."

His wife's voice in their wedding bond seemed to be laughing at him as if it wanted to tell him that he let talk of darkness frighten him like an elfling and that he did seriously need her first to make him realize that.

The stars hadn't lost their light yet, neither here nor in Ithilien.

Barhit's nerves had been raw ever since that long-desired triumph of his people over the elves. Since then, he'd had to keep his mouth shut and smile for far too long, ever until even the last of the Steward's soldiers had left this lonely part of the dungeon wing. Now he finally was alone again with the very members of his group who had managed to be relocated to Emyn Arnen after the war.

Ever since then, these people had actually done a reasonable job with influencing the Steward's thoughts regarding the correct political attitude the right way. All the more annoyed was Barhit about this unsatisfying ending of the takeover of Emyn Arnen that had begun so promisingly.

His people had of course only embarrassed silence to spare for his elaborate insults. Not that he had expected anything else. Nothing at all worked right if you didn't do it yourself.

Delegating anything rather had you end up in a prison cell yourself instead of being able to return to Lossarnach to present the Steward with the body of the King. He could only hope that his men would for once remember his orders for longer than two minutes and would take care of that unspeakable problem called "Elessar" in his stead. It was more than regrettable that he was being robbed of the chance to lay hand upon that guy himself; but in this case, he was ready to ignore his own needs and think about the wellbeing of the people for the last time. The faster this walking plague was being eliminated, the better.

Still, the situation was unacceptable. He had to stop himself from gnawing on the damn bars. His men could have got him out of that cell again immediately, of course. What else had he hired them for? Unfortunately, that would only have been of temporary use. Faramir's trust in him – his former best friend no less! – was thin enough right now. If Barhit didn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison instead of by the side of the rightful ruler, enjoying the merits of the new government, he had to wait, for better or for worse, until Faramir would come back from the search for the King – hopefully with Elessar's head under his arm.

"Viwin is watching of the horse girl," one of the men finally explained, cautiously, after a few moments of dangerously long silence. "This savage of Rohan won't even come close to the cells. Everything is going as planned."

"As planned?" In a fit of exuberant anger, Barhit kicked the primitive bed on the floor so that the moldy mattress ripped open and straw was being scattered in half of the cell. "That's what you call it when I am being stuck here while a whole group of elves is running around freely out there, and countless soldiers of the King and the White Company who can become a danger for us on top of that?"

"None of these people knows where our hideout in Lossarnach is," the man answered, even more intimidated.

"I hope so, for your sake!" With his fists clenched tightly, Barhit tried to get a hold of himself, to talk more quietly. Given the roaring echo in here, it wasn't impossible that words would sound through the thick walls, to the other dungeon hall where there were soldiers possibly being stationed who hadn't noticed the change in the tides of time yet.

It helped little though, admonishing yourself when you had seen yourself being so close to the finish line already and a perfect plan had been ruined in the last moment then. "How could that happen?" Wrath overwhelmed him once again; this time, he punched the rear cell wall. Pain flashed through his arm immediately; blood dripped over his fist. Better. Now he could maybe spend a few minutes without yelling. "You had one job! This is what I left you here to stop!"

While two of the men backed away for safety reasons, in spite of the bars, the third one seemed to feel courageous suddenly thanks to the wall between them.

He stepped forward, with his receding chin high, as if tempted to open to cell and cut his leader down to size with more than just words. Of course, the guy had just signed his own death warrant, but still: He actually had the guts to open his mouth. Barhit would have wished for more such courage among his troops.

"We mixed this stuff into his wine every damn day, just like you demanded. If it doesn't work right, send your complaints to that botcher of Rivendell of who you stole the book with the recipe. The elf leader is behind closed doors, what more do you want? Without him, the rest of them is helpless anyway. They're probably already busy fleeing back to their realms or straight into the west. That's at least a few pointy-eared bastards we're finally rid of. The King is as good as dead, and the Steward can no longer run from his responsibility. There's nothing left to stop the changeover of power."

"I could swear I heard that before," Barhit answered cynically. "Wasn't that before I entered the throne room and the very same soldiers took me prisoner that you allegedly have so well under control?"

"The soldiers have no say about anything here." His friend didn't let himself be silenced so easily. "The Steward did believe you, that's all that counts. There were only two persons who could ruin this mission in any way. The blood of this traitor of Rivendell will be staining the whole road to Lossarnach soon." The Stewardaid raised his brows, obviously waiting for Barhit to ask him about the elvish Prince.

When Barhit's face only darkened, as he was only busy pondering how long it might take to choke someone through bars with his bare hands, the guy sighed in frustration and nodded at the door leading to the other cell area. "You think we learned nothing from you? I just hope, in the end, you'll keep your word, too, and make sure that we're all safe from the few Firstborn who still occupying Middle-earth and who aren't acting as amateurish as these losers in North Ithilien. Because depending on how long the elf leader makes it to hang on, it's probably only a matter of minutes until you can hear him scream from here. When the sunrise announces our victory, he'll be dead already."

After another hostile moment, a grin spread on Barhit's face that the others mimicked immediately in relief. At least until the moment when he shooed them from the dungeon with harsh words before the other guards could start to wonder what the three of them were doing in here for so long.

Indeed … There were some prospects that could even sweeten long hours of sitting around in a dark, damp cell for a leader damned to wait.

Shortly after the two villains had left him alone, after their unmistakable threat, Aragorn had fallen unconscious again, in spite of his unbridled fear for Arwen, his realm, and his best friend among the elves. His body resented him badly for the additional blood loss.

With his sense of time gone, he couldn't tell how long it was before some loud noise woke him up once more. He startled up all the faster when Arwen was being pushed through the door ungently before it was being closed again. At least a torch had been lit in the room in the meantime so that it wasn't completely dark anymore.

"I suggest, you two have a few nice minutes together, Your Majesty", the older Stewardaid outside said scornfully. "It won't take long before our leader returns. First, he'll have some fun with your wife. After all, we want everyone to know what a whore the King's wife was when they find your bodies."

Arwen needed a moment before she could brace herself upright; she shook herself to be able to see clearly in spite of obviously feeling quite dizzy. The moment she heard Aragorn's voice, her worry for him won. She barely made it to get to him before dropping to her knees. Actually, she should have been glad that he was alive, but seeing all the blood and his wounds had her gasp anyway.

Her hands had fortunately been freed so that she could caress Aragorn's cheek for a moment before she slipped behind him and started trying to unfasten the rope around his wrists. "I was so afraid that they would … What have they done?" She reached out a trembling hand to his shoulder but didn't quite dare to touch him. The cut was still bleeding a little. The tissue was badly infected already. "Why are they doing all this? How can men be so cruel?"

Aragorn didn't really care much about this question right now. Somehow, he gathered the rest of his strength and sat up so that his wife would have an easier time, opening the knots.

"I'm not sure I even still want to count them among the members of my folk. What about you? Did they do anything to you?" He didn't dare to ask her about the baby. As soon as Arwen would say it, it would become true; then he couldn't cling to the hope anymore that maybe, somehow, a miracle had happened after all that had saved the child.

"Nothing bad so far." Maybe not, but given how pale Arwen was, with her eyes red from crying and her trembling … She was in a state of shock, for the very first time since he knew her. Besides, he still didn't know what that drug was that they had given her in the course of the Lossarnach Distraction. He could indeed not see any injuries, but that didn't have to mean anything.

"It's more … what they said. I fear for the others, Estel. For him. No matter what's going on in Emyn Arnen right now, Legolas is caught right in the middle, and he has no idea how deeply he's really caught in this web of lies. We have all been so stupid."

"I know. We have lots to make up for. I just hope we'll even get a chance to do so."

Though he shared his wife's worry, Aragorn didn't manage to concentrate on what might be happening in the Steward's palace right now for longer than a few seconds. For that, he knew far too well what one of the Stewardaides had been supposed to do Arwen at her last kidnapping, and that she was in the same danger now once again. The thought gave Aragorn enough strength to turn to her, as soon as that damn rope finally came loose. His arms that had become completely numb, had to come back to life first, but that way, he could at least nuzzle his head against her shoulder, hide his face in her hair.

He couldn't look her in the eye when he forced himself to speak, his voice breaking. "The baby?"

Until there finally was an answer, his heart refused to beat.

"I don't know." Arwen took a few deep breaths, trying in vain to not allow her tears to fall yet again. That wouldn't have made anything better now.

She should rather try to take care of Aragorn as far as the limited means allowed it. With what little strength she had left herself after many days of food deprivation, she somehow managed to tear her skirt and hastily wrap a piece of fabric around Aragorn's wound that had newly broken open. Then she grabbed one of his badly swollen, bloody wrists and started to massage it so that the blood could flow freely again, the way she had seen him and other soldiers do it so often, the way she had experienced it first-hand already.

"There … there was no blood though." Which was exactly what she kept telling herself. When Tarisilya had had her miscarriage back then, the other she-elf had been bleeding badly. The stomachache that had occurred once the numbing had worn off, the nausea and the cramps could have been caused by something entirely different. Maybe by the poison, the coldness, or by a sickness that Arwen had caught once again because of the exposure.

She just had to believe in that right now. She had had to let go of too many people in her life that she'd loved. And if she was to survive this whole thing here, she still had to face the endlessly difficult job of saying goodbye to her father and later, at some point, to her brothers. She couldn't be prematurely grieving for her child now on top of that.

The last few days had been cruel enough, even without any torture, and certainly not because of a few stupid remarks of primitive men or the inconvenience of having to clean herself right before their eyes in an ice-cold fountain earlier before they'd given her some clothes to put on. She could deal with lewdness and being stared at, and none of those cowards had obviously dared to touch her anymore in the last few days. She would have been able to handle all that.

So far, she had had not the slightest idea where Aragorn was though, how he was doing. She had only been able to pray that the Stewardaides wouldn't kill him. The fear had almost driven her insane. At some point, her voice had given in after she had screamed for her husband for an eternity and sobs had made her throat sore. Whenever she hadn't been able to fall sleep, she had imagined hearing his screams nearby. Her mind had pictured in every detail what they might be doing to him right now. Actually seeing Aragorn in such a bad shape now wanted to wipe out even the last grain of hope that the two of them would be found soon.

Even if … What if it might be too late for one of them then? Actually, it was impossible that the baby had made it through all this. But their child just couldn't be dead just because its parents had wanted to spend a single normal day …

"What do you think, Estel? Please tell me there's still hope." She didn't think, she really wanted to hear the answer though. Or that she would be able to handle it.

"No matter how badly I want to, I can't." Aragorn's voice sounded hollow. Absurd it as it was, he was suddenly wishing for the first time in an eternity that Arwen would have listened to him in the war back then and had sailed west like most of her kin. He would have gladly accepted life in loneliness if that would only mean that the she-elf didn't have to be with him here right now.

Apparently, they really hadn't touched her, but the reason for that, and the reason for her wearing a different dress than at the kidnapping wasn't hard to guess. She was supposed to look as flawlessly as possible for her torturer.

Aragorn felt his eyes burning with tears that wouldn't come. After everything that she had already had to suffer by his side, Arwen was now being threatened by something that would break her at last and that would take her life in the long run, even if the two of them would be freed after all. Knowing that this bastard wanted to lay hand on his wife had every feeling in him die, except for a combination of endless fear and burning wrath. He had once sworn to Arwen's father that he would protect her and had still failed miserably.

At least he could pull her into an embrace now. He didn't care about his injuries, he hardly even felt them. His body and mind felt equally numb. "I'm sorry." A first tear fell from his cheek, glistening in Arwen's hair. "I should have sent you away decades ago, even if that would have meant, you would hate me forever. I should never have married you. At least not while these madmen were still on the loose. This is all my fault."

"I'll rather die here than having listened to you back then and spending even one day of my life with you at an unreachable distance." Arwen buried her much too-cold face against his neck, her voice trembling with the same anger that she had already faced him with back then when he had tried to end this relationship for her sake.

"Why can't you understand that, Estel? I wanted to be with you, all along. I never doubted us even for a moment, ever since I knew you. Every minute by your side is worth all the pain in this world."

Aragorn didn't manage to answer anything. For a few minutes, he could do nothing but keeping his wife pressed closely to his side, just to feel that she was still there. With every passing second, the fear grew, of the moment when the door would be opened again and they would rob him of her nearness again, maybe forever.

"I'll try to negotiate with Barhit." His voice could sound so empty, so broken … It had been long since he had last heard this tone from himself. "What they want most is to destroy the King. They don't need your death, it would only be an additional victory for them. Maybe they'll be tempted more by the chance to kill the leader of Gondor not only in secret. That would get them more attention than just dropping his body in front of the city gates."

Arwen tried to break away from him reluctantly but he held her tight which drew a warning growl from her lips, a sound drowned out by a new coughing fit though. "Forget it! No way! You will not let them execute you! They will not shed your blood in the walls of your own city and make it a festival!"

"If that is how I have to give my life, so that you can get away, and the baby that the Valar might possibly have protected after all, I'll do it with a smile on my lips. This is the only thing I have left to protect you, Nauriel." He caressed her belly for a moment, trying to remember the feeling that he'd always had so far when thinking about his child growing in there. It wouldn't come.

"And how am I supposed to go on without you? You told me so often that you couldn't bear to lose someone else. Tell me, how can I?" A sob came past Arwen's lips; now she was clinging to him again tightly, all by herself.

Aragorn knew that there could be no comfort in such a situation; still, he caressed her back slowly. "If you should really be set free, go to Imladris. Don't try to do anything on your own. Don't trust anyone, not Faramir or the soldiers either. Until they find out that you're pregnant, you'll hopefully have reached the valley. Nothing can happen to you there."

The thought that his child might have to grow up the same way he once had had to, stirred deep bitterness. This was exactly what he had tried to prevent. He had wanted to spare his child the pain of never being able to get to know their father. Hearing sentimental stories about him wasn't the same. It couldn't get him back when you needed him.

"Nothing, huh? You mean, except for the same life in loneliness and grief that your mother has lived before she died? You mean that I would have to start every day, knowing it will bring nothing but many hours of pain, constantly fearing for my child because enemies might pass the city borders one day after all since there's hardly anyone left to stop them?" Arwen's hand came to rest on her belly as well, clenching the fabric of her dress.

"Such a life is better than none at all. Arwen, look at me, please … I … Ever since I know you, I've had to ask you to be strong again and again. I never really got a chance to thank you for actually doing it. I could never give you the happiness that you deserve. If I'm asking you to be strong this time, it will bind you all your life. I wish I wouldn't have to do that." He had to close his eyes to hide the next couple of tears. He didn't know what else he could tell her.

Arwen released him from it by breathing a kiss on his lips before untangling from him.

"Let me take another look at your shoulder." None of them spoke while she tore a piece of his very battered cloak off next and tried to clean the wound superficially before bandaging it new.

Aragorn didn't ask her again. He knew that his wife would do what he wanted her to if it really came to it, even if it would break her to leave him behind. "Le melin, Nauriel."

Arwen pulled the improvised bandage tight once more and then changed sides so he could put his healthy arm around her and she could nestle to him closely. "Le melin."

They both had their eyes on the door, knowing that when it opened next, it would be the beginning of the end. Until then, they could only endure. Hope always was the last to die, sure. But how could you not despair when there was nothing but darkness surrounding you?