Faramir sighed for the seventh time since they had set out that morning, and Legolas gave a secret smile. He knew exactly what his friend was thinking as they rode along, but he waited for him to express himself. It was nearly noon, and Legolas knew that Faramir had been itching to turn about for several hours. In a way, the man was thrilled to be searching for a place for their home, but without Éowyn it seemed a bit pointless. How could he make such a decision on his own? Legolas was feeling much the same.

"You know, these birches are quite lovely," the man said softly, and Dwimor halted as he tugged the reins. He reached out and laid a hand on its soft, gray bark. "These were some of my favorite trees when I was a child," he added thoughtfully. "Perhaps my family should like to live near them as well."

"It would be a fine place for a home," Legolas agreed. "Do you think that you would be comfortable so far from Minas Tirith?"

Faramir grimaced. "I would regret it were something to happen. Henneth Annûn is quite beautiful but it is also far. It is two or three days ride, depending on the swiftness of one's horse; I suppose that does seem far." He sighed. "It would be better for me to be nearer to the City if necessary. Perhaps Éowyn and I should look closer to Osgiliath."

"I do not think you need to be too close, Faramir," Legolas admitted. "But perhaps a bit closer would be wiser."

"And what of you, friend? Has this venture been fruitful for you?" He grinned at the elf. "I know that glade you found was quite lovely, and as long as there are no more poor souls to be found on that land, I am sure it would be more than suitable."

"Enguina did seem to like it," Legolas agreed with a smile. "I keep thinking about what you said, about wanting to be alone, and I think that is true. I think I would enjoy my life being quiet and simple with only Enguina and a small horde of children running about the place…and no other worries."

Faramir laughed. "And what of your kin?"

"They would come," he replied. "Ithilien is far too beautiful to pass by; I think my kin would be very happy here."

"And they would look to you as their leader, Legolas. Come now, you would have more responsibilities than simply your family," Faramir reminded him. "You would be seen as a King to them, just as your Father is to his people."

Legolas sighed. "I always assumed that my Father would live forever, and that I would never have to take his kingship. I do believe that this is a little bit different, but…I think you are right, that the other elves would look to me." He gave Faramir a little smirk. "Guin would make a very good Queen."

The man looked back at him. "Was she all right this morning?"

Legolas winced. "How is your leg?"

"Bruised, but completely fine, as you well know," he replied. "So…my impression was that this has happened before. This was not the first time she has experienced such a dream."

"No…" he said softly, and this time he looked away from Faramir. "I am sorry you were injured; she does not know what she is doing."

"I could see that."

"She is struggling with nightmares," he added, trying to defend her, "and I know nothing about them, what causes them…although," he admitted, "last night was my fault. I pushed her to tell me the truth about them and it brought one on."

Faramir frowned. "They seem very serious."

"You have no idea," he whispered, and then sighed. "Enguina promised to talk to me about them before the wedding, so I am hoping we will clear the air of them tonight."

Faramir nodded. "A good idea. Might I be frank with you, Legolas?"

"Is there a time when you are not?" Legolas wryly asked as the man chuckled.

"One of the most exciting things about marriage is learning to share your bed with someone else." Legolas burst out laughing and Faramir reached out and shoved him in the arm. "Oh, laugh if you like! But you wait; it is amusing to figure out which side you will sleep on, and will she sleep in your arms every night or every once in a while? Which side do you sleep on? Which side does she sleep on? Does one of you snore?"

Legolas laughed again. "Elves do not snore, Faramir!"

"All right! But you know what I mean," he said. "It is an exciting adventure, to be married."

"I am going to enjoy every minute of it."

"Almost every minute," Faramir suggested. "You will not like it when you fight."

"No one enjoys a fight."

"Well," he said, holding up his water skin for a toast, "a toast to you and the lovely Enguina, Legolas! May your marriage be full of happiness, and may the squabbles between you both be minor and few!"

"I will toast to that!" Legolas laughed. Just as he reached to lift his own skin from his saddle, his attention was drawn by a flash of movement in the trees. He drew Glosbrethil to a halt, his sharp gaze studying the large deciduous tree before them.

"What is it?" Faramir asked. His eyes were not as sharp as an elf's, but he knew that there was something amiss; the birds had quieted their song.

"Something…something is not quite right…" Legolas said thoughtfully as Faramir looked around at the other trees. Dwimorisen tossed his head, snorting as Faramir tugged him back.

"Easy, Dwimor," Faramir chastised him.

And suddenly, all hell broke loose about them.

A host of arrows was loosed, raining down from the trees both ahead and behind. There was no room to maneuver, and even less time to react. Faramir was struck immediately to his right shoulder blade, and, unable to draw his bow, tried to pull Dwimorisen around to escape the onslaught. The big grey lunged toward the other side of the tree in a panic, pelted with arrows as he presented a much larger target, and bolted as soon as he saw open woods. The man on his back took an arrow to the side and as he reached to pull it out was brushed from the saddle by a low-hanging branch. As his mount fled into the trees to safety, Faramir rolled to his knees, amazed that he had the presence of mind to snatch his bow from the saddle. He knocked an arrow and took aim.

Legolas had fared even worse than Faramir. Glosbrethil, watching Dwimorisen panic, reared up himself, even as Legolas yelled to him. An arrow lodged itself into the stallion's neck and he fell over backwards, knocking the elf from him as he fell to the ground. Thankfully, Legolas rolled to the side just in time to avoid being crushed, but arrow after arrow pelted into the soft ground as he continued to shove himself away from the fallen horse who was struggling to get to his feet. As he shoved his own form behind the nearest tree, he realized he had two arrows jutting from his flesh. He jerked out the one in his left arm and struggled with the one lodged in his right hip for a moment before he could remove it. Arrows rained near his legs, and he heard them snapping into the tree bark just off to his left and right. Grimacing through the pain, he drew his bow and knocked an arrow, firing it into the nearby branches of another tree. Brethil was nowhere to be seen.

There was a cry, and he watched as an elf fell from his obvious perch in the branches. Another fell from another tree, and he was glad that Faramir was well enough to shoot them down as well. But then shock registered, if only briefly, as the elf was in a fight for his life. What in the world were elves doing firing at them? These were his kin! And what were they doing trespassing in Ithilien?

"I am kin!" he called out, even as he began knocking another arrow. "We are not your enemies!" There was no response, and the arrows did not stop, so Legolas shot down two more before he reached to fire a third and an arrow pierced the tree inches from his face.

Broken bark battered his skin and he cried out in agony from the splinters that sprayed his eyes. Brushing his eyes and face with his hands, he urgently tried to clear his vision, listening to the numerous cries and shouts of elves and men—yes, there were men, too. And he could hear cracking in the leaves and the pounding of hooves on the ground; more were coming, and these were not reinforcements to help Faramir and himself.

"Legolas!" Faramir cried out, and he heard a few more men drop before he could clear his own vision enough to see what he was doing. When he opened his eyes, there was a man right in front of him, close enough to kill him with a swing of his sword. Dropping the bow and swinging out his white knife, he caught the man across the throat, spraying the tree and himself with blood before he was able to draw the other…and then it was all suddenly hand-to-hand, and he was faced with another elf, an elf of Mirkwood.

"Stop this mad—!" he began, but the elf began slashing at him ferociously, and he had no choice but to kill or be killed, pushed out from behind the tree and taking another arrow heavily in the ribs. He stumbled, but held his ground as he watched the elf who had fired the arrow drop from the tree. Legolas battled on, shoving the elf back and trying to return to the protection of the tree, no matter for how brief a time.

The man was the one Soronar saw first, and he did not recognize him at all. He did not seem as the others they had found harboring Uruks and orcs of Sauron, but there was not much one could tell about a person from such a distance. He fired an arrow into the man's shoulder; a good solid hit. He remembered very well that the goal was to capture, not kill, and even through his anger that was not difficult to follow.

His surprise and immediate shock came when he saw the blonde hair of Elvish kindred hedge out from beneath the tree and heard a shout of stop. Soronar nearly fell from the tree when he saw the face of Legolas, son of Thranduil, and without thinking, fired an arrow up into the branches of a nearby tree, killing the last Elven archer there. Leaping down from his hiding place, he began shouting.

"Stop! Stop!" he yelled, but it was suddenly all too clear to him. There was no threat of Uruks here! This was a traitorous attack on the son of Eryn Lasgalen! The 'why' could not matter just now. Angrily, he turned and took out three more Elves from the trees before he was injured suddenly by the arrow of a 'friend.' He watched as Vilyath dropped to the ground from her horse and approached the wounded man from behind.

"Look out!" he shouted, flailing an arm as he raised his bow, trying to force his arm to work. Faramir caught his eye and spun about, just in time to catch Vilyath's look of death and her blade on his bow. The man rolled to the side and shoved aside the fatal blow, but two more arrows struck him and he dropped over onto his side, his bow falling from his hand.

Soronar would have tried to help the elf, but he had been forced to his knees by an arrow to the ribs and the son of Thranduil had been completely overtaken. He had been struck two more times to his side and shoulder, and he could not withstand the number of assailants. Trying to take out as many of them as he could, he swept his knife about, taking off the leg of the elf on his left and losing that white knife, before he took the legs out from under another on his right. A heavy blow struck him from behind and he dropped to his knees, spinning with the knife while just remaining coherent enough to plunge it into another man's body. The enemy fell, but the edge of another shield struck Legolas in the head again, and this time, he was knocked from his knees, overcome by the darkness.

Vilyath stood looking down over Faramir's partly unconscious form; he had numerous arrow wounds yet he was still alive. She raised her sword and Omarom grabbed her arm. "Leave him, Vilyath," Dragsúl snapped. "Let him suffer for all our men he has killed. Let him suffer for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Leave him to die." She looked down at him, and nudged his body onto his back with her foot. Then, she turned from him as she noticed Soronar propped up against the tree, watching as Omarom began hefting Legolas onto the back of a horse.

Taking a place in front of him, she glared down into his eyes. "You betrayed us," she snapped. "I should kill you right now."

"You deceived me," he stated, his breathing short. "Why? Why have you done this? The son of Thranduil…"

"You are so pathetic!" she laughed. "You think your quest is so righteous, searching for Haldir's killers! Yours is not the only cause that is just."

"Just?" he coughed. "What justice is there…in this?"

"We need a home, Soronar, a home to call our own. Thranduil's kingdom would be a perfect place." She gave him a nasty smile. "The Prince will make fine leverage."

His eyes grew dark with fury, and it was his turn to laugh. "You…you think that the King will give ransom for his son? He will never trade his land, his people. Not for you…not for anything…not even for his own son. He will not negotiate with you."

She snorted. "They all say that, Soronar. All the greats declare they will not treat until they see their whole world come apart around them. Look at the Lord Elrond of Rivendell!" she laughed. "He always said he would not leave his daughter to die and look where she is: on the arm of the King of Gondor; mortal, and dying a little each day! Oh, when Thranduil the Wise sees his son, battered and bruised before him, he will be stumbling over hand and foot to give us his land. Our Lord will see to it."

"Your filthy plan will never work, you who—"

A swift kick in the ribs silenced him as he tried to get his breath back. Instead, he was forced to listen as Dragsúl brought over her mount. "Are you going to kill him?" the man asked, and she scowled, but shook her head.

"No…he has been wishing he was dead for far too long," she sneered, staring down at him. "But that sort of punishment is too quick. No…let him keep company with the dead and continue to wish for it. Then, however long it takes, it will find him. I would keep him alive for eternity and let him suffer, but there is nowhere to keep him now, and we need to travel."

He met her eyes. "Evil things have a way of befalling evil people," he said very seriously. "I wish I had a way of seeing what evil will befall you when you meet your end."

She laughed as she mounted her horse. "Oh Soronar! Always the high and mighty! Well, wish for death; it will find you soon enough I daresay, whether by loss of blood or starvation. Namarië!"

And on her final word, the small group of riders abandoned him, surrounded just as he was by the dead.

The sun was beginning to set, and it was vibrant and striking that evening by the Anduin where little Annî, Princess of Ithilien was having her last bit of playtime. It was nearly time to head home for dinner, but she had been having such a wonderful time that she had begged her Tirion and Tiriel to stay out for a little while longer, just until the sun had fully set. She lay in the grass at the moment, amazed by a small colony of ants that she was watching carry little pieces of the bread she had offered them deep into their home.

She sighed happily to herself; her afternoon had been perfect. She had been riding with Tiriel on Asfaloth, greeted loads of people in Minas Tirith, swam in the River with her guardians, played hide-and-find behind the great sycamores, ran around, had Tirion read her a story, picked flowers and stones from the riverbank…oh, her day had been so wonderful! And Tirion was going to take her home with him on Brego! The day would not get any better, unless Mommy and Daddy showed up for dinner, yes; then her happiness would be complete.

But she found that even without them at the moment she was happy. She glanced up from her studying of the ants for one moment and found her gaze settling on her guardians, who were several feet away. She watched her Tiriel, her head resting against her Tirion's chest, her eyes closed in a moment of quiet, peace upon her face. She knew the look in her Tirion's eyes as she watched him, too. Yes, Annî knew it well; saw it in her mother's eyes, saw it in her father's too…love. She saw it when Tiriel and Tirion looked at her, too, and it made her smile. Grinning, she returned her focus to the ants.

Aragorn was seated on the ground with his back against the nearest sycamore, Arwen's cheek pressed to his chest, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her closely. This moment, this quiet moment while Annî entertained herself in the grass and he held her with the sound of the River rolling through his ears, made him feel that Ilúvatar was very near. He rested his head upon hers and he felt her sigh against him.

"Do we have to give her back?" came her gentle whisper, and he smiled, tightening his arms.

"This is the second time you have asked that question, beloved, in as many days. I am beginning to worry you might be thinking of kidnapping."

He teased her, and that was good. "I have grown so attached," she replied. "It will be difficult when they return; the House will be so quiet." They both watched her in silence for a moment. "She is so innocent, so sweet. Look at her, Aragorn; look at how she inspects her world and discovers it, asking questions, experiencing things, finding things on her own and for herself. She is amazingly young, and yet, so curious!"

"The pairing of Éowyn and Faramir made an inquisitive mind."

"I love them so dearly." She sighed and he looked down into her eyes. "I have been thinking about Enguina all day today," she added softly. "I cannot seem to get her out of my thoughts."

"Worry?" he asked softly, and she lifted her shoulders.

"I do not know. It is strange…I just…I feel an urge to pray for her."

"I should as well, then," he replied, closing his eyes and sending a prayer for her in the quiet of his thoughts. He heard his wife yawn, and he smiled. "Are you tired, love?"

"No…incandescently happy," she whispered as he planted a kiss in her hair, "and content. I should think she is getting a bit hungry though. Perhaps we should be heading back to the City soon." He groaned, and she laughed at him. "Honestly, you sound like a bear."

"I feel like a bear," he suddenly grumbled. "Going back is the last thing I want to do right now." She let it go as she felt his arms tighten around her once again, and she focused her attention back on their charge. Aragorn rested his head on hers once more and she heard him sigh.

"Look at the splendor in the sky tonight," he murmured, and she lifted her eyes to its beauty. He could not be more right; the sky was laid out in a decadent manner, glorifying Ilúvatar with every cloud and reflected ray.

"Annî," Arwen called, "have you looked at the sky lately?"

The little girl, so entranced with the ants, had not; immediately she rolled over onto her back and gasped. Then, she threw herself to her feet and raced towards them, hands in the air, rocks and shells she had collected clinking in her pockets. Launching into Arwen's lap and into Aragorn's arms, she threw her arms around Arwen's neck and kissed her cheek before kissing Aragorn's.

"Tiriel, Tirion! Look at how pretty it is! Look at the clouds! They're so fluffy!"

"Indeed they are," agreed Aragorn. "Do you see anything special in them tonight?"

She turned about and, lying against Arwen's chest, stared up at the sky, searching for animals or objects in the clouds. Behind her, Aragorn pressed his lips to Arwen's temple as she smoothed the little girl's hair back.

"Look, birds!" she cried, pointing.

"They are gulls, chên nîn," Arwen said softly.

"I can hear them calling," she added, and then pointed again. "I see a big tree!"

"I see a dragon," Aragorn said seriously.

"A dragon?" Annî asked, staring at the clouds. "I've never seen a dragon! Daddy told me a story about a big, mean dragon! I don't want to ever meet a dragon!"

"Not ever?" Aragorn asked.

"Not if he's mean!"

"What if he were a nice dragon?"

"Well…all right."

Aragorn chuckled as Arwen smiled. "What else do you see, Annî?"

"I see…Gimi! Gimi!" she cried, waving her hands at the clouds.

"Where?" laughed Aragorn.

"There's a face!"

"How do you know it is Gimli?" asked Arwen.

"The big nose!" They both laughed aloud then, and Aragorn grinned, ruffling her hair.

"It does look like Gimli. Do you see the horses?"

She looked for a moment, and then she stood up, dancing away from them through the grass and pointing again. "Yes! Yes!" she laughed. "I see them running! Dimmer and Winfola and Afalof! Afalof!" she cried, cupping her hands to her mouth. There was a snort as the big grey trotted into view a few hundred feet away, head and tail high, tossing his head. There came the pounding of hooves through the trees, and Annî laughed, beginning to skip towards the horse. "I haven't left you out, Brego!" There was a loud snort from Asfaloth, and he half-reared as a loud whinny was heard and Brego loped into view from the trees.

Arwen pressed herself up from Aragorn's chest and rose to her knees, hearing something else…something other than hooves. She stood just as Brego let out another whinny, this one a warning, and Aragorn leapt to his feet, reaching around the tree for his bow. Something was coming, Aragorn understood…something vicious.

"Annî!" Arwen called for her, reaching a hand—the girl was without a care, skipping along towards the horses, and for the first time ever did not heed Arwen's call, not recognizing the concern, the caution, in her voice. "Annî, come here to me!"

Arwen heard it before she saw it; Aragorn caught sight of it the moment she did. A tearing yowl was heard and then the sound of grass shredding beneath claws as the big, tawny wildcat rounded the trees where Brego had exited. Stamping and pawing the earth, Brego reared up as the huge cat hissed and snarled. Asfaloth began stamping as well, staying near Brego's side.

"Andúnêiel!" snapped Aragorn forcefully, knocking an arrow into his bow; there was no clear shot with the cat half-hidden behind the trees.

The little girl lifted her head at the sound of her name; something was clearly wrong, as she had never heard Tirion's voice sound like that. When she picked up her head, she saw the cat and heard Brego's voice darken with anger, his whinnies forceful and deep. The cat lunged at the bay's flashing hooves as Aragorn barked out Annî's name again, unable to get a clear shot at the beast, afraid he would strike their mounts or the girl.

The little girl, more concerned for the horse than anything else, ignored him completely. "Brego!" she screamed, she bolted towards the horse, crying his name.

"No, Annî!" Arwen shrieked, and broke to a run. All sound blocked out, everything became a blur in her ears and eyes, save the little one and the cat, who saw easy prey and left the horses immediately. It leapt towards Annî with bounds of savagery, claws flashing, teeth gnashing, and a snarl like a warg.

The moment was breathless for Aragorn; one target, two figures in the way and two rushing towards the cat from behind. The distance closed between them all as though no time had passed at all, the girl running for Brego, Brego running for the cat, the cat running for Annî, Arwen running for Annî…it was a blur—

And then suddenly Arwen snatched Annî off the ground, and spun about, half-falling, half-sliding in the grass as she turned, holding the girl with one arm and catching herself with her right. But her eyes, even as she turned, met the cat's, locked on its victims; he was hungry, and a small defenseless prey was perfect. Arwen launched herself to her feet, listening to Annî screaming in her arms over the sound of the cat's snarls as the world came back to her and she ran. She ran for safety; she ran to protect the child. Nothing else mattered.

"Arwen! Drop!" The order came seemingly out of nowhere, but Arwen obeyed immediately, throwing herself forward and to the ground, curling herself around the child beneath her and tucking every bit of Annî under her own skin. She heard the grass tear beneath the cat's claws, huge chunks of dirt flying out, heard the snarl so loud it made the hair stand up on her neck and arms, felt its hot breath on her skin. But she heard the song of Aragorn's bow, and the thud of a direct hit.

The cat tumbled and then skidded in the dirt, not ten feet from Arwen's foot. It was not dead, and it was angrier than it had been moments before. Hauling itself half onto its side, it dragged its body two feet closer in the second before Aragorn yelled again, firing another arrow and watching as it lodged itself into the cat's skull.

"Brego!"

The horses fell on the cat then, their thrashing hooves kicking and beating and flinging the cat away from where Arwen and Annî lay in a heap where they finished it off quickly with flying fur and death. Arwen remained where she had fallen, shielding Annî's body with her own, the little girl shaking like a leaf beneath her and sobbing. She was crushing the girl now, so she tried to push herself to her elbows and knees, finding that she, too, was shaking so hard that she was unable to get her hands to function. As her weight came off Annî, the little girl held onto her riding clothes, clutching herself to her guardian's breast as Arwen tried to hold her.

"Shh, shh…" she said, pushing herself back onto her heels and knees and holding Annî closer. Her breath seemed frozen in her lungs; terror, fear, adrenaline flowed through her as she listened to the girl cry and mutter Brego's name over and over in her arms. Her long fingers tangled into Annî's hair, and she sat very still, listening to the angry screams of the horses until the pounding of hooves stopped. It seemed like hours; it was only moments. In the seconds of silence and snorting that followed, she heard the thump of Aragorn's boots in the grass.

He knelt beside her and slipped his arms around both of them, hugging them tightly into his embrace. He kissed the back of Arwen's head, let his hand smooth Annî's hair, stroke Arwen's hand. Reaching up, he wiped the tears from Arwen's face with his fingers; she had no idea she had been crying. Annî's fingers grabbed his tunic and pulled herself closer to him, trying to get an arm around his neck while still shoving her face into Arwen's breast.

"Tirion…Tirion…" she sniffed, tears still streaming down her face.

"It is gone, little one," he told her. "You are safe; so is Brego."

"Afalof?"

"He is fine, fine…we are all safe." Arwen tried to get her fingers to release the girl but she could not do it; she could not convince her hands that they needed to let go. Instead, she felt Aragorn sit back a little bit and though he kept a hand around the back of her neck, keeping her close, he needed to see the girl. "Annî…Annî, look at me." She looked up into his face, pulling back just enough to see him as he stroked her cheek. "You are safe now, but this was very dangerous," he said gently, but seriously. "You could have been hurt," he continued, lessening the blow from death though it was clearly in his mind. "Next time, when something is very serious, and you hear me call you, or Tiriel call you, you will listen."

He was not stern; his voice was quiet, but the serious voice of Aragorn was one that Annî had never heard. He was not laughing; he was not smiling; and he reminded her very much of her father in that moment. She untangled herself from Arwen for a moment and threw herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I love you, Tirion!"

"I love you, too, Annî," he said softly, rubbing her back. "That is why this is so important." Arwen laid a hand over her back as well, and Aragorn met his wife's eyes. "Take her," he said gently, "while I finish with the horses." He kissed Annî's head and then broke the hold of her arms around his neck. "Now, please stay with Tiriel, and I will return in a moment."

Andúnêiel returned immediately to Arwen's arms and wrapped herself around her, muttering about how sorry she was and stuffing her thumb into her mouth. Arwen rocked her in her arms and held her close, reassuring and soothing her. Aragorn brushed his hand against the back of Arwen's head and then stood, moving to the horses' side to finish the cat and help rinse them clean in the Anduin.

When all of this was done, the horses themselves followed Aragorn back and came to visit with Annî. Arwen held her, as she would not let the elf go; so with one arm wrapped around Arwen's neck, she stroked the faces of Asfaloth and Brego. After assuring herself that they were all right, she buried her face back in Arwen's neck and her thumb went right back to her mouth. Arwen rested her cheek against her forehead.

"Are you tired, chên nîn?" Annî did not answer, but she closed her eyes and clung tighter to Arwen's neck. It was quite obvious that the day was done, and that she was not letting go for any reason. Arwen kissed her forehead and then whispered, "Who do you want to ride home, Annî? Brego or Asfaloth?"

Aragorn lifted bridles and reattached reins as he listened to her mumbled reply, and watched Arwen smile. "What?" she asked, and Annî mumbled something else as Arwen laughed. "No, I promise he will not be offended." There was another pause. "No, I do not think he will mind if you fall asleep either."

Aragorn smiled at their little exchange and he rubbed Brego's little star. "Thank you both," he said to them, patting Asfaloth's neck. The grey leaned down and nudged him while Brego snorted. He laughed and then looked over to Arwen again, a bit surprised to find her just beside him. "Has the decision been made?"

"With much deliberation," Arwen said softly. "She would like to ride Brego by herself…with you. If that is pleasing to everyone."

A moment of confusion crossed his features and then he laughed softly, realizing that was the way Annî's mind worked. "That pleases me," Aragorn replied, and he hopped easily onto Brego's bare back and Arwen reached to hand him Annî. "Come here, Annî." She wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her to him as Arwen picked up the pack and then vaulted to Asfaloth's back. She scratched his neck with her fingers. She found that her hands were still shaking, and she fought to still them as she listened to Annî speaking with Aragorn.

"Tirion," she whispered, "are you angry?"

"No, dear one," he said gently. "Your Tiriel and I were very worried about you. We were afraid that we might lose you…and then what would I have told your mother, your father, when they returned home? We need to keep you safe, Annî, so it is important that you listen."

"I will," she replied in that same, soft voice, her face still buried in his neck.

"No one is angry with you," he said, and then he urged Brego forward. "Do you want to sit in front of me?" He felt her nod, and he scooted her down, leaning her back against him as she gripped his hand that held the reins. Arwen let Asfaloth fall into place beside Brego, but she left the reins on his neck; her hands were still shaking too badly to hold them.

"Until I get tired," she heard Annî say as she rubbed Brego's smooth hair with her hand.

"Then I will carry you home."

"Brego is so tall!" she exclaimed loudly, looking up towards the City as the sun was really beginning to fade. Aragorn was glad to hear her voice; he had been worried that the cat had left a terrible impression in her mind. But she seemed to be all right, and within a few moments began to jabber about what they were seeing, including Arwen in the conversation as well. He felt the subtle shift back to normalcy and it felt reasonable, not rushed or forced.

"Annî, you are a natural," he encouraged her.

"You are going to be as great a horsewoman as your mother," Arwen added.

"Good boy, Brego! Good boy!" She laughed, enjoying herself, and Brego tossed his head in response.

Night had fallen. On a normal day, this would bother no one, and everyone would go about their business as usual, especially the Rangers of Henneth Annûn. But this day was different. Enguina stared off into the deepening darkness from her position on the rock, looking down over the Forbidden Pool, her arms wrapped around the knees she had brought to her chest. She could easily tell that the sound was supposed to be soothing to her, the flowing of the waterfall, the jumping of the trout, and even the glistening of the full moon upon it was quite lovely. But no…her heart raced within her.

"This is awful…" She heard Éowyn whisper the words from behind her, and she tried to think of a response she could make that the other woman might laugh at, simply to lighten the mood. The last thing that she wanted to do was confirm Éowyn's fears…or her own. "This waiting…it is unbearable."

Enguina turned to look at the woman who stood just off to the left of her, a shawl over her shoulders to keep out the brisk April evening chill and her arms wrapped across her chest as she, too, stared into the star-studded night sky. "You know what?" Enguina asked, a smile appearing on her face. "I bet the two of them are out there, riding around in the woods and having a good laugh at how worried we have been, just to spite us for being so upset with them this morning, and knowing that we were plotting behind Legolas's back." She nodded. "Yes, that is definitely it, Éowyn. More than likely, Legolas talked Faramir into it, and now, I bet Faramir is thinking he will get a grand homecoming—"

"If that were the case," Éowyn said a bit darkly, "what he would get is a massacre."

Enguina chuckled. "Éowyn, you amuse me so!"

"Enguina," Éowyn said softly, and the elf took pause at the tone of her voice, "both of our men were so worried about us this morning…they were so worried. There is no way…no way they would keep us waiting this long."

"Éowyn—"

"I am serious. Deadly serious," she added, wrapping her hands lower around her stomach and closing her eyes. "I cannot help but think that they are lost somewhere—"

"You are starting to really worry me," Enguina replied as she sat up straighter, taking notice of Éowyn's position. "Is there something wrong with the baby?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, looking at her with surprise. "Why would you think—"

Enguina sighed in frustration. "Then stop doing that with your hands!" Éowyn stilled them immediately and crossed them back over her chest. "Remember what Galen told you? Faramir nearly lived in these woods for twenty years; he would not be lost. They must be toying with—"

"Enguina, that is the reason I am so worried," she said gravely, taking up pacing again, which she had been doing for the past hour at least. "Faramir would never do this; not to me. Not when he knew how worried I was this morning. Not when Legolas was supposed to have a conversation with you about your dreams. Not when they promised us they would be home before the lunch hour!" She groaned. "I think them playing a game with us is something we might do, but not them. Not now."

"No," added Gimli, coming up beside her and sighing, "I think that's certainly a woman thing to do. But there must be some explanation. Even if it was a joke, it's gone on quite long enough."

"They should have returned hours ago," Éowyn said, tightening her fingers on her elbows. "There is no account that would make sense. We should be out there, searching—"

"Galen said—"

"Honestly, Enguina," Éowyn said, exasperated, "do you really give a damn about what Galen said?"

Enguina came to her feet and stood before her, placing her hands on Éowyn's arms and stilling her. "Yes, Éowyn, I care what he thinks, because I am desperately trying not to panic and he seems a reasonable man. Anymore, I have been trying to take the word of reasonable men. And if this is some sort of twisted tease of Legolas's, I am going to kill him myself when they return."

"With no remorse," added Gimli, nodding, and he reached out and caught Éowyn's arm himself. "Éowyn, come and sit down before you wear a gorge in this rock! You need to put your feet up."

"And you are a bit too close to the end for my taste," Enguina stated. "And stop worrying…you are driving me mad."

Éowyn sighed and began to let them lead her back from the edge when she stopped suddenly. Enguina turned at the same time she did, both staring into the night toward the verge of the wood where they could swear they had heard the sound of hooves over the falls. Enguina hurried back to the rock where she had been sitting and, looking down, saw the head of a horse near the trees, walking slowly towards the caverns.

"Is that—" Éowyn began, but it was Enguina who turned to her with a smile.

"It is Dwimorisen, I think," she replied, and she immediately turned back, watching the horse for a few moments. There was something else…in the way he was walking…

And then she saw it—he bore no rider. The big dapple crossed out into the full moonlight, his gait off, his head low, his breast collar broken, and his saddle slipped to the left. Enguina stared and heard Gimli curse loudly in dwarvish before she realized the horse was covered with wounds. He was bloody, injured, and clearly in pain. Where was Faramir?

Oh Ilúvatar…oh Ilúvatar…where was Legolas?

She turned, saw that Éowyn was no longer at her side, and within seconds she and Gimli had plunged themselves into the caverns after the woman, making their way down through the halls and tunnels. Prayer after prayer spilled through her mind as panic began to give way to fear, her heart in her throat. She had seen Dwimor, where was Brethil? Where were Faramir and Legolas? What had happened? The adrenaline of not knowing had clearly given speed to Éowyn, because the poor pregnant woman was nowhere in sight, and Enguina paid little to no attention to her steps on the stones as she fled downwards towards the entrance, Gimli right at her heels.

As she ran and prayed, she could hear shouting from below; several of the Rangers, and Galen's voice above the rest, "Whoa! Whoa…easy there, Dwimor."

Enguina rounded the corner at the bottom and slipped on the stone, unfocused as she was on the terrain. She grasped the wall for support, but it was Gimli's hands that steadied her as her eyes focused on Éowyn standing there beside the dapple.

"Careful there, lass," Gimli cautioned her, and he let go of her arm as they both tried to catch their breath. Galen and several other Rangers began examining the horse's wounds, while Éowyn stood at the horse's head, stroking his ears as his head hung down in exhaustion. Dwimor was nettled with arrows in one flank, bleeding wounds on his neck, and a few arrows embedded in the saddle as well. Enguina covered her mouth and stood, staring, trying to gather her thoughts about her, to focus on what this might mean.

"What…" Gimli began, pushing forward, "where is Faramir? And where is Legolas?"

Galen looked over at the dwarf, shaking his head. "My men are searching the nearby woods on foot where Dwimor came from; they have found nothing yet of the Captain, and there is no sign of the Prince."

"What…what does that mean?" Enguina heard her own voice ask, adrenaline causing her body to begin shaking.

"My Lady," Galen said softly, "I do not know." Éowyn stepped forward then.

"Hiron," she said, waving a hand at one of the nearby Rangers, "see to Dwimorisen." She touched the horse's face and then turned to the friends who stood near. "Enguina, Gimli, Galen, anyone who is willing…get your horses ready. We ride out in moments; we will spread out and search the wood."

"The wood? In the dark? My Lady," Galen tried to caution her, "be reasonable—"

"This is my husband!" Éowyn snapped, her patience worn so thin she was going to lose her mind. "We will search all night if we must! Get moving right now. There is nothing that is more important—nothing! Get your horses and we will follow whatever trails we can find and search everywhere!" He stepped in front of her and reached out to touch her shoulder; she rolled it back from him, her eyes aflame. "Either join me or get out of my way, Galen. Do not hinder me."

"Yes, my Lady," he said sheepishly, and he moved away so Hiron could take Dwimor to a stall.

The riders, among them Gimli, Enguina, and Éowyn, were in their saddles searching the woods before even ten minutes had passed.