They had been riding for nearly sixteen hours and though some of the men were beginning to complain, Vilyath knew that it was not the time to halt and camp. She would ride for at least a day before they would dismount; they could not allow anyone following them to catch up to him. They had to act quickly; it was common knowledge that the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen had relentless and powerful friends. She knew this from the stories of the War of the Ring, and she had no intention of allowing them to inflict restitution on her.

Glancing back as far as she could through their small line of troops, there was just enough moonlight so she could tell that their captive still lay motionless across the back of the horse he was tied to. That was very good, considering that from the rumors she had heard, he was a formidable opponent; a skilled archer and clever warrior, Legolas was not a man to be trifled with. She turned back about and scouted ahead, studying the woods.

Vilyath sighed and shook her head, surprised at herself; she was actually feeling sorry that she did not have Soronar to talk to. In fact, she felt a bit sorry that she had not stood by him. If he had only helped them, he would still be alive. As much as she had bickered with him, as much as they had judged each other, he had been a man of principle and she had admired that about him, even grudgingly.

Her horse startled suddenly, and she reined him in quickly as he shied to the left. She easily brought him back on course, and upon doing that, cursed herself for reminiscing and thinking when she should have had her mind on the moment.

Pressure was building in his head and he ached to relieve it, yet Legolas did not want to move until his body and mind registered where he was. His senses were beginning to come back, but he could tell that he had been unconscious for some time. Feeling the rhythm of the horse's walk, he could easily see that he was on horseback, lying over the saddle like a sack of flour instead of sitting upright, his head hanging down. No wonder there was pressure in his head.

Everything hurt. He was uncomfortable from head to toe, but his hip pained him the most at the moment. And his shoulders. And his…forget it. Everything hurt, and he knew it. His hands were tied at the wrists, but his feet were not; to Legolas, this meant escape; these people did not want to kill him, so there was a very good chance he might be able to hurry off into the woods. He cracked his eyes just enough to see the ground, and found that there was still bright moonlight, but it was broken by groups of trees. If he waited for the darkness, he could slip from the horse, take out anyone who was near him, and run. Even not knowing where he was did not hinder him; he could easily figure that out once he had escaped.

He listened; he spied; he waited for just the right moment—how many riders were behind? How many were ahead? How dark would it need to be so they did not see him? How many trees would provide just the right amount of cover? All very important questions for him.

The moment arrived, and he gathered his strength and shoved himself from the horse's back; he landed on the balls of his feet—and found his legs did not support him. Dropping down, he rolled away from the animal to the nearest tree before the one directly behind him caught up. He needed to pull himself together fast if he was going to escape. Battling the pain that was slowing him by the moment, he used the tree's bark to drag himself to his feet and then launched himself out of the underbrush at the next horse. The man never even had time to scream as Legolas used his fingers to jab into his windpipe; even with his hands tied together, it was an effective move. The man reached for his neck, Legolas yanked the knife from the man's sheath and sliced him with it, letting him hang back along the saddle, his feet still caught in the stirrups, blood pouring from the wound in his neck. Legolas sliced the bonds on his hands, and backed into the bushes again…waiting.

For a second time, and this one with a bit less stealth, he lunged out and leapt up far enough to stab the man, no, elf, plunging the knife through his heart. Leaving it in place, he quickly grabbed the black's reins and tugged the horse to a stop. He dragged the elf down from the saddle, allowing him to thump on the ground, placed the knife into his own sheath, and mounted the horse quickly. Ignoring how uncomfortable it had been to climb into the saddle, he turned the beast about and kicked the unwilling animal into a jostling, painful trot. He was fortunate that there had only been two men behind him and he had been able to kill them both; now he just had to ride straight home along the path they had come.

He had not been in the saddle for more than five seconds before he was cursing himself and his luck as he bit his lips hard; Ilúvatar in Heaven, was it possible there could be a more uncomfortable horse in Middle-Earth? He was in no condition for this! Knowing immediately that he would be unable to ride in the saddle for even a minute with the mind-numbing pain he was in, he tried kicking the beast up to a lope. The horse refused, becoming more agitated as his ears pinned against his head; the beast had been riding along for miles, and it was tired and hungry. Legolas would normally never ask anything more of such a pitiful creature, but he had no choice.

Reaching up, he snapped a branch off the tree. That was all it took for the horse to forget its tiredness and take to the road with new energy, breaking into a lope that was easy to ride and so much more comfortable than the black's jarring trot. He breathed a sigh of relief, but kept his eyes ahead and his ears behind. They would know he was missing very soon, and he had to get as far away as he could. He had no interest in his injuries; there was nothing he could do about them while on horseback, and there was no way he could inventory them when he could barely see them.

No, he would simply have to work with what he had. The black beneath him loped on.

The first hint that something was wrong came in the form of a shout from behind her. Vilyath immediately stopped her horse upon hearing Omarom's voice and whirled her about. Cries and exclamations were heard, and she spurred her horse down the line back to where the elf sat, shouting.

"What in the world, Omarom—"

"He is gone! The captive is gone and two of our men are dead!" he said, pointing at the riderless horse and the man who Vilyath realized had his throat slit. "He must have woken!"

"How could they not have seen him?" she snapped in disbelief. "Where is the Prince?"

"He must have taken the last horse," Dragsúl stated from off to her left, his horse agitated at the smell of the dead. Two men dismounted to take care of the body; where the other dead elf was, no one knew. Vilyath growled under her breath.

"This is going to cost us time, time we do not have."

"He cannot have gone far," Omarom told her. "He was not in good health."

"No, he cannot be far; I looked back not a half hour ago. If he is as wounded as you say, perhaps he did not get far. We must follow him immediately." She turned back to the group. "You five will come with us; the rest of you stay here. We will return shortly."

Setting off at a gallop, the riders went in search for their missing captive.

After a few miles of hard riding, Vilyath noticed a horse ahead, grazing in a small clearing; he bore no rider, but it was obvious the horse had been part of their company. They slowed and began scanning the area.

"Carefully," cautioned Vilyath. "The Prince must be nearby."

She remained on the edge of the field, watching the surrounding area. The men, led by Dragsúl, headed out into the field to capture the horse, who gave them no trouble at all. They had just begun searching the edges of the field when a cry was heard, and one of the elves dropped from the saddle.

"Dismount!" hollered Dragsúl, and immediately the men began doing so, hiding behind their mounts as to protect themselves. One man was not as lucky; just as he was swinging over, an arrow fired into his throat and he dropped to the ground, his horse dancing away from him. Omarom drew his bow and fired back blindly at the tree, where there was a grunt of pain, and a bow dropped down from the tree and fell to the ground.

"He is down!" Omarom yelled, and the three of them raced forward to the base of the tree, waiting for Legolas himself to fall. They looked up into the branches, and the middle elf suddenly cried out in pain and dropped to his knees, a knife plunged through the sinew between his shoulder and neck. Omarom backed away, aiming his bow into the tree, but Dragsúl slung his over his shoulder and placed his hands on his hips.

"You are out of weapons, Prince!" he called, laughing aloud. "Your bow is here and your knife. All you have are a few measly arrows and you cannot throw them hard enough to hurt us. Come on down here before we shoot you down!" Omarom, still aiming into the branches, took a few steps closer to the tree.

There was silence from above as Legolas remained still and quiet. He stared down into the faces of his hunters; he was the hunted. Aching with pain, another arrow through his shoulder, he could not believe the tall elf had hit him with such a blind shot. Unable to move out of the way, he had been struck by it. He sat now on the same limb he had when he had painstakingly climbed into the tree. He could do nothing else—in a straight-on fight with these men he was bear bait—and when the riding had proven too much for his battered body, he had taken to the trees for safety. The blasted horse had given him away, though unknowingly. The black had followed him to the clearing and chosen to graze there, and climbing back down the tree to be rid of the horse had been completely out of the question. So, in pain so troublesome he could barely see straight, he sat on the branch, knowing they were right…he was out of weapons.

"I have a clear shot," whispered Omarom. "Should I take it?"

Instead of replying, Dragsúl shouted up to Legolas, "One last chance!"

"Go to the pits of Utunmo!" came the voice from above, but no matter how fiercely he meant it, it fell weakly even upon his own ears. He was faint, and it was a struggle now just to keep his head upright, which he chose not to bother with as he dropped it back against the bark of the tree.

Father…is she thinking of me? Why that was the only thought in his mind when he should have been worried about dying at the hands of these two men, he had no idea. But his heart was completely focused on Enguina. He was supposed to be sitting with her right now, holding her close as he listened to her story about her dreams…

"What are you two doing?" he heard a voice snap, and he raised his head to look down on a she-elf that had come close to the base of the tree.

"The Prince is topside," laughed Dragsúl. "We were getting ready to shoot him down."

"We need him alive, fool," she growled. "Get him down somehow."

Omarom looked up into the branches. "I do not want to shoot you again like a common animal, Legolas. Come down so you will live and your father will not mourn you. No one will harm you again if you come down now."

Legolas weighed his choices as he listened to them mutter to each other. What choice did he have? There was no way he could stay up here all night; he had no supplies, and he was bloody and badly wounded, and if they waited him out, he would certainly die up here. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was climb back down the tree to the waiting trio, but he had to keep himself alive if he could. Living another day in the hands of kidnappers was better than dying in the branches of a tree.

"Do not fire," he called down tiredly. "I am coming down."

He began to slowly climb down, regretting every step he had to retrace; he had not known how badly injured he was until he had ridden a mile and he had barely been able to sit upright in the saddle. No, this was the only choice he could make now.

He should have been expecting it, but he had not been. As soon as he was low enough for them to reach, someone grabbed his tunic and yanked him backwards off the bark he was clinging to. With nothing to grab onto and no way to defend himself, he fell onto his back and was clubbed mercilessly by someone's fist: once in the chest, the stomach, and the ribs. Rolling onto his side, trying to protect himself, he heard someone yelling, but more blows came and he felt searing pain race through the back of his skull…and then everything went dark again.

The sun was rising, and finally, the trail was becoming clear to Gimli and Enguina. The dwarf had been riding ahead, but after an hour or so, he had to walk to find and stick to the trail. His eyes, which generally were excellent in the dark, had felt so bleary that he felt as though he rubbed them constantly. But now, with the light coming, they would be able to move much more rapidly. Without a doubt, Lómë and Firgenwine felt that anticipation building.

Enguina watched Gimli, but her thoughts were focused inwardly on Legolas. Yes, she worried for Faramir and prayed for him and for Éowyn, but every time she did, her thoughts drifted back to the one who mattered most to her. How could she think of anyone but him, including herself? Hang her tiredness; hang the hour! This was the man who would be her husband!

She knew, they both had known, that following the trail would be hard. She was not a great tracker, nor was Gimli, even though they were only some hours behind, not days. The trail had been very hard to see in the dark as well, but she had to believe that the kidnappers' large group of riders were moving slower through the forests of Ithilien. She had even spent a few moments reminiscing over Aragorn and Legolas tracking her a few months ago; but they were great trackers. Gimli was one of the Hunters, but he was not a great trail-finder; no, that was Aragorn. But they had to make-do; they were on their own, and Legolas needed to be found.

"Enguina," Gimli called back to her, turning in the pony's saddle, "I think its light enough now to pick up the pace! Let's gain on them as many hours as we can."

As Firgenwine broke to a trot and then a lope, Enguina asked Lómë to move out as well; if they were lucky enough, in the next few hours they would close the gap.

Another evening had come and gone since Arwen had the nightmare; it was early morning in Minas Tirith and Annî was once again lying on the ground near the stone wall surrounding the Fountain, and Arwen was resting her head against it, watching the clouds roll by. She had finished reading Annî a story, and now the little girl was drawing a picture for the story on another piece of parchment. This morning, the sun had risen with an ominous sky, and Arwen was beginning to think that something was definitely wrong somewhere. She prayed and prayed that it had nothing to do with their loved ones.

Annî was completely oblivious to this, of course. Aragorn had taken them down to get muffins this morning before he had gone to scout the work being completed on the fourth level. He had smoothed her hair while Annî was munching, kissed her forehead, and told her everything was going to be just fine. She wanted to believe him, but she knew that he knew better; her dream was not so much a dream as it was a vision…and it was haunting her.

She pushed it from her mind, trying to focus on the positive. Annî was enjoying herself, though all day yesterday she had stayed so close to Arwen it seemed she was attached to her at the hip. The catamount had definitely instilled a bit of fear in her, but they had gone to visit the horses again this morning and Annî had hugged and kissed them. She seemed fine, and there had been no nightmares for her last night either. It was getting easier to think of Annî without thinking of her missing child, and the longer she was with them, the more on terms with it she seemed to become. Perhaps Aragorn had been right; it made her smile. She enjoyed when he was right, that he knew her better than she knew herself. To some, that might seem an annoyance, to her, it was a gift.

She breathed in the thick scent of the blossoms of the tree and the new buds that were growing among the bushes and suddenly, she felt Annî's presence as she flung her arms around her neck and threw herself into Arwen's lap. Her breath huffed out in surprise, but she laughed anyway.

"Annî! You startled me!"

She giggled. "Tiriel, what were you doing?"

"I was just thinking, little one. Did you finish your drawing?"

"No," she replied and then looked up at the fountain. "Mommy and I came here with Daddy, and we sat right there. And I remember because Mommy splashed Daddy with water." She grinned and leaned her forehead against Arwen's, staring into her eyes. "And then Daddy splashed both Mommy and me, so we were even wetter!"

Arwen laughed, imagining Faramir and Éowyn splashing each other. "I bet you were! Your Daddy is very good at drenching people."

She nodded. "When are Mommy and Daddy coming home?"

"Not for a little while yet," she replied softly, holding her hands loosely around Annî's waist. "Are you missing them today? It is all right to miss them, chên nîn."

"I do," she agreed, "but I love you and Tirion, too!" She held her more tightly around the neck.

"I love you, too, Annî."

Letting the child hug her again as she laid her head on her shoulder, Arwen heard the sound of footsteps between the rows of rosebushes. She looked over and saw Captain Mennev exiting before the Fountain.

"There you are, my Lady; I have been looking everywhere for you," he said, though not sternly. Arwen's heart raced at the graveness on his face as he came nearer.

"Tiriel?" Annî asked, raising her head and dropping a hand onto her chest. "Your heart sounds funny." Arwen turned her eyes to her, giving her a smile.

"The Captain is here, and he startled me, too," she lied softly, rubbing her nose against Annî's. The little girl giggled and then crawled from her lap and Arwen stood to meet him. Her face grew serious as the little girl scampered around her feet. "Mennev, what is it?" Annî grabbed her hands and hung from them, swinging back and forth, and singing to herself.

"The King wishes to speak with you," he said, and she felt a tingle go through her.

"The King—?" she began and then looked at him oddly. "Where is he?"

"I will take you to him," he replied. Annî's singing grew louder as she danced about the elf's feet; no one was paying any attention to her at the moment. Mennev dropped his voice to a murmur and looked at her seriously. "He is in the Tower…and has received two messengers from Ithilien."

Arwen's heart rose into her throat and she stilled the little girl with her hands and voice, saying, "Annî, Annî." The little girl stopped and looked up at her, but Arwen's eyes were still fixed on Mennev. "Lead on, Captain." She tugged Annî as she turned her gaze to her.

"Where are we going?" the little girl asked, and Arwen tried to smile at her, but it did not reach her eyes. She could not help it as worry coursed through her. She reached for Aragorn, but only felt turmoil; now she was afraid.

"Annî, Tirion needs to see me. Can you get your parchment and charcoal and come with me to the Tower?"

"Yea! We get to see Tirion early today!"

"Yes, dear one. Now get your things and take my hand."

Annî scrambled to collect her things and then wrapped her hand in Arwen's, trotting along beside the elf as the two of them made their way toward Ecthelion.

As soon as they entered Ecthelion, she knew there was something dreadfully wrong. The councilmen stood about within the throne room where they generally did not gather, and the door to the adjoining chamber where they had been having their meeting was closed. Annî closed in tightly near her leg, her hand clasping Arwen's dress, nervous around so many strangers. Arwen slowed behind Mennev when she saw the men of the council who knew her best in deep conversation and she drew near to them.

"My Lady," greeted Noldore, and then he smiled and bowed to Annî. "Princess."

"What has happened, my Lord?"

Dintîr shook his head as Noldore responded. "We have not yet heard. The messengers arrived and the King took them with him in the chamber, and they have not yet emerged. We are waiting to hear, but I hope it is nothing. I cannot imagine why it would take so long."

"My Lady," Mennev said, stepping back to her, "please."

"Dintîr—"

"Of course," he replied, and he crouched beside Annî. "Princess, want to sit in your Father's chair?"

Her eyes widened with excitement, even though she now had her thumb in her mouth. She looked up into Arwen's face. "Tiriel, can I?" she asked around the digit.

Arwen smiled, released her hand, and smoothed her hair. "Of course! Go with Dintîr. I will be right back, all right? And then we will visit with Tirion." She nodded and took Dintîr's hand and he led her away. Arwen turned back to Noldore. "I am certain you will all know in moments what is going on. We will be back shortly; be patient," she added, touching his arm. He nodded.

"Of course, my Lady."

She followed Mennev as he led her to the adjoining chamber where he knocked three times. Hildanir opened the door and they both entered. The room was heavy with an ominous silence; she felt it as soon as she came inside, the door closing behind them. The two messengers, their clothing stained from dirt and the sweat of riding long hours on horseback, stood near the conference table, one of the men leaning heavily upon it. She drew nearer to them, her eyes on Aragorn's concerned face.

"—and then we rode from outside Henneth Annûn, taking every shortcut we knew to Osgiliath where we made the crossing; that was nearly two days past."

"So you have no word on Prince Faramir's condition?"

The man paled, and Arwen did the same at his words. "No, my Lord," he replied, frowning deeply. "The last we saw of him, he was being slung over horseback. He was sorely injured."

"He is in Henneth Annûn, then?"

"Yes," he agreed. "We were urged by Galen, Captain of our Guard, to ride here and announce what had happened." He tightened his fingers and looked very stressed. "We are worried for the Prince, my Lord."

"There is only one choice which will satisfy me," Aragorn replied and then continued, "You two should long have been sitting down. Take a seat now and let me speak with my Lady." He turned away from them for a moment and Arwen went to his side, her anxiety plain.

"My Lord, what has happened?" she asked, glancing at the messengers. "Faramir—"

"Has been gravely wounded," he said softly. "He and Legolas, it appears, were ambushed by a large group of men and elves of unknown number, but they left Faramir in the woods to die and Legolas was not found."

"God…" Arwen whispered, her jaw tightening. "Men and elves? Why would such a thing take place…and in Ithilien? This is awful. What of Éowyn and Enguina? Gimli?"

"The men say that the three of them were in Henneth Annûn when they discovered Dwimorisen had returned rider-less. They followed his trail and found the battle scene where Faramir was found. At the time, when they journeyed out, they had not found Legolas." He turned back to the two men. "Is it possible that Legolas was among those wounded there? Could he have been found after you were sent out?"

"It is possible," stated the older man. "The Lady Enguina had found the Prince's horse, so he may have still been nearby." He shook his head. "Forgive me; I cannot answer you with any more information. I have none."

"No forgiveness is necessary. You have done your duty, and have ridden hard. You need to take some rest in the barracks, and then ride back to your posts when you are able." Arwen laid a hand on his arm, and he looked to her.

"So Legolas might be…"

"Even more terribly wounded than Faramir," he stated, "or worse. Though, I…I think not. Why leave Faramir alive? No, my thought is that there must have been some reason for them to be in Ithilien in the first place. If it was not to simply stir up trouble in Gondor, then we must assume their purpose had something to do with Legolas." He shook his head slowly. "There is nothing else to do but go to him; I can make no other decision."

"We must ride after them," she agreed. "We must be sure everyone is all right." She thought about Annî in the other room and then saw the look in his eye and she shook her head. "No, do not even think about refusing me. I am riding with you."

He looked as though he would refuse her, but he gave her a nod. "I must address the Council and explain what is happening. Perhaps you could take Annî back to the House and begin preparing for the journey? And we will have to decide what we are going to do about her as well."

Worry crossed Arwen's face. "I will try to think of something."

It was the speed at which the elf was moving that was beginning to agitate Annî into a state of worried excitement. Her Tiriel had explained nothing, but even the little girl could tell that she was making preparations for a trip of some kind. She had left Annî in the living room playing on the floor by the hearth with her dolls, but she could see her walking back and forth from the kitchen to the bedroom, saddlebags or other items that were necessary in hand.

Annî folded her hands in her lap and pursed her lips, watching as Arwen paused in the doorway to the bedroom, her back to Annî as she rested her shoulder and then her head against the doorframe. This was a strange posture for the elf, and Annî had no idea what it meant. She got to her feet and went over to her, reaching up to tug on her dress.

"What's wrong, Tiriel?" she asked, her voice rising in child-like worry. She was beginning to assume that they were angry with her, that she was in trouble. "I didn't do anything wrong." The last was said softly, thoughtfully as Arwen turned towards her and as the child tried to think of how the day had gone so mad when they had done so very little together.

"Oh, Annî, this is not because of you," Arwen replied, shaking her head and crouching down before her. She brushed her fingers to Annî's cheek, thinking of what to tell her. "I…your Tirion and I have to go on a journey. It is very important."

"A trip?" she asked, frowning. "Where are you going?"

"To one of the lands surrounding Gondor," she said gently. Annî looked into her face, studying her. Arwen had to look away first.

"You're worried," Annî said softly. "Mommy has that look a lot when Daddy is late." She waited a second before she continued, saying, "Are they coming back to get me?"

Arwen was frustrated by the statement Aragorn had made to her; they had to have a plan for Annî. If they did not take her with them, who would she stay with? And when they arrived in Ithilien without her, what would Éowyn say? If she were Éowyn, she knew exactly what she would say. There was no other choice, really; the child would have to come with them.

She sighed and reached out her arms to the child. "Come here." Annî went to her and Arwen scooped her up, taking her to their bed, sitting her on it, and then sitting down beside her. "Annî, your Mother and Father are not coming here; we are going to them instead."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, chên nîn," she replied, stroking her hair. "We are going to pack your things as soon as I have finished packing for Tirion and myself."

"What can I bring?"

"Not very much," she admitted. "Brego and Asfaloth need to be able to move quickly, so we will not be packing very many things. Choose your favorite doll and a set of clothes or two, and that will have to be enough. We will be traveling quickly, so it will not take us too long to get where we are going."

"Afalof and Brego are coming, too?" she exclaimed. "Will I get to ride the whole way there?"

"The whole way," Arwen confirmed.

"Why are we riding out there now? You're still worried. Is Mommy okay?"

"Your Mother is fine, Annî. It is…your Father has been…he has been hurt."

"Daddy?" she asked, looking at the elf seriously, and Arwen nodded.

"But he is going to be fine. Tirion is going to take care of him when we get there, and you will get to be with both of your parents much sooner than we all expected. I know that your Mother will be very happy to have you with her."

Annî looked sad. "Did he fall? Did he cut himself? Does he need a kiss from Mommy?"

Arwen stroked Annî's hair again, and she smiled at her words. "I am sure that he does, though he could probably use a kiss from you even more. It is possible that he did not hurt himself; I think someone else may have caused it to happen."

"Bad men!" Annî suddenly yelled, tears forming in her eyes as she brought her fist down against the comforter. "Bad men hurt people! They made Daddy all covered with dirt! They made Mommy cry! They hurt you, too!"

Arwen's eyes filled with tears. "Yes, Annî, all of those things are true."

"I rember," she said. "Mommy and Daddy cried all the time, and you were sick! I was sad, too."

"But everything is all right now," Arwen whispered back sincerely. "I am well again, and your parents were happy, so everything is all right." She was surprised that all of what had happened since the explosion had stayed in the little girl's mind. She had hoped she would forget.

"But you cried, too," she whispered, touching Arwen's face. "I rember. We were playing in the snow and then you were crying. But I hugged you, and then Tirion came and took you away."

Arwen stared at her; she did not remember Annî hugging her that night. All she remembered was crying, and Aragorn lifting her out of the snow and carrying her back to the House to be alone. She had not been ready to spend time with Annî that night. "You did," she said softly. "I am glad for your hugs." She smiled then, trying to ease the conversation away from her. "I am very happy to have them." Arwen heard the door click, and clearly, so had Annî. The little girl leapt from the bed and raced out of the bedroom, meeting Aragorn halfway to the kitchen.

"Oh, how is the fiery red-head this morning after her muffins?" he teased her, trying to keep things light, and Arwen could tell that he, too, had scooped her up into his arms and was holding her. He entered the room and saw her seated on the bed; instead of racing about to finish packing, he came and sat down beside her.

"Tirion, we are going on a journey," Annî said matter-of-factly. "And you are going to take care of Daddy when we get there, because he needs a badage."

If Aragorn was surprised that Annî knew or that she was including herself in the journey, he did not let it show at all. "I am," he said softly, setting her in his lap. "How do you know so much, little one?"

"Tiriel told me everything," she said proud of herself. "And Brego and Afalof are coming, too!"

"The Council?" Arwen asked and he raised his eyes from Annî to look at her.

"They took the news that we were leaving better than I expected, though both Noldore and Nardur were not pleased. However, they are especially worried about Faramir, as they should be, and they allowed that we should ride to Ithilien, sending out a legion of troops to search and find Legolas." He paused and then sighed. "And then of course they expect us to return home almost immediately."

A scowl flashed across Arwen's face, and then she remembered the impressionable child seated on Aragorn's lap…and curbed her expression. "There is not a chance in—"

"I know."

"It would be faster to go ourselves."

"I did explain that fully as well, but it is very possible that when we arrive in Ithilien we will find Legolas safe and sound. Then there may be no need for us to journey anywhere."

Arwen watched his face and then frowned. "I hope with all my heart that you are right…but my dreams have said otherwise." She sighed, her eyes sad. "I should have believed them from the first."

He reached out and stroked her face from cheek to chin. "There was nothing we could have done. Our riders met theirs just north of Osgiliath; they all returned together."

Arwen reached out and tugged Annî's hand. "Annî, why not go and gather those few things so I can pack them away? That would be very helpful." She leapt from Arwen's lap and danced from the room towards where she had been making her bed the last few days. In that moment, Arwen turned back to Aragorn. "Did the messengers say anything more about Faramir?" she asked worriedly.

"They only said he had multiple arrow wounds, and they worried he would become ill. He was unconscious when they found him, bloody, gravely wounded." A flash of worry crossed his face, and an ill feeling speared through Arwen's stomach. "We must leave before noon if we can and ride as fast as we may, even with Annî."

"Do you think she will be all right? Such a long journey for so small a babe."

He nodded. "She will be fine; you and I shall see to her, and Éowyn will be much calmer knowing her daughter is near."

Arwen frowned deeply. "I hate to think that she is so far along with Faramir so wounded. What she must be feeling!"

"Yes, she will be easier knowing Annî is safe with her."

Annî raced back into the room at top speed and ran into the edge of the bed, throwing the items into both of their laps. "I have my things!" she cried, waving her arms. "Here they are!"

"Annî, very good," Arwen said, finally laughing for the first time today while Aragorn smiled at her. "Let us pack these few things and then perhaps you can pick out two tunics for Tirion to take with him. What about your bear?"

"Can I bring my lamb instead?" She reached over behind Arwen and pulled a bedraggled-looking stuffed animal from behind her; it had, at one time, been white.

"Of course. Come and help Tirion get ready."

"Yes," Aragorn said as Annî turned, and he smiled at Arwen, "as it seems Tiriel has left me to ready myself."

"No she didn't!"

"Yes, she did."

"No she didn't! I saw her packing your things!"

"No!"

Annî giggled and hurried over to the chest of drawers as Aragorn winked at Arwen, following her over to help her choose. They would be journeying towards Ithilien with all speed in little under an hour if they could manage it.